A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The white-haired fairy was unreadable—his face gave no clue to his thoughts. He simply stared at Enkrid for a while.

If Frokk had a gift for reading talent, then fairies had a hypersensitivity for detecting lies.

Enkrid had spoken from the heart, and the white-haired fairy recognized that.

Though, the method he’d given... still made no sense.

Seated by the wall, the fairy leaned back against it. Straightening his back, he quietly resumed observing Enkrid.

Through the rounded window behind him, Enkrid saw a few young fairies peering in with wide, curious eyes.

They stood a few steps back from the window, watching attentively.

Still young—likely not yet trained in emotional restraint. Their curiosity was written all over their little faces.

Soon, a few adult fairies of similar size but more refined bearing approached and spoke to them in words Enkrid didn’t understand.

”Pulluu-s”, ”dekedo”, or something like that.

Come to think of it, isn’t it strange that we’re even speaking the same language?

Despite having their own distinct tongue, fairies were somehow communicating fluently.

Whatever the adults said, the young ones shuffled off, their curiosity scolded into retreat.

Probably told them not to eavesdrop.

That seemed about right.

But just as he was thinking that, the three adult fairies who had sent the children away perked their ears and stayed put.

You chased them off just to take their spot, huh?

That’s how it looked to Enkrid. And that’s exactly what had happened.

They were very interested. Their expressions didn’t show it—but their actions made it clear.

“You should probably apologize,” Pell said from behind.

The same guy who earlier had suggested sewing Enkrid’s mouth shut. He wasn’t worth listening to.

“I meant it, though,” Enkrid murmured.

“Just drink the tea. Swirl it in your mouth for a moment. But for the love of everything—don’t swallow yet,” Pell sighed.

He saw himself as a clueless shepherd from the wilds, someone who didn’t know how to interact with others. That was a delusion.

The real idiot was right here.

They had asked how to kill a demon, and he’d said, Slash with all your might. Keep slashing until it dies.

That wasn’t the answer of a normal man.

And for a moment, Pell wondered—

Is this because of his talent?

Had Enkrid’s gifts in swordsmanship come at the expense of all else?

Like Ragna, who could stare straight into the rising sun and still walk west.

It was a ridiculous thought, but no one was around to correct it.

In any case, Enkrid had spoken sincerely.

He hadn’t forgotten how to deal with people—he just felt compelled to answer with equal honesty after sensing it in the white-haired fairy’s words.

If more explanation was needed later, he could always provide it.

So that was the small farce that had just played out.

The white-haired fairy collected his thoughts and began to speak.

“Fairy society is governed by a council formed from several houses.”

It was a sudden shift in topic, but one Enkrid decided was necessary.

Naturally, all eyes turned to the fairy as he spoke, his voice calm and informative.

Each house was led by a head, and those heads formed the council. Among them, one was chosen as Speaker.

The Speaker gathered all voices and made the final decisions.

That was the structure of their society.

There was also a ruling house—what humans would call royalty—but to fairies, they weren’t kings or queens, but guardians.

“And I am the head of House Ermen.”

Enkrid hadn’t known, but Ermen was one of the leading houses of the city.

They had never proven themselves through violence—but over a long period, their talents had made them a pillar of the city.

“With only one council member left—me—my choices now speak for everyone.”

The white-haired fairy leaned forward, his silver-gray pupils locking onto Enkrid.

Then he spoke again.

“We will fight together.”

It was a solemn declaration.

Wait—what?

Enkrid realized he had fallen behind the pace of the conversation.

“...Fight what?” he asked bluntly.

“I thought you had some idea already,” the fairy replied, lifting his chin.

“I know nothing,” Enkrid said plainly.

“Then why did you come here?” the fairy asked, sitting up straighter.

“To ask why Shinar left,” Enkrid answered.

“You came just to ask that? She said nothing? Not about duty or the threat to our people?”

She hadn’t.

“No.”

The white-haired fairy—Ermen—closed his eyes briefly, remembering something. Then he ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) murmured,

“You tried to bear it all alone, didn’t you, Shinar? You’ve always been that way.”

