A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Why must we wage war? It would be a lie to say the thought had never crossed his mind.

Why must we kill? Why must we die?

"If you chose the life of the sword, you should be prepared to die. If you're only thinking about saving your own skin, then you're just a bastard with no conscience."

That was what a loyal mercenary once said.

"If someone wishes to meet the gods, I merely send them on their way."

That's how a priest of the war god put it.

Everyone had their own reasons.

Some just swung their swords without a thought.

Some followed orders because ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ they had no choice.

"All I know is how to fight."

There were even talented monsters who spoke like that.

On the other hand—

"I do it for money, what else is there to say?"

One made a coin shape with his fingers and grinned.

"To prove myself through slaughter. I don't need any other reason!"

He had once seen a giant shout that on the battlefield.

"There's a heat that rises in the middle of war. That heat alone proves I'm alive."

Who had said that again? Right—Frokk.

Frokk's kind was always chasing something unclear—desire, goal, who knew? That kind of talk suited them.

"They come at me, so I fight."

Even beastmen with passive attitudes had reasons like that.

Enkrid had seen so many people. He had fought beside them, nearly died alongside them.

Thanks to the curse that made him repeat this day endlessly, he had died and killed more times than he could count, beaten his way to the present.

So, why wage war?

He didn't know.

From a ruler's point of view, there might be a clear purpose. To expand territory. To possess more.

Because of monsters and beasts, the continent had been forced to urbanize. As the population grew, it ran into the same problem again and again: Not enough space to eat, to wear clothes, to live.

So the ruler had to fill that lack. Land with water. Land that was good for farming. In other words, land you could live off.

And when he set foot on such land, the guy next to him would say:

"Hey, that's my land."

Then the ruler would have no choice but to ask:

"Since when?"

"Since my father's father's father."

"I never heard of that."

"Well, that's not my problem. It's mine."

"Hmm. You want to get beaten a few times and step back, or just step back quietly?"

"You wanna fight?"

"Yeah."

"Bring it on, you bastard."

Even if they didn't curse outright, wasn't this basically how those conversations went?

Then, when war broke out, would the one who cursed and flew into a rage be the one to die? The king? The noble?

'Of course not.'

The ones who actually die are the soldiers. The ones under the ruler's command.

But then, should the people who started the war be resented for it? He didn't know that either.

What Enkrid did know—and accepted—was this: Once you pick up a blade, you must be ready to die.

If you didn't want that, then you should've shaved your head bald and become a monk, sneaking off on rest days to leer at women and sipping wine disguised as holy water behind the temple.

And if that didn't appeal to you, then you should've accepted your lot as someone to be plundered.

'But doesn't being plundered eventually make you want to fight back?'

That too might be natural.

Well, you couldn't expect to understand every reason behind everything that happens in the world.

So Enkrid took up the sword. Because he couldn't understand, he had no choice but to throw himself into it. Because words didn't work, he had no choice but to use his hands.

'The knight of armistice.'

The moment that line from a bard's song hit his ears and sank into his heart, it became a dream. A dream, part of which had now come true.

So then—

Now that the dream had partially come true, what did he want to do next?

He didn't want to cheer from the sidelines while soldiers were pushed into battle and died.

So how should he fight? How could he reduce sacrifice?

Enkrid thought about that.

War and battle were inevitable. But he didn't want to be dragged along by them. It wasn't that he wanted to turn away from death. It wasn't that he hesitated to kill.

He simply thought—

Even if he couldn't end every fight with a single blow, wasn't it right to aim for something close?

He still didn't know if this path was right or wrong. Even after walking a long way and looking back, it would be hard to judge what was right or wrong.

That was just how life was.

Even if you looked back at the road you'd traveled, even if it was already past, you could never know the full truth of it all.

But there was no opportunity to walk a different path anyway. So once you made your choice, you could only move forward.

Enkrid had to do the same. And he wanted to.

"Azpen won't advance so easily."

Before they parted, Kraiss had explained everything he'd prepared, piece by piece. He called it strategy, but to Kraiss, it was just trickery meant to deceive the enemy.

"How so?"

Enkrid asked.

