A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Meat.”

“How much would you like?”

“A lot.”

Enkrid devoured enough food for twenty men in a single sitting. He was known for eating plenty, but this time, even by his standards, it was excessive.

And it was all high-calorie food—beans, meat, thick sauces.

Several soldiers nearby blinked wide-eyed as they watched him eat.

Is that part of training too?

Looks like it... should we try it?

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Bell, now a commander, tapped one of his soldiers on the head and warned him. Imitating what Enkrid did was a good way to die early. Bell knew that.

When had he realized it? Probably when Enkrid saved Commander Venzance. He’d always known Enkrid wasn’t ordinary, but that was when he truly began to think he was extraordinary.

Saving someone in the middle of a battlefield was one thing, but running into a burning barracks to save a comrade—even one who hated him?

That wasn’t something Bell had the courage to do.

Whether anyone cared or not, Enkrid continued eating like that through the evening, and the next day too. It was an absurd amount of food.

Rem, seated beside him, gave him a look as if asking what the hell was going on.

“You decide to start using your stomach like an ogre or a giant?”

Ogres were known for gluttony and cannibalism. Giants were just famous for eating everything in sight.

Both had massive bodies, so it made sense they’d need a lot of food. But Enkrid was neither.

So Rem’s comment wasn’t exactly out of place.

“I just wanted to eat well.”

“You heading somewhere?”

“No.”

Then what the hell...?

Rem squinted suspiciously, but let it go. If the guy wanted to eat, let him.

Enkrid ate like that for four more days. Ate well, shat well, slept well.

And each morning and evening, he meticulously washed every part of his body.

“No fever,”

Shinar said once, placing a hand on his forehead.

She said it because he wasn’t sparring or doing anything unusual—just eating, drinking, sleeping, and doing light training.

Though that “light training” would still be nearly impossible for an average soldier to follow.

Compared to how he usually moved, it looked like he was taking it easy.

Enkrid was preparing, as if for a ritual. Eating, drinking, resting, washing—like someone getting ready for a great battle.

While he spent the week this way, a breeze came and blew the heat away. Autumn wind.

Enkrid sat on a tree stump, waiting for dinner, letting the breeze hit him. He thought back to the West—to one of their cultural practices: shamanism.

“Shamanism is founded in invocation.”

But it wasn’t like he was about to start chanting or conducting a ritual.

He just believed that purifying the body and mind before undertaking something important was helpful, not harmful. It was about settling his mindset.

Plenty of eyes were on Enkrid.

Rem thought, This bastard’s finally lost it, but he was also curious. It felt like something was going to happen. The atmosphere said as much.

Though outwardly, he just hummed a tune and sharpened his axe with a whetstone that looked like it cost more than some swords forged from Valerian steel.

Rem used it like it was nothing.

Ragna sensed something solemn in Enkrid. He looked like someone enjoying normal life—but also like someone ready to start sword-dancing at any moment.

Wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly lunged at me with a sword.

Audin was deep in silent prayer.

O Lord Father, please bless this little captain brother of mine.

He didn’t know what Enkrid was planning—but he was definitely planning something. Audin’s heart was full of support, but also an undercurrent of unease.

Why? He didn’t know. Just felt like the Lord was trying to warn him that the “little brother” was about to do something reckless again.

Audin continued his silent prayer.

Lord Father, he’s always been this way.

Not a single moment of Enkrid’s path had been without risk or madness.

If the god of war and struggle descended to give a vision, even he would probably say, “What the hell is this guy doing now?”

But no divine voice came. So Audin just kept praying with all his heart.

Please guide him.

The anxiety faded. The Lord would help. Audin offered his blessing.

Jaxon sat with arms crossed, holding a dagger in his right hand and a book in his left. It was such a natural pose that no one would think he was armed.

The dagger was the one he had carried during his first mission. It wasn’t enchanted or special, but holding it made him feel calm.

He hadn’t even used it on that mission—finished everything with a single throat strike—but it still held meaning.

Death.

He had seen and dealt death too many times to count. And his instincts told him: whatever Enkrid was doing right now—it was dangerous. Possibly fatal.

