A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

After settling things his way, Rem returned to the Border Guard, while Viscount Harrison—who had nearly lost his land under the pressure of scorched earth tactics—let out a long sigh of relief.

“Still seems like there’s some danger left... Doesn’t it? We’ll stick around and guard the place for a couple months.”

To top it off, the reinforcements from the Border Guard remained stationed in the territory. At first, Harrison felt uneasy.

What if they were planning to seize the land under the pretense of assistance?

It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened in these unstable times.

Even without ill intent, having a squad of that caliber stationed on his land meant logistical strain—feeding, clothing, and housing such troops wasn’t cheap.

But they set up tents themselves, brought their own provisions, and eventually even received resupplies directly from the Border Guard.

And with those supplies came a letter—from Enkrid himself.

“Are you cultivating your land well?”

Viscount Harrison froze with the letter in his hand.

He stood like a puppet with its strings cut, eyes locked on the words.

The militia captain glanced at him nervously.

Was this a veiled threat? A trick from the Border Guard?

But then again—would the Iron Wall Knight need to resort to such games?

As fine as this land might seem, it was no Greenperl—the fertile territory that had gone fallow during the wars and now promised bountiful harvests from a single scattered handful of grain.

He wondered what the letter could possibly say.

The viscount had once offered the sacred spring to Enkrid.

He had never regretted it.

Some had whispered complaints behind his back, wondering why he didn’t ask for more in return.

But Harrison believed he had already received everything he needed.

He had been supported. He had been trusted.

That alone was more than enough.

He wasn’t a man who acted on whims, but there were no regrets in his heart.

This time, he had acted in desperation—he had asked for reinforcements.

And while he had heard there was plenty going on inside the Border Guard already, he hadn’t truly expected anything.

Yet reinforcements came.

They fought, and they stayed to defend his land.

Could there be something hidden behind all this?

“If there is, then it means I was a fool. It means I misjudged the man.”

Later, Harrison realized the one who had come was Rem.

He supposed he should be grateful the man left without saying goodbye.

They call him the Noble Hunter, don’t they?

Only afterward did he hear how Rem had wiped out the bandits on his way back.

Only after all that did he fully understand the gravity of what had happened—and receive that letter.

He read it three times.

Then he let out a heavy sigh and slowly raised his head.

Enkrid hadn’t forgotten the words they’d once exchanged at a banquet.

And that reminder steadied the viscount’s wavering heart.

It sparked something hot inside his chest.

“Ah...”

Warmth rose from deep within his gut.

Someone had listened to his wish.

Someone had remembered. And someone had believed in him.

There wasn’t a trace of malice in the message.

“I swear... I’ll repay this debt.”

He whispered his vow aloud.

The militia captain, still dying to know what the letter said, kept quiet.

The stationed squad?

They spoke roughly, but they were perfectly disciplined.

They never caused trouble, and aside from fighting—they kept to themselves.

Which made perfect sense.

Kraiss had made it clear: if the territory’s lord said anything strange, the unit was to return immediately.

And the soldiers?

They didn’t want to go back.

They had gotten stronger under Rem’s command.

They had found purpose.

They’d learned how to fight and how to survive.

No one was denying the value of the training. But after weeks in hell, anyone would jump at the chance to get out, even for a bit.

That was the real reason they were stationed in Harrison’s domain.

Not that Harrison would ever know.

And the Border Guard hadn’t sent only the Remgak Unit.

After the Holy Nation withdrew their people, trouble erupted everywhere.

As if waiting for it, cultists rose up.

In the south, monsters surged. Entire regions fell under siege from ”monster waves.”

The tactic was brutal: provoke monsters, lure them into another region, and let them ravage it—leaving the defense to someone else.

Even if the southern knight orders held their lines, holes still formed.

And those breaches had to be plugged.

So Kraiss used the official guise of Naurillia’s mercenary recruitment initiative to rotate the Border Guard Standing Army relentlessly across the frontier.

Slaying monsters.

Crushing bandits.

Eradicating cultist dens.

In that process, the Border Guard’s true strength was revealed—and all the nobles who’d been secretly observing them were left stunned.

Especially those within the royal palace.

This force rivaled the famed Red Cloak Knights in cohesion and power.

And though some initially expressed concern—

“If you’re that idle, why don’t you take up farming like Viscount Harrison?”

remarked Count Marcus, the king’s closest advisor.

“They’re here to overthrow me? Fine. I’ll give them my land—and throw in my daughter too,”

the Duke of Octo laughed.

“If Enkrid were plotting rebellion, would he be out swinging a sword in the dirt? If it were me, I’d take the King’s trust, become Guard Captain, and fill this palace with my own men. Why risk everything protecting farmers?”

the Marquis of Baisar pointed out bluntly.

