A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Should I call this a gift from the ferryman?

No, that's not right.

The ferryman didn't shove me into the desert, after all.

Then should I say it was a gift from that shaman bastard whose head I split open before flying away?

None of it fit.

It had been coincidence and luck—but in other words, it was only possible because of all the time I'd spent desperately clawing for a chance.

Enkrid stopped thinking and rose to his feet.

He wanted to test something with his body—but before that, he needed to get his body back in working shape.

Regenerative Body, a form that is endlessly reborn. In other words, the more he moved, the better he would get.

It wasn't based on theory—just something he felt instinctively.

He wasn't in so much pain that it felt like dying anymore.

He ate rice porridge and started sipping water bit by bit and gradually began to feel okay.

"You shouldn't move yet."

Enri tried to stop him from the side, but Enkrid shook his head.

"I think I'll be fine."

"Do you just have fast recovery, or is there some Frokk blood from your ancestors mixed in?"

"It's because I train constantly."

It was the truth, but to Enri it just sounded like a joke.

It wasn't a joke, and yet here was a man who'd nearly died from dehydration now up in two days, wandering around lively on the third.

Well, even so, it didn't seem like there'd be a problem.

He went outside, rotating his arms and stretching his waist to loosen his muscles, when a few Westerners loitering nearby acknowledged him.

"You sure you should be moving already?"

"Looks like he can."

"Knew it."

All the Westerners were staying here, and there wasn't anyone left to object.

Well—at first there had been, but not anymore.

A small oasis village, without even a name. If anything, you could call it the village with the low walls.

Anyway, the village had been taken over by the Western tribe.

It took just a single fight.

There had been a few criminals who'd crossed the continent and some outcasts from the West.

Though there was an oasis, it was too small—more barren than the West itself, and the people here survived off the scraps of the desert.

One side showed the desert, the other a wasteland.

A few idiots staying in the village who couldn't let go of old habits started eyeing some Western women and made moves on them.

"Hey, don't you know you need to pay to stay here?"

There was a group that had taken over the whole oasis and formed a little crime guild among themselves.

One of them, the so-called vice-guild leader, stepped up.

He probably thought the Westerners didn't look well-armed, and their {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} skinny bodies made them seem like easy pickings.

Or he was just a complete dumbass.

If you lived near the West, you should at least know how brutal Westerners could be.

From Rem's perspective, either way, it was a death sentence. Whether it was done in ignorance or not.

So she swung her axe without a word.

Enkrid hadn't seen it, but according to Enri, it was like the axe flew by itself, split the bastard's head, then returned like a magic trick.

At that time, Enkrid was still unconscious.

"You up?"

Enkrid had regained consciousness for the third time just as Rem finished subduing the village. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Rem's face—he genuinely wondered if this was a nightmare.

"A nightmare?"

It was finally easier to talk now. Thanks to Enri's devoted care.

"Had a nightmare?"

Rem asked back, as if she hadn't been the least bit worried from the beginning.

"No."

"Then what's the deal?"

"Move your face out of mine."

"Shit, is that any way to talk to someone who came out to greet you?"

"Yeah."

From behind, Owl pulled on Rem and added,

"Not the worst thing to say."

To be fair, their faces weren't actually that close. It was a sign of happiness.

Even Rem ended up smirking.

"Enjoy your desert tour?"

"It was fun enough."

It wasn't a joke. He meant it. Wandering the desert, he'd glimpsed a new path.

Afterward, Lua Gharne told him that the Four Fiends had gathered the Westerners here.

Dunbakel, who'd stuck around, said she figured he wouldn't die.

Spending three more days lightly exercising his body, the chieftain declared he would return, leaving only Rem and Owl behind.

"We must now return to our original lives, so we'll take our leave."

The chieftain didn't ask for anything, didn't demand a thing—he simply took his people and left.

Even though they looked like they hadn't eaten properly, their demeanor was dignified.

Grrrrg.

That sound came from the chieftain's stomach as he left, but Enkrid pretended not to hear.

