A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

What should one do with their footwork when thrusting with a spear held wide at the shaft?

Brunhilt knew the answer without asking.

“Why did you shift your stance?”

Enkrid would ask that every time. And each time, Brunhilt would plant the shaft like a walking stick and sink into thought.

It probably looked a bit silly—one swinging a spear as they pleased, the other questioning every motion.

Could this be called instruction?

But it worked.

Her learning was extraordinary. And what’s more, she wasn’t lazy. If that’s not talent, then it’s something close to it.

A separate kind of gift—not what one’s born with, but the ability to enjoy even when fatigued.

Even as she repeated basic strikes, Brunhilt’s eyes still sparkled.

“How many times do I need to do this?”

“A hundred times a day.”

Even when told to just repeat simple thrusts and staff motions, she smiled as if it were a joy.

Though Enkrid primarily wielded a sword, he had handled a spear before. He provided direction based on his own knowledge of the basics, guiding her with questions and answers, gradually conveying the techniques he had internalized.

What mattered was how to use strength.

It made little difference what was held in one’s hands.

She’d grasp the fundamentals on her own. What Brunhilt needed was technique. In other words, Enkrid was planting a trail of signposts along the path Brunhilt would walk.

When Enkrid broke off a tree branch, stripped it of twigs, and used it like a wooden sword, Brunhilt eagerly swung her spear in response.

He spent half the day like that.

Still, something was missing.

Brunhilt had extraordinary talent, but she kept skipping over the intermediate steps. It didn’t seem like an issue now—

But it's better to fully understand things before moving on.

That part deserved some thought.

He couldn’t very well write an entire swordsmanship manual on the spot.

Which meant he’d need to stay in this village for half a year at least.

That wouldn’t be possible.

The original plan was only to eliminate the threat. No matter how powerful the beasts were, as long as they appeared, it wouldn’t be a problem. He was just waiting for that moment.

I just need to reduce their numbers.

That was a knightly thing to do. If any monsters showed up, he’d track them for two days straight if needed—slashing, stabbing, killing.

Right now, he saw no signs of them, but if he made a serious effort, it wouldn’t take long to find them.

Enkrid wasn’t a top-tier hunter, but he wasn’t blind either.

It was easy to get lost in the mountains, but as long as you had a fixed base and didn’t stray too far from it, you wouldn’t lose your way.

It’s not like I’m Ragna.

The monster problem plaguing Harkventyo didn’t seem like much to Enkrid.

Before long, the sun had begun to set. In the mountains, days are short. Unless you lived on a high plain like the Zaun, that was only natural.

The surrounding ridges quickly blocked the sun, casting shadows and stretching Brunhilt’s shadow far along the ground.

“Heh.”

The child swung her spear, still smiling. Behind her, the sunset painted the air. Orange light brushed her figure, brushed Enkrid’s, brushed the entire village.

If one were to get sentimental, they might say it was a warm, gentle light.

A hand reaching out to embrace those who had endured each day just to reach the present.

And amid that light, he saw phantoms. Faces he’d failed to protect, the dead he couldn’t save, stood clear in his mind.

No matter how many times he repeated today, those shadows never vanished.

Some stains can never be removed. Some scars may fade, but their shape always remains.

“Help us.”

He had staked his life on those words—and failed. Enkrid had saved no one.

“Someone. Anyone. Somebody has to save us. It can’t end like this. It’s not fair.”

They had called this a village of the condemned. A father who failed to kill a lord that stole his daughter, now a fugitive.

Some had lost everything because they couldn’t afford the city’s registration tax.

Amid the orange sunset, chaotic memories tore through his mind.

He had imagined it countless times over countless days. Would anything have changed if someone had helped back then?

That someone...

There was no swelling pride in his chest, but the fine hairs on his body stood, and a faint shiver ran down his skin.

Enkrid had become that someone—the one he had dreamed of in countless imagined moments.

Through the illusions, a woman in an apron with neatly braided hair emerged and said:

“You think we’d hold resentment? If it wasn’t for you, no one would’ve stepped in. That’s why. Just... set down your burdens now. You’ve done enough.”

The ache in his chest turned to a pulse that reached his face. There was no need to hold it in. Enkrid let his tears fall.

