A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The corruption within the Order was now laid bare for all to see.

“Grey God—He is merciful and loves all. He grants grace even to those who stand on the opposite side of the scales.”

They stitched together nonsense like this and presented it as a new Holy Scripture, and yet many sided with them.

This was proof that under the heavens, the number of rotten priests far exceeded the righteous ones.

“Behold, this is what is right.”

If one served the Grey God, their tainted divinity would be considered just.

It was like saying the louder voice always wins.

And their voices grew louder still.

They had once been ridiculed for having lost their light, but if one accepted the existence of the Grey God, didn’t that solve all their problems?

And really—was there even a god?

If so, shouldn’t He punish all sinners?

Did a god descend and do so?

Did He punish the wicked? Or offer forgiveness?

There had never been such an event.

Not even once.

Divinity was borrowed power from the gods, yet the gods gave strength without obligation—nothing but hollow words.

There might be many reasons for the crusade, but one was certain:

The absence of God.

Another reason was that many simply wanted to declare that the grey radiance was “right.”

It wasn’t just a matter of seizing power—they were desperate to seize justification too.

If they managed to settle in, however clumsily, they would soon form a singular group.

Hadn’t nations in the past been founded in much the same way?

A group of like-minded individuals, sharing common interests, coming together to form a collective.

“Behold. The very gathering of these people proves the righteousness of our cause.”

Myl was drunk on power.

Originally, the Order’s control over trade routes and guild networks had already inflated his authority. Now, it was even greater.

It was as if he had become the creator of a new world.

And he indulged in that fantasy.

He was determined to open the gates to this new world.

After all, anyone could dream.

That didn’t mean every dream was righteous.

***

Just before the crusade was declared, Enkrid returned to the Border Guard.

The first thing he did?

“Rem, are you afraid of the cold? From today, I will be your cold. Come out. Ragna, you too. You stopped walking because you feared your own talent? Arrogant bastard—I’ll show you just how insignificant you really are.”

“...Did he hit his head?”

As he shouted in front of the training ground, the door creaked open and Rem appeared, swaddled head to toe in thermal leather, looking ridiculous.

Lua Gharne, now familiar with Enkrid’s temperament, knew there was always reason behind his words and actions.

She translated for him.

“He’s saying he’s in a good mood and wants to spar, don’t you understand?”

Rem blinked at Enkrid, then replied.

“Shit, if he gets in a good mood a second time, he might insult my ancestors.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong—but he was just responding like Rem always did.

Ragna followed shortly after, eyeing Enkrid before commenting.

“Yeah, seems like he did hit his head, talking like that.”

Despite the words, there was no irritation in his tone.

Both Rem and Ragna knew that Enkrid was acting this way simply because he was in good spirits.

It was sudden, but not unwelcome.

You could say he was excited—or maybe just feeling fresh and light.

In any case, it wasn’t a bad thing for their captain to be in a good mood.

Everyone watching felt the same.

Even Shinar, upon hearing of Enkrid’s return, entered the training ground.

The fairy, who usually moved slowly, appeared to be in a bit of a hurry now.

It seemed there was something she had to say.

It was a night blanketed in storm clouds.

It wasn’t as if Enkrid had picked a fight after waking up—he’d chosen to do this right before bed. Truly incorrigible.

No title suited them better than “madmen” or “knights of madness.”

“If it’s a duel you want, your fiancée is right here.”

Shinar said that with a kind of fairy humor.

“Who’s my fiancée?”

“I am.”

Shinar had no shame. Her fairy-style joke thickened the air.

From the corner of the training ground, Jaxon sat half-shrouded in shadow, half-caught in moonlight.

“Did you gain something out there?”

Perhaps heightened senses made one more perceptive. Jaxon asked the question.

“The obvious.”

Enkrid replied as he drew his sword.

Shrrrng.

It was the longsword he’d picked up right after returning—his Black Steel Sword had broken, after all.

Though it was lighter than the Black Steel Sword, it was still serviceable, even when wielded one-handed.

He had already adjusted to the weight on his way back, and the warm-up banter was over.

Enkrid swung his sword downward.

The first to respond was Rem.

In a single step, his body sliced through the air and the blade tore into it.

He poured all his Will into that strike.

Rem reflexively pulled out his axe to meet it.

“You insane bastard!”

Rem shouted, almost like a curse, upon feeling the force behind the strike.

