A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“I always thought tracking and hunting weren’t my thing. Didn’t like them either. To ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) put it bluntly, it was just because they weren’t fun. So what did I do instead of tracking or hunting?”

Odinkar continued, ending his sentence with a question. It was the kind of thing that made you wonder why he’d bring it up so suddenly—Enkrid and Ragna certainly had no idea.

Grida answered.

“You ran.”

“Like a lunatic.”

Magrun naturally followed up.

Both of them were used to talking with Odinkar. He nodded at their answers.

“Yeah. Not many can outpace me when it comes to running. Even if someone laid a trap ahead, I could avoid it since I wouldn’t stick to beaten paths, and if I spotted it in advance, I could deal with it and move on.”

Odinkar wasn’t dumb—he wasn’t just rushing ahead to court danger. Instead of riding along the path they’d taken on horseback, he meant to run across the black soil to the distant mountains on the left.

“I’m not here to argue methods or what’s possible or not. Why do you want to go first?”

Grida asked. They didn’t even know who the enemy was or what they wanted—was splitting up the group really wise?

Her instincts as a pathfinder were telling her not to do it.

From a knight’s perspective, though, the proposal made sense. Odinkar had joked about staying behind at the border guard, but even before arriving here, he’d mentioned feeling uneasy. Even after meeting Enkrid, he’d admitted this place didn’t feel like where he belonged.

“Fair enough. Nothing’s likely happened to Zaun. No way. But that doesn’t mean nothing’s going on at all. On the way, I could stop by the hunter village and ask them to meet you.”

Magrun added.

The hunter village was one of the settlements surrounding Zaun. Those who reached Zaun but never received the family name sometimes returned home. Others, with nowhere else to go, settled nearby. The hunter village was one such place.

“So you’re saying it’s efficient.”

Grida nodded. That was ultimately what Odinkar’s reasoning boiled down to.

“If there’s a trap ahead, I might trigger it first. Or, as Magrun said, I could reach Zaun and report what’s happening here. I’m not sure about stopping at the hunter village—if it’s just me, I can go straight to Zaun.”

Odinkar continued. He looked so eager to go that Enkrid figured if someone yelled “Run!”, he’d bolt immediately.

Whatever the case, it was a well-grounded judgment.

Knights weren’t omnipotent. They were called disasters because they could do things beyond common human capability, but the knights themselves knew what they could and couldn’t do. Failing to understand that would lead to burnout from delusions of grandeur.

The important point was that Odinkar couldn’t do much here except match pace with the others.

Tracking and detection weren’t his strengths.

Magrun, on the other hand, was excellent at reading the situation and terrain. Grida, leading the group, was deciphering the enemy’s intent like a skilled observer.

Either Magrun or Grida could’ve left, and the other stayed, but they both still had roles to play here.

In other words, they had no reason to leave. But Odinkar—unless he was crossing blades—was a sheathed sword.

And a sword left in its sheath was of no use.

Odinkar knew the basics of tracking and detection, sure, but he wasn’t remarkable at either. A sword trapped in its scabbard.

So maybe his best course was to go on ahead.

Enkrid wasn’t sure whether the ferryman had shown him tomorrow, or today twisted to mock him with despair once more.

He didn’t know if this choice was right either.

But he knew one thing: what they needed now was a layout where everyone was doing what they could.

In other words, Odinkar could go.

“You’re sharp,” Grida said, as if summing up the situation, speaking to Enkrid.

He nodded and replied,

“Most women say that after talking to me for three sentences. One of my seventeen irresistible traits.”

“...Did you really just make a joke right now? You’re insane as always.”

Magrun shook his head, throwing his usual biting words. Like a man cursed to spit venom once a day or his tongue would rot.

Enkrid looked at him with a mix of pity and amusement. Why couldn’t he just accept the truth and stop lashing out?

That cynical view of the world had its benefits—it allowed Magrun to dissect swordsmanship with cold clarity—but it also made him constantly scornful.

That was his flaw.

Enkrid had learned a lot from Shinar, and one lesson was that if you’re going to make a joke, do it brazenly. And whatever you say—say it with your chest.

So he did.

“I was telling the truth.”

“Oh, you’re just amazing, aren’t you?”

Grida joined in. Her gaze drifted briefly to Anne.

Anyone with a brain would’ve realized the monster had been targeting her. That must’ve made everything feel more tangled.

Enkrid’s joke, in truth, had been a small kindness aimed at Anne. The others were knights—they could stay calm. But the freckled healer couldn’t.

“That was hard to listen to.”

Anne chimed in—whether she understood the joke or just said it out of habit, it lightened the mood.

While they exchanged their banter, a long shadow stretched across the campfire.

“I’ll be off then.”

