A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Was the reason his beard looked silver rather than white because he trimmed it neatly every day?

It looked that way.

The step he took, the sleeves tied near the wrists with cords, the thin-looking silver breastplate and shoulder guards whose material was hard to guess, the scale-shaped metal boots wrapping up to his shins, and the long spear in his left hand with the sword hanging at the left side of the same waist.

He was clearly armed, and yet his clothes, his bearing, everything about him gave off the feeling of neatness. He looked like a kind old nobleman who had come by to be treated to a cup of tea somewhere. Judging from his appearance alone, he was truly elegant with age.

‘He’s holding the spear in his left hand, and the sword is hanging at his left hip.’

As a habit, Enkrid examined the approaching man’s armament, bearing, and force.

No helmet. Once someone reached the level of a knight, they disliked wearing helmets. They interfered with the senses that went beyond mere sharpness and peered more than an inch ahead.

The old man approached with calm steps. The bear figure engraved on his breastplate caught the eye. It had its mouth stretched wide open in a roar. It was so vivid that it looked as though a living bear had been embedded there just as it was.

His quiet, calm, neither fast nor slow steps stopped in front of the training grounds.

When the soldier who had followed behind as a guide hesitated, Clemen nodded. The soldier took several steps back just like that, and beside him one man in a plain cloak with the hood pulled over his head, who had been following along, stopped a long way behind.

“Hello there.”

The silver-haired old man who had approached spoke. He looked distinctly older even compared to Overdier, the holy knight of the Legion.

Not just in appearance, either. Even from the greeting alone, he sounded like an old man from next door out for a stroll around the neighborhood.

“Enkrid of the Mad Order.”

Enkrid introduced himself simply. Black hair, blue eyes, and a handsome face that was hard to forget after seeing it once.

He was easy to find from the stories alone. Even before the introduction, the old knight’s gaze had remained fixed on his face. The old man smiled with his eyes and said,

“I serve a small kingdom.”

His tone was ordinary, but—

‘Is he already finished preparing?’

Enkrid naturally read the other man’s force. At a glance, he looked ready to fight at any moment, but a closer look made it a little different.

‘It’s not that he’s finished preparing for a fight.’

Did he always keep that tension in his body, so he could react no matter what happened, no matter when?

When Rem became set on fighting, he did not need to peek even an inch ahead.

By reacting in real time, he nullified every attack and tore apart the future the opponent had glimpsed. He fought with the muscles of his entire body tightened like an arrow with the bowstring drawn. He did that every moment.

‘If it were Rem with spellcraft woven into him.’

He could do that. He fought like a monstrosity, reacting like a beastman and using strength like a giant.

The opponent in front of him now looked like Rem when Rem was set on fighting.

‘Not all the way.’

He was looser than Rem. But instead he maintained a strange tension. It was because even in ordinary times, he always refined and maintained Will like that.

Speech, bearing, actions, force, the movement of Will, intent.

After seeing through all of it, the conclusion Enkrid reached was this.

‘That can be trained.’

He learned just by watching. The Enkrid of now could do that.

His blue eyes gleamed. Curiosity and puzzlement flickered through the old knight’s eyes, then disappeared.

He wondered why Enkrid’s eyes had suddenly turned so excited, but he knew now was not the time to care about that, so he pressed the question down inside.

Whatever the other man was thinking, Enkrid did what he always did.

In other words, since he had found something interesting, he looked into it.

Just as Wave was an application of changing the nature of Will, what the old man in front of him was doing was similar. A technique of always keeping Will flowing, even in ordinary times, perhaps.

‘In the end, just like Uske, it helps increase the total amount of Will.’

Uske, what they called an unfailing well, ultimately referred to the absolute quantity of Will.

Layering oaths like Cypress was one method for Uske, but using Will to the limit at ordinary times like the old knight before him and increasing the total amount was also one method.

“Would you be willing to cross arms with me?”

The old man asked. He had the spear in his left hand braced against the ground, and the dirt of the drill field was being pushed aside. Was that spear so heavy that an ordinary man would struggle even to lift it?

No. He was pretending it was heavy.

‘Deception.’

Enkrid saw through the other man’s trick in a single glance. In the time it took him to approach, speak, and greet him, this old man had prepared for every situation. More exactly, he had finished preparing to fight.

It was an interesting stance. It did not look biased toward any of the five divided schools of swordsmanship.

“Of course.”

Enkrid answered and moved only his right hand like a detached tool, placing it on the sword grip. His body, his breathing, and every other part of him remained completely motionless. He too had shown something close to a trick. The old man’s stance, which had been watching all along, did not change either.

A single gust of wind swept between the two.

Rem, Audin, Jaxon, and the others scattered and became spectators, and Esther, who had arrived at some point, was sitting on the window ledge of the quarters watching.

“You’re no ordinary bunch.”

The old knight muttered. He meant not only Enkrid, but everyone around him as well.

