A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The journey back followed much the same route as when they'd come.

Campfires crackling, nights spent under the stars, the occasional sparring session with Rem.

Enkrid focused on repeating what he'd learned and reflecting on earlier insights.

Did realization immediately translate to ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) progress? Of course not.

'If I want to use Will in every moment—even while asleep—how would I do it?'

It required thought. Planning. Trying things out.

Not everything would go his way, but there was no need to be impatient.

It was one of those nights camping under the open sky.

A fire burning, people gathered, the bright moon and stars casting their light—faces illuminated by the flickering glow as they sat together, chatting.

"In three, maybe four days at most, the Sky God will weep a little."

Rem said.

In plain speech: it was going to rain.

The seasons were shifting.

The lingering heat would give way to seasonal rains.

A few days of scattered drops, then a sudden downpour.

The heavy rains weren't quite here yet.

"Ugh, rain."

Dunbakel groaned. She didn't have aquaphobia or anything—she just hated water.

A matter of taste.

Most beastkin disliked bathing, but Dunbakel was on another level.

The sparring had ended, and they'd come across a stream while traveling—washed their dishes and even bathed briefly.

They could've stopped by Thousand Brick, but this was the way back, so they chose to camp instead.

It wasn't uncomfortable.

Lua Gharne sourced her own meals, and Dunbakel hunted beasts with diligence—she'd even brought down a large deer for them to feast on.

Rem and Enkrid took care of the cooking, and for campfire food, it wasn't half bad.

"You sent someone to the West, right?"

Rem asked, right after the talk about rain, across the fire.

"They said they were short on food."

Enkrid answered as he sliced off a piece of roasted venison they'd hunted yesterday and were finishing today.

Seasoned with salt and West-sourced spices, the meat was savory and flavorful.

It made Rem think again: this guy was surprisingly meticulous.

He'd been like that even back when he was their squad leader.

Not only did he take on annoying tasks, he started everything from a place of respect for others.

'He really did listen.'

Was it just sheer toughness that made others accept him as leader?

No—it was that Enkrid knew how to listen.

To his own men, to the lost idiot, the stray cat, the religious bear—all of them.

Even now.

A quiet night beneath the stars, with two moons overhead, a campfire, and no battles or monsters to deal with—just a rare, peaceful evening.

They hadn't been saying much when the topic of sending someone West came up.

He'd ordered them to deliver food in bulk.

By now, it should've arrived.

The chieftain was probably crying.

He was always easy to move, even as a child.

And then—

"I think I'll head out first."

Dunbakel suddenly spoke.

Enkrid didn't brush it off.

Rem, meanwhile, recalled how he'd pounded the beastkin the day before in a sparring match.

'Because she doesn't want to get beaten anymore?'

He wanted to scoff and dismiss the idea—but Enkrid beat him to it.

"Planning to?"

He said it like it wasn't a big deal.

White hair, golden eyes, the red glow around Dunbakel's nose-bridge lit by the fire and the moonlight.

With no wind, the fire's sparks climbed straight into the air.

Crackle, crackle.

The sound of burning wood made it a comforting night.

"I want to head East."

Dunbakel continued.

"What's in the East?"

Enkrid asked, rotating the skewer with the venison haunch set beside the fire.

Dunbakel wasn't the most articulate beastkin. But she didn't sugarcoat things either.

"I think I'll learn something under the Eastern King."

She wanted to learn more.

Who in the group would understand that desire best?

Did she have to go all the way there to do it?

She could've just stayed here.

Plenty of counterpoints could be made—but the lingering thoughtfulness in her expression said she'd mulled it over deeply.

He'd seen her zoning out before, and maybe this was what she'd been thinking about.

"Go ahead."

Enkrid met her eyes once, then nodded.

"You think there'll be no one nagging you there?"

Rem chimed in.

"I'm not leaving because of nagging. And I'll be coming back."

Fleeing, surviving, and denying herself had all piled up into something else:

Proof.

Proof that she wasn't wrong. That she was born, lived, and deserved to live. She wanted to show the world.

The only thing she was good at was fighting—so she needed to fight well.

But it wasn't just about getting good.

What led to this moment, what pushed her—was all thanks to the man named Enkrid.

She'd once seen him as a desirable mate, like any beastkin would, thinking she wanted his child.

But no—it wasn't that.

She wanted to be respected for something other than skill.

Was that still true now? No.

Enkrid no longer stirred desire in her.

He was an unextinguishable light.

At least to her.

The problem was her swordsmanship wasn't good enough to matter.

