A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Ragna, no matter how generously one looked at it, was not fit to lead a unit. But Kraiss wasn’t the type to leave things alone.

“Let’s just assign ten people to him.”

Thus, the Ten Swordsmen Unit was formed, with Ragna as the commander and Rophod as his vice.

Obviously, the majority of actual work fell to Rophod.

Rophod also took on training new recruits during this period, though that duty would later rotate between members of each unit.

The ten selected were each talented in their own right, yet every one of them had despaired at least once after seeing Ragna and Rophod.

“I guess I’m not a genius after all.”

One of them muttered with a hollow expression.

After getting teased by Pell and a reassuring pat on the shoulder from Rophod, they’d eventually fall in line with training. While they couldn’t all be granted unit sigils, they all possessed a strong sense of belonging.

Ragna’s Ten Swordsmen even earned the nickname The Mini-Knight Order, known for being an elite squad.

That sort of pride wasn’t a bad thing, so Kraiss let it be. Maybe because of it, fights broke out between them occasionally, but it wasn’t a major issue.

“If you fight, then if you lose—kill yourself.”

Ragna had joked, saying if they were going to fight, they’d better win. No one took that as a joke.

Truthfully, it was a joke. Ragna believed a few losses were essential to growth.

He used to think none of this mattered, but seeing Enkrid had changed him. He had learned, and he had grown.

“If you want to fight, come at me.”

Because of that, he sometimes sparred with them himself. All ten had made Ragna their goal. Their standards rose naturally, and the training heat kindled by Enkrid’s example pushed their skills to new heights.

Previously, the top unit in the Border Guard’s standing army was the Frontier Defense Force, but they were now serving as Martai’s security army.

Due to various circumstances, the old Frontier Defense Force could no longer maintain its former glory.

Part of the reason was the overall rise in the caliber of Border Guard soldiers. Coupled with the fact that military groups across the continent had begun to show their real strength, the entire balance had shifted.

So this reorganization could be seen as a response to the shifting landscape of armed factions across the continent.

Next, Kraiss turned his attention to Audin’s Divine Infantry.

Audin led as commander, with Teresa as vice-commander. This was the one unit Kraiss didn’t need to worry about.

Audin had experience in these matters and smoothly led a hundred-man unit in alignment with the new structure.

Lua Gharne remained as Enkrid’s closest escort, while Esther proved adept at turning her twenty subordinates into mages.

After painting this picture, Kraiss and Abnaier moved to shift the mood in the Border Guard once again.

In truth, the entire restructuring had been to stir up that very atmosphere.

More precisely, it was to harness the training fervor sparked by Enkrid’s influence.

They were building a culture of discipline and self-improvement.

“Are we just going to let all this momentum go to waste?”

That was Abnaier’s remark that prompted Kraiss into action—the result was a joint effort.

Together, they fostered a sense of pride and motivation in troops who had finished basic training.

First: each unit received distinct benefits and privileges.

Second: their monthly pay was different from that of regular soldiers.

Of course, some trainees dropped out—especially from Rem’s unit—but that wasn’t a problem.

The commander in charge of internal affairs was extremely fair in how he handled such matters.

That commander was now Venzance.

Considering his past with Enkrid, it was an astonishing development.

Enkrid had publicly called Venzance his comrade, openly acknowledging his contributions.

That, too, had been part of Kraiss’s calculations.

He knew that if anyone questioned Venzance’s authority, Enkrid would say just that.

Enkrid probably knew as much—but it didn’t matter. It was for the best.

“I don’t listen to people weaker than me. That’s how I was raised.”

Someone said that to Venzance.

Enkrid cut off the bastard’s ear.

Everyone figured Enkrid was being merciful by not taking the whole head.

What he said afterward struck even deeper into everyone’s hearts.

“If all I wanted was someone good at fighting, I’d have put Rem in charge. Is that what you want?”

No one in the Border Guard—civilians, mercenaries, standing soldiers—wanted to experience what it felt like to have their skulls split vertically over one sentence.

Rem was simply that kind of presence.

Everyone inside Border Guard knew it.

Only outsiders didn’t—like the earless fool, a wandering drifter.

“So what if I don’t care!?”

He shouted in defiance.

“This crazy son of a—”

“Just go die, will you.”

“If you’re gonna die, die alone.”

“Hey, toss this bastard out and splash water in front of the shop.”

Even the innkeeper turned his back on him. He was physically dragged out and subdued by others with real strength.

Then, the ones who had just subdued someone who committed an act worse than summoning a demon cheered:

“Long live Venzance!”

Naturally, Venzance’s security unit was part of the standing army. They weren’t weak by any measure.

Maintaining public order wasn’t actually that hard.

“Damn, I’m the neighborhood punching bag now.”

Rem muttered later when he heard the story. But then again, Rem wasn’t the type to care about that sort of thing.

Around this time, there was a report of a Demon Realm surge. However, it was said to have been contained by the Red Cloak Knights, who were assisted by the Holy Nation’s purge priests.

It was a rough battle, according to Aisia, who said one of her comrades lost an arm.

The heretics stirred again—twice—but no Apostles appeared.

One of the flare-ups was put down by three Border Guard soldiers on leave in the South. Officially, it was claimed that they happened upon something suspicious and resolved it.

But internally, it was known that Jaxon’s intelligence unit had intervened.

