A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Roman looked down at his own fist when he heard that someone from the royal palace was coming.

A large, solid hand, covered in scars.

"Guess I shouldn't punch someone sent by the royal family, huh?"

A natural thought—but still, he hesitated.

Are you loyal to Naurillia?

If danger comes, will you fight for the royal family?

If someone asked him that, Roman would nod without a second's pause.

But if they added, "Would you beat a noble to death if they rubbed you the wrong way?"

He'd nod twice as fast.

Swearing loyalty was one thing, but—

'Wouldn't it be better if they just gave me the right to execute nobles on the spot?'

When he was a knight stationed at the palace, that's the kind of thing he used to think.

Wasn't the palace always full of bastards who spouted nonsense the second they opened their mouths?

Oara was dead.

His Master had left this world.

And yet, her body had not decayed, despite the damp weather.

Grief, mourning—sure. But more than that, it was the haze in this city's eyes that mattered most.

What about the one sent from the royal family?

The moment the palace heard the news, they sent someone.

They moved quickly—impressively so.

Was that expected? Of course it was.

After all, Knight Oara was dead.

One of Nauril's pillars had fallen.

They might not know every detail of what happened here, but between the force needed to hold back the Demon Realm and the political implications, they were surely pulling their hair out back at court.

'They must be losing their minds with worry.'

That's why the royal envoy arrived before the coffin, before the rites.

Whoever it was, they'd demand answers.

Why had a knight died here?

Why had there been a fight like that here?

Typical, insufferable nobles.

Roman clenched his fist. The veins on the back of his hand bulged like cords.

He'd hold back—for now.

As long as it was just annoying.

But if it got unbearable...

Wasn't there a rumor about one of Enkrid's men being called a "Noble Hunter"?

They said he really did kill nobles.

Roman figured he might just take that nickname for himself someday.

Today was Knight Oara's funeral. His Master's funeral.

"...Hah."

Roman let out a slow breath and stepped outside.

Fwoosh.

Even in broad daylight, torches had been lit all over. The city was covered in fog.

On days like this, monsters tended to go wild.

It was the day after Twin Moons had risen—these kinds of days repeated now and then.

It was because monsters, drunk on their killing instinct, ran rampant.

But not this time.

"No signs of anything unusual."

The scouts had been running since dawn. The Demon Realm was quiet.

Just like Master said it would be.

The Demon Realm was silent.

Its core monster was dead. It had already burned through all its strength.

Now, it was nothing more than a gathering of clones.

The Demon Realm's Gray Forest—Oara had wanted to end that place.

A knight is a disaster.

Because they wield such overwhelming power, they're called that.

But even with such strength, sealing the Demon Realm is no easy task.

And yet, Oara did it.

'Doesn't that say something? About what Master did for this city, about how much the city loved her?'

If the envoy from the royal family dared belittle Master's achievements, Roman wouldn't be a knight of the Red Cloak anymore—he'd become a thug.

'Respect the Master. Please.'

With that plea buried in his heart, he let the tension fall from his hand. It was better to leave his weapon behind.

So Roman did just that. He left his weapon.

He who might have once been called a disaster.

But to Roman, she was a blessing. Her traces remained all throughout the city.

"Hey, you big lump—do you really wanna waste the rest of your life getting kicked around by a bunch of alley punks?"

"What the hell are you saying? Do you wanna die?"

It was back when he'd just arrived at Thousand Brick as a Vulture.

He saw her and made a move—she beat him down until he could see straight.

"You need training. Follow me."

At some point, Roman had fallen for Oara.

Not in a romantic way. It was respect.

If not for her, he might've died in some back alley as a worthless thug, or maybe ended up the leader of some crime guild.

That was the man he'd been.

There was no one presiding over the funeral, yet the whole city had gathered.

A city with few children, few women, and few elders.

A city like a massive military camp.

Oara had loved this city—and pitied it just as much.

"If only that damn Demon Realm were gone, maybe people could laugh and talk more freely. I want to hear children's laughter in this city."

That had been Oara's dream.

She would've fulfilled it. Even in death, she never gave up and laid the cornerstone for it.

Roman would erase the remnants of the Demon Realm himself.

Then, the children of this city would smile.

He told that story in detail to his friend from Enkrid's side.

That friend listened quietly, nodded.

Just being listened to—that was comfort enough.

What a strange guy.

Before they knew it, he'd melted into the city and shared in Master's final moments.