"Come visit us again."

Gennarae stopped by before leaving and said,

"Next time, I'll show you some real shamanic power."

"You could show me now."

"I'll spare you—for the sake of your body."

For some reason, it felt like Rem would talk just like Gennarae when she got old.

"Let's do that."

"Good."

Thud. Gennarae lightly punched him in the chest.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

As the familiar faces said their farewells and left one by one, Ziba wept uncontrollably.

"Don't forget me, husband."

Ziba said.

"Who the hell's your husband?"

Lua Gharne rebutted that line in real time.

"My purity belongs to you."

Ziba ignored her and continued, and Lua Gharne kept replying.

"Since when?"

"I'll never forget you. I'll find you, no matter what."

"Don't run away from home. You'll just end up as monster food."

The way Lua Gharne kept replying to each of Ziba's lines made it feel like the two were performing a comedy skit.

Enkrid quietly watched the majority of the Westerners depart.

He'd heard they'd burned their entire stock of preserved food searching for him, but not a single one acted like they expected thanks.

Maybe it was a Western thing—but from what Rem said, it didn't seem like that either.

"They just think what you did for them was bigger. Westerners keep score when it matters."

Enkrid believed he'd received more.

He'd already been given something by Rem, after all.

After the Westerners left, Enkrid spent half his day practicing the Isolation Technique and the other half in meditation.

While meditating, Enkrid reflected on the events of the day.

Not to relive the suffering—

—but to review what he'd done, even in a half-conscious state.

It hadn't been a battle or even a fight.

But—

"There's something to learn from everything visible."

That's what they said. For those who are prepared.

Who said that again? He couldn't remember. But it had been true.

When walking through the desert, when his body had nothing left to give—how had he taken that one more step?

He'd had moments of near-regret.

Should he have pushed harder, faster, while he still had the strength?

But Enkrid quickly shook off the idle thoughts, and instead of regret, he braced his legs. That came after giving it everything he had.

Even in a state of total exhaustion, he took one more step. Then another. How?

Will.

It was Will.

'Refusing is also Will.'

To keep going was Will.

To swing a sword and intend to cut—that too was Will.

A squire uses only part of Will. Then what about a knight?

The words of Rearvart, the fake knight under Count Molsen, came to mind.

"If you master every ability to a knight's level, you'll become one."

That's what he believed, and so he remodeled his own body. He became a chimera knight.

But did that make him a true knight? No.

Then why did he make such a choice?

Probably because he focused on what changes when one begins to wield Will.

Enkrid didn't know Rearvart.

But he felt like he understood the desire and longing that man must have had.

I want to become a knight. Why is it not allowed for me? I swung my sword day and night—so why can't I?

From desire to despair—he must have glimpsed something different there.

To the question, "What makes a knight different?" he had answered with strength, speed, and the like.

Will is the intangible force that lets a human surpass their limits.

Enkrid had gone a step further than the premise of mastering every ability at a knight's level.

'What if I imbue every action with Will?'

To mimic a knight's strike, he infused Will from the tips of his toes to his fingertips.

Did he understand the principle? Had he done it knowingly? No—he hadn't. And yet he had mimicked the strike of a knight.

"Eating, sleeping, pissing."

From waking to lying down—can all of it be filled with Will?

If so, wouldn't something change?

It was just a sudden thought. A conclusion drawn while wandering the desert.

Why not try infusing the Isolation Technique with Will, for starters?

From the very process of intending and rousing Will, all the way to executing the motion—nothing came easy.

It wasn't something you could just do right now because you wanted to.

Still, that didn't matter.

Taking one step at a time toward something—this was what Enkrid did best.

The clue was clearly visible and graspable now. The mere fact that all he had to do was move forward brought him peace of mind.

But that didn't mean it was the only thing to do.

Right now, Rem was also waiting for him.

"Tell me when you're ready."

She'd said things would change once he found the shamanic power.

You wouldn't be human if you weren't curious just how much.