Why?

He might’ve asked himself, because to the untrained eye, this looked like nothing—just Enkrid living his normal life.

But the ominous feeling said otherwise. Enkrid was up to something.

So he watched. Even though he had work elsewhere, he stayed.

Eating, drinking, sleeping, shitting, washing, resting.

What was the weirdest part?

All of it was weird.

He ate more, drank more, slept more, and rested more than usual.

Well—I didn’t confirm the shitting part, Jaxon thought. But if you eat that much, obviously...

More food. More sleep. More rest. And he did it all like he was fighting for his life. That’s how it looked to Jaxon.

Shinar was the closest one to Enkrid physically. She sat in a chair across from him, only a few steps away.

She seemed like she was observing him—like she was appreciating a portrait.

With her usual sculpted expression, she watched him.

“Fiancé, don’t take too long.”

It was a quip. When she underwent spirit augmentation—with the spirits of the forest—she had taken a journey within herself. A dangerous journey with low survival odds, but one she believed she’d return from.

And now, it looked like Enkrid was preparing for a similar journey.

If anyone asked what that meant, it could be dismissed as a joke, as usual.

Enkrid looked at her and smiled. His eyes curled, and his lips lifted.

Had her smile always seemed so rare to him?

It was the same for Shinar. This might’ve been the first time she saw him smile like that—softly, like he was trying to reassure her.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Enkrid answered.

It was that time when the sun starts to slip behind the horizon.

Just before the sunset truly began, Esther approached. Though “witch” might’ve been the more accurate term, the nickname Black Flower had stuck. She didn’t mind.

Living in the world meant dealing with all kinds of labels.

Reacting to every single one was a waste of time. She knew what her role was and where she should focus.

Watching Enkrid happened to be one of those things.

Was it a duty? No. More of a desire.

And desire came before duty.

That’s how Esther lived.

She watched Enkrid’s smiling face quietly. His black hair and blue eyes—much like her own.

“What are you waiting for?”

It didn’t matter what preparations he was making or what he planned to do. Right now, she was just looking at the Enkrid in front of her and asked.

Because he looked like he was waiting for something.

“The sunset.”

Enkrid replied.

“Why?”

“I want to see it.”

I see.

Esther nodded.

Fffrrr.

From behind her, Odd-Eye approached. Enkrid, still seated, reached out and petted the horse’s mane.

Odd-Eye bowed his head to let the hand reach, circled Enkrid once, then stepped to the side and stood still.

From another spot, Teresa, overcome with feeling, began to sing.

It was a hymn she’d recently begun learning. Teresa’s voice was rough and clear at once—an unlikely combination that carried her song beyond pleasant and into something that rang sharply in the chest.

She worked magic with her voice alone—magic that instruments usually conjured.

Lua Gharne, resisting the urge to puff her cheeks, didn’t blink once as she listened.

Lopod swallowed hard, immersed in the moment.

Pell, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of it all, felt utterly out of place. He wondered why he was even here.

Everyone was watching Enkrid.

The sun leaned westward, and the world began to soak slowly in amber light—from the cloudless sky down to the earth.

Sunset touched Enkrid’s face. He drew in a long, even breath... and slowly exhaled.

Something was about to happen.

Everyone could feel it.

After a few moments, Rem’s hand stopped sharpening his axe with a srrrk-srrrk.

The precious whetstone, brought up from the southern provinces, slipped from his hand and thudded against the ground.

“What?”

Rem broke the silence, and Ragna rose to his feet.

Audin’s pupils dilated as he stared at Enkrid.

Jaxon was already beside him.

Enkrid had been breathing slowly, deeply.

Jaxon brought his hand under Enkrid’s nose.

He had sensed something stir inside Enkrid’s body. What he hadn’t expected was that it would end like this.

“He’s dead,” Jaxon said.

A death beyond belief. Sudden. Without reason.

And with that, the day came to an end.

***

Right before it all began, after finishing his preparations, Enkrid waited for sunset.

It was his favorite time of day.

