A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Their origin is the same. That was how a mage viewed it.

“All things share the same origin. They begin there, and from that origin, they change.”

Right or wrong aside, that way of thinking itself was useful.

If someone insisted that sorcery was sorcery and divinity was divinity, clinging to rigid distinctions, then they’d hit a wall and go no further.

“You agree with part of it, don’t you?”

Shinar added her own thoughts to what Esther had said.

The fairy knight did not use sorcery or divinity—she wielded Will. She converted the forest’s essence into Will and channeled it that way.

Unlike Enkrid or Ragna, who cultivated and drew power from within, she received it from the outside.

“Was Will originally inside me?”

If the origin was the same, then likely not. If Will were something naturally housed within, then awakening it would merely be a matter of inner discovery—and it wouldn’t be so rare.

“A fascinating perspective, Sister Leopard,”

Audin nodded, adding his voice.

Enkrid also pondered divinity.

Divinity was said to be the power bestowed by a god. If that were true, it must be awakened through prayer. Earned through piety alone.

But just as morality and ability don’t always go hand in hand, neither did piety and divine power.

Enkrid recalled a saying from his mercenary days: even those who had awakened divinity still operated by worldly logic.

That could only mean one thing—divinity was not something attained by prayer or faith alone.

The same applied to sorcery, though at least sorcery had direct methods of cultivation.

“One of the ways to strengthen sorcery is to choose the right place. A place with good energy, so to speak,”

Esther had said.

Their origin was the same.

“Then, does [N O V E L I G H T] that mean magic is the same too?”

asked Teresa.

Her husky yet pleasant voice—one belonging to a half-giant—drifted between the campfire’s crackles like a melody.

“It’s the same... but different,”

Esther replied. She felt goodwill toward this group, so she explained things just enough for them to grasp it.

“It all depends on how it is perceived and recognized.”

The origin is the same. But what changes is perception.

If you believe it to be divine power from a god, it becomes divinity.

If you acknowledge it as the force of spirits—not gods but supernatural beings—it becomes sorcery.

If you see it as a force rooted in your own will, it becomes Will.

If you feel it as the flow of energy through the forest, then it becomes Essence.

“Dragoneers say they wield the breath of dragons,”

Lua Gharne added. Her people had their own terminology, perceiving and using Will in their own way.

Not simple Will—but “Dragonspeech,” as they called it.

The language of dragons. The power of dragons. The will of dragons.

Something like that.

Yet, the source remains the same.

No one could claim to understand all the world’s secrets. Not even now.

But just hearing and reflecting on it helped Enkrid feel that the Will within him had grown a little firmer. A sort of theoretical pillar was forming.

Of course, turning that into a full structure—a house, a fortress—would take far more understanding and refinement. But even so, something had been gained.

While they spoke, snow began to fall steadily. Seeing that, Rem remarked,

“Still not going to be me clearing the snow.”

It was in response to something Audin had said earlier about divinity—not even the Lord would sweep away snow for them.

“As you wish. It’s hardly worth fussing over,”

Audin replied.

If snow piled up, they’d just make the soldiers clear it once they returned to the unit.

Audin had no plans to shovel it himself either.

But that wasn’t wrong. Enkrid saw it that way.

There’s no need to do everything with your own hands.

The same went for using Will. Not that he meant using Will to shovel snow—but just that some things don’t require physical action.

Like how putting a blade to someone’s neck is less effective than projecting an aura of menace with Will alone.

Fresh realizations kept brushing past his mind. Enkrid mulled them over again and again.

Naturally, the group went quiet. Jaxon noticed first.

When Rophod opened his mouth to speak, Jaxon raised a finger to his lips.

Silence.

Even without actively invoking Will, the intent was clearly communicated.

Everyone glanced briefly at Enkrid and fell silent. Only the sound of the crackling fire remained.

Outside, while the snow fell, their mounts occasionally whinnied—but even they had quieted now.

From his spot on the outer edge, Jaxon saw Odd-Eye guiding the horses.

‘You’re quick on the uptake too, huh?’

Odd-Eye was no ordinary horse, that much was clear. And so, the night passed.

Everyone quietly prepared their bedding. A bit of snow wouldn’t stop them from traveling, but their captain was deeply lost in thought, groping toward something intangible.

Esther whispered a chant that sealed off the chill from the cave and makeshift tents.

The fire’s warmth wrapped gently around them.

“So warm,”

Shinar murmured so softly even those beside her might not have heard. It came out on its own, spurred by the warmth and the mood of the others.

And perhaps, just perhaps, a trace of sadness.

A natural emotion for one walking a path with a predetermined end.

Still, she didn’t show it. Fairies were naturally skilled at hiding their feelings, and Shinar was especially so.

No one noticed her fleeting melancholy.

***

“We thank the Mad Knight Order for their dedication, and His Majesty the King for his consideration.”

The Holy Nation had endured what was essentially a civil war. Had it not been for the order led by Enkrid, much more blood would have been spilled.

Even with Overdeer assembling the military and the Inquisition moving to purge heresy, it was the overwhelming force of the knight order that swiftly resolved everything.

At the center of it all stood Enkrid. And so, a delegate from the Holy Nation was now sent to Crang.

They sat in the palace’s reception room, beneath a chandelier, steam rising from the teacups. Attendants and servants stood at attention on one side.

Crang spoke with a gentle smile.

“Empty-handed?”

The only noble present was Count Baisar—specifically, the young Marcus Baisar, not the elder from the ducal house.

