A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Lost by a hair.”

When the man answered, Rem snorted.

“You want me to lop that head off next time? ’Lost by a hair,’ my ass.”

The man shut his mouth. Regardless of the outcome, he had clearly taken a beating. Just standing there, his balance seemed off, his legs uneven, and the dried blood on his scalp left little need for further observation.

Still, the man’s fighting spirit hadn’t dimmed. He glared at Rem.

“You want me to gouge out those eyes for you?”

Rem kept goading him—but it was mostly words.

There was a faint killing intent between the two, but compared to Rem versus Jaxon or Rem versus Ragna, this was almost cute.

Enkrid ignored their little spat and tracked two moving shadows behind Rem.

One is Audin.

The other was a man he’d never seen before. Short blond hair whipping as he swung his sword—his skill was not ordinary.

He created pressure with his blade, using the space between to bait and bait again.

He mixes heavy and standard sword styles.

He pulled out exactly what was needed at the exact right time. By Enkrid’s system of classification, the man was near-advanced. Enkrid immersed himself in the swordsman’s movement, tracing his intent.

He’s deliberately exposing openings.

He wants Audin to close the gap. Why? Because he’s confident he can counter. What’s he preparing, then? That much wasn’t clear.

But it would be a secret technique. The kind of move you wouldn’t show in front of a crowd unless necessary.

Enkrid had faced countless drifters in his time.

Some had real skill. Others were all bluff and reputation.

But a few shared a common trait—they rarely revealed their true techniques without cause.

But if you’re hiding your skill, aren’t you just throwing away opportunities?

That was Enkrid’s take.

If you don’t test your limits—if you don’t break through them—there’s no next step. A truth carved into his bones.

And this man was clearly from the same mold. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t keep exposing himself so readily.

Audin took the bait. He stepped in close, within range of both hands. Not ideal for sword swings, but perfect for hand-to-hand.

It all happened in a flash. The man slashed down with his right hand while raising the left.

He wasn’t empty-handed. It looked like a flag-crossing gesture at first glance—but he had another weapon ready.

A second blade.

A hidden weapon. His armor was split vertically, and as his left hand passed through the inner gap, a short, sinuous dagger popped out.

A kris blade.

His left hand surged upward, the weapon rising in a vertical thrust.

Audin responded like he’d been waiting. He overlapped his palms, then opened them lightly to slip the blade between his fingers—and pressed down. At the same time, he twisted his body in close.

As a result, the man’s right-hand blade missed its target and instead merely smacked Audin’s shoulder. Using his momentum, Audin spun with his left foot as a pivot and slammed his shoulder and back into the man’s chest.

A point-blank body blow. Too close to block. It had to be agony.

Boom!

A heavy thud erupted between them. The man was knocked back.

Blood seeped between Audin’s middle and ring fingers, while the man’s breastplate was dented.

“Didn’t work, huh.”

The man said. His tone was tinged with excitement and anticipation. You’d expect disappointment when a secret technique gets blocked—but he showed none of it.

Even after revealing his hidden blade, he didn’t care. His focus remained entirely on the fight itself.

Enkrid found himself liking the man, even though they hadn’t exchanged a single word.

“Odinkar, that’s enough.”

Grida stepped in to stop the fight. The man, Odinkar, turned his head. He still radiated fighting spirit, but he trusted Audin wouldn’t take advantage of that pause.

In other words, it was just a spar.

“Shame.”

The man said.

He was just like Grida. Not here to kill or be killed—they had another purpose.

Sure enough, Grida continued.

“Guess I should introduce us properly, huh? I’m Grida Zaun. This is Odinkar Zaun, and this one’s Magrun Zaun. We’re from the House of Zaun.”

Everyone’s eyes turned toward the three.

Zaun—the place Ragna was born.

And now Grida, having found her target, called out to him.

“Ragna, we’re here to take you home. Your hair color’s changed?”

She even pointed at him.

Everyone’s gaze followed her finger.

“Huh?”

Lua Gharne tilted her head. The brown-haired man Grida pointed to didn’t even bother turning around.