She was a beastkin who only knew how to fight—and if she was weak, what use was she?

Was she still hoping to be "useful" by being a woman?

'I don't want that.'

Dunbakel was honest with herself.

To prove herself by being a woman? At least for now—absolutely not.

What happened in the city of Oara had helped her grow.

That was why she needed to leave.

In the East, there was a monster of a beastkin who had risen to the rank of knight.

She realized it instinctively.

The Eastern King—a beastkin himself—was now the best guidepost she could ask for.

So she would learn his techniques. Steal them, if she had to.

By leaving this place, she would climb even higher.

If any place could serve as a proving ground, it was the East.

To face death, survive, and come back—that was her short-term goal.

So that she could return and stand beside the one who had sparked her growth.

Even if Enkrid's dream ended in failure, she wanted to be the sword beside him.

That was her long-term goal.

That was how she would prove herself.

"Sure, go for it."

Rem said with an irritating smirk.

"Stupid-brained savage."

Dunbakel retorted without flinching.

"Yep. Let's spar. Come on. Bring it."

Rem clenched his fists and started to get up.

"Let her be."

Enkrid stopped him.

Rem wasn't actually planning to beat her up again.

A tantrum like this from Dunbakel was worth tolerating at least once.

"The East is a long way off."

Enkrid began explaining the route as far as he knew.

Dunbakel already had a plan.

"I'll stop by Martai first to restock supplies."

"Wow, sometimes you do use that thing above your neck."

Rem was impressed.

"Yeah. Unlike someone else."

Dunbakel shot back—and finally got smacked in the head for it.

Enkrid chuckled.

"Laughing at someone else getting hit? That's a bad habit."

Since Oara, maybe?

At some point, Dunbakel had started speaking her mind without holding back.

"If you act like that in the East, I bet plenty of people will try to kill you."

Enkrid said, honestly worried.

"If I wasn't willing to speak my mind, I wouldn't have said I was going to the East in the first place."

She was resolved—nothing could shake her now.

"True. If you've chosen your path, then you should walk it."

Lua Gharne chimed in while poking at the fire.

Crackle, crackle—the embers flared up and faded.

Some dreams were like that:

Flickers of firelight in a vast sky, here one moment, gone the next.

But knowing that—seeing the end—wasn't reason enough to stop.

And so, Enkrid supported Dunbakel.

Whether it was East or anywhere else—if there was something she wanted, she should pursue it.

Night deepened.

Two humans, one beastkin, and one Frokk all pulled their cloaks close and lay by the fire.

Time for sleep.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Together, they felt a quiet warmth and encouragement as they lay side by side.

The moonlight was especially soft and beautiful that night.

If someone were to paint the scene, it would look like a panel from a wistful, poetic story.

In the middle of that peaceful warmth, Rem spoke:

"Hey, dumb-brained beastkin. Wanna die? It's your turn for watch."

"Ah," Dunbakel gasped and sat up.

"I forgot."

"Wow, congrats."

"Not really something to brag about, but hey—it happens to everyone."

"…That's true, and yet I really want to punch you."

"That's because you're violent. You don't feel right unless you beat someone up."

"Rem."

Enkrid stopped Rem, who was now reaching for her axe.

Dunbakel, having just been threatened with death, started humming a tune.

Crackle, crackle.

Her hum blended softly into the sound of the fire.

It was a good lullaby.

***

When is the prime of an average, ordinary human?

They say giants are in their prime from birth until death.

Frok say it's when they're most honest with their desires.

And that… was true.

Lua Gharne had recently felt her combat style and overall prowess sharpen just a little.

For humans, their prime is brief but burns brightly.

Fairies and dwarves may not even have the concept of a "prime"—but humans have short lifespans.

More precisely, if you match the lifespan of a human—or beastkin—against their stages of life, then youth is their prime.

For those who live by their bodies, their brilliance tends to peak between twenty and thirty.

At most, before forty.

But is there no human who continues to grow after thirty?

There is.

That's why Lua Gharne believed everyone's prime is different.

The proof was right in front of her.

Enkrid, now well into his mid-thirties, was still growing—burning more brilliantly than ever before.

Those who enter the stage of knighthood likely require a different standard for their prime.

And at that point, who knows how far Enkrid might go.

That—still—made her that stir inside.

"Feels good."

She said while walking.

"What does?"

Enkrid asked.

Lua Gharne offered no answer, but began teaching instead.

Even if her own prowess lagged behind the man before her, there was still much she could pass on.

"Do you think all knights are the same?"

