A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"Yaaaawn."

Ragna opened his mouth wide and exhaled, making it obvious he was bored and sleepy.

Enkrid looked at him and thought.

Should he be surprised that he's walking while half-asleep?

Or should he admire the fact that he feels no tension at all, even with a battle looming—a battle full of potential danger?

Or maybe he should learn from the way Ragna treats the Pen-Hanil Mountains like a backyard hiking trail?

To be yawning and dozing off while walking in this kind of situation—was that a strength, or was he just insane?

Let's call it a strength.

Enkrid himself wasn't trembling with nervousness either, so seeing it as a strength was better for his mental health.

"The air is heavy. There's no energy flowing through the mountain," Shinar said beside him.

Enkrid nodded and kept walking.

Their steps might have seemed like a casual stroll, but they were walking not through a backyard trail—it was the Pen-Hanil Mountains.

They were told to intercept the enemy, but they couldn't fight or intercept anyone unless they met them first.

That was why they were walking. In military terms, this could be called a march.

If you told a regular person to "march in the direction through the Pen-Hanil Mountains," they'd probably ask if you'd swapped your brain out with a ghoul's skull. But not these people.

Not that they were actually out here for a carefree hike, either.

You [N O V E L I G H T] could say they were moving forward while keeping an eye on enemy activity.

Of course, doing that personally had its limits.

Ahead of them was a scouting group leading the way. A ranger unit of ten, including Finn.

"Been a while, huh?"

As soon as they entered the mountain range, Finn approached with a smile.

She had been the reconnaissance captain who fought alongside them when they were targeting the Cross Guard.

She'd briefly been part of the Mad Platoon, but now served under Shinar.

There was a deep scar across her left cheek, but her expression was bright.

"Looks like you're doing all right."

"Not bad."

"Don't die."

"I'd ask you to save me if it gets dangerous, but I've practically been living in these mountains. Trust me, Captain."

With that, she gave a military salute. Enkrid nodded.

Finn moved to the side and led her squad forward, eventually getting so far ahead they disappeared from sight and could only barely be tracked by sound.

Then even that sound faded.

Meanwhile, Shinar, who had been observing the conversation between Enkrid and Finn, approached and said,

"A womanizer, huh."

"Who are you talking about?"

Shinar stared at Enkrid with expressionless eyes, then suddenly spoke.

"Surely you don't mean the big-eyed family man who pretends I'm not even here? Or the fighter who calls himself a devoted husband? Or maybe the swordsman who's likely to get trapped in the labyrinth of the continent if something goes wrong? Lastly, yes, Jaxon could definitely pass as a womanizer—but he only has one lover, and he meets her quite diligently. Did you know that her shop is standing proudly right in the middle of the city?"

Though Shinar's words came softly and calmly, they hit like a sudden strike, leaving no room to breathe.

Caught off guard, Enkrid realized once again just how well Shinar knew each member of the platoon.

Well, they were all pretty distinct characters.

"If the continent's a labyrinth, you should at least be able to navigate by the stars."

Ragna, waking mid-nap, scolded Rem.

"...Captain. I'm asking seriously here, do we really need him?"

One hand on his axe, the other pointing to the so-called labyrinth addict born of the continent, Rem asked flatly.

Ragna's words must have annoyed him so much that his eyes turned into triangles.

To Enkrid, it looked like Ragna had said that knowing exactly how Rem would react.

"Jaxon has a girlfriend with a shop?"

Enkrid, deciding that intervening now would only escalate things, shifted the conversation.

His question brushed aside both Shinar's accusation of womanizing and the bickering between Rem and Ragna.

"A teahouse. It's small."

That bit of information, oddly detailed for a casual explanation, begged follow-up questions—but Enkrid didn't ask.

It wasn't important.

He was just surprised to hear Jaxon had a girlfriend and was faithful enough to keep meeting her.

It was also a cover operation to help manage their network—but the lover genuinely ran the shop, so nothing in the statement was false.

After that, no one spoke.

Rem stopped humming.

Ragna, shaking off his drowsiness, kept trying to move ahead, but Enkrid held him back.

The footfalls of Jaxon and Shinar sounded similar—nearly silent.

Even with Enkrid's hearing heightened after unlocking Will, he could barely distinguish their steps.

'If they really want to hide their sound, there's no way I'd hear it.'

One of them had deliberately trained for that skill.

The other had something like natural talent.

Fairies, by nature, moved lightly and swiftly.

Of course, not all fairies were like that—but Shinar certainly seemed to be.

And now, they spotted a marker left by Finn's unit.

"White."

Jaxon was the first to spot it and speak.

A thin strip of cloth tied to a tree branch.

Blue meant enemy contact. White meant tracks discovered.

Red would've signaled a battle or casualties, but if there had been a fight, the air would've already felt different.