None of the great lords were truly worried.

In fact, Crang’s noble purge was nearly complete—and only the loyal or competent remained.

Any talk of fear vanished.

What was left was admiration—and support.

From King Crang on down, the nation was speaking with one voice:

No matter how powerful the Holy Nation may be—we stand with the Iron Wall Knight.

Proof of that spread from region to region.

And no matter what tricks the Holy Nation pulled, they couldn’t conjure monsters or demons from thin air.

As the Border Guard moved in and stabilized the outlying regions, peace gradually returned.

Shepherds led their flocks across hills once again.

The beasts, bandits, and cultists had been wiped clean.

Meanwhile, the city of Lockfried was finally completed, and plans for trade routes to the west were underway.

Whatever the Holy Nation might say—the power of the Border Guard couldn’t be ignored.

Not just militarily, but economically, diplomatically—their influence had grown immensely.

The conclusion?

Plenty had happened, but the Border Guard had handled it all swiftly and with precision.

They were even paving stone roads now, maintaining infrastructure as part of broader development projects.

Kraiss had played a key role—but it was only possible because everyone moved as one.

They had one commander.

One belief.

And a shared purpose.

They believed in what they were doing.

And that made it work.

Of course, it was exhausting. There was too much to handle.

So Kraiss prioritized—he triaged the issues.

And today’s conversation was one of the lower-priority items he’d been keeping in mind.

“Where?”

Enkrid looked up and asked without much expression.

They had just been talking about dangers and cultist movements.

“Cross Guard,” Kraiss answered.

A city northeast of the Border Guard—past the gravel flats and the Pen-Hanil River.

It wasn’t anything urgent. At least, not yet.

Enkrid’s eyes silently asked what kind of trouble?

Kraiss answered plainly.

“Cultists are acting up again. Seems like the city’s in rough shape.”

But he also added—it hadn’t been urgent, so they’d left it alone for now.

Enkrid had spent the day focused on Will and diving deep into training.

Despite a breakthrough, progress had been slow. Not frustrating, but stagnant enough to warrant a break.

So now, he was drinking tea to clear his mind—just as Kraiss came in and started rambling.

“Cultists? Cultists are acting up?”

Lua Gharne interrupted from the side. This Frokk woman had always despised cults. She perked up immediately.

Esther, seated beside them in her human form, sipped from the fourth teacup.

“Looks like a few of them have been holding secret gatherings. Cultists, I mean. And apparently, a criminal syndicate is running wild too. A real mess—different scum stirring up trouble at once. I heard the city lord tried to contact the temple for help, but they ignored him.”

Cross Guard. The name came up quietly, but it was clear the situation wasn’t.

Azpen was, technically, still a hostile nation.

Officially.

In practice, it was a thinly veiled act—like pretending not to see through glass.

Hadn’t they drawn a “borderline” through Greenperl? They hadn’t even built proper walls—just shallow dividers.

Lately, people crossed that “border” every day to trade with Azpen towns.

So realistically, you could call them unofficial allies.

As the Border Guard constructed two fortress cities, and in their center built massive windmills and mills drawing water from the Pen-Hanil River—developing a large-scale agricultural hub—Azpen mirrored their efforts.

They had begun raising a new city directly across from Greenperl.

The two nations, now sharing a border, were finally exchanging what each lacked.

A beautiful exchange had begun.

And all of it stemmed from that festival Kraiss had orchestrated some time ago.

Yet despite this quiet harmony, Cross Guard couldn’t publicly ask the Border Guard for help.

They should be like brothers, neighboring cities.

But in truth, they had once drawn blades against each other.

“The temple ignored them. They tried to request aid from their home nation, but nothing came of it. The lord of Cross Guard must be tearing his hair out. I heard they even sent some men through a guild, but communication’s been lost.”

Kraiss wasn’t telling this story to provoke a reaction.

He wasn’t asking Enkrid for anything.

He was just reporting what had happened.

Still, Enkrid immediately realized: the guild mentioned could only be Gilpin.

If the Gilpin Guild had gone silent, something truly bad was happening inside.

Recently, Gilpin had expanded into an intelligence network, even inviting Jaxon to train their members.

If they couldn’t even get a single message out—that meant things were dire.

“I’ll go. A little fresh air might do me good.”

Enkrid spoke calmly.

“I’ll go too.”

Lua Gharne chimed in without hesitation.

Enkrid wanted the movement for a mental reset.

Lua Gharne? She despised cultists. It was only natural.

“You sure?”

Kraiss tilted his head.

The city hadn’t formally requested aid, but through Abnaier, their desire for help had been conveyed.

Kraiss knew that. That was why he’d started moving pieces.

Still—it didn’t have to be the Mad Knight and leader of the Border Guard himself going.

“Any reason I shouldn’t?”