The words were meant for the absent Shinar, though his tone didn’t change. He didn’t sound surprised—just quietly resigned.

“A foolish thing to do,” he added.

The words were calm, but laced with regret.

To Enkrid, it was a confusing exchange—words without context, impossible to fully understand.

Tap.

He knocked his fist lightly on the table—a polite way to demand attention.

It worked. Ermen turned his gaze back to him.

“Could you explain the situation?”

“It’s a bitter story. Worse than chewing on a potato sprout. But if you’re ready to hear it, I’ll tell you.”

He began.

“There is a cave within our city from which monsters emerge. Inside that cave lives a demon.”

Fairy society was in decline—wilting, like a leaf drying and crumbling toward death.

“These days, we even enlist children to help craft arrows. Some of our kind have become mercenaries, roaming the continent.”

In every society, children are precious. They are the future.

Yet here, even children had to contribute.

In a society breaking down, there could be no talk of a future.

All of this was because of the demon living in that cave.

The demon was not the only tragedy to strike them, but it was the origin.

There had been oppression from the fairy kingdoms under the Empire. A schism among the druids.

But it all began with the demon in the cave.

It approached them gently—warmly—and then became a blaze.

Enkrid straightened his back and listened intently.

“Shinar took it upon herself to slay the demon. It might have been a blessing for us—but it was a curse for her.”

Her duty—to enter the cave and face the demon.

The demon had made its demand clear:

Bring me my bride.

Shinar wasn’t the first.

Others, warriors deemed fairy knights, had gone before her. All had failed. All had died.

And then came the monsters—waves of them, pouring from the cave.

The city paid the price in blood.

More warriors went in—more corpses came out.

The demon didn’t use fire or swords. It used time.

It slowly drained them—sending out monster after monster from its abyss.

Fairy spirit-callers, mages, sword-wielders—all died.

They failed to slay the demon.

And then, at last, the demon said:

Send me a bride.

The first fairy offered up became the price for peace.

The monsters stopped.

That was the reprieve granted by the demon.

A temporary truce. Years passed. Then the monsters returned.

The fairies hadn’t wasted that time—they’d tried everything. You didn’t even need to ask to know that.

They’d discovered a few things.

“If you become the demon’s bride, you become its plaything. Until it tires of you. That’s the truth behind our peace. A cursed peace.”

His voice was flat, but beneath it—regret, anger, worry, sorrow.

Even as night fell and Enkrid’s stomach grumbled with hunger, he sat and listened, absorbing every word.

“To summarize,” he said, “Shinar entered the cave to become the demon’s bride?”

“She went to bargain for another reprieve. But in the end... she failed to lift the curse.”

Ermen nodded.

The demon had branded her, left a mark on her soul.

She’d heard its whispers in her dreams. Even as a child.

If she found a mate and married, the curse would weaken—but the partner would inherit it.

Was that why, despite teasing him endlessly about marriage, she never truly approached?

“When she was young, the demon whispered to her: You are cursed. Some fools in the village repeated those words and ostracized her. In the end, they all fled. They left, even if it meant losing their spirit—just to survive.”

Enkrid caught a new scent beneath the forest aroma.

Blood. Iron.

Faint, but unmistakable. A smell you shouldn’t find in a fairy city.

“I’m sorry, but I must go,” Ermen said, rising at a steady pace.

As he took three slow steps, Enkrid absorbed the information, sorted it, interpreted it, and committed it to memory.

A demon appeared and burned the city. Later, it made a cave inside the forest, which became its lair.

Now, it slumbers there.

Once every few decades, it demands a bride.

To defeat it, the fairies exhausted their fighters.

Many fairy knights died.

Disaster followed disaster—all because this demon desired fairies.

He hadn’t even seen the demon, and yet he could feel its greed—possessive, obsessive, wicked.

The cave was a minor demon realm, a place where monsters constantly emerged—unless a bride was given.

The demon inside enjoyed watching them rot. Watching them die slowly.

