A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“They call me the Ragged Saint in some circles. Sorry I’m late. I was playing with the child.”

It was phrased as “playing,” but in truth, he had been teaching Seiki how to handle divine power. Divine energy had manifested in Seiki’s body on its own, without any formal training. If she didn’t learn to control it soon, it could end up harming her physically.

That’s why Audin had sought out his adoptive father, the so-called Ragged Saint, out of concern. That was also the reason he had only arrived here now. To him, saving the child Seiki in front of him was more urgent.

Standing next to the man who called himself a saint, Seiki raised her hand and said,

“You look even more like a monster now.”

From the first time they met, Seiki had shown unusual talent. The origin of that talent lay in her sharp perception, and this time again, she had recognized the changes in Enkrid.

Even if she hadn’t noticed, it would’ve been hard to miss with everyone around constantly talking about it.

“They say the mad squad leader broke hundreds of women’s hearts and awakened from that.”

“No, it was because the fairies gathered blood and drank it.”

“Can someone really end up like that just from intense training?”

All sorts of ridiculous rumors had spread wildly, but while Seiki was innocent, she wasn’t foolish. She knew how to separate fact from fiction.

“Telling me to become a holy knight... that was a joke, wasn’t it?”

The man—Audin’s adoptive father and self-proclaimed saint—spoke again. His tone was plain, his smile mild and unpretentious. He lightly tapped Audin’s thick arm, the gesture hinting at a natural familiarity.

Audin responded only with his usual gentle smile, lips curling softly.

From Enkrid’s perspective, Seiki’s abilities seemed different than before—but more than that, what caught his attention was the appearance of the saint. For someone called the “Ragged Saint,” his attire was anything but ragged.

Clink.

He extended a hand for a handshake. On his wrist was a thick gold bracelet, and each of his five fingers was adorned with gemstone rings—rubies, emeralds, sapphires. The pendant hanging from his necklace contained four embedded gems, and the disc holding them gleamed with traces of silver.

His clothes were smooth and silk-like—luxurious fabrics that even mid-tier nobles wouldn’t dare dream of wearing.

‘That’s the kind of outfit a poor noble couldn’t afford even if they wanted to.’

Andrew, a noble, still wore coarse garments. At least that was the case the last time Enkrid saw him.

He had bought formal wear once for an occasion when a tailcoat was required, intending to use it only then.

“If I cut down on food or clothes, that’s one more piece of meat for the people of the domain. There’s no room for luxury,”

—that was something Andrew always said. It made perfect sense, given that he was rebuilding the Gardner family. The real difficulty lay in living by those words.

Of course, Andrew had learned discipline by watching Enkrid, and was now steadily moving toward his goal.

The Ragged Saint blinked his cloudy pupils. The lack of focus in his eyes made it obvious that his vision was poor—even without anyone pointing it out.

“One must believe in God, even if one does not become a holy knight. Faith is truly important.”

The weather was beautiful. A clear and radiant spring day. As the cold receded and the battered trees—splintered and broken during training matches with Rem—stood scattered, fresh green shoots were poking through.

Enkrid sensed Rem and Ragna’s gazes from beyond the tranquil air.

They had looked over to see what was happening, recognized the Ragged Saint, and then lost interest.

Jaxon had left early in the morning saying he had something to do, and Esther was still in leopard form today.

Enkrid had planned to go down to the city early, but after finishing dawn training, the saintly figure had blocked his path.

“That child, and you—do neither of you believe in God?”

Then he added,

“Not particularly.”

Enkrid tossed the words out flatly. It wasn’t a disrespectful tone—he was simply answering the question.

The man’s words and manner weren’t exactly unpleasant, but they weren’t easy to listen to either.

His voice was rough, his face speckled with liver spots. But judging by appearance alone—

‘If he walked into a temple looking like that, wouldn’t he be mistaken for a bishop sucking the faithful dry?’

As Enkrid was thinking this, the saint opened his mouth again.

“Audin.”

“Yes.”

“If I told you to kill this man right now, what would you do?”

The Ragged Saint said this with the same smiling face. Enkrid didn’t interrupt. This wasn’t about whether Audin would follow the order or not.

‘Kraiss.’

That was the kind of personality the saint had. Like Kraiss, or Abnaier, or Ermen.

People like them infused each of their words with layered meaning. Multiple intentions intertwined in each sentence.

