A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Baerlich hid underground. If he wanted, he could hold out in here for three days and nights without issue.

If there was anything he wanted, it was this: the trait of the Frokk species was to be viciously stubborn. And they were a race suited to hiding in places like the ground.

Weren’t they said to live on insects as their staple and to like damp places?

For a Frokk like that, the earth was a place he could treat as yet another refuge. Of course, what they preferred most was living by ponds. Wherever Frokk gathered to live, it was always the edge of a pond thick with aquatic plants.

Anyway, Baerlich vanished while the Faceless Order of Knights fought, and while everyone focused on Cypress, he waited for his moment.

‘Whose side is luck on?’

Baerlich knew the answer to that question.

‘The side of the one who works for it.’

He didn’t intervene in the fight. He didn’t creep any closer, either. Instead, there were two things he wanted.

First: Cypress getting tired.

Second: Cypress passing over him, even by coincidence.

Those two wishes were just about to be granted. It was after three more of the Faceless knights died. They hadn’t even tried to lure Cypress toward where Baerlich was. If they had, he would’ve noticed long ago.

Thanks to that, it took quite a while for things to reach this point.

‘You’re really something, you bastard.’

Of course, since it made Cypress burn more stamina and Will, it was better for him.

‘Do you feel bad that the Emperor personally raised this order?’

No. He didn’t. At least, that was what he thought.

In the first place, this fight only ended if Cypress died. Baerlich knew that. It was a belief bordering on faith.

That was why, even if all forty of the Faceless knights the Emperor had painstakingly raised died, as long as they killed one Cypress, he judged it a profit.

He wouldn’t be able to avoid it. Even he couldn’t afford to be relaxed against these forty. Cypress had forced himself against that order and cut the numbers down. It was a result he’d earned by spraying his own blood.

But if this kept going, it would only let Cypress stack yet another feat on top of the one where he endured forty and won.

‘I can’t let that happen.’

It was a little different from the plan he’d set at the start.

‘I was going to hit him from behind in the middle of the melee.’

In the south, there was still enough power left to do that. Those forty knights weren’t everything.

Just then, Cypress took another man’s throat and flung his body to the side. Three spearheads stabbed into the spot he’d just been.

‘Well, this might be even better.’

Baerlich ended his thoughts and released the breath he’d been holding. Along with his breathing, he spun Will through his whole body.

Bbeobeobeong!

The rocky ground burst, stone dust scattering. It was a moment that defied everyone’s expectations. It should have shocked them, but Cypress simply drew his sword back and, just like he had been doing, blocked the spearhead of the Faceless knight.

Bang!

Then a blast erupted. The one who’d thrust the spear threw his body in without caring for his own safety. Because of that, Cypress couldn’t bleed the force off, and the impact rattled his entire body.

Baerlich stabbed as if he were throwing a blade, aiming for his nemesis who’d been harried by allied knights.

The Faceless Order of Knights’ attacks were continuing from front, back, left, and right. There was nowhere to dodge.

‘Got you.’

The Frokk was certain.

***

Enkrid woke up after having all sorts of dreams atop One-Eye, and he felt his body had gotten noticeably lighter.

‘Did some of the fatigue ease up?’

Observing and assessing your own condition was something he’d been doing since his mercenary days. Enkrid judged that his body was far better than before he slept, but that didn’t mean he was in top condition.

Twice now, he’d fought the moment he dropped from the sky, and both times, while they weren’t long fights, they were battles where he abused his body and poured out Will. If his condition were normal, that would be what was strange.

‘Thank you, Esther.’

He greeted her in his head and looked down—and saw someone facing dozens of knights alone. The moment Enkrid saw it, he knew who it was.

‘Cypress of the Red Cloak.’

A knight he’d once admired was performing a miracle. What he was doing was no different than the miracle of a mage who had held back three thousand soldiers by himself.

He’d been watching from afar as he came in. One-Eye lowered altitude. Should he say they understood each other without words? Now, One-Eye knew what his friend was about to do. In that moment, Enkrid threw himself off One-Eye’s back. It felt a little strange.

‘Isn’t this already the third time?’

Meaning, since he started riding One-Eye, every time he arrived somewhere, he’d thrown himself off and dropped. Including this time, it made three.

Paaang!

He spread his cloak, caught the wind, and slowed his fall. At the same time, he dropped right over the head of the one who’d been stabbing at the Red Cloak’s back.

Maybe the man sensed Enkrid’s approach—he pulled away at once. Enkrid regained his balance and planted his feet on the ground.

Bang!

The explosion-like sound was inevitable. No matter how much he slowed down, he’d fallen from up in the sky.

The rocky floor cracked, gravel and stones pulverized into dust that clouded his vision like fog.

