A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Zaun is in the north. If you face the Pen-Hanil mountain range and head northeast, you’ll find a small cave. Go through it, and you’ll reach the ‘Hill That Watches the Stars.’ From there, make a wide turn east, and you’ll arrive. It’s near the Imperial territory.”

Magrun said this with a perfectly normal face, as though he hadn’t recently collapsed coughing blood. Enkrid had once wandered the continent working as a guide. Compared to Ragna, his sense of direction was knight-level, continent-class. Compared to ordinary guides, just good enough to avoid starving.

Even with his skills, he could now visualize the route based on what Magrun described.

It wasn’t as complicated a path as expected. And that only emphasized something else:

Zaun wasn’t obscure because it was hard to find.

To be honest, the city and village Enkrid was born and raised in were better hidden than Zaun.

They didn’t hide the path—they simply didn’t promote their name.

Zaun neither stepped forward nor waved banners. They didn’t believe in spreading the name Zaun around.

No, maybe someone once wanted to, and someone else stopped them.

His thoughts branched out again. Sometimes his mind would visualize the fallout and structure of an entire event from a single detail—something Kraiss once called one of Enkrid’s greatest talents.

The ability to see the reverse side of a picture from the front—that was talent.

Enkrid followed it with another question:

Why stop it?

If he asked Kraiss or Abnaier, they’d likely answer immediately. Even without exact details, they probably already grasped the direction Zaun was aiming for.

Right now, even Enkrid could guess.

“Imperial territory?”

He asked, popping a sweet potato baked in an Azpen oven into his mouth.

It had a soft ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) crunch and crumbled with every chew. The sweet, earthy aroma spread across his tongue. Crunch! When eaten with pickled radish, the contrasting flavors danced in harmony.

Delicious.

“I said near. Zaun is close to the Empire, but it’s still an independent city.”

Magrun replied, also peeling a sweet potato and blowing on it before eating. Watching him, you’d never guess he’d been coughing blood a few days ago.

He had even sparred at dawn. He said he was fine, and there was no choice but to believe it. That was Anne’s domain anyway—and she had nodded, saying he was fine now.

An independent city...

A nearby group with that much military power.

If Enkrid were a ruler, how would he see them?

A threat.

Or an opportunity.

You’d either absorb them—or eliminate them. But the Empire had done neither. They left them alone.

Zaun didn’t live in hiding. Those who knew, knew where they were.

Yet still, they’re left alone.

Only because they gave reason not to be touched.

It’s like in strategy: you never give your opponent a reason to strike.

And if anyone made the wrong move, they probably showed them it wouldn’t end with a scratch.

To eliminate them, you’d have to burn through your national strength. At minimum, you’d lose an arm to take them down.

So they were left be.

Enkrid recalled something Crang once said.

“The Empire, interestingly, has many shields. Facing the central continent, there’s the Pen-Hanil mountains. To the west, a vast forest where the Beast King resides. And there’s one to the east, too. That shield is...”

He hadn’t paid attention to the end of that sentence. But now, he realized what that eastern shield was:

Zaun.

They were one of those shields.

Scrape— Grida pulled her chair closer and added,

“They say we have no ties to the Empire, but when members can’t adjust to the family, some end up knights for the Empire. So it’s not completely disconnected. If anything, it’s an amicable relationship. And it has to be.”

If a neighboring nation and you don’t get along—well, look at what happened between Naurillia and Azpen.

Endless war.

“You’ll ride horses most of the way, but have to go on foot later.”

Magrun added.

Enkrid nodded, glancing to the side.

The knight order’s mess hall doors were wide enough for five Audins to walk through side by side.

Kraiss had once said they needed big doors for easy supply movement.

Well, the knight order did eat a lot. There weren’t even ten of them, but they consumed enough for a full company. That’s why “war rations” were developed for them.

Outside that massive door, Enkrid saw Ragna—and Rophod standing beside him.

As he finished his breakfast, Enkrid overheard their conversation—not eavesdropping, just close enough that their voices carried.

“Rophod, don’t rely only on efficient movements.”

Both held wooden swords, not steel.

Ragna spoke as he swung.

When a knight swings, even a rotten stick can become lethal. They could shatter logs with bare hands—what couldn’t they do?

Ragna raised his sword skyward—a high guard. He brought the sword down in a chopping motion, then pivoted his stance mid-swing to thrust as his feet crossed.

It sounded simple, but required beast-like control over one’s body.

Enkrid also read the deeper layer:

Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

Deception for advantage—that was the essence of the Valen style.

Ragna’s technique embodied that principle.

Rophod tried to catch the sudden change in trajectory with his sword. He wasn’t weak, either.

He barely managed to block the thrust. Clack-clack-clack! Their wooden swords clashed, locking midair.

Bind.

A technique that links weapons together.

Ragna stepped in, feet crossing again, pushing forward.

Had someone been facing him directly, they would’ve been stunned by the sudden aggression.

While pressing the bound swords, Ragna lightly tapped Rophod’s cheek with the hand gripping his sword.

Tap.

There was no real force. Physically, no impact.

But mentally—surely, it stung.

That easily?

Not from strength or speed...

Then what?

Rophod’s mind must’ve been spinning.

As Enkrid watched, Ragna continued:

“Don’t limit your movements.”

Exactly the advice Rophod needed. His eyes lit up. He was breaking past a wall.

Anyone could see it.

Step by step, day by day—progress.

