A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Why aren’t you part of the knighthood?”

Roman’s question was valid.

Whoosh.

He followed it with action. The greatsword resting on his shoulder swept down vertically.

The heavy blade stopped right in front of Enkrid’s nose.

Enkrid didn’t even flinch.

There wasn’t a trace of killing intent, so he simply watched.

“Either everyone in the capital is blind, or you’ve got your own reasons.”

Oara’s final moment had been exactly what she wanted. Roman understood that.

And he also understood something else—that the one who had granted her that ending wasn’t him, but this man standing before him.

There was no hesitation.

He had swung his sword to block the path. His resolve was set.

Roman flipped his greatsword upside down and spoke.

The tip of the blade sank into the earth.

With a thud, the sound traveled through the ground and struck the heart.

Under the scorching sunlight, with all eyes watching, Roman spoke:

“My name is Roman. I will not forget your kindness. If you call me—no matter if it’s the heart of the Demon Realm—I will place my sword beside you. This has nothing to do with the opinion of the knight order. This is my personal vow.”

His words carried true conviction.

A promise he would be bound to even after becoming a knight.

That alone was surprising—

But the content of the vow was even more so.

It was essentially a declaration to risk his life for Enkrid.

“And what exactly are you trusting in?”

Enkrid asked, half-dumbfounded.

If he had even the slightest ill intent, Roman would die.

That vow was also a shackle that would prevent Roman from ever opposing him.

“It’s simply the respect I show to the city’s second hero. If you don’t like it, forget it and move on.”

Roman said it in true Roman fashion.

Like tossing out a gift too heavy to carry—then telling him to just forget about it.

Another crazy bastard. Right here too.

“Here.”

That came from the short blond-haired squire. She stepped forward and handed over three daggers.

All throwing knives.

Rem’s eyes narrowed as he saw them.

“You... that’s...”

“I know. I’m giving them with full knowledge.”

The blond cut him off before he could finish.

Three daggers were placed into Enkrid’s hands.

As he held them, he could sense something—something subtle brushing against his sixth sense.

If that sense hadn’t been awakened, he wouldn’t have noticed at all.

“Treasure those. Don’t go throwing them carelessly.”

Rem added dryly.

“I hope they help you on the path ahead,” the blond added.

Wasn’t she supposed to at least explain how to use them?

“When the moment comes, they’ll take the form you need and become your strength.”

That was the only answer she gave to his expectant look.

There were dark circles under her eyes.

She looked utterly exhausted.

And she wasn’t the only one.

“There isn’t a soul in this city who doesn’t know what you’ve done.”

That came from Millio.

He rubbed his recently shaved hair.

Maybe he really was planning to enter the monastery.

That much hair gone—he was halfway there.

“If you’re thinking of becoming a monk, I can give you a recommendation.”

Enkrid quipped.

Millio paused mid-sentence, then gave a soft laugh.

He raised his left hand.

“You really think I’d spend the rest of my life thinking only of Sir Oara and live with some reclusive lady of Wonsun? Hell no. I’m gonna find someone ten times prettier and ten times stronger.”

Millio declared his flashy ambition, half-joking, half-sincere.

But there was no such woman.

Oara was one of a kind. Especially to Millio.

Even in death, she had left behind so much.

Enkrid understood, but still chose to honor {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} his words.

“Stay strong. Don’t give up, no matter what others say.”

It was the same advice he’d once thrown at Millio, when he declared he’d become Oara’s avenger.

“I will.”

The Millio who had once asked, “Does it really seem hopeless?” was no longer here.

Millio nodded.

The quiet smile on his face suited him well.

He would become a squire in the knight order.

He would move forward.

That determination radiated from his entire being.

Resolve. Conviction.

The manifestation of an invisible force.

To Enkrid, that determination almost felt visible now—

A solid, unshakable fortress.

That’s the kind of man Millio would become.

“There’s a part of the remains that’s more special than the rest.”

Lua, who had been silently observing, spoke up.

And with Millio’s matter reopened, something else became clear.

If someone understood how to extract power from even chaos, that alone was proof of their capability.

Giants weren’t much different.

He hadn’t seen any dragonkin yet, but it was probably the same with them.

There were clear distinctions in race—even between individuals like Puduk.

And monsters were no different.

That’s how the ghoul Jericks had been born.

How the bipedal spider with multiple arms came to be.

How owlbears powerful enough to kill squires emerged.

Only after all of them had been slain—

Only then did the byproducts remain.