He simply sipped his tea and occasionally crunched a biscuit, his demeanor saying this wasn’t a particularly difficult meeting.

But instead of lightening the atmosphere, it felt more like a silent statement: Whatever the Holy Nation says, Naurillia doesn’t really care.

The Holy Nation’s envoy, a cleric, began to frown.

“...You seem to enjoy speaking frankly.”

“No need to complicate things,” Crang said. “They say I’m a king picked up from the gutter—so I live forgetting complicated courtesies.”

Such rumors about Crang did exist. Rarely in Naurillia itself, but rival trading factions of the Lockfried Merchants spread them freely.

They blamed the kingdom’s favor toward Leona Lockfried for their dwindling profits.

In truth, it was the Border Guard pulling the strings—but from the outside, it looked the same.

And that was just how Crang liked it. That way, Enkrid’s actions could be seen as reflecting the will of the kingdom.

“Is there something you seek?”

The cleric, aligned with the king’s tone, finally asked directly.

In his mind, he listed possible offerings. The Holy Nation’s goods were rare and valuable.

Healing potions were of unmatched purity and efficacy across the continent.

And the divine charms handcrafted by the clergy were indispensable against malevolent spirits.

If mages made Spell Objects, the clergy made Divine Objects.

Even their wine was superior to Naurillia’s—and acquiring it cheaply to turn into a state-run business could greatly aid the palace’s finances.

There had been whispers that recent expenditures had strained Naurillia’s treasury.

Of course, openly pushing for wine imports might look bad—better to set up a front with a merchant group. Usually, a royal relative or trusted noble’s illegitimate child would be made the head of such a venture.

‘He might ask for all three.’

Then they could just concede selectively.

“Let’s get along,”

the king said suddenly.

It shattered all expectations. The envoy blinked.

“...Pardon?”

“I said, let’s get along.”

The king beamed.

“Try some of these cookies. They’re quite good.”

The cleric was still struggling to form a response.

Several more exchanges followed, the gist being:

“Let’s get along? That’s it?”

“Exactly.”

“You serious?”

“Very.”

“Are you... mentally sound, Your Majesty?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“Then why...?”

Crang simply laughed. Marcus chuckled too.

The envoy realized this was beyond his pay grade—and a new representative was sent.

“My name is Noah.”

Overdeer had allowed Noah into the Holy City. He now served as the new diplomatic envoy.

“I’ve heard of you,”

Crang said. Enkrid had sent him a letter days ago mentioning Noah.

Even without the letter, Crang would’ve known. The Mad Knight Order’s actions had drawn plenty of attention.

“Looks like we share a friend.”

“Indeed, though I wouldn’t dare call myself His Majesty’s friend.”

Over two days, the two conversed—seemingly trivial talk, eating cookies, drinking wine, poking fun at Enkrid with Marcus.

Not real mockery—just things like, “Isn’t he kind of a lunatic?”

“I’d have to agree,”

the king even nodded solemnly.

The talk wound down, and a conclusion was reached.

“Let’s be friends,”

Crang said.

And Noah agreed.

When he departed, it appeared Crang had asked for no reward.

At least, outwardly, it seemed that way.

***

“You didn’t break your sword this time? I’m touched.”

Back at the camp, Kraiss thanked him.

“I told you it was a given.”

Nearby, Abnaier nodded.

Things proceeded similarly from there. Castle Lord Greyham, and what one might call “victims” enchanted by Enkrid, gathered again.

“Care for a bout? I’ve developed a new technique.”

Even if not knight-level, watching refined techniques was always enjoyable.

No reason to refuse.

Training resumed. Audin and Rem sparred for over three days, resulting in a draw.

From a strict technical viewpoint, Audin had a slight edge. But in a true fight, the outcome would be impossible to predict.

One more thing about divinity was discovered:

“It can emit a healing light.”

That was something Will and sorcery couldn’t do.

Even if the origin was the same, their differences were vast.

That’s why divine magic evolved as its own discipline.

And divine power used by paladins was different from that used in clerical spells.

Meanwhile, Enkrid pondered his realizations.

“How does one awaken Will?”

By asking such questions of himself, he found hints.

“It’s not only external.”

But it’s not solely about inner awakening either.

It’s both—accepting from the outside and cultivating it within.

Simply put, it’s about whether or not you can nurture what the world offers—whether you can grow a plant.

Water it, give it light, and it grows. But what if you don’t even know how to water it—or that water exists?

“Then you can’t even begin.”

That likely explained why so few people on the continent used Will.

And they needed to know about sunlight, too.

In the end, Enkrid reached a conclusion:

“There’s no systematic training method.”

If there were a way to structure it, more people might learn to use Will.

“You’d have to train the heart.”

Even though he’d clawed his way up from the bottom, Enkrid couldn’t easily grasp how.

It wouldn’t be easy—but it didn’t feel impossible either.

Strangely, it turned out that the most prominent martial groups across the continent had, knowingly or not, been developing ways to awaken Will.

They had nurtured talent that way.

Enkrid, too, was laying the groundwork now.

In terms of speed, it was like condensing decades of progress into a short burst.

He was used to customizing sword techniques to fit his body—he approached Will the same way, without bias.

“Will’s cultivation method.”

Just like he’d trained his body through the Isolation Technique, surely there was a way to do this too.

He couldn’t create it just yet, but he believed he’d find it with steady effort.

Beyond that, after all he’d been through, and after all the conversations with his comrades—he had gained a lot.

And yet, he still had more to learn.

That, more than anything, made Enkrid’s heart stir with joy.