Had he not met it with equal force, it might’ve cleaved his body in two.

He poured in his own strength just in time.

Bang!

A loud impact erupted as sword and axe collided, sending shockwaves in concentric rings from the point of contact.

Whoosh—the cold, dry ground scattered dirt and pebbles into the air.

Ragna squinted through the dust, recalling what he had just seen.

‘He infused it with Will.’

They could already imbue their strikes with Will. This was different.

You couldn’t quantify it, but simply put—the Will had grown stronger.

Like a pale hue darkening.

The strike was a traditional downward cleave with a greatsword.

‘The foundation is Will imbued in a cutting strike.’

It was part of a sword technique he had taught Enkrid himself.

Seeing it now filled him with quiet satisfaction—it meant Enkrid had broken through his wall.

“I’ll join in.”

Ragna drew his sword and thrust it diagonally.

It was a trajectory you couldn’t endure without dodging.

On his way back, Enkrid had trained to distribute his Will across multiple swings, rather than expending it all at once.

Opening the path had been the hard part—once opened, it was just a matter of repetition.

At least, that’s what Enkrid thought while analyzing himself.

“It’s crude!”

But Rem didn’t agree.

“That’s true.”

Ragna concurred.

“You must use it more delicately.”

Jaxon added, and of course, Shinar chimed in.

“Fiancée’s Thrust!”

Her fairy humor struck again, giving the technique a ridiculous name as she slashed forward.

“You call that a thrust?”

Enkrid twisted his body to avoid the slash and retorted.

“Isn’t that the move you use all the time?”

It was the Valen-style mercenary swordplay—Switch Technique.

Experiencing it firsthand, even when expected, was irritating.

Valen, that so-called knight of the previous generation, must’ve been a man who couldn’t fight without mocking his opponent.

There were far too many techniques that could only have come from someone like that.

Some people seemed to pick up swords just to taunt others.

“Again.”

Enkrid waited for his spent Will to return, then swung once more.

In the meantime, Rem, Ragna, and Shinar alternated in attacking him.

They had grown in strength too, hence why they could withstand this level of sparring.

Though their daily grind might seem short, it had been relentless—swinging their blades like madmen every moment of every day.

When his Will recharged, Enkrid struck with full force once more.

After the third repetition, his sword gave a sharp clang and broke.

It couldn’t withstand the force.

And that marked the end of the spar.

“You think dumping Will like an idiot solves everything?”

Rem grumbled as he reached for his thermal gear again.

Ragna, Shinar, and even Jaxon offered similar critiques.

If Audin had been there, he’d likely have added,

“Condition the body, brother. Once you can control every muscle at will, you’ll regain precision in using Will.”

“Have you tried that yourself?”

“I’ve no need, brother. But you do. So start training.”

That would’ve been their conversation.

While they stood there, Kraiss arrived a bit late.

“You broke your sword again, I see.”

“Yeah.”

Enkrid nodded. He needed a new blade.

“I heard you went through quite a bit. True?”

Kraiss asked.

“Yeah. Plenty. And there’s a story about hugging Esther too. I’m cold too now. Enki, whose turn is it to hug me?”

Shinar cut in.

“Winter is supposed to be cold.”

Enkrid replied flatly.

He was so used to fairy-style jokes that he wasn’t fazed anymore.

“I shall freeze to death.”

Shinar feigned pity, lowering her head and pretending to sulk.

Her drooping eyebrows were oddly mesmerizing.

“Hey, spread the hugs around, will you?”

Rem quipped, prompting Enkrid to make a mental note to prepare a gift for Rem someday.

“So, care to tell us what happened at Cross Guard?”

Jaxon asked.

What he meant was: how did you learn that new trick?

“It’s late. Tomorrow.”

Enkrid looked around at them all.

What stories could possibly be told at this hour?

It was bedtime.

“You crazy bastard—so you knew it was late? But you still wanted to spar?”

Rem said, dumbfounded.

“Sparring is important.”

Enkrid replied, then walked off to wash.

They were all a bit dumbfounded, but not surprised.

“Didn’t you already know that’s just how he is?”

Kraiss commented.

“I am cold.”

Shinar returned to her usual expression and turned away.

Hearing that, Kraiss took a step and said,

“Let’s stoke the brazier.”

“Fire is dangerous.”

Then what?

Not a question meant to be answered, really.

“Not bad.”