The oil lamp belched out a smoky trail. It was evening, and they were in an office that was rarely used.

"What if you're walking through open ground and suddenly a wall appears in front of you?"

"You jump over it, break through it, or go around it."

Kraiss went quiet for a moment.

Right—this was what the commander was like. No matter what happened, he always found a way. A crazy bastard.

"Normally, people stop. And if they know the wall is thick and solid, and that if they approach it, a fist will shoot out and hit them—"

"And if they know that?"

"They'll stop. Then they'll either glare at it or ponder. Or pretend to glare while pondering."

Did he really need to explain something so obvious? But Kraiss didn't think like that.

Enkrid wasn't pretending not to understand because he was dense. This was more like... a rhythm. A back-and-forth.

Kraiss understood that, so he didn't falter. He continued.

"If they stop, that buys us time."

"And then?"

"Our main force will flank them."

A map was spread across the desk.

It showed the Pen-Hanil mountain range and a few key cities and strategic locations.

Kraiss placed a finger on the map and drew a line. The lamplight stretched out Kraiss's finger into a long shadow.

"You mean loop around and hit them from the rear?"

Normally, most would think that. But not this time.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Kraiss knew there was a monster lurking beyond Greenperl. From the intelligence he'd gathered, Azpen's responses, and the current situation— Kraiss had taken everything, kneaded it in his mind, and baked it into a loaf of bread.

And that freshly baked bread said:

"Azpen has someone who thinks just like I do. It's certain. We never promised each other anything, but silently, we've both agreed to follow the same rules."

When Enkrid asked about hitting the rear, and got that nonsense in response, he stared at Kraiss.

The eyes reflected in the lamp's glow held the emotion of unease.

Kraiss was always like that.

Even if he felt relief, he never let himself relax. To him, unease was like a finger or a toe—a part of his body that was always with him.

Fear. Anxiety. The worst-case scenario playing over and over in his head. It was the same this time.

Kraiss wrestled with it as usual.

What if I'm wrong? What if the enemy doesn't act as expected? What if it all goes sideways in the end? Or worse, what if it goes exactly as planned... and we still lose? Then what? Do I just run?

He had even prepared an escape route.

"Do you think that's cowardly?"

He'd dug multiple rabbit holes to run through, like a proper hare, and it had been just a few nights ago when he asked Nurat that question. He was ready to be criticized.

"Not at all."

Nurat shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because when it really matters, you're not someone who'd run."

"But I will run."

"Yeah, you'll make preparations. That's just how you ease your mind."

He was definitely going to run—

But Nurat didn't even register those words.

Kraiss pushed the recent memory aside and opened his mouth again.

"Interception."

"Interception?"

"The unspoken rule is this: we say we'll fight, but we avoid a full-on clash. Instead, we meet with our main forces, the ones both sides know about, and the winner takes it all."

His eyes trembled with unease, but the way Kraiss spoke radiated a strange intensity. That unease was the inner mask—

A kind of trust born from exhausting every preparation and reducing variables.

Whether they won or lost was secondary. It was the belief that events would proceed according to prediction. It could be wrong, of course. But Enkrid generally trusted Kraiss's forecasts—his foresight. So he asked:

"So if we win, that's enough?"

Interception meant to engage the approaching enemy head-on.

"Yes, but—just in case, just in case, just in case—it feels too dangerous, run into the mountain range."

"What kind of monster do you think is hiding in the Pen-Hanil Mountains?"

The route Kraiss had drawn on the map curved around the Pen-Hanil Mountains—A harsh, high-risk path no sane commander would normally choose. Even so, Kraiss had pointed out a trail brushing the outer edges, and if things went wrong, he said to dive in even deeper.

"Finn led a ranger unit and secured several safe routes. Of course, I can't guarantee absolute safety."

"But?"

"Even in the worst-case scenario, we need to get you out."

That was just how Kraiss was. He had a compulsion to always prepare for the worst, no matter what.

"Right."

Enkrid's response lacked weight. It was calm—

No different than when he said the marmalade he had the other day was tasty.

That calmness was a bit unnerving—

But at the same time, it brought a small measure of relief.