He didn’t have to see—he could feel that no one else was nearby.

So when Jaxon glanced at the finger aimed at him, confused, it made perfect sense.

Jaxon furrowed his brow.

“...?”

If ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) facial expressions were an art form, his said What kind of bullshit is this?

Even so, Grida kept smiling serenely. Her voice full of conviction.

“You’re going to pretend not to know me? I’m Grida—I never forget a face.”

Everyone from the Border Guard went silent.

“...That him? Doesn’t look like it.”

Odinkar asked. He knew Ragna. And that wasn’t him. Even while speaking, Odinkar’s attention was still on someone else. Can’t I go another round with that Audin guy? His will was obvious. Even after sheathing his sword, his gaze never left Audin.

“I think I just fought the strongest knight in your order. I’ll need time—time.”

Magrun, on the other hand, didn’t care. Ragna or not, he didn’t give a shit. He was just amazed that guys like this existed outside their house.

He admired the barbarian who knocked him flat and now just wanted to study that technique in a dark room somewhere.

I lost.

And to overcome that loss, all he could do was research.

That was Magrun’s way.

“Yeah, it’s him. Ragna Zaun. The head of the house wants him back.”

Grida insisted again.

Enkrid didn’t feel a thunderbolt strike, but something clicked.

Some people just couldn’t remember faces, and Grida was one of them.

Jaxon was completely speechless. He’d never been in this kind of situation before.

“What’s going on? Ragna went to get his blade sharpened by Aitri.”

Kraiss jumped in to explain.

“Huh?”

Grida tilted her head.

To Enkrid, she didn’t seem like the type to hide her thoughts.

How could someone mistake faces like this after saying Ragna had blond hair and red eyes?

Who knew what went on in her head—nor did he care.

But one thing was clear.

Just as Ragna had no sense of direction, Grida had no sense for faces.

She’d even forgotten his.

This was the first time in Enkrid’s life a woman had forgotten him after just one meeting.

It didn’t really bother him—but facts were facts.

“That’s not Ragna.”

Enkrid stepped in to clarify.

Grida insisted a few more times, then finally relented.

“Even I get it wrong sometimes.”

At that moment, Enkrid became sure she really was Ragna’s sister.

***

“Well... he insisted on returning from the market alone, and now we’ve lost track of him.”

The soldier who had followed Ragna had warned him not to go alone—but if anyone could slip past someone trying to stop them, it was Ragna. So somewhere along the road between the market and the barracks, he’d wandered off, and now no one knew where he was.

Kraiss, having figured out that these guests had come for Ragna, had spoken the grim truth. Since their goal was to retrieve him, they’d investigated and reported back accordingly.

“Ragna’s always been hopeless at finding his way, even as a kid.”

Grida nodded as she spoke. Her tone was so casual it was hard to believe she was here to retrieve her brother. The other two didn’t seem interested at all.

One of them—Odinkar—was now showing interest in people beyond Audin. He was even subtly provoking Enkrid with his aura.

The other—Magrun—spoke up immediately after hearing Kraiss’s explanation.

“Is there a quiet, secluded place nearby where I could stay for a bit?”

The other two didn’t even try to stop him. Each of them did whatever the hell they wanted.

“What’s with these guys?”

Rem voiced what everyone else was thinking.

Kraiss almost reflexively said, Exactly, but stopped himself.

Meanwhile, Jaxon folded his arms and kept the three within his range. His intent was clear—if they acted up, he’d slash or stab without hesitation. The three likely sensed this too. And yet, they remained completely unfazed.

Which only made them more strange.

Zaun—the name was known by those who mattered.

They had produced a number of knights in the North across generations. Those knights were often called seekers of the sword.

Even among wandering mercenaries and adventurers, some had trained under House Zaun.

Barunas—the beastkin general of Azpen, who once led a war effort—had recognized Ragna instantly. Perhaps for a similar reason.

He’d seen absurd talent and guessed the rest. Maybe it was just dumb luck, but he’d guessed right.