Enkrid imagined it now.

Laughing with Shinar clutched at its side, licking her emotionless cheek with a long, red tongue.

It wasn’t just a theory—it was a clear image, sketched in his mind during the mere seconds it took Ermen to walk three steps.

That was his talent—not just swordsmanship, but the speed at which he grasped and processed information. Kraiss had praised him many times for it.

So had everyone else who truly knew Enkrid.

He understood the heart of the matter.

He knew how dire the situation was.

And yet—when he believed something was right, he acted.

That was the madman named Enkrid.

The root of all danger is the demon. No—more precisely, it’s the demon realm.

That damned Maegyeong again.

They’d lost Oara to one already. Would Shinar be next?

Emotion stirred within him.

Impatience. Frustration. Rage. Defiance.

But his face remained still. If anything, calmer than the fairies around him.

He wasn’t shaken. He was simply organizing what he had to do.

“What did you mean, fight together?” he asked, looking at Ermen’s back.

The question struck like a stone thrown into a still lake.

“We’ll enter the cave,” said Ermen. “To kill the demon.”

Was this about loyalty? Maybe not.

Fairies weren’t placing the whole race on one side of the scale and Shinar on the other.

They were simply choosing what they believed to be right.

“We should have done this long ago,” Ermen said.

Enkrid had already risen and stepped up beside him.

“Your name is Ermen?”

“When you become the head of a house, you give up your name.”

“Then why is the city called Kirhais?” Enkrid asked, remembering the name from earlier.

Ermen answered with calm dignity. There was a hope behind the explanation—one Shinar had never given him the chance to respond to.

“You didn’t know? Kirhais is the name of the family that has defended this city for generations. What you would call a royal line.”

He added that fairies didn’t say queen—they said guardian line.

Even as he repeated his explanation, he showed no irritation.

Queen, huh?

A new ripple stirred in Enkrid’s heart.

She was a queen?

Now that was something.

Maybe someday he could call her “the aging queen” as a nickname.

Then again, she’d probably shoot him with a flame bolt if he did.

But that wouldn’t be such a bad thing—if she came back, and she was still the kind of person who’d respond to a joke like that.

“Where is the cave?” Enkrid asked.

“If you didn’t come to fight with us, then I should stop you.”

Ermen’s silver eyes wavered. Even with all their discipline, how could anyone stay calm through this?

Fairies were people too. They restrained emotion—they didn’t lack it.

Shinar had gone into that demon cave to protect them.

Crang had told her to abandon that duty.

Don’t throw your life away for the sake of your people, he had said.

But she hadn’t listened.

And Enkrid respected her enough to respect that choice, too.

He wanted to see this Kirhais—this city—and its demon realm for himself.

Since he was already here, why not shout into the cave and tell Shinar to come out and play?

As they walked behind Ermen, Pell whispered to Lua Gharne.

“I’m kinda scared.”

Not the kind of thing he’d normally admit, out of pride—but the words came out on their own.

“You’re not afraid of the demon, are you?”

Lua Gharne asked knowingly. Even she had felt it.

“No. I’m afraid of the Captain.”

Pell replied.

Indeed, Enkrid was showing a calm fury now.

Like cold flames.

Still burning. Just icy.

And beneath it all, something else prickled up—anticipation, like thorns.

Ermen led them down a path between trees, roots jutting up from the earth.

The scenery shifted quickly—just walking, but it felt like riding a carriage as trees zipped past.

“Here,” said Ermen.

The path ended. They had arrived.

Another clearing.

And immediately, the stench hit them.

Not like the stink of animals—but like rotting flesh. The kind that draws maggots.

There were demons said to reek like this. Perhaps the one in this cave was that kind.

A crowd of fairies had already gathered.

Hundreds, by rough estimate.

Standing before them, Ermen raised his voice.

“The demon’s reprieve is over. No—we are ending it.”

Shinar had tried to protect them—but that was her decision.

The people’s will was different.

Rather than lose her, they would fight the demon.

That was their answer.

And Enkrid liked it.

They meant it. Every word.