It didn’t carry some grand meaning.

He was just letting emotion pass.

“Yah!”

Right beside him, the genius girl struck with her spear shaft.

She, too, might grow up and one day become someone’s “that someone.” That thought crossed his mind.

***

Due to the wild beastmen’s attacks, Harkventyo hadn’t slept. The skin beneath his eyes darkened from lack of rest. Anxiety and worry gnawed at him.

If we head to the city like this...

They’d be forced into the slums.

Would that be better?

Maybe it’s better than everyone dying.

What was the right answer?

Harkventyo knew there were no right answers in life. It was one of the things he’d learned after more than forty years of living.

But is that really the right way to live?

Should they survive as slaves for fifty years?

Or live as humans for five?

If they died defending their village, they’d die with hope.

But if they went down to the city to live...

They’d survive with despair.

In the end, it wouldn’t be much different than living as slaves again.

Even breaking through the mountain range wasn’t an easy task.

Could I save even half?

“Urgh...”

The pressure crushed his mind, affecting his body until he retched. He had eaten nothing, so only bile spilled.

His throat burned. His eyes burned. Even his ears and nose burned.

He felt like a chunk of meat tossed into a steam cooker.

“Hah...”

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and looked up—the sun had nearly vanished.

And just by seeing it, he remembered a man with black hair and an unforgettable face.

That man had slain the monster in an instant. Was that swordsman their savior?

But what if he wasn’t? What if he wanted something in return? Could they afford it?

What if he asks for my daughter?

Should he give her up? If sacrificing one meant saving all, should he do it?

It was torture. He knew what he should do—but couldn’t do it.

No. That wouldn’t be it. Harkventyo knew one of life’s truths:

Salvation must be earned. No one can be saved by another.

“Don’t carry this alone, Harben.”

A man over sixty approached. His back was hunched, his eyes clouded with age.

“Everyone will choose their life. That’s how they’ve always lived.”

“...I know.”

“If that swordsman demands the impossible, we’ll fight to the last man.”

He had read Harkventyo’s thoughts.

“We have to deal with the monsters first.”

That was the order of things. The dusk faded into black. Perhaps disturbed by that blackness, two moons and countless stars shone all the brighter in competition.

But Harkventyo had no room in his heart to enjoy beauty. His thoughts were full of dread brought by untimely danger.

And that dread struck like a bell being violently rung. It didn’t make a clear, refreshing sound.

Boom! Crack!

Harkventyo’s village lay in a small basin surrounded by old trees.

From above, it would appear like a perfectly drawn circle, cleverly hidden in the mountains.

The loud crack of one of those natural barriers snapping echoed like thunder.

“Bear!”

Someone shouted. Harkventyo recognized the voice as Jerry’s. Sharp-eyed, sharp-eared, and skilled in crafting bows and arrows.

He had been restless lately, setting traps on the outskirts after sensing odd movements. He wasn’t the only one losing sleep.

Harkventyo grabbed the spear leaning by his half-buried house and ran.

“If it’s a bear beast, even you’ll die! Everyone, hide!”

A frail old man screamed with surprising volume.

But hiding wasn’t the answer.

Harkventyo knew it instinctively.

He rushed toward the sound, and found the source of the crash.

It stood on two legs—massive in size. They often said “as big as a house.” This was exactly that.

And that hulking creature was spraying black blood everywhere.

More precisely, what he saw was a beastman with its neck half-severed, swinging its claws.

And in front of it, a man knocked aside the bear’s arm—barehanded.

Should he rub his eyes? Was he really seeing this?

Such thoughts were understandable.

Harkventyo had never seen a knight before. In fact, most people lived their whole lives without seeing one.

Only because the shifting tides of the continent had stirred once-hidden martial orders did the presence of knights become something even the battlefield-born could recognize.

But this village was hidden. Its people knew nothing of continental politics.

So naturally, they had never imagined such a sight.

Even defeating the wild dogs was astounding. Their movements had been nearly invisible.

But this—this was on another level.

They had at least been able to fight off the wild dogs.

But a bear beast? One the size of a house?

