A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Is something ominous coming?”

Enkrid had never taken the Ferryman’s warnings lightly.

He always listened attentively to his words, never once dismissing them. As always, Enkrid was sincere.

“Is it real this time?”

Two questions in quick succession. The Ferryman gazed at him, unblinking. If there had been any trace of insult in that stare, Enkrid would have noticed. But today, the Ferryman’s eyes held no emotion.

He looked grayer than usual, like a puppet void of soul, like a mask carved from stone.

With the violet glow of the lamp rising from below, light split at the bridge of his nose, casting a shadow across his forehead. If one were to judge by appearance alone, his face might haunt a dream.

Then again, this moment itself might as well be a dream.

But whether it was a dream or reality, Enkrid didn’t let appearances shake him.

He simply said what needed to be said.

The Ferryman finally responded to Enkrid’s question.

“I don’t want today to be a day you regret.”

His tone was devoid of feeling, yet he affected kindness. It sounded as though a child was mimicking an adult—or an adult mimicking a child.

Their gazes locked in the air for a long while, crossing like blades.

Enkrid, seated near the side of the boat, looked up at the Ferryman. It was hard to read anything in those eyes.

So, as always, he spoke plainly, earnestly.

“Really?”

It was a simple, honest curiosity. Was a real omen approaching? Or was the Ferryman just trying to frighten him again?

The usual Ferryman might’ve shown a crack or subtle sign, but today, he was stone.

He ignored Enkrid’s words cleanly.

“I will give you two choices.”

He continued at his own pace. Enkrid listened. Listening seriously was one of his strengths. He didn’t feel embarrassed even if the other party ignored his words.

The Ferryman placed the lamp on the table and raised two fingers. His gray fingers ended in dull, milky-white nails. The lamp’s light cast shadows between them.

He folded his middle finger, leaving only the index extended.

“The first—go find any rock nearby, slam your head against it, and die.”

What did that mean? It reminded Enkrid of when he faced Overdeer.

It was an invitation to stop and enjoy the moment. An utterly useless suggestion, so the Ferryman continued on, as expected.

“In doing so, you can become an immortal who enjoys days like today forever. Travelers will praise you in passing, the wind and sun will be your friends as you walk. You’ll fall asleep beneath the stars and the moon, exchanging jokes with your companions. You will rest. You will be at peace.”

Enkrid didn’t bother saying that if he’d wanted a life like that, he wouldn’t have come this far.

The Ferryman knew it well. He simply stared. That was answer enough. He didn’t wait for a reply, continuing on.

“The second—turn back. Go back and prepare to face the wall. Not this one, but another wall. Now is not the time.”

What was this, exactly?

Advice? A warning? Something close to that, certainly. The Ferryman was more serious now than he’d ever been, even when discussing swords.

Enkrid looked into the Ferryman’s colorless eyes. Were they the same as a monster’s? No. As he focused, he saw color bloom within them.

A dull gray, but now the pupils stood out. One could read something in them—concern. Unless Enkrid’s senses were off, that’s what it was.

But this was a dream, and the Ferryman could show only what he wished. Enkrid remembered the Ferryman once saying something like that.

He’d even said Enkrid wouldn’t remember anything from the dream—but that hadn’t turned out true.

He couldn’t remember everything the Ferryman had said, but the important threads remained.

And so he recognized how different the Ferryman was today. Usually, he never showed even a hint of concern.

His words had always been precise, goal-driven. Today felt different. He wasn’t saying not to cross the wall. He was pointing toward a different wall, at a better time. Offering another path.

Was that bad? Not necessarily. It could be a smart move.

If the path ahead was blocked, finding a way around it was wise.

“If you proceed, you will regret it.”

The Ferryman’s dull gray lips moved.

That was something he’d said before.

This was a dream—or a mental space—so no sound moved the air. Meaning alone passed between them.

The Ferryman had presented a crossroads. Two choices. He had even pointed out the road ahead.

But to Enkrid, whether the Ferryman was concerned or whether his words were right—none of it mattered.

It wasn’t about pride. It wasn’t about stubbornness.

Tomorrow is always uncertain. That’s what made life beautiful and worth living. Enkrid believed that, truly. He did not believe repeating today endlessly was true immortality.

That was the difference between how he and the Ferryman viewed the world.

So he wouldn’t follow the Ferryman’s advice.

Especially not if it was based on some vision of the future.

Even if that future was harsh, he’d face it.

That’s how Enkrid had always lived.

“Thank you for the advice.”

Enkrid spoke, and awoke.

The soft patter of winter rain greeted him in the morning.

A thin fog hovered in the air, and the temperature had dropped. It was even colder than yesterday. As he exhaled, white breath streamed from his lips.

“Want a hug if you’re cold?”

Next to him, Lua Gharne said as she kicked aside a damp pile of firewood. Enkrid blinked a few times. He replayed her words, then responded.

“Are you friends with Shinar?”

“Oh ho, the fairy was right. She said you’d answer like that.”

Lua Gharne puffed her cheeks and grinned. Hadn’t she said how much she was enjoying this trip?

Even though the journey wasn’t particularly long, this Frokk had said as much.

Enkrid didn’t dislike it either. It was... pleasant, in its own way.

The Ferryman’s words? If he let them fester into worry or fear, he’d have stayed put today.

But he wouldn’t. So he simply forgot—and moved forward.

A passing thought struck him: after exchanging just a few words with Lua Gharne, Enkrid found himself admiring Shinar.

The fairy wasn’t even present, yet her joke had found its way into someone else’s mouth.

What a remarkable skill.

It wasn’t that pixie jokes were popular or contagious. Aside from Shinar, only Esther and Lua Gharne ever joked like that.

She had said she wanted to come along.

