A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Odin? Didn’t he come ahead of us?”

Magrun asked.

It was a question born of the same train of thought Enkrid had just followed.

Odin was the nickname for Odinkar. He and Magrun were inseparable friends. Magrun’s expression darkened further.

“You went with him—so why are you asking me?”

Was there anything to read in the clan head’s face or voice?

For example, the truth behind what he had just said.

Impossible.

Enkrid didn’t think the man was like a fairy, incapable of lying.

That didn’t mean the words coming out of the clan head’s mouth could automatically be accepted as the truth.

But could they be lies?

No.

He couldn’t read anything. That was the honest answer. Because he couldn’t read anything, he instinctively tried to find what might be hidden behind the words.

But nothing at all revealed itself. It was the first time he’d experienced this.

Why?

He replayed what he’d sensed with instinct and recalculated it rationally. The process took no time at all—he was long accustomed to it.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

He couldn’t feel or detect any trace of concern or suspicion. The clan head’s voice carried no emotion.

“I sent you to bring back Ragna, and you came back after a nice little vacation, huh?”

“Yeah, it was actually fun to look around. So Odinkar didn’t return. And there’s nothing wrong with the clan?”

“It’s the same as every day. Why would anything be different?”

To Enkrid, it felt like listening to an orchestra play different songs at the same time. Dissonance.

Nothing wrong with the clan?

And yet, on their way here, they had encountered curses blocking their path, an attack by a mage, and even a strange monster of unusual classification.

They’d also said that the Scalers they saw were the first of their kind in this area.

“And the people coming and going from the village haven’t had any problems?”

The Zaun clan regularly interacted with three villages: the hunters’ village, the retirees’ village, and the intermediaries’ village. Those villagers constantly moved between the clan and their own towns.

If something had been wrong, those villages would’ve been affected too.

“You keep mentioning problems—so something did happen on your way here, right? And judging by the way Magrun’s expression froze at the news Odin didn’t return, it must not have been trivial. If it’s something recent, it might be when a few village elders came up here. Heskal was their escort.”

The clan head seemed not to even see Ragna, Enkrid, or Ann.

Ann couldn’t even open her mouth under the man’s eerie pressure. Enkrid remained silent too—far too preoccupied with observing.

Still can’t read anything from his tone...

But one thing was clear: the clan head had remarkable insight.

He grasped the situation and adjusted his answers just from a few shifts in expression and a handful of questions.

And right then—yet another person who couldn’t care less about time or place chimed in.

“I came to retrieve the sunrise,” Ragna announced his prodigal return.

The clan head didn’t look surprised or flustered in the slightest.

“You know how to take it, don’t you?”

“Yeah. That’s why I came while Father’s still alive. It seemed like it would only matter if I did it that way.”

To someone unfamiliar with the situation, it might’ve sounded like a complete rejection of basic human decency—a display of sheer unfilial behavior.

But perhaps in Zaun, this sort of thing was ordinary. The clan head replied without blinking.

“Right. That’s how it should be. You’ve done well to come.”

Was that really the right response here?

Even if someone thought so, it wasn’t something an outsider could interrupt. This was family business—clan business.

“You insane bastard, so that was your goal? When you said you were going to retrieve something?”

Grida was the one with the most reasonable reaction. Magrun, too, seemed shocked and muttered, “Then where the hell did Odin go?” while staring at Ragna.

It seemed a statement worth being stunned over.

Of course, Enkrid didn’t say a word—not out of understanding, but because he was still too focused on watching the clan head.

The man stood at the gate between the fences, not so much as lifting a finger.

Then, all at once, his hand moved to his waist.

Enkrid missed that short movement because he’d been distracted for a moment.

The clan head shifted his Will, tensing his muscles as if to move his left hand, and Enkrid caught that with his natural intuition.

It was a perception based on sixth sense.

“Sharp instincts.”

The clan head said as he drew his sword.