Their sharpened senses would've picked up on it.

Along with his enhanced five senses, Enkrid's sharpened intuition whispered to him.

The enemy had moved faster than expected.

It was an intuitive judgment, but one backed by rapid internal calculations.

Intuition had simply given him the answer first by shortening the process.

The group had now passed the outer edge of the Pen-Hanil Mountains.

If Kraiss's prediction was right, they would encounter the enemy midway through—two or three days from now.

Meeting them already meant the enemy had moved faster.

Just because both sides had revealed their cards didn't mean they had to act on them.

The enemy had taken the initiative.

If this side was underprepared, striking first would be advantageous. Arriving early also meant they could secure favorable terrain.

In such a case, it was plausible that Finn could spot them at this stage.

So then—was the timing and situation of this discovery really just coincidence?

Maybe not.

If the enemy wasn't stupid, they wouldn't leave traces so carelessly.

A tangle of calculations condensed into intuition presented several facts.

Enkrid's mind processed what had already happened and what would happen next.

Finn's role was to track the enemy in case they changed course. She would fulfill that duty—even at the cost of her life.

But then—

"There's more than one."

One white cloth tied to a branch.

Another on the ground, folded into the shape of a bird.

One bird's beak pointed to the right, another to the left.

This meant the enemy's routes numbered at least three.

Which meant—this was beyond even what Kraiss had predicted.

Still, there was no need to panic. The calculations were done, and Enkrid's instincts had kicked in.

"Jaxon, join Finn's scouting unit. Ragna and Shinar, take the central rear. Rem, take the left. I'll go right."

With no reason to hesitate, Enkrid gave the order and moved.

"Then."

Jaxon had already climbed into the trees.

Larger than the birds perched in the branches above—but quieter than them—he bounded forward through the canopy.

He made less noise than a bird flapping its wings as he leapt from branch to branch.

Enkrid's eyes followed the spot where Jaxon had vanished.

At the same time, he reaffirmed his judgment.

If the enemy had split up, was it right for them to split too? Could it be a trap?

Even if things went south, they could just confirm and fall back immediately.

Originally, they hadn't expected to meet the enemy for several days.

'Were they hoping we'd panic and fumble our response? Or maybe they were banking on our command structure breaking under pressure?'

It was a tactic that made sense.

When multiple knight-level combatants were gathered, opinions were bound to differ.

But the Mad Platoon followed the orders of a single commander.

"Don't push yourself too hard. I'll wrap it up quick and come back," Rem said as he started moving, and Enkrid turned to the right.

Only Ragna and Shinar continued forward in silence.

Their pace had quickened—twice as fast as before.

***

'Was that a trick?'

Though Kraiss still felt a fountain of anxiety bubbling up from deep in his gut, he looked perfectly calm on the outside.

Drinking tea, smiling, cracking jokes—he did it all while handling his duties. If he let his unease show from his position, it would ripple outward.

So he couldn't show it.

Sure, when he was alone, his leg might tremble like mad. But if someone was watching, he had to pretend he was fine.

"Don't try too hard when you fight."

Those were Enkrid's words during the sendoff ceremony.

Good grief, is that something you say to soldiers heading into battle?

Kraiss screamed internally, but outwardly, he skillfully used Enkrid's words.

"He means we'll win even without trying too hard."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Of course, he didn't speak those words himself. He had a commander relay them.

The one who spoke was the Demon Slayer, the Lord of the Border Guard, the King's close friend, the Savior of the Western City, the one who silenced the Grey Forest.

Honestly, even if Enkrid had barked "woof," allied morale would've surged.

People believed even the sound of "woof woof" held meaning if Enkrid said it.

"We will!"

"Win!"

"Even relaxed!"

"We win!"

Now that was a proper battle chant.

Kraiss watched the departing soldiers, bolstered by the slogan created by the commanders, and continued working on various other matters.

Even then, the anxiety inside him kept swelling, pressing down on his mind and forcing it to turn.

'Could those bastards from Azpen really have done nothing?'

No all-out war, sure—but just a demonstration? So we don't fight? Was that the deal? Right?

'And if they break it?'

Then what? One word ends it. The winner's word becomes truth anyway.

Unspoken agreements? Who cares if they're broken.

So Kraiss made a few moves of his own.

Of course, what he considered "a few" might look very different to the enemy.

***

Both armies had gathered near Greenperl, keeping a fair distance apart.

Though they arrived around the same time, Azpen's troops finished forming ranks first.

Their numbers exceeded five thousand.

The Border Guard had maybe three thousand at best.

But it wasn't just any three thousand.

Kraiss had poured a fortune in krona into military spending.

And this was the result.

Three thousand elite soldiers—no random riffraff among them.

"Advance the unit."

