A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Sssssshhh.

Mist and Scalers went well together. That’s why they had probably unleashed the Massacre Mist.

But here, there were four knights.

No mere beast could buy time here. Ragna proved that first.

His greatsword cut down a Scaler that had become a medium for sorcery.

Normally, that shouldn’t have been possible. How had he chased down and killed the creature that had kept its distance and just rolled its eyes from behind?

Ragna had simply charged straight ahead, entering the enemy’s encirclement.

If the beasts were sentient, they’d call it madness—a suicidal charge.

If you’re being targeted from behind, then just treat every direction as the enemy. Then you can swing indiscriminately in every direction.

Ragna’s thinking was simple.

The fact that the medium died to his unexpected charge was the first misstep for the Scalers.

Even if there was mist, it wouldn’t have mattered.

So thought Enkrid as he held the hand of a Lady in an amber dress and danced. He stepped constantly, foot never resting, and with each motion, his blade swung. A Scaler’s head caught on his sword.

Slice!

Its head came off without resistance. The weight of the black-gold blade added power to the speed, and the center was anchored by meteoric iron.

More than just the satisfaction of cutting—it invigorated his hand.

Damn, this thing is good.

Was it Aitri’s improved craftsmanship, or the difference in materials?

Probably both.

Compared to the black-gold or silver swords he’d received before, this one fit his hand better. Even the way it clung to his grip felt like Lady Tri-Iron whispering sweet nothings.

Saying she was happy to have met the perfect partner.

Me too.

Enkrid muttered silently to himself words that would’ve earned him the label of madman if spoken aloud, stepping and turning in rhythm with the Lady’s dance.

It wasn’t random movement. He spun in circles centered around Anne.

Accelerated cognition and heightened senses accounted for every incoming attack. He stuck to the Wavebreaker style, stabbing and slicing at every opening.

In the whirl of his circular movement, neither Scalers nor the Plague Bride could approach beyond a certain radius.

Anne felt like she was standing at the eye of a storm, amber winds swirling.

“The Plague Bride’s breath is poisonous,” Anne said.

No one responded. From the start, the remaining brides had been slashed and stabbed before they could even close the distance.

Anne could barely see anything properly, but she said what had to be said.

It didn’t even take half a day to wipe out the entire Scaler swarm.

A few tried to play dead at the end, lying flat on their bellies and crawling toward Anne, pretending to flee—but it was useless.

Magrun ran about, stabbing the ground hard with his sword.

Thud! Crunch!

A few were killed that way, but that was all. There weren’t even five lizard beasts. Ragna had killed every last one of them.

If we’re just comparing combat power, the beasts are probably more dangerous.

That was Enkrid’s assessment. Scalers were dangerous because they could fool even a knight’s senses.

They hissed with a Sssssshhh and distorted the air, disrupting perception.

They had no scent to begin with, making them hard to ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ detect by smell. No, smell was probably the hardest sense to rely on.

They were natural enemies of beastkin.

They interfered with touch, hearing, and smell in subtle ways.

So the only option was to just see them and cut or stab.

You checked each one, and the tingling sense at the back of your head told you they were close.

A knight wouldn’t fall to trash like this.

They were just annoying pests. No additional spells or sorcery got involved midway either.

He’d been dancing joyfully with a compatible Lady, swinging his sword with glee, and only realized after it was over.

Why did they attack? Why use so much force?

He got the answer only after the battle.

Crack! Crunch!

Ragna stabbed the last one in the head with his greatsword and twisted his wrist. Bone shards exploded outward, and black blood and brain matter splattered from the split skull.

Grida, who had been keeping watch, frowned and said,

“These bastards...”

Her gaze was directed far behind the battlefield they had chosen.

They had fought forward, worried that the horses might get caught in the fray—but now something unexpected was seen in the rear.

The horses that had carried them from the Border Guard lay collapsed, their necks severed.

Bright red blood from their necks stained the black earth a deep crimson.