Teresa, Dunbakel, Rophod, and Pell were one thing, but—

Even the soldier who had guided him here and the people around them watching were not a single easy opponent among them.

Of course, the foremost among them was the man in front of him.

Enkrid had ears, and more than that, he liked all kinds of rumors and stories, so he had already finished guessing who the opponent was.

Right then, another voice cut in.

“Why are you here?”

Edin Molsen, who had come to the training grounds, recognized him. The moment he heard that a guest had come and heard the description, he had come looking.

“Who is he?”

Rem asked from the side.

“The Guardian Deity of Evergart.”

Edin finished speaking.

If Naurillia had Cypress, and the eastern expedition had Anu the Mercenary King—

then the small kingdom of Evergart, whose name meant Eternal Shield, had its Guardian Deity.

A knight who had written legend across the continent for even longer than Cypress.

His name was Bartolo, and Guardian Deity had originally been his epithet.

“Should I call it an honor?”

Enkrid said. He spoke while resting his hand on the grip and slowly sliding the sole of his left foot across the ground.

“I’m only glad you didn’t curse me as a ghost of the past.”

Knight Bartolo answered while lifting the spear that had been pressing the ground the slightest bit off the earth. No more words were needed.

First-rate knights conversed not with words but with force. The two of them were doing exactly that now.

Enkrid began first. Should it be called a courtesy to the old knight?

Today was drawn and fell from above to below. Except for a few among those watching, it was slow enough to make them wonder what exactly this was.

Audin nodded with pleased eyes. Ragna too looked satisfied, and Rem and Jaxon were no different.

Because he was mixing together everything he had learned from them.

Wave stirred and crushed the surrounding air. Enkrid expressed a heavy sword through Will as a weapon.

As he did, he predicted the enemy’s actions through sense, acted boldly with the Heart of the Beast, added strength with Heart of Might, and harmonized the strength of the body trained through the technique of isolation with Will and loaded it into the sword.

He bound the opponent’s hands and feet first with force and pressure, then ended it by drawing the sword from top to bottom.

Tap.

The old knight raised the spearhead toward that sword.

Bang!

It was slow enough that even Edin Molsen’s eyes could catch the moment of attack and defense. Of course, even to him, who knew nothing, it was obvious that Enkrid and the old knight treated as one of the continent’s legends had done something just now. In other words, what was visible was not the whole of it.

Spear and sword met, but only a light noise remained. Not even a spark flew.

Enkrid stepped back half a step and swung the sword horizontally, and the old knight again raised the spear shaft and blocked it.

The speed was similar to before. It looked like a spar arranged in advance.

Bang!

Once more, spear and sword met and parted. Then the speed at which the two swung their weapons changed.

It was fast enough that unless one was at the level of Rem, Audin, Jaxon, or Ragna, it would be hard even to follow.

Clangclangclangclangclangclangclang!

Noise burst out one after another, the air shoved outward around them in a rush, and the rising dust spread in every direction as though a whirlwind had kicked up.

It would be hard to call a soldier of Border Guard an ordinary warrior, but even so, to the eyes of a soldier possessing the average standard of a Border Guard soldier, it was a speed that did not leave even an afterimage behind.

Silver and blue interwove and seemed to change into a single picture. That was all it looked like to the soldier.

Leaving behind only one single image, the two pulled apart again and widened the distance.

At some point, a sword had appeared in the old knight’s free hand. Spear in the left hand, sword in the right. Enkrid drew up his concentration.

His thoughts accelerated, and with insight driven to the limit, he examined the opponent’s Will.

‘He uses the spear in the left hand lightly and quickly.’

With the longsword in the right hand, he aimed for one heavy blow. And mixed into his movements were tricks that could deceive the opponent at any time. Which meant the spear and sword would also switch roles with each other.

Will that had reached the stage of shaping let off a glimmering light from the spearhead and the blade.

At that level, even grazing it would make taking off an arm no difficult thing at all.

Naturally, blue light also shone along Enkrid’s sword.

With that blue-lit blade held so it was horizontal to the ground, he hid his lips and lower face and stared only at the opponent with his eyes.

‘He goes beyond changing nature and uses two natures at once.’

By holding a spear in the left hand and a sword in the right, he did exactly that. It was a change in thinking.

Two weapons, two changes in nature. A method of using both at once instead of switching instantly.

“I’m two.”

The opponent, the old knight Bartolo, spoke. He had not said it by opening his mouth. It was the intent carried in the spear he had thrust a moment before and in the low slash that had aimed for Enkrid’s calf.

‘So am I.’

Enkrid was also two. Because Today, his engraved weapon, became another self.

The Will swirling inside him and the Will shaped within the engraved weapon Today became different. That called forth errors in calculation and brought about failures in insight.

The blade was sharp, but the steps were heavy. As two changes of nature crossed, the blue light gathered on the blade trembled.

‘Wave and vibration.’

The shaped Will trembled and granted cutting force that severed everything it touched.