Ragna summed up Enkrid’s current state in one phrase, then returned to the lodging.

And so the night passed.

By the next morning, after breaking several more swords during sparring and training, Enkrid and Lua Gharne shared what had happened in the city.

Their tone was casual, but the tale was astonishing.

Not that Rem or the others gawked or gasped.

Only Shinar muttered off to the side:

“I am already ice.”

City. Heretics. Walking fire.

Rem mulled over it all.

He recalled the moments when Enkrid made major breakthroughs—and found a strange pattern.

‘So, he grows stronger when he goes through hell?’

Whenever he narrowly survived, he came back significantly stronger.

So maybe he should just be sent to hell?

But where would he find such a place?

Enkrid had undying Will and formidable experience.

His instincts weren’t dull either—at times, Rem thought they even surpassed his own.

Probably thanks to that sly cat.

At this point, very little could truly threaten Enkrid.

Still, did such threats not exist?

They did.

If they entered the Silent Western Demonlands, even Rem doubted he’d survive.

‘So what, toss him into the Demonlands?’

That would be pure madness. A foolish idea.

But still, the thought lingered—how amazing it was that this man broke his limits every time death loomed.

Maybe that was why...

Or maybe it was just the absurd sword swing from the other night.

While Enkrid was gone, Rem had heard news of Audin and spent each day obsessively training.

So much so that rumors spread of Rem’s squad wanting to build a shrine for Audin.

Supposedly, someone even tried to.

Thanks to Audin, their training had improved dramatically.

Truly, under a mad captain, were mad subordinates.

Whatever the case, Rem mixed what he’d realized during sparring and pushed Enkrid harder.

It was like a game of cliff’s edge—one wrong step and you fall to your death.

Fortunately, that didn’t happen.

Nor did Enkrid show some miraculous leap in power.

‘Guess not.’

That was all Rem thought.

But Jaxon, seeing it, muttered with sincerity,

“He’s insane.”

“In heat, more like. That damned alley cat’s yowling again.”

Just another peaceful day.

They were enjoying fruitful time since returning—until word of the crusade ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) reached them.

Initially, even with talk of serving the Grey God, it wasn’t something Enkrid would personally involve himself in.

It was an internal matter of the Holy Nation.

The problem, however, lay in their target: they had set their sights on Noah’s monastery.

A merchant traveling the newly opened Stone Road brought the news to the Border Guard.

“I heard that monastery’s a den of demons.”

“Yeah, I heard too. They say they’re raising a demon child, and the head priest sold his eyes to the devil, so the Grey God rose to punish them.”

It was full-on propaganda.

Myl, the so-called pope of the Grey God, was playing his game.

Kraiss mobilized the Gilpin Guild and contacted Leona for assistance, gathering every piece of intel.

Eventually, they discovered that the monastery Enkrid had once visited had been chosen as a sacrificial target.

And when they pieced everything together, they realized what kind of game was being played.

‘Choose a scapegoat, then use the excuse of punishing it to rally people.’

Giving people a cause was ten times more effective than simply asking them to gather.

This was a calculated move.

When this was explained to Enkrid, his response was simple:

“Let’s go.”

It was clear and concise.

He had no duty, no personal stake in this battle. Even winning it might earn him nothing.

Still, Enkrid packed the new sword given by Aitri.

Their outstanding contracts were mostly settled, so Rem, Ragna, and Jaxon were also free.

In other words—they had time.

Joining them were Esther, Shinar, Lua Gharne, Teresa, Rophod, and Pell.

“Seems like everyone’s free.”

“Thanks to working hard every other day,” Rophod replied.

“We’re in a hurry. Leave the platoon. Just us.”

If they delayed, they’d only see smoke rising from Noah’s monastery.

This was a job for a small elite team.

If someone couldn’t keep up, they’d be left behind.

“Technically, this is the First Knights’ inaugural deployment.”

Kraiss said, watching them leave.

“In a way, yes.”

Enkrid nodded.

He didn’t really need a motto, but feeling good, he spoke.

“Madmen—let’s go wreak havoc.”

To which Rem added,

“Let’s.”

The grinning barbarian showed not a shred of tension.

Even upon hearing that two holy knights had joined the enemy force, his face said, “So what?”

“I, the Ice Fairy, am also here,”

Shinar added.

Enkrid heard her but ignored it.

She had been saying that ever since they returned, just to get hugged.

In any case, they were marching to war.