Then, Roman saw the central stage in the city. Someone was stepping up onto it.

It had to be the royal envoy.

The face was unfamiliar. No one Roman knew.

'Of course. Like /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ I know any nobles.'

The man stood on the platform without saying a word. He wore no armor. But his outerwear radiated a noble's luxury.

Still, there was dust in his hair, and salt-streaked sweat stains dried on his clothes.

The moment he stepped onto the platform, Roman noticed everything about his movements.

Even before the man looked around or made any grand gesture, just his presence was enough to draw every gaze.

Even before a single word.

The mood shifted. The air moved. The crowd was pulled toward the heavy stage.

"I ask for your forgiveness."

The man opened his mouth.

He didn't introduce himself first—he asked for forgiveness.

"I am grateful for Sir Oara's service, but I cannot say I bear no responsibility for her death."

He didn't cry—but it looked like he was crying.

Why was he so sorrowful? Was it because they lost a knight?

No. That wasn't it. It felt like genuine grief.

That's what Roman thought.

The man's expression didn't change. He stood still, and spoke of sorrow, not anger.

He said he was sorry.

That it pained him deeply to have done nothing for someone who had protected this land.

Who was this man, to show such audacity?

Roman felt rage rise in his chest. He couldn't hold it back easily.

He was about to yell—

And then, the man on the stage unzipped his jacket.

"My name is Cradianat, Princess of Naurill. The one you have the right to resent and curse."

What?

Roman's eyes shot open. He glared at the stage.

What the hell did that bastard just say?

"Because Sir Oara's dream was to protect this city, I shall also swear this oath. Until Naurillia falls—or even if it does—I will protect this dream and this city."

The royal family had sent someone.

And that person had sworn to protect the city.

That person showed sorrow for Sir Oara's death.

He didn't just talk about the Master.

He knew the names of every fallen soldier.

People had said the newly crowned king did such things after the civil war.

And once again, he had done it.

The moment he heard the news, he came running, without delay.

And now, standing on the stage, looking like he'd collapse at any moment, he spoke of grief and made an oath.

"You may throw stones at me if you wish."

There once was a knight who loved this city.

That knight protected the city to the very end.

And the king who was supposed to protect that knight now stood and said the blame should fall on him.

Even if it was a lie—

Roman cried as he thought:

Protecting this city is the same as protecting the kingdom.

Oara upheld her loyalty to the crown by protecting this city.

Roman would do the same.

For a king like that—

He would protect the city in Oara's place.

Roman lifted his head.

The fog cleared. The Twin Moons, Red Moon, and Darpia set, and the rising sunlight shattered everything.

The gray fog from the Gray Forest of the Demon Realm vanished, and the sunlight surged in like waves.

Sunlight surged in like waves and stopped in place, illuminating the world. It shone upon the king, and it gently veiled the fallen Oara.

Amidst the sunlight, the golden-haired king looked at them all.

"In honor of Knight Oara," The king bowed.

***

Crang spoke as he stepped down from the platform.

Behind him, at the edge of the stage, Enkrid had heard every word.

"Did I arrive just in time? Or was I late? Or should I blame my past ignorance for being unable to do anything for the knights who protect this land?"

Political positioning, royal authority, prestige—

This wasn't a move calculated for any of that.

He had come to silence those who would belittle another's death.

If cynicism were required, Crang could wear that mask.

But he didn't.

Instead, standing plainly atop the stage, he gave a speech that wasn't a speech, revealing his heart.

They say grief is contagious.

Crang shared his sorrow with the entire city.

Oara was dead.

But no one would forget her name.

"From today, this city shall be called Oara."

The king spoke, and stepped down from the stage.

"...I'm exhausted."

Only then did Crang mutter in a whining tone—directly at Enkrid, who had been watching him closely.

Enkrid scolded him.

"You could've at least brought a coffin made of real wood."

"Yeah, I know."

If he'd really thought things through, he wouldn't have shown up like this in the first place.

The escorts who came with him didn't look comfortable, either.

"Damn this place... these monsters, this damn Demon Realm."

Crang looked up at the sky as he spoke.

He closed his eyes without even a twitch, despite the blazing sunlight.

With his eyes still closed, he continued.

"I'll erase the Demon Realm. Even if it takes my whole life. This land is my responsibility. My nation. And a knight died on my land. So I'll erase it all."

You could feel it. The weight of conviction, of a vow.

Crang's words carried resolve.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

It was the same feeling Enkrid got when he'd first met him at the barracks.