The moment she asked, Enkrid's eyes gleamed.

It was a fun question.

He wasn't really curious about what she found enjoyable—he could always ask later. If she didn't want to answer, that was fine too.

"They're probably different."

Enkrid replied.

His own experiences told him as much.

"It's something the Scribe Knight once wrote down. Want to hear it?"

The "Scribe Knight" was the moniker of a historically famous knight—one who was more passionate about writing and poetry than swordplay. A weirdo, in other words.

"I'll listen."

Enkrid's pace slowed slightly.

Rem, walking nearby, also pricked up his ears.

It was shaping up to be an interesting tale.

He was curious about how it might differ from the art of sorcery.

"When one becomes a knight, what do you think is the first and most noticeable difference?"

"Sight."

Enkrid answered immediately.

He'd experienced that firsthand.

Being a semi-knight and being a true knight felt completely different.

As he learned day by day, what he saw kept changing.

Saying "sight" was vague, but it actually referred to all five senses, and even the sixth. Everything sharpened.

Rem nodded.

"That becomes the dividing line for what a knight is. The first is sight. It's called future vision."

It was like his "one-step-ahead eye."

Reading the intent in a foe's movements—keen perception.

They called it "future vision," or "insight." It was the same idea.

"Next is the body. Ironhide."

Lua Gharne said, glancing at Enkrid's side—where Rem's kick had torn through his armor.

Enkrid's body was unreasonably sturdy, even by normal standards.

He'd pounded it through endless repetition in the training method Audin had taught him.

"Ironhide is when Will infuses the skin and hardens the whole body."

Rem nodded again.

It was similar to a certain sorcery technique.

"Next is Steel Legs—'Kang-gak.'"

More concepts followed.

Insight to perceive.

Instant hardening.

Leg muscles toughened.

Then came Expansion, Transfer, Word-Binding, and Time.

Expansion: spreading Will throughout the body without resistance.

Transfer: delivering Will to other places.

Word-Binding: embedding Will into words.

Rem wrinkled his nose at that one, shaking his head slightly.

Time: they said it meant "walking a different time."

Even after hearing it, half of it was incomprehensible.

Enkrid felt that way.

But Rem understood it better.

Some were awkward, but he'd experienced most firsthand.

"Stuff you can't really explain with words. You'll know it once you've done it."

Rem added as they walked.

That sense of omnipotence—followed by control—was too subtle to express.

Enkrid nodded quietly.

Just hearing this made that blazing fire inside him flare up again.

To become a knight.

He had chased that dream, run for it, endured—and finally stood here.

"And two of the things the author wrote about—they weren't even sure of themselves."

"What now?"

Rem asked.

It all sounded plausible so far.

If the one who wrote it was a knight too, it made sense.

"They called it 'Usquera'—a stage that never dries, never fades. And 'Indulesse'—a stage where what you possess is fundamentally different. Both in the old tongue."

Never heard of that.

Rem let it pass, but Enkrid etched it into memory.

All his experiences had taught him this:

Talent or not, he had to take each step, climb each rung.

Among those steps, "future vision" and "ironhide" were already things he had begun training.

"They say it's a method passed down from religiously devout squadmates. It's the training that forms a paladin's resilience—curious where you learned it."

Lua Gharne added.

Enkrid and Rem had a rough idea where Audin got it from.

Just from his behavior, his origins were easy to guess.

"Off I go."

At a fork in the road, Dunbakel departed.

She wouldn't get eaten by monsters on the way.

Here, she'd get clobbered by Rem—but in a small city, Dunbakel might be treated like a monster herself.

She had sharp hearing and wouldn't let her guard down, even in sleep.

Being alone didn't make her more vulnerable.

"Go on."

"If you die on the way, you're not coming back."

"Walking your chosen path—that's your true stride."

Enkrid, Rem, and Lua Gharne gave their farewells.

Dunbakel waved, then turned and left.

Enkrid and the others continued walking—toward what you might call the lands of the Border Guard.

When Enkrid finally stepped into the land he had been granted as a general, they came upon a construction site.

Stone walls rising.

A new city forming on previously empty land.

Stacks of stone.

A crowd that looked like it came from the Mason's Guild.

Next to them, rows of tents where soldiers camped.

Tap, tap.

Rain began to fall.

Their party picked up the pace.

"How long has it been since it rained…"

Lua Gharne was clearly delighted.

She wasn't a frog, but she was a Frokk who loved the rain.

And Enkrid—

He felt it too.

Before he even reached his home—

The rain and the cooling air told him:

Autumn had come.