Kneeling on one knee, Enkrid stared ahead and tracked the opponent’s position beyond the murky dust cloud.

‘The next attack?’

There wasn’t one. He thought the opponent would have enough room to spare even if he avoided Enkrid’s strike, but that worry was nothing but needless fear.

The opponent had more to avoid than just his sword.

“Where do you think you’re going.”

It was Rem first. His axe stole the opponent’s breathing room. A swing that smashed and scattered the dust cloud.

Hooang!

With a roar, the dust was shoved to one side. The Frokk caught in the arc of that axe swing jumped back.

With a boom, the ground where he landed burst. It was because he’d kicked off the earth with monstrous strength.

After Rem came Ragna and Pell, and Dunbakel. And then Lien and Ingis, both wearing the Red Cloak, as well.

All of them, before anyone realized it, were standing by Cypress’s side. Enkrid was seated right behind Cypress. The others stood as if wrapping around the two of them.

“It’s forty knights you’re facing. Not forty-one.”

Ingis said.

“He’s in the middle of keeping an oath. There’s no place for a Frokk with no chivalry to butt in.”

Lien added.

“I just thought he had a face that made me want to beat him once.”

Rem said it while twirling the axe that had carved through empty air in his grip.

“Who said anything?”

Enkrid answered. His knee throbbed faintly, but a third crash-landing—third fall, third drop, third landing—was something he could afford to take in stride.

Weren’t there sturdy allies all around him?

When Enkrid stood, Cypress leaned his back into him. Naturally, Enkrid took Cypress’s back with his own.

“You’re late.”

The guardian god of Naurillia spoke.

“Isn’t it more like I came fast?”

“Strictly speaking, ‘fast’ is the correct word—but at times like this, doesn’t it feel like you should say ‘late’?”

The guardian god of the kingdom cracked a joke. When Enkrid glanced him over, he could see tears and rips all over. Cheek and shoulder, flank too—wounds were clear. And in that state, he was really making jokes.

“Betrothed, I’m here.”

Shinar whispered beside him—somehow she’d gotten close. Enkrid only nodded.

“I’m back.”

Enkrid said.

“I know without you saying it.”

Dunbakel replied. It wasn’t a scolding, but it sounded like one. Enkrid only shrugged.

“Looks like you didn’t get lost.”

They piled on a worry he hadn’t even been. Enkrid snorted a laugh. They really never changed.

“Well, well.”

The Frokk from the enemy country stuck out his tongue. A long tongue, like it was snatching up regret the way it would snatch an insect.

Here, there were only two people who could read a Frokk’s expression in fine detail. Cypress and Enkrid.

One was because he’d fought Frokk who’d tried to kill him his whole life. The other was because he’d been around Frokk so much that he knew. Of course, it took observation and interest on top of that.

The opponent—the Frokk—showed regret.

And that was all.

“Cypress. You survived again. Lucky, too. Hm?”

The Frokk said. Cypress drew breath as if it were hard. He looked so exhausted that if someone rushed him now, it seemed like he’d hand over his neck at any moment.

With that posture, he spoke.

“Luck is a skill.”

He knew how to use his tongue, too. Well, if you survived countless battlefields, you’d pick up verbal finesse you never had.

“Effort is what catches that luck.”

The Frokk replied. What you felt in their exchange was the years, and time, and the history piled up between them. The two stared at each other like that.

The Frokk didn’t look like he intended to fight anymore. But no one let their guard down. Jumping in out of nowhere like that was a southern knight’s specialty.

In the middle of those murderous looks crossing back and forth, Pell opened his mouth.

“Hey. Which one of you is the slimiest bastard?”

“What?”

“There is one, right?”

Baerlich immediately thought of someone, but since he had no obligation to answer, he ignored it.

“Make sure you tell him. I’m gonna meet him once.”

It was out of nowhere, but it fit a madman all the same.

Enkrid, watching quietly, pulled Dunbakel and Shinar back. It was because someone was approaching from behind. Someone who needed an escort was walking into the center of the battlefield.

The enemy—fifteen of the forty knights—were still alive, and with the Frokk standing at the center, they looked more threatening than the forty had a moment ago.

Then, someone stepped out in front of them, wearing a cloak embroidered with a red solar-beast on a white field.

It was Crang.

The king himself stood at the very front of the line. He looked relaxed. Folding his arms, he asked after the enemy leader’s well-being.

“Is the Emperor doing well?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer he was suffering with a boil on his ass or something—but I suppose he isn’t, huh?”

At the continued “concern,” the Frokk puffed his cheek once.

What kind of lunatic bastard is this now?

If you put the question on his face into words, that would be it.

***

One lone knight held back forty enemies. Crang thought of the sea he’d seen as a child. A world of water spread out without end. The water was so salty you couldn’t drink it, but that water gave salt in return.

