A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

”Honor Knight Oara.”

It was the first thing Crang brought up at the place gathered for his victory speech.

”Cut the formation crap and have them sit and listen.”

And that was what he told a few commanders he’d called in before the speech began.

”Your Majesty, you’re really planning to cheapen the dignity of the crown, aren’t you?”

It was only natural for the captain of the guard to ask that.

”I already sold it all off the moment I decided to be king.”

”I’m not joking. Whether it’s the nobles or the Council of Ten, they’ll rise up. What kind of king lets soldiers sit around however they want and gives a victory speech?”

Even Andrew thought this wasn’t it, but Crang’s stubbornness was Enkrid-level.

The mad knight commander’s friend was a mad king too.

”I am the king. This is an order. So do it as told.”

Across the whole continent, there probably weren’t even three people who could bend that stubbornness.

One of them was present in this very place, but he didn’t care what Crang said.

”So you want to puff yourself up, saying you won because you drew out a knight duel with a few words and stepped right onto the front line yourself?”

He said crap like this. Of course, he didn’t mean it. It was the sort of thing you’d say because you were the king’s friend, and because you were crazy.

”That’s not bad either.”

Crang answered, met his friend’s eyes, and the two of them snickered at the same time. It was like the laughter of twelve-year-old brats.

The captain of the guard didn’t even want to know why the mad king and the knight commander were laughing.

To begin with, their vessel was too big and wide for him to measure, and it was outside the range of what he could understand.

Then, in the speech he stepped out to give, he met the eyes of the soldiers who were sitting around loafing. Of course, making eye contact with every single one of them didn’t make sense, but from the outside, it looked like that.

The king’s gaze and each soldier’s gaze met, and a look passed between them that only those who shared the same thing would be able to see.

It was a morning with light seeping in. Sunlight reflected and made the king’s blond hair shine even more.

A few of the soldiers who’d been chatting among themselves looked at him.

”Honor Knight Oara.”

When he said it once more and fluttered his cloak, the crowd fell silent as if dead. He hadn’t shouted that loudly, and since he didn’t have that kind of knack, it wasn’t as if he’d stimulated their instincts with sheer momentum either. He simply made everyone shut their mouths and drew everyone’s eyes with words and actions and gaze.

The hastily made platform was shabby, and for a king’s speech, the soldiers were sitting down any which way, but that didn’t touch the king’s dignity.

He was the kind of person who proved and expressed his value as he was.

‘A king’s vessel, huh.’

Even Cypress, watching, had a moment where admiration rose on its own.

Enkrid watched his friend—whom he’d seen like this countless times. If oppression was something you learned by watching monsters, then the spirit Crang showed right now was something innate to humans.

With only words and eyes and attitude, he pulled everyone who was watching into some moment in the past. It felt like a huge obelisk bearing the names of the dead soldiers rose up behind Crang.

Every time he saw it, should he call it fascinating?

Even the first time he saw it, hadn’t it made him think of something standing alone on a plain?

”Once, we showed military honors while honoring the names of dead knights. Today, as I begin, I thank you for not making me say ‘Honor Knight Cypress.’”

Some kings have to cut down the necks of those who don’t obey in order to maintain dignity.

Other kings have to stack armed men thick behind their backs for the sake of their authority.

Other kings still have to build up force to prove themselves.

And the king of Naurillia, Enkrid’s friend, was the kind of person who proved his dignity by throwing out formation crap and, with everyone sitting freely, saying this to all who looked at him.

”Thank you for fighting. Thank you for protecting us.”

Crang spoke and, just like when he honored Oara, showed military honors. His speech wasn’t long and it was plain, but that alone was enough to set the soldiers’ chests on fire. Soldiers drunk on elation shouted.

”For the kingdom!”

”For His Majesty!”

”Ooooh!”

A few commanders and soldiers shouted and led, and when the entire army echoed their words, it felt like the ground would shake just from opening their mouths. If the retreating southern army had seen it, they would’ve had their spirit crushed just from the momentum.

”Great Cypress!”

”Who would pick a fight with a madman?”

Someone even spat out words like that.

”Red Cloak Order of Knights!”