"Spend more time with Owl."

Once he recovered, it'd be time to return. And then Owl would have to go back too.

"Don't worry. I'll wait well. If Rem dies, I hope someone delivers the news to me. So I can remarry."

Rem nodded at Owl's blessing—offered while her husband was still very much alive.

"Yeah, if I die, go live with another man. But is there anyone who fights better than me?"

Owl's ideal type had been the same since she was young—at the very least, a man strong enough to knock her down.

Even if you shook out every Westerner, there weren't many like that.

"If there isn't, I'll just raise one."

Owl replied casually.

Maybe this was just the Western way.

Or maybe it was because Rem and Owl were, in essence, the same woman.

It became a time of focusing on recovery and once again falling into meditation, repeating the same actions over and over.

Enkrid didn't know if the method he'd found was the correct one.

Truthfully, even if it was wrong, nothing would really change.

When had he ever walked with full knowledge of the path?

The road he had crawled along, he was now walking. And signs had begun to appear along the way.

It had been a path he'd walked even when no such signs were there.

Enkrid remained at the oasis for another week.

During that time, Rem suggested gathering some of the Westerners here to organize a trade company.

Because of that suggestion, the twins returned to the oasis.

"This oasis will dry up quickly if you draw too much water. It's not a particularly valuable piece of land."

All that surrounded them was desert and wasteland—so the twins saw no value in the place.

That was when Enri stepped in to explain.

"There is value."

"What kind?"

"Such as?"

The twins turned their heads at the same time. It looked fascinating to others, but to Enri, it was a little eerie.

Those two were Westerners—and they looked like the type to chuck their spears at you the moment they got annoyed.

Enri believed that if they succeeded in a northbound trade run from here to the trade city, they could make quite a bit of krona.

It was a conclusion based on all the experience she'd gathered running around nonstop.

Of course, not everything would go the way they hoped—but she said she'd help if Enkrid needed it.

Amid all this, she was handed a horn bow that looked obviously expensive.

"Take it."

Recalling the moment she received the bow, Enri continued while gripping it in her hands.

"We can sell desert lizard hides or obsidian."

"Where?"

"If we bring it to a southern trade city, there'll be a good profit margin."

"And where is that?"

To the twins, it was some unfamiliar place in the southeastern part of the continent.

Specifically, southeast of Naurillia—next to one of the southern great nations, a trade-city nation located at the fork of a large river.

Enkrid had only heard of it in stories, but it seemed Enri had worked there before.

Because of monsters and beastkin, long-distance trade was usually impossible on this continent—but every now and then, someone pulled it off.

Their eyes opened through constant travel, and the timing of circumstances helped make it happen.

Just like now, for Enri.

She'd lost the gemstone-eared fox, and a much bigger opportunity had rolled in instead.

Even the horn bow she held now would likely fetch far more than the gem hanging on that fox's ear.

Enri explained it all calmly while Enkrid loosened his body nearby.

After a full week of rest and plenty of water, he could finally feel proper strength return to his grip.

"Rem, get out here. I'll break that arrogant nose of yours."

Enkrid called out to Rem, with the gentleness and warmth of a kindly husband.

Rem came out scratching her cheek, yawning.

"Oh, it's today? No whining and crying after you get hit, got it?"

Enkrid adjusted his grip on Acker and stared forward.

He planned to fight first—then ask. Ask just how much use this so-called shamanic power really was.

Outwardly, nothing seemed different.

Enkrid briefly forgot just how devious Rem could be.

That was the mistake.

Whump.

Without even a ready stance, the axe came flying at him, arriving right in front of his nose—

Enkrid instantly realized it was at least twice as fast as Rem's usual axe throw.

At the same time, he swung Acker upward.

Thud.

Instead of bouncing away, the axe slid up the blade of Acker with a high-pitched ring,

—and then suddenly split into eight separate paths.

Only then did Enkrid truly see Rem.

Behind her body, a faint blue beast-like figure shimmered, lunging at him.