Enkrid had wandered the continent during his years as a mercenary and guide—but back then, his skills had been pitiful.

After that, he’d spent all his time with the Border Guard. So the name Zaun only registered as the place Ragna was born and raised.

To now realize these three—so skilled with blades—were all from the same family felt strange.

If they were from the same knightly order, sure. If they were from the Empire, he’d nod without a second thought. Even if they were from a southern superpower, that would still make sense.

But the same house? That was different. That meant they shared blood.

How is that even possible? Bloodline? The power of lineage?

There were stories of ancient royal bloodlines possessing innate gifts.

Moving objects without touching them, reading minds—abilities that seemed divine.

He’d heard that the first magics came from bloodlines. Most of that was from stories Esther had told him.

Could there be a bloodline that makes someone a great swordsman? A bloodline for knights? Is talent really decided at birth? Is destiny all that matters—not effort?

Is that it? Hidden ancient bloodlines that carried the torch in secret?

No. That’s not it.

Even if that were true, Enkrid would prove it wrong with his own body. That was one of his dreams—separate from being a knight: to prove that talent isn’t everything.

But he wasn’t that proof. Not yet.

I relive today, again and again.

It’s a curse—but also a blessing. He didn’t look down on what he’d gained from it.

But that didn’t mean this was the only path to overcome lack of talent.

Don’t narrow your thinking.

Both combat and beliefs change based on perspective.

“Enki, you see the battlefield too narrowly.”

He could almost hear Lua Gharne’s voice. Using her teachings, he tried expanding the base of his thoughts.

And one realization surfaced in his mind like a stone skipping across water:

Half-baked training—shortcuts—only create incomplete results.

Molsen’s chimera knights, the Azpen knights, the ones trained in the Holy City Legion—are they any different?

Transforming one’s body into that of a knight’s, or becoming drunk on a sense of omnipotence—none of that made someone a true knight.

Just because someone uses Will doesn’t mean they’re a knight.

You have to stumble forward, inch by inch. That’s what gives it meaning.

You can be influenced by others when deciding your will—but if you live entirely by what others decided for you, your will can never bloom into something real.

So why were these three able to show such skill?

Because they broke through their shells on their own. Raw talent wasn’t enough. Something else was needed. What was that?

“We’re from House Zaun. Some of you may not know, but it’s a house known for swordsmanship.”

Grida explained kindly enough. Kraiss, standing beside Enkrid, added what he knew.

It didn’t stray far from what the rumors said.

A tradition passed down through generations?

What is tradition?

A legacy of thought and practice. A house like Zaun surely passed something down.

Rem muttered that these three were weirdos, and Odinkar’s persistent provocations were clearly testing Jaxon’s nerves.

Then—

“A formal system.”

Enkrid muttered.

His voice was loud enough that everyone turned to look.

That was the reason the House of Zaun had produced knights for generations.

In other words, they had walked the path Enkrid needed to take.

Lua Gharne understood what he meant first.

“I see. That makes sense.”

This was her first time meeting members of House Zaun too.

They were hidden in the mists of rumor.

But seeing them in person made it clear.

Three people. One house. All knights.

There’s no way you get that without a proper system in place.

So what?

Rem said what he wanted to say.

“Are we kicking these bastards out or what?”

His tone said he didn’t care either way. Odinkar bared his teeth in reply. That was clearly a challenge—his aura screamed it.

Rem’s hand went to his axe. Jaxon, too, subtly reached for a hidden dagger.

Kraiss felt the shift in atmosphere deep in his skin. His anxiety spiked.

That damn directionless bastard.

He cursed Ragna silently and looked to Enkrid, signaling with his eyes.

But Enkrid wasn’t moving either.

If only Audin would say something—but today, Audin still looked like a bear beastkin who tears people in two.

Kraiss thought for a moment.

If we kill these three here, is there any upside?

None.

But letting them do as they pleased? That was worse.

After a moment of thought, he made his decision.

“I’m leaving.”

That was his way of checking out. Let them deal with it. After all, the Mad Knights were never something he could control.

For his own mental health, he turned and walked away.