And among those were rare, extraordinary materials.

From them, items were forged.

Millio handed over a bow as long as his arm.

“Made with ghoul hide, silk drawn from the spider, and bone from the owlbear.”

A composite bow.

Not a weapon someone had casually crafted.

For days, smoke had been seen rising—that was this.

The effort to cure the bow.

All the top artisans of Thousand Brick had been involved.

They took turns, working through countless nights to produce it.

“Please accept it.”

Millio held it out with both hands.

Enkrid accepted the unstrung bow.

There was a string loop beneath the handle.

Looked like it would strap neatly to the back or waist.

But it didn’t end there.

“These are vambraces made from spider shell.”

The same blacksmiths who had refused to sell a single throwing knife...

Now approached with armor forged from their combined effort.

At a glance, it looked like simple black leather sleeves.

But close up, they were embedded with soft-looking hairs.

When touched, those hairs turned out to be steel needles.

No sword or spear would be able to slice through them.

He received not only the vambraces, but shoulder guards and full armguards—all made from the same material.

The artisans who handed them over all wore satisfied smiles.

Their respect was clear in their faces.

“Thank you.”

A female soldier bowed.

“I offer my respect for preserving the Master’s pride.”

Squire Oliver said.

“If anyone badmouths you, I’ll personally ram my fist into their mouth.”

Oliver added with a laugh.

His eyes were wet.

This was the same Squire who used to talk like a bar brawler.

And ever since Oara’s death, he’d cried every day.

Crying doesn’t mean weakness.

Sometimes, showing tears in front of others takes real courage.

By tear count alone, this squire could have defeated the Demon King.

“If I have a son, I’ll name him Enkrid. If it’s a daughter, I’ll name her Oara.”

Admor, Rowena’s man, said this.

Somehow, the crowd had formed around Enkrid and his group at the city gate.

“You don’t have to go as far as naming them after us...”

Enkrid replied without even a hint of a smile.

Admor scratched his head.

And Enkrid, looking at him, said:

“A bet. If you’re at the front during the next wave, do whatever you want.”

The Demon Realm wasn’t as dangerous as before.

Oara’s sword had cleaved through its core.

“It’s a deal.”

Admor dropped his hand and grinned boldly.

“Show-off.”

Rowena scolded from the side.

When her eyes met Enkrid’s, she bowed her head.

“Thank you,”

Rowena said.

Everyone said it.

“To the second hero who protected this city.”

Enkrid had never once explained what he did.

But one thing was clear.

He hadn’t fought for himself.

He had fought with all his strength, with everything he had, to honor the pride of Oara.

It wasn’t about glorifying today.

It was about making today worthy of one knight’s perfect, final act.

“Was that... the best I could do?”

The boatman asked a question.

But no answer was needed.

After all, not every day can be lived to its fullest.

And even if you reflect on the past, that doesn’t mean time will stop.

Here, now, even the people standing before him were living that way.

They too were walking toward tomorrow.

“Then,”

With Enkrid’s brief farewell, the crowd parted.

And so, they left the city.

“Enki?”

omeone called out.

“Enki!”

From behind, a cheer rang out, a new chant replacing Oara’s.

Enkrid turned to look back once, then set off westward.

He was heading for the West.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

It was a sunlit day. The thick air had cleared, and the mist of the Demon Realm melted into the sunlight.

And so, Enkrid’s group left behind the city of Orar—a city reborn through the death of Knight Oara.

***

The hour when dawn pushes away the blue of night,

or when sunset paints the world in orange—

the time of day when you can’t tell a dog from a wolf.

That’s Enkrid’s favorite time in the world.

Why?

Even if someone asked, he wouldn’t have a clear answer.

Is it because it marks the beginning of a new today?

Or because it’s often when revelations come to him?

Maybe that’s it.

When that time comes, his mood shifts, his rage surges, and his senses heighten.

That’s why he preferred clear skies over rainy days.

He enjoyed the thrill that sunlight, dawn, wind, and flowers—those “useless” things—brought him.

Sure, some days were worthy of rain.

But in the end, he was someone who loved brightness.

And all those hazy, half-forgotten memories may be why he loved this moment now.

The world turned orange.

They had passed through the grey forest of the Demon Realm, flowed southwest across a highland that cleansed the enemy’s foul aura, then continued farther south—before finally turning west.

They had arrived at a new twin-plain.

The horizon stretched far ahead.

As the sun dipped below it, the world turned orange.

Even now, Enkrid had gained a new realization:

“Rem... is human.”