There was no awkwardness in his movement. It was as natural as hair fluttering in the wind.

So natural, in fact, that it made you want to stop and watch.

There wasn’t even a sound of the blade being drawn, and it came directly for Enkrid’s forehead.

A flinch would’ve been natural, but Enkrid didn’t move.

He only responded when the sword crossed a line he’d imagined in his mind.

Chring.

The Tri-Iron Sword was drawn and sprang upward like a flash of light. At the same time, Enkrid calculated dozens of possible paths the clan head’s sword might take.

He read and analyzed the movement. The attacks branching from that sword could number in the hundreds.

If I calculate everything, I’ll exhaust myself first.

The switch to the Wavebreaker Sword Style happened in an instant.

The Tri-Iron Sword shot forward like lightning, cleaving the air.

Tap.

Before anyone noticed, the clan head had already returned his sword to its sheath. Enkrid spun his outstretched sword in the air and slid it back into its scabbard as well.

Tring.

Aside from that slight sound, there was no major difference in their movements.

But I lost.

Enkrid knew it was a loss.

The clan head hadn’t even fully extended or swung his sword. Enkrid had.

And that was exactly what the other man had wanted.

Would it be different in an actual fight?

Fighting spirit rose in his chest. There were people who shrank in the face of those stronger than them.

But Enkrid had clawed and crawled his way here through countless battles against people far greater than himself.

Even after becoming a knight, he’d never fallen into the illusion of omnipotence.

He simply enjoyed it, kept going, and dreamed.

So he didn’t shrink back.

“One bout?”

Ragna wasn’t the only one who didn’t care about timing or circumstance.

Grida and Magrun, both knowing exactly what that “one bout” meant, probably wanted to throw these lunatics out the door.

The clan head, however, only curled his lips slightly into what could vaguely be called a smile.

Asked why it was only vaguely a smile, the answer would be that it held no emotion.

“You’ve brought an amusing friend, Ragna.”

“He’s the captain of the knight order I belong to.”

“You belong to a knight order? And he outranks you?”

Normally, that question would carry some surprise, but even now, the tone remained subdued.

Or rather, maybe it’s not just subdued—maybe he’s actually devoid of emotion. But still, can’t we just spar?

He was the kind of man who could analyze and have rebellious thoughts all at once.

“Welcome. I won’t refuse a bout, but judging by your condition, it doesn’t seem you’re at your best. Wouldn’t it be better to rest first?”

“This is my best.”

Enkrid replied.

“You crazy bastard. Do it later. Right now, we need to figure out where the hell Odin went.”

Magrun interjected, and Enkrid had no choice but to agree.

Still, he didn’t think anything had happened to Odinkar in Zaun.

It was simple logic.

Was it even possible to hold down a knight of that caliber without causing a single disturbance?

Second, Odinkar had walked the same road they had. If he had been attacked or defeated—

Would there really be no trace left?

Unlikely.

There was no spell or curse that could repair broken trees and leave no marks behind.

“Magic is always in pursuit of transformation, but that doesn’t mean it can do everything. If it could create miracles, Audin would be better at it than me.”

That was something Esther had told him during their sparring.

So then, how had Odinkar vanished?

There was only one answer.

He disappeared of his own will.

Enkrid had reached a logical conclusion from minimal information.

Everyone else might be overwhelmed by the strange calm after a string of attacks and the sudden quiet in Zaun, but if they looked objectively, the answer was right there.

“Come inside and explain the situation. Your guest is welcome to join.”

The clan head turned and walked inside.

His footsteps made no sound. Despite being larger than Enkrid, he moved silently.

Jaxon would’ve been amazed.

That’s how quiet his movements were.

Even the sword hanging from his belt made no clatter.

Whatever was under his boots, there was barely a whisper from the floorboards.

Facing him felt like confronting a mountain—but following behind him now, it felt more like a breeze brushing past.

“Clan head’s strong, right?”

Enkrid asked as they walked.