Enkrid’s sword split the empty air. It was because Knight Bartolo had turned aside and evaded it.

Because he could see even the dodge, he swung his elbow toward the direction the man moved, and the bear engraved on the breastplate thrust its head forward and bit down on that elbow.

‘A spell?’

More exactly, a spell dwelling in the breastplate. It had not looked ordinary even from the outside, but was something like that possible too?

Enkrid was not a mage, so it was impossible for him to know just from looking.

Only Esther, sitting on the window frame, would have expected it.

Whatever it was, Enkrid tore the bear biting his elbow away by force and raised his sword again. Clear bite marks remained over the gauntlet wrapped around his forearm, but now was not the time to care about that.

‘He fights well.’

If Cypress came at him wrapped in oaths, would it feel like this?

If Anu the Mercenary King fought with full seriousness, would it be around this level?

‘He’s above that line.’

Well, if Anu and Cypress both used all their trump cards, who knew what would happen? That was what a fight was. But as things felt now, that was how it seemed.

It did not have the dizzying danger he had felt when he met the blond swordsman, but one thing was certain: this man’s skill was real.

In the brief exchange, the old knight moved his lips and muttered something. At the same time, silver sand came rushing toward Enkrid’s ankles with a soft rustle.

Enkrid saw the silver sand wrap around his ankles, and with complete composure swung his sword and cut off its flow.

Spells meant nothing in front of him. Because he knew how to make sword strikes that murdered spells.

“You’re my natural enemy.”

The old knight who had retreated said.

He admitted defeat. If they fought a hundred times, he would lose all hundred.

Even if he fought with his life on the line, taking even one of Enkrid’s arms would be difficult.

“You use spells?”

Enkrid asked. Bartolo lowered his spear and sword and answered.

“One thing led to another.”

The loud and turbulent fight came to an end.

“You’re damn good.”

Rem said in admiration. He too had recognized the opponent’s skill in a single glance. A magic knight who handled both spells and Will.

Rare. And if one judged by skill alone, excluding the Mad Order of Knights, he ranked among the top five people Rem had ever seen.

“He’s called the Guardian Deity of Evergart, brother.”

Audin said.

“And also a knight who has no reason to leave that post until the day he dies.”

Edin Molsen picked up the rest. In the literal sense, Bartolo was a knight who had sworn to become the gatekeeper of his own country. A knight who had pledged not to leave that nation.

That was what everyone knew.

Whether he had heard Edin’s words or not, Bartolo glanced at him and said,

“To be exact, I swore to protect my country. If this too is part of guarding the gate of my homeland, then stepping away from my post for a short while won’t damage my Will, so don’t worry.”

Will was intent, a power given shape according to what the person themselves believed.

Just as old knight Bartolo said, if that was truly how he believed it, then there would be no damage to his Will.

And what he had just said was kindness through and through. He had spoken something he did not have to explain.

What was his purpose? Edin was inwardly puzzled.

That was when the man who had been watching from behind approached.

“I think that will do.”

The man had white skin, and his hair was close to silver. He was rather thin, and his impression was gentle.

Slowly, he lowered the hood wrapped over his head, stared straight at Enkrid, and asked,

“Are you planning to spill blood to unify the continent? Are you going to kill everyone who won’t listen, and place all the rest beneath your feet?”

At the same time the man spoke, a city ruined by war appeared behind him.

People crying, people in despair, and a child sprawled on the ground with soot smeared over the face rose before the eyes.

He knew how to provoke a person with a single question.

‘Interesting.’

Or rather, he was the same sort as Crang.

The kind of person who proved himself by putting force into every single word and speaking with oratorical weight.

His whole body with his arms hanging loose came into view at once. It was not an untrained body, but it was not the body of someone who really knew how to fight.

Compared to the rest, he was at a level that could not even fight one ordinary Border Guard soldier.

“Who?”

Enkrid was not the sort to answer just because someone asked, so he returned the question of the other man’s identity.

Right. And who are you to come here spouting that kind of talk?

“My introduction is late. I am Ruger Evergart the Fourth.”

Only the ruler of a country used the nation’s name as a surname. In other words, he was the king of Evergart.

That should have been startling, but Enkrid remained calm.

A king, huh.

That was the look he gave him.

Rem dug at his ear, Ragna had lost interest and was nodding off, and Jaxon had slipped away at some point.

Audin stepped away with Teresa, saying it was time to go down into the city and do service.

Ruger Evergart IV was somewhat surprised that there was no particular commotion even after he revealed his name, but outwardly he remained calm.

Edin Molsen, realizing he was the one who had to smooth over the situation here, stepped forward.

Edin looked at the old knight who had become legend and at the king served by that old knight, and chose his words.

What should he say to make a proper beginning for settling this atmosphere?

Edin was a clever and outstanding man, enough that even Kraiss had admired him.

“You did come knowing the name of the order, I trust?”

By saying that, he drew a response from the king.

The king nodded and answered.

“Indeed.”