“They took all the food and water,” Magrun said after checking the horses.

Since they had been riding, there was no need for humans to carry supplies. All belongings were stashed in the saddle bags and backpacks strapped behind the horses.

All of it was gone.

Were we too absorbed in the fight?

Enkrid wasn’t the kind to wallow in regret. That didn’t mean he never reflected.

So he replayed the situation in his mind as a tactical exercise.

Starting with the question: Was I too absorbed in the fight?

No.

The enemy had targeted this from the beginning. That’s why they had shown the Scalers and the Plague Bride.

One to scramble their senses, the other to numb their noses.

And on top of that—

Even bold spells that could’ve revealed their own position.

If luck had been a bit better when he blocked the fireball, they might’ve pinpointed the mage.

If I had pushed it further... maybe.

But that “pushing it further” would’ve meant risking Anne’s life—and that he would not do.

If I had called Ragna over to guard and moved myself?

In terms of detection, he was probably better.

Still, he might’ve missed it anyway. And it was already over—no point in speculating. Even if a similar situation arose, he wouldn’t easily abandon his position.

They revealed the presence of a sorcerer just for this.

To kill a few horses and take their food and water.

“They’re basically trying to drive us back.”

That was Enkrid’s conclusion. Otherwise—

What if the mage is like Kraiss and is adjusting the situation with repeated spells to guide the outcome?

“If this happens when the road ahead is no longer rideable, they’re targeting our provisions,” Grida assessed, acting as their guide.

It wasn’t good news—but it wasn’t enough to be discouraged.

Ahead lay the mountains. For normal people, that might be dangerous. But not for her.

The mountains were full of food. With the weather warming, there’d be greens, berries, fruits—and animals to hunt. Water could be found along the way.

“We push forward,” Enkrid agreed. He looked at Anne.

His eyes asked if she wanted to turn back.

Anne clenched her teeth. Someone with malice was targeting her. That wasn’t pleasant.

But she wouldn’t retreat in fear. Never.

“I’m a healer. My goal is to cure every disease in the world.”

And what awaited in Zaun was one of the reasons her family had been taken.

“Alright,” Enkrid replied, and Anne steeled her resolve.

The amber liquid’s effect must’ve worn off—what had been coating the blade now slipped off and dripped to the ground.

“You’re not the Lady anymore, are you? Let’s just fight properly from now on,” Anne said, likely trying to calm herself with idle talk.

Enkrid gently reassured her.

“Then next time, I’ll ask for a black tailcoat.”

Anne’s reply was high praise.

“...The name of your order will never change, will it.”

The group resumed their journey. Since they had the habit of carrying their weapons at all times, all they lost were blankets, pots, cups, and rations.

A cloak could substitute for a blanket. Ragna untied the cloak from his waist and handed it to Anne.

He usually didn’t wear it—found it bothersome. But it was fortunate it had been on him. Otherwise, it would’ve been taken too.

“Oh, thank you,” Anne said, folding the cloak in half and wrapping it around herself. Draped in dark navy, she stepped forward.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, let’s,” Grida echoed, and Magrun nodded.

Both seemed to think something was wrong inside Zaun. Otherwise, why would all this have happened?

It was unsettling—it had happened even before they’d reached Imperial territory.

After they resumed walking, Enkrid asked Anne as he walked beside her:

“What is Panax and Remede Omnia?”

“...Huh?” Anne blinked as she turned to him.

The vast land seemed to drift behind them, and after crossing several knolls, grassy terrain welcomed them.

As they walked through the grass, the ground gradually rose—they were beginning to follow a mountain ridge.

The increase in trees signaled the same.

“Where did you hear that? It means the same as elixir. ‘Panax’ is the term used by fairies. Some scholars say the Philosopher’s Stone, if melted down, serves the same purpose.”

Enkrid knew the word “elixir.” Water of life—a medicine that cured all illness.

It was a common motif in bardic tales.

Not in historical texts, but in fanciful stories filled with legends.