Ragna was giving him what he needed most now.

And it didn’t end there.

The once-lazy man now stood with purpose.

“Next, I’ll teach you how to squeeze your muscles to swing at once—medium sword spin slash.”

His pace was too fast for Rophod to keep up. This was something a lazy man would never do.

“You’ve changed a lot.”

Grida muttered, watching. It had to be because of Enkrid, standing beside her.

This man affected those around him.

Just being near him could change you.

Even she had begun enjoying physical training in recent months.

Enkrid made you want to move—just by existing.

“Didn’t he say he left because he was tired of swords?”

Magrun added, glancing at Enkrid.

The one who had changed this disillusioned genius was right there.

How did he do it?

Magrun could guess. Few people were so sincere—in training or in life.

That sincerity must have caused the transformation.

As they mulled it over, Enkrid suddenly spoke.

“What the hell’s with him?”

Genuinely baffled.

Grida and Magrun turned to look at Enkrid.

Why are you surprised too? —their eyes said.

Enkrid replied, reading them.

“I don’t know. Seeing him like that is honestly scary.”

Coming from Ragna, this was unexpected.

The two from Zaun looked at each other in disbelief.

After training Rophod, Ragna wiped his sweat with a towel and entered the mess hall.

It didn’t suit him.

Dripping sweat from training, tutoring Rophod in his spare time...

And not just Rophod.

On the way in, Ragna ran into Squire Clemen, who had fallen.

“Grab your sword.”

“...What?”

Clemen knew who he was. Everyone who came near the knight lodgings knew him.

Still, she looked completely startled.

Honestly, it was their first conversation. He usually didn’t even respond when called—just ignored people.

Startled, Clemen drew her sword.

“Practice switching grips freely—while keeping your hold secure.”

It was short, but useful advice.

Clemen offered a salute, bewildered.

Why is he acting like this?

As she wondered, Ragna sat for his meal and addressed the three staring at him:

“When one leaves... what remains? Something worth thinking about.”

Whether he ate the Philosopher’s Stone or drank the blood of sages, Ragna was acting uncharacteristically wise.

And it was deeply irritating.

Like Rem pretending to be calm, or Jaxon claiming the world was beautiful.

Enkrid reflexively swung his water cup. A splash landed squarely on Ragna’s head.

He felt something needed to be exorcised from Ragna.

Rem had once said these impromptu rituals sometimes worked.

So Enkrid spoke with sincerity:

“Away with you, foul spirit!”

Silence fell over the mess hall. A trainee bringing out more food took a step back. Clearly, he decided to pretend he’d seen and heard nothing.

“What are you doing?”

Ragna neither scolded nor questioned. He didn’t shake his head.

He just looked—with eyes that deeply annoyed Enkrid.

That’s the look you give a dumb child...

Add a bit more exaggeration, and it was Rem’s look.

“When someone changes suddenly...”

Enkrid lashed out, provoked.

“They’re dying, right.”

Ragna finished calmly.

Short exchange—yet Enkrid felt utterly defeated.

Has he grown?

He no longer feigned ignorance or played dumb. He simply endured with quiet grace.

Behind Ragna, Enkrid could almost hear an adult muttering, ”You know exactly what you’re doing,” and clicking their tongue.

“Captain, sometimes... even a man must be serious.”

Magrun, who’d once discussed swordsmanship so passionately with Enkrid, bailed.

You bastard.

Enkrid turned to him, only for Grida to chime in:

“You can’t drive out evil spirits like that. You need a magic sword—or something similar. Not plain water.”

He hadn’t done it out of ignorance. But now he had to hold his tongue.

If he defended himself now, he’d just lose harder.

“Don’t harass my fiancé, you evil spirit.”

Shinar entered just in time. With fairy hearing, she’d heard the whole exchange from outside.

Ragna nodded, calm as ever, eyes deep like a still pond.

Enkrid couldn’t scold him anymore. He genuinely didn’t know what was going on.

And this wasn’t the time to say anything anyway.

Given the right reason, anyone could change. Enkrid had simply been reminded of that universal truth.

“Well... better than staying lazy, I suppose.”

He mumbled vaguely, then stood to look for Kraiss.

He saw Kraiss shoot him a triangle-eyed glare—clearly annoyed about another absence.

He had to finish his business before leaving.

This definitely wasn’t him fleeing the room.

“Retreat is a sound tactic. I’ll cover you. Go, my fiancé.”

Shinar stepped into his path like a warrior with a sacred mission.

Two days later, after quickly settling territorial affairs—

“Return safely.”

Kraiss handed over supplies and horses generously.

The steeds, raised in Greenperl, glistened with healthy coats and alert eyes.

“Let’s go.”

Anne, having learned to ride in a few days, departed with the three from Zaun, Enkrid, and Ragna.

“Please, lose that bastard on the way.”

Rem sent them off with heartfelt concern.

Ragna stared at him—eyes again deep like a quiet lake.

“What? You wanna fight?”

Rem barked back, but Ragna responded not with violence—only words.

“Rem, I respect your life as a barbarian. You must have lived through constant struggle. If not, you wouldn’t have survived.”

He turned his horse.

Clop clop clop.

The hooves echoed as he left the training field.

“...Did he hit his head?”

Even Rem was stunned.

“Not that way!”

Anne urged her horse forward, chasing after him.

Strangely, even though Ragna’s horse was perfectly trained—it moved completely on its own.