The sun tilted westward, painting the world orange. Letting the breeze carry him, Enkrid sat on the stump by the barracks.

Nearby, Rem sharpened his axe. Jaxon read a book. Ragna lounged in a daze.

Shinar watched him from a short distance. Odd-Eye stood beside her, also facing the horizon. Esther, eyes half-lidded and seemingly indifferent, plopped down onto the ground with casual grace. She looked like a noble lady but acted like a country woman taking a break on the roadside.

Audin prayed. Teresa sang.

Her voice was a full instrument in itself.

“Lord, Lord, my Father does not retreat from battle and aids in judgment.

Lord, Lord, my Father does not tolerate injustice and aids in judgment...”

As he listened to Teresa’s song, Enkrid drew Will and sent it to his toes.

Rem, Ragna, Shinar, and Jaxon—all had progressed to knight-level combatants.

It was natural to question it.

Was it that easy to grow stronger?

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The reality was more complex: Enkrid himself had become a catalyst. Environment, innate talent, and the drive sparked by watching him had all combined.

But Enkrid didn’t know that. And he didn’t think it mattered.

He simply sought a method.

How?

He asked the question.

Rem had said he discovered his affinity for shamanism at a young age—his body had a different constitution. From that, he developed his ability to wield shamanic power.

It wasn’t something easy to understand.

“It just came to me. I tried it, and it worked.”

That’s what Ragna had said. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Shinar had told him a brief journey was necessary—a journey into herself to understand spirit and flow.

It wasn’t a physical journey, but a mental one—a disconnection from the world that required maintaining the core self.

And Audin?

He hadn’t reached knight-level yet, but he was close.

“His vessel is different.”

It was already complete. Audin, too, was hiding something. If he revealed it, he would fight like a knight.

When Enkrid asked him, he answered:

“I only followed the revelations the Father gave me.”

Words so steeped in belief they were hard to understand.

Still, they were answers he had gathered through past conversations. This was just the process of recalling them.

Then what about Oara?

He didn’t know. Couldn’t ask her—she no longer existed in this world.

The Mercenary King? Azpen’s knights?

Everyone likely had their own method. For most, talent probably paved the way.

“It just happens.” That’s what they all said.

You had to be born with it.

Born to walk the path.

Born to progress.

You had to be born with it. That was talent.

But Enkrid had no such talent. Not for knighthood. He knew that.

So—was he supposed to give up? Let despair chain him down?

Was he supposed to stitch his torn and faded dream into some crude patchwork and call that enough?

I know.

He knew he had no talent—better than anyone.

Was the first swordsman, the limping mercenary who trained him, lying back then?

Maybe. Maybe even then, he had sensed the truth but looked away because it hurt too much.

He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d felt at the time.

But he’d never once believed the path to knighthood would be easy.

From the beginning to now, it had always been like this.

Dead ends had always stood before him. If he’d let those stop him, he’d have quit already.

But Enkrid hadn’t stopped.

Because all the years, all the pain, all the battles had planted something deeper than talent—resolve.

If I don’t have talent, is there no other way?

He looked for side paths.

The Chimera Knight had taken one. Using shamanism—was that possible too? Maybe.

But Enkrid didn’t want a shortcut. He sought another path entirely.

The method he thought of was simple.

How do I leave the door open? How do I make Will saturate my entire body at all times?

If it didn’t come naturally—what if he forced it?

So he did just that.

He summoned Will and locked it into his toes, then drew it up through his body, piece by piece.

He had learned what a knight’s strike truly was.

Everything he’d learned until now helped him do this.

The thrusting drills. Every moment that had brought him here.

He pulled from it all—unleashed Will—and spread it from his toes to his entire being.

When Will reached full saturation, his body trembled. A force—unseen but felt—gripped his heart and made it halt.

A silent death.

A painless death.

But also a death brought on by the wall of talent.

That death spoke to Enkrid.

“It’s a wall you built yourself—but one you cannot overcome.”

When he opened his eyes, the Ferryman was there.

And the Ferryman echoed the voice of death.

“Is that so?”

And Enkrid, just as always, answered.

There was no tremble in that voice.