It was Odinkar, who had stood up after packing only the essentials.

A heavy backpack would slow him down and get in the way. He brought only a small bag slung diagonally across his back, enough to carry dried rations and combat rations that dissolved in water.

To ordinary people, the stuff was almost indigestible—but knights had hardy stomachs, and they’d digest it just by running.

Odinkar looked to Enkrid one last time.

“See you in Zaun.”

Enkrid gave a nod. Odinkar patted his horse’s mane in gratitude, then walked off into the dark.

The night sky was moonless, hidden by clouds. As he left the lantern’s reach, it looked as if he were stepping into the gaping maw of a beast.

But if a monster that size were nearby, its scent and presence would’ve been obvious—so it wasn’t likely.

And even if there was one, he’d probably slice his way out.

Enkrid watched Odinkar’s back vanish into the shadows. The man was among the strongest in Zaun. That was why they could send him off alone without worry.

Who knew how this would unfold later, but for now, this was a viable path.

If the others had opposed the idea, Enkrid wouldn’t have forced it.

But everyone followed his lead.

Magrun, turning over the events, looked at Enkrid.

He was crouched by the fire, pulling out his gear.

Why did I just agree with him so easily? Was it because his argument made sense?

After spending months with Enkrid, he’d learned the man’s gaze was anything but ordinary.

Or maybe I’ve just grown used to following him?

Enkrid had a natural charisma that made people listen.

No wonder they called him demonic.

It was said the whole battalion had become training fanatics just watching how obsessively Enkrid pushed himself.

Magrun had seen the transformed standing army of the border guard. He hadn’t seen them before, but he knew no other unit on the continent could compare.

Only the imperial army might come close.

He didn’t know how they’d fare in battle, but in terms of quality—they were a match.

***

“Traveling together like this feels weird. We’re all used to going solo. Even Ragna used to head out alone when he was young.”

That was something Grida added during a casual exchange.

“Just walk by the moonlight. It’s a straight path.”

Ragna responded.

“...How the hell is that guy still alive? He should’ve fallen off a cliff or into a magic pit by now.”

His sister voiced her concern, and her brother replied in his own affectionate language.

“Do your eyes even work? You can’t remember faces, and now you can’t follow paths? You saw a cliff and thought, ‘Let’s walk there’?”

As long as they didn’t draw swords and try to kill each other, this counted as sibling affection. Enkrid chose to see it that way.

The two continued exchanging such “affectionate” words.

“You could just jump down the cliff and roll, really. Oh wait—you can’t?”

“You son of a... Your tone’s just like Rem’s, you know that?”

Grida showed off her knowledge of regional vulgarities, even mixing in some recently learned insults.

Rem would’ve drawn her axe over that one.

Listening to them made Enkrid want to wash his ears. Even mercenaries didn’t talk this savagely.

“What’s even happening here?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

Nearby, Magrun and Anne shared a quiet comment, ignoring the loud siblings.

The campfire’s red glow painted Anne’s face. Even now, she didn’t say she wanted to go back.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

“I want to see that disease.”

She didn’t say personally or with my own eyes, but the meaning was clear.

“Do as you wish.”

Enkrid respected her decision. She’d made a strong impression since the day they met.

She treated even alchemy as just another tool for healing. So what she did—was it alchemy or healing?

Didn’t matter. Call it whatever she wanted.

Enkrid pulled out his weapons and laid them beside the fire. Maintenance time.

Jaxon had once said Enkrid had no aesthetic sense—ten horn-tipped daggers, each more practical than pretty.

Add to that the Tri-Iron Sword and Penna. He also had a short sword forged with Valerian steel, just in case.

He wore most of his weapons. Nothing hung from the saddle. It was a habit from his mercenary days—not something he was taught, but what he picked up watching others.

Mercenaries called it “wearing your weapons.”

“You’ve done mercenary work, haven’t you?”

Grida said. Her sharp eyes had caught it. She’d wandered the continent herself, and of course had experience in the mercenary world.

She pulled out her own weapons and checked them too—oiling, tightening straps, all of it.

Ragna and Magrun joined in. The only sound was the clinking of steel.

After that, a quiet rest followed.

They all knew how to sleep when they had the chance.

Anne eventually relaxed and drifted off. Enkrid remained partially alert as he slept, but nothing happened. Morning came.

They stretched, ate, took care of business.

And continued forward.

Black soil, rolling plains, occasional hills.

Some hills so low Anne could step over them, others so high they blocked the view even on horseback. A wave-like landscape.

As they walked under the soft spring sun shining to their right—something happened.

Ahead, a few trees stood. Around them, mist began to spread.

Artificial. Unnatural. Obvious to anyone.

And Enkrid had experienced this kind of thing before.