The fact it gave salt, and the fact it was vast—both were amazing. But what impressed him most among it all was the waves.

The day a gale raged and waves slammed into the harbor, Crang learned what disaster was.

‘Something human hands cannot stop.’

But now, here at the front of the battlefield, one man stood against a wave of blades and violence and killing intent.

A red cloak flapped on his back.

A sword was in his hand.

His name was Cypress, the guardian god of the kingdom.

“Respect.”

Crang found himself saying it as he watched the fight—one too hard to properly see, too hard to properly comprehend—without looking away even once.

After watching Enkrid fall from the sky, and everyone step in, Crang moved his feet.

“Your Majesty?”

The captain of the escort called him.

“If those with swords have done what they must, then the one who fights with words should do what he must as well.”

“What?”

The head of the royal guard escorting him had no idea what this was supposed to mean.

Even so, he couldn’t stop his king.

“If your duty is to protect me, then protect me. I have to go keep my duty.”

And what was a king’s duty?

There was nothing more important than protecting your people.

Knights, armies, soldiers—they were all the people of Naurillia.

Crang strode forward. Even after seeing a fight that would make any normal person’s liver go cold and their knees go weak, his knees were firm.

His eyes were straight.

His bearing was consistent.

There was no wavering at all.

Standing at the very front like that, Crang opened his mouth.

“Tell the Emperor this: stop with the pointless war of attrition. I propose a duel of knights. Ah—will you tell him this too? If he’s so scared he insists on fighting an all-out war, that’s fine as well.”

If you translated that literally into mercenary-speak, it would come out like this.

“If you’re scared, then die.”

It was mercenary slang, but anyone who’d lived going from battlefield to battlefield would understand it easily.

“That’s spicy.”

Rem said.

“Interesting.”

Ragna added.

Grrk.

Baerlich puffed his cheek in place of an answer. It was a habit that came out when he was lost in thought.

What if he just rushed in right now and killed the enemy king?

It looked like the king would die if you tossed even a pebble at him.

His eye for it was accurate.

And the Frokk’s sharp eyes also saw that what he was about to try would fail.

Behind the king stood Cypress, and beside him stood the man who had dropped out of the sky and tried to cut him down.

‘He stepped out because he has something he trusts besides knights.’

He was a Frokk with a quick mind. Meaning, he could measure the situation.

“We could kill every last one of you right here, but our lord says he’ll let you live. So hurry up, say ‘thank you for sparing me,’ leave an arm behind, and get lost.”

It was Rem, lifting his axe onto his shoulder, tossing out the line.

And he didn’t only toss words.

He packed killing intent into it and aimed it at all of them.

Baerlich endured it without moving, but the remaining knights didn’t.

Clang!

They lifted their weapons up front.

In the middle of that noise, the sound came from the one holding two longswords, smashing them together.

“Yeah, yeah. Nice spirit. Even better if you come at us.”

Rem laughed.

“Honestly, starting by cutting them all down doesn’t sound too bad.”

Ragna, too—something was clearly boiling up inside her.

Who here wouldn’t feel that way?

One knight had achieved an absurd feat.

The king rode on the back of that feat and proposed cutting the outcome of the war cleanly and violently.

And he even put his own life up as the stake on a gamble the knight had won.

“If I lose the duel of knights, I’ll hand over my head.”

Crang’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a power that gathered everyone’s attention.

There was no spell in it.

But something he was born with quickly bent other people’s gaze to him.

“Everyone, listen!”

After drawing their eyes, he raised his voice. A heavy tone spread over the battlefield.

“I have staked my life on the duel of knights! If you’re still afraid, then withdraw! Do not set foot on this land! Do not raise spear or sword against my knights, my army, my people! If not, then—”

Crang cut himself off, and flames burned in his eyes.

He, too, had something like a knight’s Will.

That was how Enkrid saw it.

“I’ll kill you all.”

The royal guard who had come as an escort knew this was the moment to protest—‘Your Majesty, what are you saying?’—but he couldn’t.

No—he couldn’t even hide the exhilaration surging up inside him, and he stomped his foot.

Thud.

It wasn’t only him.

Everyone except those standing at the very front did the same.

Thud, thud.

“Get out!”

“We!”

“Protect!”

Then the chants rose.

“Naurillia’s!”

“Guardian god!”

It was a title for Cypress, but right now, it also sounded like it was aimed at Crang.

At least, those shouting like that—this was what they felt.

In response to that roar, a reply came back.

“Interesting.”

The Emperor stepped forward.

The palanquin carrying him approached the front of the battlefield. When Enkrid raised his head, he could faintly see the Emperor’s face.

“I accept.”

That was the Emperor’s answer.

His answer to the proposal Crang had thrown.