Grida scratched his head like he was frustrated.

“One guy shows up saying he’s here for the sunrise, another one blurts out ‘one bout?’ Are you all insane? And you’re asking if the clan head’s strong? Of course he is, dumbass. Even if there were three of me, I’d lose.”

Enkrid gave a small nod.

If there were three Gridas, he’d have to fight to kill. That’s what it would take to win.

Sparring would never be enough to settle it—that was only because Grida didn’t obsess over winning.

Magrun hated losing. But if someone asked him to bet gold on a match between Magrun and Grida—

He’d bet on Grida.

He’d seen the difference firsthand.

That might be the reason Magrun survived his clash with Rem.

If Rem had truly felt threatened, his axe would’ve split Magrun’s skull in two.

“Outsider, huh?”

“Been a while.”

“Have you seen Heskal? He said he’d watch my swordplay today, but he’s off working again. So lame!”

As they turned their heads, they caught glimpses of the people speaking.

The clan estate was arranged like a basin. It wasn’t densely populated.

There were about twenty people along the road they walked.

One woman, in particular, stood out.

She wore armor made from thick iron plates that covered her forearms, thighs, abdomen, and chest.

Bigger than Teresa, Enkrid thought.

When their eyes met, the woman tilted her head and gave a sly grin.

Giants and humans looked similar except for size, but if you looked closely, the differences stood out.

Giants had larger features and a presence humans couldn’t match.

Just like how a human could crush an ant with brute strength, giants could do the same to humans.

“Whoa.”

The woman opened her mouth and muttered.

Grida, sensing the gaze, waved and turned to Enkrid.

“That’s Anahera. By race, she’s the top beauty of our clan.”

Enkrid despised judging people by looks, but even he knew that protruding cheekbones and jagged fangs weren’t standard beauty traits.

The flattened ears, though, did add something to her appearance.

“A giant, huh.”

Enkrid commented, reflecting on what Grida had just said and what he’d observed himself.

“You catch on too fast. No fun to tease.”

Grida seemed to have let go of some of his earlier worries [N O V E L I G H T] after meeting the clan head.

It was probably the mindset of whatever it is, the clan head will handle it.

Though they called it a clan estate, the buildings were widely spaced and each had a large courtyard. A tall spire stood in the center like a castle tower.

It wasn’t an actual castle—more of a grand manor.

The clan head led them toward that central manor.

After hearing the situation from Grida and Magrun, he didn’t think long before saying:

“I believe he vanished by his own choice.”

It might’ve been obvious to someone on the outside, but when it involved you personally, it was always hard to stay objective.

But the clan head had no trouble doing just that.

“But why would Odinkar do something like that?”

Magrun asked, keeping pace with the clan head.

“That, I don’t know.”

The clan head gave a concise reply.

“Your guest seems to have figured it out already. Why not tell us?”

“I was going to say it once we were inside. Or, you know, if someone asked.”

The clan head glanced at Enkrid briefly, but Enkrid still couldn’t read anything from those eyes.

A perfect personality for hiding things, Enkrid thought, continuing to follow.

“Who’s here?”

As they approached the manor, a blonde woman stepped forward and asked.

She wore an apron, but with his keen perception, Enkrid could tell she had a pair of short swords hidden beneath her skirt.

And that she was quite skilled.

Just from her walk and the muscles visible on her arms, it was clear.

“A guest. This is my son.”

“Well, he’s my son too, so of course I’d recognize him. You actually made it back? I thought you’d spend your whole life wandering around lost.”

She welcomed her long-absent son with tears—at least in words.

In truth, not even an ant would have shed a tear. The woman—presumably Ragna’s mother—only gave a faint smirk as she spoke.

“Finding my way is my specialty.”

Ragna replied.

“Sure it is.”

His mother raised a hand like she was going to greet him—

Ching.

—and drew a sword. In fact, she drew two swords, one in each hand.

Maybe this was what they called a welcome with both hands.