A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“It just started working as I kept doing it.”

After Rem, Ragna—rarely one for long speeches—picked up the thread. He’d learned, received, and realized a lot while staying here.

He had gained a sort of common sense that didn’t end with just swinging hard like a certain someone. Or maybe it was a sense of consideration.

“If you believe in yourself, that’s enough. If you chose a path and believe it’s the right one, then even if others keep shouting that it’s wrong, just ignore them. And if you realize along the way that your direction is a bit off, then just adjust it to make it right. So let’s say you’re trying to go to Martai from here and you should’ve gone this way, but instead, you ended up heading that way. Then once you notice it, just turn like this and keep going. Then you’ll get to Martai. That’s how it works. That’s why the path I’m on becomes the right one.”

When Ragna said “this way” at first, he pointed north.

Then for “but went that way instead,” he pointed west.

And when he said “then turn like this,” his hand finally pointed south.

Martai, if we’re being technical, was east—so he’d managed to point out every direction except the correct one. A unique skill in its own right.

“That guy’s seriously something. How the hell do you even get to Aitri? No, forget that—how do you go to the bathroom? I’m amazed you don’t get lost halfway there.”

The toilet was less than fifty steps from the barracks. A stone path had even been laid leading to it—attention to detail.

Enkrid suddenly wondered,

Who even laid those stones?

He didn’t need to think hard.

Kraiss, of course.

Like Ragna’s personal road signs.

Still, even bathroom trips aside, Ragna sometimes left for the city alone.

“How do I get there? You know how many soldiers I run into along the way? Kraiss gave orders to stick someone on me every time I try to head out.”

Kraiss said this while grilling sausages. Juices rose to the surface like sweat, giving off a mouth-watering scent.

Ah, right. There was always Kraiss.

Rem nodded. That guy would probably prep for a meteor strike on his roof tomorrow without batting an eye.

“No one around here is normal. Not one.”

Rem shook her head.

“Don’t assign soldiers to me. It’s annoying.”

“Deal with it.”

Ragna grumbled, but Kraiss shook his head firmly. He’d adapted well to them by now.

He was too busy to keep adjusting to every mood swing—and trying to would turn every day into war.

Whether they were called knights or something else entirely, these lunatics generally listened as long as their own personal boundaries weren’t crossed.

Kraiss knew full well that if left unchecked, Ragna would probably end up walking all the way to the Empire.

And bring back a war with him, hacking down everyone along the way.

Not that Rem or Audin were any more “normal.” Left alone, Rem would probably beat up some noble [N O V E L I G H T] who’d just arrived at Border Guard. And Audin wasn’t far behind.

Training your body is fine, but why must you push it so hard, Brother Bear?

Kraiss muttered to himself without much emotion.

Audin had a habit of grabbing anyone nearby and forcing them to train. Once he had you, there was no escape.

With that massive build of his, all smiling and saying “Brother” or “Sister,” the madness peeked through.

Thanks to that, the Holy Unit Audin oversaw was the most intense when it came to physical conditioning.

They cried daily while lifting stones. Even during prayer, they’d sit in invisible chairs seeking the divine. Sometimes, Kraiss wanted to weep just watching them.

Poor souls.

Still, he didn’t really resent any of it.

The benefits of having Audin, Rem, and Ragna around far outweighed the burden.

Kraiss was the type of person who found satisfaction where the gains outweighed the trouble.

Jaxon was there too.

He didn’t seem like he had any advice to give, but everyone’s eyes still turned to him.

He spun the dagger in his hand. The blade reflected the firelight from both ends of the table.

While still spinning the dagger, Jaxon finally spoke.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘perfect’ person in this world. The only difference is who’s sharper.”

Short, but weighty advice.

Enkrid thought it pierced straight into the heart of the knight system he’d been developing.

What can defeat a perfected circle?

Is it ultimate to grow your abilities in a rounded, balanced way?

No. If you’re pricked by a needle, even a perfect circle will pop.