”Mad Order of Knights!”

There were plenty who shouted the name of the knight order too.

With all those cheers as the backdrop, Crang added,

”I’ll erase the Demon-lands and all that crap.”

At those words, the army responded even louder. Right now, even if the remaining five of the six-nicknamed demons appeared—excluding the one that was dead—they looked ready to throw their lives in and fight.

That was the morning. Enkrid admitted that the speech where Crang had roused elation in every soldier had also set his chest on fire.

‘To the point I couldn’t sleep.’

That was why he’d come out for a night walk. He was trying to walk while sorting out what he’d been thinking about for days, and up ahead, Ragna was staring up at the sky with a blank look.

”Can’t sleep?”

Ragna looked at his captain and nodded.

”Yes.”

”A walk?”

”I’ll guide you.”

”No, just don’t take the lead.”

It wasn’t like Ragna was so drunk on elation that he couldn’t sleep.

”That density.”

They hadn’t even walked many steps when Ragna brought it up first. He’d had his heart stolen by the way Enkrid talked about handling Will. He even looked excited, somehow.

”It’s stacking Will tight in your body. If you stack it any which way, your body will be a mess, but.”

”If you do it properly, it’ll be fine to use Point Explosion repeatedly.”

Enkrid hadn’t noticed, but to Ragna, it was important.

Line Explosion and Point Explosion were half-made techniques. You couldn’t call something a proper art when the more you used it, the more recoil came back into your body.

Because of that, wasn’t that why Zaun didn’t bother teaching it?

And because of that, his father, Tempest Zaun’s body, had been ruined into a wreck.

‘It was because the density of Will was too high.’

His gifted talent found the core Enkrid had pointed out, grasped it, and reconstructed it.

Making what he thought in his head into something his body could do wasn’t that hard for him.

Ragna got excited while chewing it over, and that was why he’d been unable to sleep.

If he told his father this, by controlling Will and lowering its density, the load Point Explosion put on the body would decrease.

Even if that didn’t bring the body that had been worn down back to its prime.

‘A chance to train again will appear.’

A chance to get out of the state of being ruined and dying. For now, the power of a single blow would become weaker than before, but later, it would get better.

And for his mother, called Blitzkling, it would become a key that opened a door she’d never even imagined.

‘So she can endure using Line Explosion repeatedly.’

Matching the density of Will to the level of bodily training.

Of course, since he had to handle Will to fit his own body, he’d have to find the fine details himself, so he’d still have to put effort into training, but anyway, there was a path. No, a path had opened.

‘Should I call it incredible.’

Enkrid learned something no matter what moment it was. It was a thought that came to him anew. Would he have done the same?

‘If Father had been here?’

If his father or mother had come here and spent just one month with a knight like Cypress, would they have been able to know it? Half and half. There was a possibility, but he couldn’t say “certainly.” This was something that happened because of the traits Enkrid had as a person. That was how Ragna saw it.

‘A person like Captain isn’t common.’

Ragna knew that too.

”It’s still cold.”

When Enkrid spoke, the cloak fastened itself. The mystique the fairyfolk cloak possessed.

”Is that so?”

”Stop trying to take the lead.”

The two of them didn’t have some great conversation. They simply walked wherever their feet took them, and it just happened to be toward where the air of the Demon-lands was thicker. Just as they were thinking they should turn back, they ran into an unknown silhouette.

”It’s you.”

Blond hair entered his eyes first. No matter how much moonlight shone, it was a dark night, and it wasn’t common for hair color to enter your eyes first.

‘Dull blond.’

That was the first thought that came the instant he saw it. And along with it came an awkward sense of discomfort.

As he repeated today, sometimes there were people whose faces came to mind but whose names he forgot, and sometimes, even looking at their appearance, he couldn’t immediately recall where he’d seen them. This time was the same.

‘Where have I seen them?’

The looks were familiar. But the eyes weren’t.

‘Dead eyes.’

Or you could call them ash-gray, flames snuffed out after facing countless deaths.

Eyes he’d never seen before? No. They were eyes he’d met a few times.

”Does it matter if a few people die? If you win, that’s all that matters.”