The saint was so skilled at concealing his thoughts that Enkrid couldn’t pinpoint a single clear intention.

‘He might even be trickier than Kraiss.’

He seemed to be hiding more than even Ermen did. Regardless, Audin kept his smile and responded.

“Have you gone senile?”

At that, the saint burst into laughter.

“Not yet.”

“If you’re ill, there’s a divine healer nearby. Or an alchemist who brews potions.”

Enkrid added. The saint chuckled again and shook his head.

“I told you, I’m not.”

“This old man’s better at using divine power than I am,”

Seiki chimed in from the side.

Audin dismissed the saint’s words casually.

“He always enjoyed speaking nonsense. I’d say it was a divine-style joke, brother.”

First a fairy-style joke, now a divine-style joke too?

Enkrid let it slide, but then the so-called Ragged Saint approached and asked,

“You’re headed to the smithy, right? Mind if I come along? Seiki, you need to do what I taught you every morning and evening.”

“Prayer? Boring.”

Seiki pouted.

“You need to learn to endure that boredom. That’s the only way you’ll use it properly.”

The Ragged Saint placed a hand on Seiki’s shoulder and gently stroked it.

Earlier, he had looked like a bloodsucking bishop. Now, he resembled a wise sage. The gemstones draped around his body even shimmered like a halo.

“Then I’ll be off, Audin.”

“I don’t believe I’ve granted permission yet.”

Enkrid replied calmly, unaffected by the man’s presence. The old man’s mouth began to pour out words rapidly.

“If you don’t give permission, I was planning to follow you secretly from a distance. Would you be so cold to a blind old man? Did I misjudge you? Or is it that the young simply enjoy mocking the elderly these days?”

He now seemed less like a sage and more like a stubborn old man throwing a tantrum.

“You’re quite the talker,”

Enkrid said.

“What do you think a poor vagabond like me survived on all these years?”

“Divine magic?”

“Oho, I walked right into that one. Not wrong—I did use that quite a bit.”

He spoke as if he hadn’t been caught off guard at all.

“I heard you pretend to be blind?”

“Audin, you’ve been saying all kinds of things, haven’t you?”

The Ragged Saint scolded Audin.

“Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“Not really.”

It wasn’t quite a comedy routine, but the conversation was dragging on. Enkrid saw no reason to refuse—and he did have a desire to observe this saint more closely. So he concluded,

“Let’s go together.”

“Please don’t treat him harshly. He can be helpful if you’re ever troubled, brother.”

Audin bowed his head slightly in thanks.

From a distance, Rem called out,

“Are you going to see that guy Aitri and order a shield? Make sure it’s a sturdy one!”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

Enkrid answered nonchalantly and turned around.

“If you see any assassins trying to kill me, deal with them too,”

the Ragged Saint added.

“What did you do to attract assassins?”

“Well, it’s because my activities were exposed recently. Officially, I died in Legion. But now people know I’m alive and kicking. So yeah, quite a few people want me dead.”

“Sounds like you’ve made a lot of enemies.”

“Not that many. Maybe ten or so.”

“You call that ‘not many’?”

“It’s not.”

Everyone sees things differently, so Enkrid didn’t argue further.

Audin watched the two leave. He knew what kind of man his adoptive father was. He wasn’t someone who would harm others. There was no problem with the two of them going alone together.

At most, he’d play some mischievous tricks.

Audin recalled the first time his adoptive father came to the Border Guard to see him.

“I’ve undone the constraints, drawn out your divine power again. Found you a place to settle. Feeling better now?”

“I’m getting better little by little.”

“The visions still show up?”

“They drop by sometimes for a chat.”

Audin had already confessed about the vision of Pildin—the boy dragged here and killed as a “Holy Child.”

At Audin’s answer, his father smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze. The question he had asked earlier in front of Enkrid was consistent with what he had said to Audin.

There was no way he actually meant for Audin to kill Enkrid. He simply wanted to convey that message to the captain:

That his allegiance no longer lay with the Church, but with the Mad Knights.

‘He knows even if I don’t say it aloud.’

There was no need to emphasize it to Enkrid.

***

“I know Audin’s with the Mad Knights now.”

Enkrid said this as he left the barracks and responded to the sentry’s salute.

“Just being cautious.”

The saint acknowledged that Enkrid understood the true meaning of his earlier question to Audin. He had known what he was doing.

The saint tapped his cane as they walked, and Enkrid was reminded of two people he had seen before.