“No, none.”

None of this had any grander meaning.

But since Enkrid was already going, Kraiss thought he might as well publicize it.

Internally, Azpen might be an ally. But outwardly, they were still considered enemies.

And a mission like this was perfect for shaping public narrative:

If a supposed “enemy” city was struggling with a cult problem, and the Border Guard helped?

It would frame cultism as a continental issue—not a political one.

It would provide more justification for swift intervention in future crises.

In matters like this, more justification was always better.

You never knew when it might come in handy.

“Very well, then,” Kraiss nodded.

Enkrid went to prepare immediately.

“Hmm... I have a bad feeling. If it gets dangerous, don’t hesitate to retreat.”

Esther handed Enkrid a small mirror.

“It’ll show you my face for a short while. Might give you strength.”

“...Why would that help?”

“Looking at the beautiful face of the opposite sex—doesn’t that invigorate you?”

Esther spoke as though revealing universal truth.

Enkrid stared at her, concern in his voice.

“Stop hanging around Shinar so much.”

The fairy-style humor was clearly spreading.

“Hmph.”

Esther smirked, not bothering to deny it.

Compared to the first time they met, her expressions had grown far more nuanced.

Enkrid packed a new sword—its core blended with blackened steel—and donned the scale armor Kraiss had personally secured.

He attached his sword belt, a light pack, and rations.

Lua Gharne packed only her insect pouch.

Frokks like her didn’t need much.

Their skin resisted damage. Their bodies regenerated quickly.

They could go two days without eating.

And so the two of them set out for Cross Guard.

Recently, a large dock had been built to cross the Pen-Hanil River.

Travel was smoother now.

By the looks of it, they’d be sleeping outdoors for three or four nights.

But that wasn’t a problem.

Enkrid marched at a steady, brisk pace, chatting with Lua Gharne along the way.

Then they encountered a caravan.

At first, the merchants looked startled—but then they nodded in recognition.

“Only the two of you? Ah, but you’re Frokks... Well, either way, it’s a lot safer around here now. Thanks to the Standing Army wiping out the beasts. Long live the Iron Wall Knight!”

The merchant didn’t recognize Enkrid’s face, but still offered praise.

He smiled brightly, saying the times finally felt worth living.

Then, lowering his voice, he grumbled:

“Don’t know what’s wrong with the Holy Nation these days.”

“I’m not saying I’m a heretic! Don’t report me—I donate to the monastery every month!”

He immediately panicked, backpedaling on his own words.

“Relax. I’m not on good terms with the Church either,”

Enkrid offered mildly.

“Still—you shouldn’t say that out loud,” the merchant warned.

“Even if they are cultists, you never know who’s listening. They might come after you in the night.”

Still, he kept smiling as he walked away.

“Days like these... really are something, huh.”

Lua Gharne watched {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} him go and said softly:

“So peace means more people like him, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a good sight.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Enkrid walked until the sun dipped and the orange glow turned to blue—until blue faded to darkness.

Then he stopped and lay down beneath the stars.

He wore thick layers and heated leather, but it was still cold.

Lua Gharne kept a water pouch to her lips, disliking the dryness more than the chill.

She seemed entirely unbothered by the cold—Frokks were known for that.

Enkrid lay on his back and closed his eyes.

He could sleep anywhere—that was a mercenary’s instinct.

But today, before sleep claimed him, he saw something:

A clear night sky, full of stars.

Two blue moons shed shimmering light.

Тhe stars fell in lines, forming a glowing river.

The moons looked like twin lakes of light in a black canvas.

It was breathtaking.

“Beautiful,” Lua Gharne murmured.

“It is.”

They traded a few light jokes under the starlight.

And just like that, Enkrid drifted into sleep.

As soon as he fell asleep, he felt it—his body began to rock gently.

He opened his eyes.

Gone was the river of stars.

Instead, a river of black water shimmered below him.

“So... are you ready to live forever?”

A voice came from across a stone table on a long, narrow boat—lit by a violet lamp.

It was the Ferryman.

Enkrid looked straight at him.

This time, his face was clearer than ever before.

His skin was cracked and gray, like parched earth.

His eyes were colorless. Lifeless.

A masklike face.

Enkrid had never thought about it before—but now, the Ferryman looked like he was wearing a mask.

Still, for once, Enkrid responded with dry amusement.

“What do you mean, live forever?”

“If you do not die, then that is eternity.”

“So I’m trapped in today, never dying?”

“Exactly. That is your eternity.”

Enkrid didn’t agree, and he made that clear in his gaze.

The Ferryman’s pale eyes didn’t blink. His lips didn’t move.

Then—he spoke something unexpected.

“Turn back. I will show you a new path.”

Enkrid narrowed his eyes.

What the hell does that mean...?