He’d seen plenty even among mercenaries.

”This is easier, right?”

When was it—there were eyes like the eyes of a guy who’d gone out of his way to kill the target. A guy who said, more often than not, killing people was easier.

‘No, it’s deeper than that.’

If the eyes of the ones he’d seen before were a shallow creek, these were a lake. Wide and deep, and hard to gauge the depth.

Eyes like settled dust, or hardened dust. Eyes that held despair that had forgotten hope.

He didn’t know the other’s name, and it was the first time he’d seen the face. Not a southerner. It felt like he’d seen them somewhere, but he didn’t have time to pull the memory up.

”Who?”

Ragna asked. At some point, his hand was already on Sunrise’s hilt, and his calm, sunken gaze had finished getting ready to draw and swing the sword at any time.

Oppression rose on its own, but the swordsman in front of them only looked at Enkrid in silence. They said fairies were emotionless.

‘It’s worse than that.’

This was a face where even less emotion showed than that. Inside those ash-gray pupils, a black shadow flickered faintly. Other than that, there was nothing he could feel from those eyes.

If he had to say it, maybe a little curiosity.

”Why are you fighting on that side?”

The swordsman asked.

”What?”

”It’s just that I don’t understand.”

And the tone being so perfectly polite was all the more strange.

Enkrid reflexively examined the other’s clothes and sword and such. Was there something odd?

A metal breastplate, and only a single longsword worn. It was ordinary gear without any pattern.

It was a bizarre thing. Enkrid hadn’t even felt this when he faced Balrog.

‘No opening.’

It was enough to make him think on its own, is this a wall?

The swordsman looked ahead quietly, then set a hand on the sword hilt.

”Don’t draw it. There’s no need to die ‘now’ for nothing.”

The eyes were on Enkrid, but the words were aimed at Ragna.

Cold sweat ran down the back of Ragna’s neck. His injuries were mostly healed. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t a body ruined into a wreck either. Anne’s medicine was excellent.

Ragna raised his focus. He threw away any question-and-answer. Provocation? He didn’t have room for that.

He focused on what he did best. Gripping the sword, drawing, and swinging. Sunrise condensed heat inside the scabbard. The moment he drew it, it was ready to pour out the heat it held in a single burst.

”Is it a magic sword? It must be a relic. An excellent sword.”

The swordsman had room to spare. Enkrid was in the same situation as Ragna. With a hand on Dawn, he waited for the slightest opening.

”How far have you tempered Will?”

The swordsman asked again. Enkrid suppressed instinct a few times and spoke.

”What’s it to you?”

He definitely wanted to say that, but like the first time he faced the Dragonkin’s word of command, his mouth opened on its own.

”Density and change.”

”Not bad.”

The swordsman tilted the head and gripped the sword and drew it. It was pointless to argue how natural that motion was.

It was simply that neither Ragna nor Enkrid could find an opening to charge in during the moment the other gripped and drew the sword.

”I left Balrog alone because there was no need to kill him, but.”

Enkrid’s thought naturally followed the words he heard and pulled out a conclusion.

‘Fought Balrog and won?’

Just from the words, that was what it sounded like. It didn’t sound like bluffing.

”How did you kill Balrog?”

The swordsman asked. Before Enkrid could answer, Ragna drew his sword.

If there’s no opening, then you make one. If this isn’t the path, then you just keep walking until the destination appears.

That was the will inside Ragna’s sword swings.

The moment he entered a silent world where sound disappeared and swung, leaving an afterimage like the wing of a red-feathered bird, the swordsman swung too.

Enkrid also spotted an opening in that instant and thrust his sword in.

‘One-point thrust.’

It was the fastest single move among the sword strikes he had.

In the space where heavy pressure bore down on his shoulders, the swordsman knocked aside Sunrise and smashed down on Dawn that Enkrid had extended.

With one trajectory, he batted away both blades.

KWA-GWANG!

The noise came only after every motion was finished. At the end of the clash, Enkrid and Ragna were flung back to left and right.

Even Rem would’ve had his eyes go round.

Because at this point, someone who wasn’t even a demon had proven superiority over both Enkrid and Ragna with a single exchange.