***

Even before anyone shouted "bear"—even before the tree fell—

Enkrid had awoken with a bad feeling and immediately sprang from bed. Aside from his clothes, the only gear he had was a pair of cloth gauntlets.

He didn’t even have time to put them on. He simply grabbed Three Iron and went outside.

He slapped the beast-leather flap at the entrance, making a sharp pop, and stepped out into the reek of blood.

If there was a scent, finding the direction was easy. As he sharpened his senses, he heard the telltale crack of snapping branches.

Something big was coming.

Its presence was undeniable. As Enkrid moved toward it, someone under the moonlight spotted it and cried out—"Bear!"

A massive shape burst from the pitch black, the kind that made your knees buckle just looking at it.

That is, for most people.

Enkrid leapt forward and grabbed the man standing in front of the bear by the back of the neck.

The man froze mid-scream.

Predators—monsters especially—can paralyze humans just by being seen. That’s the basic principle of a monster’s aura of dread.

The prey’s fear locks their body in place.

The first step of the Will of Rejection...

Was casting off fear.

That thought crossed Enkrid’s mind as he ran. Idle thoughts were allowed—he had rushed out, but now that he was outside, he had room to think.

That room came from acting fast.

He flung the man behind him. The man’s legs left the ground.

“U-uh, whuh—”

He couldn’t even scream properly. Fell flat on his ass.

The bear monster came in, slashing with its claws.

Despite its bulk, it was incredibly fast. The way it redirected its strike mid-motion to slash at Enkrid instead of the man—it showed it had solid judgment, too.

Enkrid raised his sword at an angle.

The blade of Three Iron might have looked like a child’s arm facing a giant’s axe—but that arm batted away the giant’s weapon with ease.

CLANG.

Its claws are thick.

The moonlight was bright. Not quite midday, but bright enough to make out the monster’s form.

One eye is missing.

The scar over it was old. There was also a crescent-shaped patch of fur on its chest.

After becoming a monster, it gained greater strength and claws as hard as steel.

A few more traits popped into his head, but he dismissed them. He # Nоvеlight # was still adjusting to the Lua Gharne-style tactical swordsmanship.

He absorbed all incoming data—but it was also important to ignore the unnecessary.

Otherwise, he’d overload.

So he did. He ignored what wasn’t needed.

He batted away the descending claw with the dull edge of Three Iron—and followed it with a slash to the neck.

The blade traced two arcs through the air.

One deflecting, one cutting.

THWACK!

Black blood sprayed everywhere, and the beast let out a guttural roar—no, a scream of pain.

Even in that state, it reached out with its other hand.

Now that’s information I need.

Becoming a monster granted it stubborn vitality. Even with its throat torn, its blood vessels tangled together and began to regenerate.

And despite the pain—it kept attacking.

The bear’s other hand swung down. Enkrid blocked it with his bare hand.

That freed his sword-wielding hand.

The bear monster resisted to the very end. It opened its mouth wide, trying to bite off Enkrid’s head even with its dangling neck.

A savagery beyond ordinary insight.

Now that’s a surprise.

Enkrid thought—and triggered Blade of Coincidence.

He moved as if he’d planned it all along.

Three Iron curved from a straight line into a sweep—and stabbed into the bear’s cheek, stopping it.

THUNK! CRUNCH!

It bit down on Three Iron. Enkrid yanked his hand back and stepped forward with his right foot.

In that instant, he switched to a left-handed stance.

His right hand pulled the sword back—his left fist swung forward.

The monster’s head—still clamped down on the blade—was right where he needed it.

Enkrid’s ankle and waist rotated.

His outstretched left hand delivered a blow that combined Balraf-style martial arts with a mid-sword strike he’d learned from watching Ragna.

His Will surged through the punch—

BOOM!

The bear’s head exploded, and gore sprayed off to the side. Enkrid flicked his hand in midair.

Without gauntlets, the black ichor soaked into his fingertips.

Still, he looked ahead.

Even with the bear monster dead, the stench of blood lingered.

In the darkness, two panther monsters watched him.

If he ran—they were within reach.

Mind moved—body followed.

BOOM—the heel of Enkrid’s boot kicked off the earth like a blast.

The light of Three Iron, reflecting the moon, streaked forward like a drawn line—headed straight for the panther monsters.