This mercenary group specialized in black ops: assassinations, intelligence, and subterfuge. It was Kraiss’s final piece in the reorganization.

And Jaxon was its commander.

The other flare-up was contained by the Royal Guard. Apparently, someone tried to perform a demon summoning ritual in the capital.

With their forces spread thin building outposts and clearing monsters and bandits outside the capital, internal security had gaps.

But the newly appointed head of the Royal Guard, Andrew Gardner, handled it swiftly.

Enkrid had received a letter containing all this.

Outside of these bits of news, Enkrid didn’t do much. He trained, tempered his skills, occasionally browsed the market, and visited Aitri to share his experiences.

“Give me the sword.”

At this point, Aitri maintaining Enkrid’s sword had become routine.

He disassembled the hilt, heated and hammered the metal, applied oils and compounds—then reassembled it.

“You’ll still need to maintain it regularly. True silver loses its edge fast if it’s not oiled properly. The metal’s sensitive.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Then Aitri took back the unused short sword he had made before and handed over a guard sword with a broader blade.

The blade had etched symbols—clearly magical.

“I couldn’t embed magic myself, but Lady Esther gave me some help.”

He showed the blade, slipped it into a black leather sheath, then spun the hilt and passed it over.

“Esther?”

Even if our leopard witch seemed aloof, there wasn’t a corner she didn’t touch.

The fact that Lord Greyham had sent her a gift after she enchanted the fortress walls showed just that.

“Yes. Thanks to her, it was completed.”

The sword, once thrown midair, would block an attack once on its own.

One ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) might wonder why not just make a shield, but Aitri had a different idea.

“A knight once chose a weapon called Lucky Blade as his branded armament. It would save his life once in a while, in moments even he didn’t expect. That inspired me.”

He wasn’t just crafting—he was studying history. Aitri was doing his best in every way.

That’s why it had to be a sword, not a shield.

A stepping stone.

This was all part of the process of creating his eventual branded weapon. Neither Aitri nor Enkrid knew what that weapon would be.

But they both believed it would be made—someday.

Seeing the fire in Aitri’s eyes, Enkrid felt a bit of that heat himself.

His own passion remained steady, but seeing someone else burn bright was always satisfying.

Nearby, Frokk was dripping with blood and sweat as he forged accessories.

Enkrid couldn’t help but ask, just to say something.

“How’s it going?”

“No idea.”

Yeah. He didn’t know. But he still did it. Even without guarantees, even if things didn’t improve tomorrow—he did it because he wanted to.

“Keep at it.”

After returning to his unit, Enkrid asked Kraiss to send Frokk a gift: well-dried pupae.

Later, Aitri said Frokk had puffed out his cheeks in rare delight upon receiving them.

After that, Enkrid received a letter from the Eastern King regarding Dunbakel.

– Does she usually not bathe?

Apparently, Dunbakel was doing very well.

Then, on a snowy day some time later—about a month after Shinar’s departure—when winter was nearing its end...

“Yo, how’ve you been? Told you to drop by if you weren’t busy, but you made me come.”

The King arrived. A friend to Enkrid.

The development of the Stone Road had opened major trade with the West. It became a turning point for continental commerce. The western merchant guilds passed through Naurill to reach the Border Guard, making profits rise for both cities.

That was the official reason for his visit.

But over tea, the real reason slipped out.

“You’re not going to ask why Shinar left?”

She disappeared without a word. Left a note telling him not to come looking.

“I figured it was her choice.”

“Yeah, a choice it was.”

Crang nodded.

And just like when he felt he might one day define swordsmanship, Enkrid felt something stir again.

Had Shinar acted solely on her will?

The feeling that followed that question was not a good one.

Crang went on, as if there was no need to hide it.

“She said she had to uphold her duty to the fairyfolk. I heard she received a Duty Brand.”

A Duty Brand—a shackle used to force one to complete a task. Failure to do so within a set time would cost one’s life. Worse than a chain.

“It’s part of a curse placed on the fairyfolk. She was helping me resolve it. I told her she should refuse. But she wouldn’t.”

“A curse?”

“I don’t know the details.”

The tea had gone cold. Neither of them had taken a sip.

“One thing’s certain—the duty holds her. And it’s going to keep tormenting Shinar Kirheis.”

Silence.

Enkrid took a sip. The tea was far too bitter.

He had forgotten to remove the leaves, letting them steep too long. The tea was meant to be astringent—but this was excessive.

He hadn’t thought much when he picked the leaves—there were no other options at the time.

Now, his mouth was full of bitterness.

And right now was no different.

He had respected Shinar’s choice. But what if that respect was just an excuse to look away?

Was this realization too late?

If he did nothing now, nothing would change.

Enkrid knew that truth better than anyone.

“You going to go?”

Crang asked. He was as perceptive as Kraiss.

“Yeah.”

Enkrid nodded. After Shinar left, a sense of emptiness lingered. Or maybe—unease.

Why?

He understood why she wouldn’t return. But she never gave a reason.

Not knowing that reason—that was what left him unsettled.

And now, he understood.

I realized it too late.

Enkrid briefly cursed his own dullness—but there was nothing to do now but move forward.

“Why?”

Crang asked.

“Because that big sister who loves jokes is probably waiting.”

Crang scowled at the fairy-style joke.