And he’d experienced that today. In a duel setting, he could beat Shinar eight times out of ten.

But when it came to the wave-blocking sword alone, her blade did graze his shoulder.

That was the needle.

The wave-blocking sword wasn’t just about form. It was about reaction, guided by thought.

And Shinar had exploited the gap in that reaction.

Refined blade.

She hid a blade inside her visible technique. A blow that struck like winter’s breeze.

Winter winds aren’t gentle breezes. So if one comes—it’s unnatural.

“Brother, can everything be calculated? I doubt it. But if you’re thinking faster than your opponent, is there really a need to react naturally and find the perfect answer in the moment? Must your technique be reflexive?”

Audin answered with a question.

Can everything be calculated?

Of course not. So just be better than the opponent in front of you.

That meant: pull out what you need when you need it.

Sometimes smooth, sometimes violent.

Heavy, deceptive, swift, elegant.

Now he understood why Leonecis Oniac, the genius of his era, divided swordplay into five styles.

If you master the basics, everything else follows.

There was a clear difference between Enkrid before and after mastering the wave-blocking sword.

Naturally, there was also a difference between before and after he became a knight.

Some parts of a person never change. But others do.

From Audin’s question, Enkrid gained part of an answer.

“So in the end, it’s just about swordplay, right?”

Boiled down, that was it.

“What do you mean?”

Teresa asked, having listened silently.

Audin answered.

“In the end, you punch with your fist, cut with your sword, stab with your spear. That’s it, Sister. So all that matters is to hone the fundamentals.”

Stick to the basics. Train every day. Find the answer not in your head but through your body. Audin explained himself again.

Everyone had their own ideals and convictions. Enkrid absorbed all their words like a dry sponge soaking up water.

Calculating everything—that’s no different from what Rem does.

Rem instinctively grasped everything and offered the most rational and lethal move.

Like seeing the opponent’s hand change mid–rock-paper-scissors and instantly predicting the outcome.

That’s how sharp and reactive she was.

Like a beastkin.

If a beastkin had brains, they’d fight like Rem. Their innate bodily control was second to none.

Rem just substituted natural talent for that.

Ragna’s words had been messy, but the core message was clear:

It’s fine to take a roundabout path—just don’t regret the road you’ve already taken.

If you’ve already begun swinging, then have the conviction to turn a wrong path into a right one.

Faith.

A knight with divine power could lose it all if they started doubting. Especially when their oaths were broken, they’d be consumed by that distrust.

Will without faith is just a half-measure.

Ragna was a genius. That’s why he could say things like this.

But it wasn’t useless to Enkrid.

He listened, considered, and carved it into himself.

Jaxon’s words warned not to overestimate others.

Audin said hard work was the key.

Different words, same meaning. And not only for Enkrid—they were just as helpful for Lua Gharne, Rophod, Pell, and Teresa.

“Forging your own path—that’s part of what makes one a higher knight.”

Lua Gharne added, ever the researcher.

“Yeah.”

Enkrid casually agreed and popped a piece of meat into his mouth. It was a skewer of pork belly, fat dripping onto the fire below with a sizzle.

He blew on it and popped it in. It melted instantly.

The salt and spices blended perfectly with the fat for a punch of flavor. The slow-roasted meat tore easily under his teeth and wrapped his tongue in rich tenderness.

Mmm.

A fine dish. Truly.

Shinar quietly chewed a few ripe fruits. Objectively, she looked like a goddess even doing that.

“If things go south, we should start a Shinar Knight Order. Gathering followers would be no problem. But more than that, Shinar—have you ever heard of a salon? I’ve been thinking it might be good for fairies to work in one and pick up experience across the continent. Then eventually we could open one run entirely by fairies.”

Kraiss said, eyes shining even brighter than the fire.

“There’s a clan with interest in that sort of thing. From the Ermen family. You’ve probably met them.”

Shinar replied. She referred to the fairy who represented clan business.