In one story, it was a golden apple. In another, a potion that moved on its own inside a glass bottle.

But if you asked whether it truly existed—no alchemist on the continent had ever created such a thing. It remained a mystery.

“Remede Omnia is an alchemical concept. It’s a term for something that cures all diseases.”

“Does it actually exist?”

Enkrid asked, and Grida cut in.

“Every time a wandering alchemist claims they have it, it’s always a poison. Medicine and poison are just a hair’s breadth apart.”

Anne looked at Grida.

“Do you have some knowledge of alchemy? You’re right. Even poison, if used properly, can be medicine. And the reverse is true too. Some medicines become poison when misused, and some poisons are beneficial in small amounts.”

“So the real question is whether a universal cure could exist,” Grida replied drily.

Enkrid just listened quietly.

Anne didn’t answer immediately. She walked over exposed tree roots and stared at a lone distant tree.

Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead. She wasn’t weak, and the group was considerate of her pace—but she was still tiring.

Maybe I should ask Ragna to carry her soon, Enkrid thought privately.

Anne took a few more steps before speaking.

“Every alchemist who studies healing dreams of the elixir. I always thought their attempts were foolish.”

So it didn’t exist—just as expected.

Anne had stood out even among her peers. The alchemist Raban both coveted and resented her talent.

Even though Raban taught her only partial knowledge, Anne surpassed his level of healing quickly.

Just as there are prodigies in swordsmanship, there are prodigies in alchemy.

Anne believed she was simply lucky—ideas just came to her, she said.

Others would call that talent.

Thanks to that talent, she knew: the elixir couldn’t be made. It was a storybook myth.

“But what if we changed the perspective? People believe that Elixir, Panax, and Remede Omnia are all names of medicines, right?”

“Perspective?” Grida asked. Enkrid stayed focused, listening.

“What if it’s not a medicine—but a title?”

Anne continued.

Enkrid felt something spark in his mind.

A shift in perspective.

If it’s not a medicine, there is no mythical potion. But—

“My dream is to become Remede Omnia. I aim to be the person who cures all diseases.”

But a person? That could exist. It was Anne’s dream.

Hearing that, Enkrid suddenly felt he understood what the enemy was aiming for. Viewing it from a tactical mindset, their motive became clear.

“I smell water,” Grida said just then, leading the group.

After crossing a small hill, they saw a modest lake.

The water was clear, and behind it a steep path rose. It was a depression filled with water—possibly fed by groundwater, it felt a bit chilly.

They still had canteens, so water wasn’t an issue.

However—

“Wait,” Enkrid stopped Grida and looked at Anne.

“Can you check if there’s anything wrong with the water?”

“Huh? Yes, of course.”

Alchemy involved assessing water quality. That’s why many tea connoisseurs were tied to alchemists.

Didn’t Marcus always say—

“If you know an alchemist, water’s no problem. Though the best is said to be the fairy-made morning dew.”

Anne walked to the lake, filled her canteen, and dropped a few droplets of liquid inside.

She always carried a small pack full of reagents she never let touch her body.

“This shouldn’t be drunk. It will build up toxins in the intestines. Not lethal, but still harmful.”

The enemy’s aim was clear.

“They tampered with our gear knowing this water was contaminated?”

Magrun muttered.

“Or they poisoned it in advance.”

Grida added, but Enkrid couldn’t confirm that far.

Whether the water had been poisoned or was just naturally toxic—one thing was clear.

The path ahead wouldn’t be easy.

Drinking a little of this wouldn’t bring down someone with Will, but the enemy’s intent was plain.

Anne.

He didn’t yet know why. He didn’t even know who the enemy was.

But he felt something begin to simmer.

What boiled?

The unshakable resolve never to let them get what they wanted.

And Enkrid wasn’t the only one boiling.

“These sons of bitches,”

Anne spat from her tiny mouth—a mix of irritation, profanity, and mockery.

It was almost a kind of admiration.

Though she certainly wasn’t impressed.