At the front marched the heavy infantry. Their number was five hundred.

Small, but not insignificant.

All wore matching gear.

Plate cuirasses over chainmail, with gambesons beneath.

In most wars, it was rare for equipment to be so standardized. Especially in the case of heavy infantry, who often had to purchase their own armor.

So you'd normally see people wearing mismatched, patchwork gear.

If you were lucky, maybe their armor would be the same color.

But the Border Guard's heavy infantry wore completely uniform gear.

Armies, by nature, were like pigs that devoured krona nonstop just to be maintained.

They eat and shit, that's it.

But in war, that's where those pigs truly shined.

Knowing full well war was coming, Kraiss had spared no expense on the military.

"Blood-like krona, poured into this."

Kraiss muttered bitterly to himself from the rear.

The weapons weren't identical, but they looked nearly the same from a distance.

It wasn't something a single smithy could produce overnight—he'd had them made and stockpiled steadily over time.

To either side of the heavy infantry, spearmen and archers were lined up—half and half.

Their gear was standardized too.

Blue gambesons and snug leather helmets.

They were soldiers who'd endured the harsh training started by Audin and carried on by Rophod.

At the center, standing alone atop a makeshift platform, was Graham—the lord of the Border Guard and its official supreme commander.

He took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and shouted,

"Troooops! Prepare for baaatttle!"

With his cry, the drums sounded.

Boom—boom—boom—boom—boom.

Commanders barked orders in unison, and the army began to align.

Military formation was the expression of discipline and order.

If you wanted to know how well-trained an army was, look at how straight they stood.

That's what the continent's greatest strategists and historians all agreed on.

And right now, the Border Guard's elite forces were proving it.

Clack! Thud!

They stepped forward in unison to align the ranks.

That simple motion was proof of their rigorous training.

Not a single soldier broke formation. Not one voice was raised.

Even as they moved, the lines remained perfectly straight.

From afar, the army looked like a single living creature.

Azpen's forces had their own formations, sure. Their units were loosely grouped.

But compared to them, the Border Guard's formation was an entirely different league.

It was a wall—straight and unyielding.

A wall prepared by Kraiss.

The power of a well-trained army was completed by its matching uniforms and perfect formations.

And just that alone was enough to make the enemy gulp nervously.

So, would they still dare attack after seeing this?

In fact, some of Azpen's commanders visibly swallowed.

What the hell? Why are those bastards standing in perfect lines like that?

Are we really fighting this?

They won't just charge us out of nowhere... right?

Every army had its so-called "shock troops." Naturally, Azpen had theirs too.

But even they hesitated.

The leader of those shock troops realized he had hesitated—and opened his mouth wide.

"Bullshit! You think standing in lines makes you good at fighting? HRAAAAH!"

With that roar, he puffed up his chest and forced his courage back.

His men followed suit and shouted along.

"HRAAAAH!"

Hundreds cried out at once, and the others caught on like a wave.

It was loud.

The shouting surged across the battlefield.

Azpen's army, howling in desperation, tried to manufacture morale.

It almost looked like some kind of energy was gathering above their massed troops.

Almost a mirage of momentum.

Graham, watching all this, raised his left hand without a trace of a smile.

Boom—boom—boom—boom—boom.

Five drumbeats.

That was the signal: count to five and shout.

Amid the chaotic yelling and swearing, the Border Guard's elite followed the order. Not one missed it.

"Even relaxed!"

The lead call.

"Even relaxed!"

The army responded.

"We win!"

Another lead.

"We win!"

The follow-up.

BOOOOOM!

It was like thunder.

Azpen's disorganized roars were crushed by the Border Guard's perfectly coordinated shout.

Their attempt at morale was scattered like dust.

The ground trembled. The air shook.

Hearing the thunderous chant of his own troops, Kraiss judged this a good start.

Not that it made his anxiety disappear.

'Come on, Audin. Let's finish this.'

I believe in you—son of the God of War.

Kraiss summoned the faith he only ever called on when absolutely necessary.

Audin was here, as were Teresa, Rophod, and Peld. He'd deliberately kept them back.

Even if Azpen had left behind a knight or two, they had the power to deal with it.

And yet, Kraiss couldn't shake the unease—so he'd played a small trick of his own.

Abnaier had acted early by sending flanking forces sooner than expected.

And Kraiss had made moves in the spot most likely to become the site of a full-scale battle.

"Brother who knows how to fight—come on out!"

Between the two armies, a giant priest on a large brown horse stepped forward.

His name was Audin.

They'd agreed to avoid a full-on battle—but no one ever said they wouldn't fight.

If the enemy tried to push forward, wouldn't it be perfectly justified to kill a few first to spike morale?

That's how Kraiss saw it.

Of course, Abnaier would never agree with him.