But lately, nearby cultists had been hiding in the forest, performing strange rituals. Shinar was busy dealing with them. That was why she wasn’t here.

She had always shown a strong sense of duty. Back when she was a company commander, and even when she took the job to rescue Crang.

Whenever she accepted a task, she saw it through.

Was that reassuring? Of course. Enkrid thought he was lucky. The ones still around him were mad, sure—but good.

He didn’t realize that it was he who had drawn them in. But such things are hard to see for oneself.

“Let’s get going.”

Enkrid said, and resumed walking toward Cross Guard.

The rain stopped soon after. When it did, a sky as blue as a painting revealed itself. By noon, the sun had begun to pour down a warm light.

He thought of Audin, unbidden. He felt a little guilty, but today’s sunlight felt warmer than holy radiance.

The two of them made good time and reached Cross Guard.

Seeing the jagged walls and ramparts brought memories flooding back—

The Thornvine Mage.

Finn.

Torres.

The werewolf pack.

Back then, Enkrid had needed to strain every nerve just to climb the wall. He had to carve open a path by repeating the day over and over.

But now, the gate opened simply by walking toward it.

Kudududududu.

The iron-banded, oil-soaked wooden gates creaked open to either side. Inside, a group of soldiers could be seen operating the pulleys.

There wasn’t much of a moat, but the walls themselves were thick. Looking up at the battlements, Enkrid judged that with his enhanced physical prowess, climbing those walls now would be far easier than before.

But something had changed.

Sharp, blade-like spikes now lined the top of the parapet.

They’ve turned the battlements into a blade wall.

That addition had come after they’d been struck once—Enkrid knew it was a measure taken by Abnaier.

“There’s a saying,” Abnaier had once told him, “that it’s only after being attacked by ghouls that people bother to raise a palisade. It’s obvious, really—but even if it’s late, you still have to raise it. If you don’t, even after the attack, then you’re just waiting to get hit again.”

Enkrid wholeheartedly agreed.

If you refuse to act just because it’s too late, nothing will ever change.

Action—late or early—is what matters.

Stepping through the open gates, Enkrid swept his gaze across the area.

A few things stood out immediately. One was a cluster of robed figures moving among the disordered huts inside the wall.

He could feel their wariness, sharp and clear.

Ever since becoming a knight, Enkrid’s intuition had grown sharper and more refined. He could sense it just from the way they looked at him.

Wariness.

He ★ ★ also saw what looked to be the owners of the huts—gaunt, impoverished people in tattered clothes, staring at him blankly.

Their eyes seemed to ask, What’s going on now?—but from them, Enkrid sensed something different.

Anxiety.

Here and there, he also spotted individuals with swords on their belts. Some of them stared straight at him with a clear message in their eyes.

Curiosity.

Or perhaps competitive spirit.

Eyes filled with wariness, anxiety, and curiosity flicked toward him from all directions—and the entire city seemed to carry the smell of cheap tobacco.

In fact, there were people right by the gates, smoking it.

“Welcome.”

Enkrid turned to the one who greeted him: a man with narrow, snake-like eyes. That was the first impression he gave off.

Kraiss had spread word far and wide that the standing forces of Border Guard were heading to Cross Guard because of the cultist threat.

It was a deliberate move, with layered intentions. Chief among them: establishing justification. They were sending the message that the cultist issue was grave enough to warrant continent-wide intervention.

That was why they could step forward openly, despite technically being an enemy state—whatever alliances were formed in secret.

Perhaps that’s why this man had come?

Regardless, the snake-eyed man had come out to greet Enkrid. He introduced himself as an official working directly under the mayor.

He was accompanied by three sword-wielding escorts, but none of them looked particularly skilled. Enkrid sized them up in a glance.

“How did you know to come out in advance?”

Enkrid asked politely, to a reasonable degree. The snake-eyed man responded with a smile.

“We were told to alert the moment anyone from Border Guard arrived.”

By whom? The sentries atop the walls?

There were a few bowmen on the ramparts, but they didn’t exactly look sharp or alert.

Well, it didn’t really matter where the information came from.

“It’s an honor to escort you, Sir.”

Enkrid didn’t correct him or reveal his name. Even if his reputation had spread far and wide, it was hard to recognize someone just from appearance or attire.

Some external features were known, sure—but there’d never been an official portrait or detailed description.

Besides, anyone constantly on the road, sleeping rough, would look haggard eventually, no matter how handsome they started.

Enkrid was no exception now.

Add to that his habit of frequently changing armor, and it was difficult to identify him based on clothing alone.

This time, he wore a navy cloak over a gray scale-mail suit. He’d torn off the pauldrons because they restricted his arm movement.

The only piece of gear consistent from before was the leather gauntlet on his hand.

It was incredibly durable. He’d bought it from a giant merchant in the Border Guard marketplace, and Aitri had shaped it to fit him. Aitri had commented on the quality of the leather even as he worked.

“So you know who I am?”

Enkrid asked, letting the question hang.

“Who doesn’t know the knight with black hair and blue eyes?”

The snake-eyed man smiled as he replied.

Enkrid gave a slight nod. He didn’t particularly enjoy the man’s flattery, but it wasn’t worth rebuking either.

You couldn’t just go around smacking everyone who rubbed you the wrong way.

“Let me guide you to the manor.”

“No need. An inn will do.”

Enkrid declined gracefully.

When he glanced at the snake-eyed man again, the official nodded and turned without protest, offering to guide them to an inn instead.

He didn’t look flustered, nor did he ask for a reason. He simply adjusted course.

The three sword-wielding escorts followed quietly as well.

The place they arrived at wasn’t a crumbling shack, but the stench of mold and stale air was sharp in the nose.