A man who wouldn't run when it really mattered. Kraiss knew that wasn't himself—it was the man in front of him.

Enkrid wasn't the kind to retreat, even in the face of danger. Frankly, it was a miracle he'd survived this long.

Which meant, even when their skills were roughly equal, he must've risked his life to stand in front of Kraiss.

Unconsciously, Kraiss had been influenced by that. And unconsciously, he had started to act in similar ways.

Nurat had noticed, because he was always nearby. Others hadn't picked up on it yet.

"The strategist on their side—was his name Abnaier? Looks like he's resurfaced."

Kraiss had felt the limits of what he could do sitting safely behind a desk, thinking alone.

So he had entered the Pen-Hanil Mountains himself.

"Shinar! I'm asking for your help!"

He enlisted the Fairy Company Commander, head of the ranger unit, and had Finn lead the squads.

"Do you know which forge the commander visits the most? What's been catching his interest lately?"

Enkrid was always focused on swordsmanship and training—

But even within that, he had more specific interests.

"Interesting."

Shinar nodded easily.

And just like that, Kraiss had baited the great fish named Shinar using Enkrid as the hook.

Inside the monster-infested Pen-Hanil Mountains, he had ensured a measure of safety while surveying the terrain and scouting possible paths.

Afterward, he had gone out to Greenperl and identified the location of a new fortress city.

Originally, he'd planned for three separate cities. But now his vision had shifted: Greenperl would be a major city guarded by three fortresses.

With time, people might even call it the Greenperl of the Three Blades.

That tied into Naurillia's symbolism as well. Not just a show of strength— It would cement a powerful image in people's minds.

Three swords that guard the royal family. Three cities that guard Greenperl.

Didn't the symbolism feel just right?

When Kraiss told Esther he wanted to inscribe protective spells into all three fortresses, she had said something: Magic and spells are influenced by people's beliefs.

Her one remark sparked the entire transformation of the city's design.

But that was for later.

For now, the priority was stopping Azpen's attack.

"The enemy forces—we need to kill them. They're probably knight-class."

Kraiss's eyes still trembled with unease. No words could erase that unease—nor could they ever. That kind of anxiety wasn't so easily erased.

Enkrid understood.

"I got it."

He now understood why he had to intercept them, and why they had to kill the knights.

Threatening with talk of full-scale war, but avoiding it and sending a small force around the back instead.

There'd be no audience for this fight. No bard would sing of it.

But that didn't make it any less honorable.

Pushing aside his conversation with Kraiss, Enkrid gave the order to depart. Now, he stood at the entrance to the Pen-Hanil Mountains.

He looked up at the looming range, and stared down the path he was about to walk.

'What is honor?'

It's something you define for yourself.

If this path could reduce even one needless death—That alone would make it honorable.

More than anything, he found Kraiss's strategy—the way it aimed to reduce sacrifice—very much to his liking.

***

Kraiss had led the enemy's thinking in a certain direction. To do that, he'd leaked subtle information into enemy territory.

'See? I know what you're planning. So come at me.'

Kraiss had spoken of information manipulation, and of course, Abnaier had picked up on it.

Should he try a twist and find another route? Not a chance.

The enemy had cleared out monsters and beasts along the path through the Pen-Hanil Mountains. They'd laid the road bare for him.

So what was he supposed to do now?

Originally, he had intended to pierce through the enemy's true intentions. But now that his strategy had been read, there was no use getting angry about it. He had to adapt.

"The enemy's coming to meet us."

Abnaier spoke calmly to the beastman general and added,

"Please win."

Words carry weight. Words carry magic. Some words are like that.

And Abnaier's words now— They carried something too.

Trust. Belief.

The exact opposite of Kraiss's trembling anxiety.

One side with unease. The other with confidence.

Who would turn out to be right?

Naturally—whoever wins.

"Yeah. That's more like it."

The beastman general chuckled.

He kind of wanted to meet that guy—

Whether he was the Demon Slayer, or just a deranged killer.

And if he had to choose between the two, he was more interested in the mad bastard who crossed the border and killed two semi-knights.

He was curious to see what kind of face that guy had.