Of course Kraiss had met them. And for once, he openly frowned with displeasure.

So that’s what that was about.

“That fairy talks too much.”

Ah, inter-fairy resentment. Enkrid thought.

The others were thinking the same.

“I don’t speak for the clan. I protect them. So everyone should follow their own will.”

Shinar turned her gaze to Enkrid as she said it.

Just then, Rophod muttered.

“A natural sword—the one you don’t think about—that’s always the right one, huh.”

That’s the trait of a higher knight. Pell responded, eyebrows deeply furrowed.

“How does that even work?”

Even though he had a sliver of that talent himself, he couldn’t accept it. How could every motion always be right?

Swinging and striking with a blade involved probability. That meant you needed luck.

Could you always have luck on your side? What about variables?

So make every road the right one?

Can that be done? Is that just a matter of talent? Pell had a storm of thoughts.

He couldn’t find the answer right now.

And then Shinar answered.

“How does it work? With the power of love.”

Enkrid genuinely began to wonder if the fairy had taken something strange today. Or gotten drunk.

But she looked as neat as always. She’d helped with the final migration of her people—she was probably just exhausted.

So what was her deal today?

“She’s excited.”

Lua Gharne said, with a woman’s intuition. And she was right.

Shinar couldn’t leave her city of Kirheis due to duty.

So she brought the city with her. If she hadn’t, she would’ve pushed to rename it Ermen instead of Kirheis.

That oath she made to protect her people had kept her from Border Guard for a long time.

She’d broken free from demonic control, and the man who’d saved her was here—yet she couldn’t be by his side.

She wasn’t bitter, but she was frustrated.

Frustrated enough to be impatient.

Among fairies, the story was already known. It was also why more and more fairies had started sneaking over walls at night to see Enkrid in the past month.

They figured the odds were better before Shinar arrived.

But even in her absence, they couldn’t approach Enkrid easily.

And the presence of the “Black Flower” witch only heightened the pressure.

Among the older fairies—akin to elders in human terms—there was a belief that witches were servants of demons.

That bias came from the days when some mages had indeed sided with demons.

To fairies raised in an isolated society, a witch was dangerously unpredictable.

Of course, Esther never had any intention of separating their bones and flesh and displaying them like some gruesome trophy.

Even if she did kill a fairy, she’d never bother doing something so useless.

Still, as Shinar sat there facing Enkrid, she was clearly delighted.

It had been a long time since she’d had the chance to tease him. Her spirits were flying high.

So no, she wasn’t drunk or drugged.

She was just happy.

Though from the outside, it wouldn’t be strange to assume she’d taken something.

“If you really want to know, come to my room tonight. I’ll tell you everything. All of it. Through the power of love.”

Saying something like that with a perfectly calm face was terrifying.

Her face looked like a goddess’s sister—and yet, here she was.

Enkrid felt goosebumps—not the kind from thrill, but something else entirely.

“Should I knock her out?”

He asked seriously. That was probably the only way to shut her up.

“Is that really necessary?”

Rem chimed in, of course.

Ragna wouldn’t miss his turn.

“Go out and get some fresh air. Try not to get lost.”

He tossed that at Shinar.

“May your god watch over you, Sister.”

Audin added.

Jaxon spun his dagger and suddenly asked,

“Are you really going to keep using that eyesore of a blade?”

A comment like that wouldn’t come out unless he had a real gripe.

“It’s a horn-trumpet dagger, not an eyesore. I’m more comfortable throwing this than staying quiet.”

Enkrid replied coolly, and Jaxon ignored him. He didn’t like it—but he wouldn’t push further.

“Spells carry intent. A spell without intent is trash. But as you get used to it, you end up casting with just a gesture. Intent comes after, not first. What bursts out on instinct—that’s what we call a Glint.”

Esther chimed in.

Glint—meaning a flash of light.

Today, Esther appeared in her human form, boasting jet-black hair.

She was answering something Enkrid had raised.

But why were her cheeks so red?