The way he spoke, the look in his eyes, the motion of his hands—it all flowed like something predetermined, like the rising and setting of the sun.

Crang spoke with his whole heart.

And Enkrid listened. Truly listened. He understood the determination behind the words.

It wasn't fast, nor slow—just one steady statement. But it would happen.

He would erase the Demon Realm.

This king would burn his own flame to do it.

It reminded him of the stories—those illusions from Damink.

Knights, squires, soldiers, all drawing swords for a single king.

They would swing their blades and thrust their spears.

Against monsters, against the king's enemies.

The king would bear the responsibility and choose the path.

The knight would clear the obstacles along that path.

That was their role.

"My sword will walk that path with you," Enkrid said.

"That's good to hear. Let's walk."

Crang returned to his usual self quickly. The same easygoing attitude as when they first met at the barracks.

"You look like you're about to collapse."

"Then catch me if I do."

"Why are you out here alone anyway?"

"...Fair point."

With halfhearted banter, Crang smiled.

Enkrid chuckled too, and walked alongside him.

Today, once passed, would never return.

The dead would not return either.

It was the same thing.

Was this the best outcome? Couldn't there have been a better way?

It would've been natural to think so, but Enkrid shook those thoughts off.

Regretting the past, wondering "maybe the path I didn't take would've been better"—that kind of thinking was as foolish as it was tempting.

Worse than any curse was the weight of that kind of regret.

If he'd lived carrying that weight, he wouldn't have made it this far.

So he brushed it away and walked on.

Honoring the day that had passed, and those who had died.

He'd passed by, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten.

Probably not for the rest of his life.

Forever.

So then... had Oara truly died?

Her body was gone, but her spirit would live on in the city now called Oara.

At the head of that spirit would be...

Well, that bandit-looking guy—Roman—who was crying for who-knows-what reason.

Not a prophecy, but it felt right.

Roman wasn't the only one crying.

Even those too overwhelmed to cry shared in the sorrow, and it rippled through the city.

If their tears carried on Oara's spirit...

"I'll carry on some of her techniques. Sir Oara."

So then her spirit, her skills, her will—those things would remain and be passed down.

She had died, but she hadn't. She would continue to protect this land.

In that, it could be said that Knight Oara had fulfilled her will and conviction.

With that thought, Enkrid walked on, his steps making soft sounds against the ground.

Crang walked beside him, and Hoaka followed close behind.

As if someone might be watching, Hoaka came around to Crang's other side so Enkrid stood at the center.

"When the contract with the former queen ended, I asked you to help me. Is that why you're here, Lua Gharne?"

Crang leaned forward slightly as he spoke.

Lua Gharne chuckled, the flames inside her rumbling softly.

"My interest is in him, not you."

She pointed at Enkrid with her chin, even sticking out her tongue mid-sentence without slurring a single word. A skill, if anything.

"Didn't you say you were into my face?"

"It's because of my species' habit of identifying with faces—we have no choice. That doesn't mean I'm making a contract with you."

"Right. Just a bit disappointed, that's all."

Grumble, grumble.

Lua Gharne only laughed. Crang was included in her tastes too, but she seemed content just looking at faces.

Enkrid and Crang walked through the scattered sunlight.

Nothing special was said.

The future, politics, the void left by the knight's absence—none of that mattered to either of them.

"So, you killed a ghoul that fought like a knight? Looks like you've gotten better."

"...Just kind of happened."

"You can't just say it 'kind of happened,' right?"

"Of course not. That level of skill can't be explained."

Lua Gharne chimed in from the side. Even to her, the way Enkrid had recreated a knight's strike was nothing short of a mystery.

How was that even possible?

She asked, but of course Enkrid had no answer to give.

Their conversation wandered aimlessly.

Enkrid listened to Crang's stories and shared his own.

Mostly nonsense.

The topics themselves were heavy, full of secrets and significance, but to the two of them, it was just idle talk.

"Oh, I got married."

Producing heirs was just another duty of a king.

Crang spoke of it with the same nonchalance.

Enkrid congratulated him.

"Not sure it's really something to celebrate."

Crang tossed out the joke.

They both laughed.

Problems were everywhere in the city of Oara.

But others could handle those.

The two of them simply passed the burden along and kept talking.

"What kind of person was Oara?"

Crang asked about the hero he had never seen—who had defended the city.

"She was someone who shone."

She was like sunlight.

Enkrid searched his memories, and answered.