One was the blind old man who claimed to be an apostle. Different attire, but a similar slyness—someone who hid his true thoughts.

‘But they are definitely different.’

Their aura was worlds apart. That so-called apostle had radiated danger, but the current old man did not.

If he were truly hiding such malice, he’d be even more dangerous than Jaxon—but Enkrid’s instincts said otherwise.

And the second person?

‘Why him?’

For some reason, the old man reminded Enkrid of King Anu of the East. Though they were entirely different people, living entirely different lives.

“Take care of your business.”

The saint said.

He didn’t have to say it—Enkrid had intended to do just that.

They passed through the market at a slow pace, heading toward Aitri’s forge.

Thud! Fwoosh, fwoosh!

The sound of metal being struck echoed through the air, along with the gust of heat from the bellows, scorching their faces.

“I’m here.”

Aitri was standing off to one side. His assistant was the ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) one currently working the forge.

“I assume you have something to tell me,” Aitri said.

He hadn’t picked up a hammer in days. He had simply been waiting for Enkrid.

“I was lucky. That luck saved my life.”

That luck had altered the trajectory of the blade thrown by the demon at the last moment. Because of that, Shinar had survived.

If Shinar had died then—what would he have done? Taken his own life to go back? No. Enkrid wouldn’t have done that.

Even if his chest had split open in grief, even if he shed tears, he would have continued walking toward tomorrow.

That was the path Enkrid had chosen.

He would not repeat today. No matter what, he would march forward to the next day.

So yes—Shinar could have died. He believed there was a high chance she wouldn’t, but still.

The demon had shown him an entire lifetime in an attempt to seduce him. Most likely, it was trying to make him succumb to demonic temptation and become someone else entirely.

If Shinar had lost herself in that illusion, Enkrid would’ve slapped her back to her senses, knocked her out if necessary—done whatever it took to bring her back.

Even if there were no repetitions of today, he wouldn’t give up.

That was the road he walked.

So, he was simply grateful. That sword—“Luck”—had blocked the path to all those possibilities of tragedy.

“It really was luck.”

“I’m glad you liked it. I received what you sent as well.”

Enkrid had sent all the weapons and armor he had obtained from the cultists to Aitri.

He himself had only come now, as he had been refining his swordsmanship. Aitri had also needed time to research and experiment with the materials.

It had been necessary for both of them.

“Well then.”

Aitri spoke, bringing over a table and two teacups.

After taking a sip of tea, Enkrid looked outside the smithy for a moment. There was no door—just an open entrance—where the so-called Ragged Saint could be seen pacing.

Across the road, buds had begun to bloom on the trees.

The spring breeze blew in, but the heat from the forge pushed it back out.

Looking outside, Enkrid briefly shared what he knew. It had seemed like a long story, but when he actually spoke it, it wasn’t that lengthy.

After listening to everything, Aitri fell into deep thought before saying,

“Come back in a month.”

“Understood.”

There was nothing more to be said.

Even the story about the broken silver plate didn’t surprise Aitri. His assistant had never once stopped swinging the hammer throughout the entire conversation.

Enkrid liked that. The assistant, too, seemed to be walking his own path.

“What about Frokk?”

“He’s out. Went to gather materials.”

“I see.”

He’d just catch him next time.

As Enkrid stepped out, the Ragged Saint asked,

“Not hungry? I hear there’s a place nearby that sells amazing spiced jerky.”

“Yes, they do.”

“Buy me some.”

“Sure.”

The two of them immediately headed to the street where jerky shops were clustered.

Thanks to Kraiss, the layout of the city had been reorganized so that inns and restaurants lined one street, while blacksmiths and artisans filled another.

At the city center, there were four major inns with stagecoaches passing by.

Anyone could ride those for a few krona. Instead of horses, sturdy donkeys pulled the wagons.

The wagons had no roofs and were big enough to carry about ten people at most. But there was no need for these two to ride.

The Ragged Saint walked just fine, and Enkrid—of course—had no issue.

“Looking forward to the craftsman’s work?”

The saint asked as they walked. He was referring to Aitri.

“Yes, very much.”

That was the end of their short exchange.

Walking briskly, they soon arrived at a shop grilling jerky. Nearby was another shop selling marmalade.

“Just the smell is enough to make your mouth water.”

They ate well, and had drinks at the shop next door.

As they wandered through the city, a few people recognized Enkrid.

And the saint quietly watched it all.