Even someone like Rem had something he feared.

He tried to hide it, but Enkrid saw it—barely.

Rem wasn’t someone who easily showed a crack in his armor.

He was the type to bluff with reckless bravado rather than let someone glimpse his heart.

“Lose the Heart of the Beast? What for?

I was born with the blood of beasts!”

He remembered him grinning, baring his fangs proudly.

So different from now.

“You seriously coming with me?”

The way Rem spoke—the tone, the eyes—

it all said the same thing.

You don’t have to. You don’t need to follow. You really should turn back.

“Absolutely.”

Enkrid spoke with the same will he had seen in Roman.

Do dragonkin use era names?

Because right now, Enkrid felt like using one:

Absolutely. Without fail. No matter what.

That was the weight behind his gaze.

Rem’s pupils trembled.

“I’ll follow,”

he said.

“Me too,”

added Dunbakel.

“As will I,”

finished Lua Gharne.

Rem met each of their eyes in turn, snapping his own upward.

The tremble in his gaze disappeared. His fierce eyes now brimmed with a hint of killing intent—

But Enkrid could still see the fear buried deep beneath it.

What exactly are you afraid of?

“It won’t be fun. It might even get unpleasant.”

Rem finally said.

“I’m not going for fun. I’m going because the West piqued my curiosity.”

Enkrid said as he walked.

“...Sure.”

Rem wasn’t an idiot.

He could read Enkrid like a book.

He knew what this really was—Enkrid looking for a chance to mess with him.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warning received.”

Dunbakel tried to chime in but got smacked in the head with an axe handle.

Rem had extended his left foot, waved his right hand to draw attention, then swung his left-hand axe casually but precisely.

It wasn’t fast, but it was crafty.

The arc his hand drew was perfect—and Dunbakel, focused only on Rem’s right hand, took the hit to the crown of her head.

Whack!

“Ow!”

Even if the curve was gentle, the power behind it was more than enough to hurt.

Sometimes, Enkrid wondered if Rem might be stronger than him.

Anyway, the move just now showed that Rem could still read his opponent’s old habits, block or evade as needed, and even help Dunbakel improve through it.

But not now.

Not this time.

It was a strike similar to the Iron Fist of the Lesser God.

A bit excessive for clobbering a beastkin, to be honest.

Still, Enkrid had seen the image in Rem’s fingertips.

He could even break down the movement Rem had just used.

That realization mattered.

It meant he hadn’t come west for nothing.

If part of his purpose was watching how Rem reacted—then there was also another goal.

“There’s a type of shamanic magic that lets you craft something by offering up your lifespan.

That dagger’s probably one of those. Though it didn’t actually take a life, it might’ve used a high-tier demon script.

Might be too much for a Grand Shaman to even cast. But that’d make it as powerful as life itself.

You following?”

Rem was in the middle of explaining something.

It was about the dagger the blond squire had given earlier.

Yet the same Rem who had looked half-distracted when he first received it now furrowed his brow.

“Seriously. You’re just completely insane.”

He muttered.

From Enkrid’s entire body, an overwhelming pressure surged.

The will to fight had taken form as an aura.

It wrapped around them.

Without becoming a knight, you had no way to withstand that presence.

Rem smiled.

His entire body had awakened.

And so had Enkrid’s.

Both of them were now fully recovered.

Rem’s Resusan Axe had shattered beyond use, so instead, he carried two regular hand axes.

The weapons weren’t ideal—

But it didn’t matter.

Deep inside, Rem’s fighting spirit stirred.

“I noticed no one shouted for me when we left the city.

Was that your doing, boss?”

Rem tossed out the question like it was nothing.

“Yup.”

Enkrid replied.

Dunbakel, brushing her fur, looked up.

Her golden eyes full of curiosity stared at a pebble on the ground.

“Yup.”

Enkrid nodded again.

Rem was sure of it now—Enkrid hadn’t heard a single damn thing.

He stopped sharpening.

Dunbakel was busy gathering twigs to prepare camp.

And then—the sword and axe met beneath an orange sky, аcross wide open land.

“I’m not holding back.”

Rem said.

At that, Enkrid grinned wide.

To hear those words come out of his squad member’s mouth—it brought a rush of joy.

It wasn’t like before.

This wasn’t arrogance or carelessness.

He was ready to give it his all.

That’s why this moment—was something Enkrid couldn’t even describe in words.

He smiled without realizing it.

“There it is. Smiling again,”

Rem said.