A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The moment he threw the poisoned sand, a flurry of hidden weapons followed from the Azpen shock troop captain—poisoned darts, throwing knives, even caltrops scattered deceptively along the ground.

A spiked iron caltrop rolled right under Peld's foot just as he was about to step down.

But Peld landed only on the tips of his toes, avoiding it.

In dodging the poisoned sand, the darts, the knives, and the caltrops, Peld lost his balance.

As soon as he touched down, he teetered slightly to the left.

Got you!

The shock troop captain had been waiting for that.

He drew a short sword and leveled its tip at Peld.

He had a technique that could land even on quasi-knight-level opponents—

A magic sword inscribed with a spell.

The spell embedded in the pommel activated, and the short blade in his hand fired from the hilt, ripping through the air.

BOOM!

A thunderous noise rang out.

At the very instant the blade was about to plant itself in Peld's body like some ghastly decoration—

Peld's body rose off the ground, horizontal, as if he'd taken flight.

If Jaxon had been there, he might've noticed that the quiet tap of Peld kicking off the ground came just a split-second earlier than the boom of the magic blade—but no one here had hearing that sharp.

Rrrrip!

The blade, launched by magic, grazed Peld's side.

It didn't touch flesh.

It only tore through his light brown gambeson, and the layers of cotton and padding beneath spilled out in place of his guts.

By sheer coincidence, the fluff that fell covered the innards of the previously killed Azpen quasi-knight.

The dull-colored cotton now served as a blanket for the dead.

Tap.

Peld landed and stood upright, sword raised before his eyes.

Was he feigning loss of balance the entire time?

Seeing that his trump card had failed, the shock troop captain realized—this man's skill far exceeded his own.

Why did he think that?

I couldn't dodge that.

Whether it was reflex or calculation, it didn't matter. The point was: Peld had done something he couldn't.

Of course, skill alone didn't decide a fight to the death.

The shock troop captain lowered his stance and grabbed the axe hanging at his waist.

"Haaah..."

Peld looked up to the sky and sighed.

He wasn't even looking at his opponent. Just one glance at the sky, one glance at the ground, one long sigh.

"Haaah..."

The shock troop captain prepared to counterattack if his foe rushed him—but instead, the guy started talking.

"Did you know?"

Know what?

"That even when you understand and accept it... breaking the shell of your past self still doesn't feel all that pleasant."

Peld's gaze returned to the sky.

As he walked to this battlefield, he'd made a decision about how he would live.

Born in the wilderness, raised as a shepherd—why had he come to this place?

Why was he on this battlefield?

He had found the answer.

To move forward.

He had seen the back of a man who didn't just push forward with stubbornness, but with sheer, overwhelming ignorance of fear.

They say when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back.

Peld had seen Enkrid.

He had passed through despair and defeat to reach this point.

There was a time he believed his talent would let him catch up to Enkrid easily.

"There's a lot in this world. And sometimes, as we live through it, we encounter things we never imagined."

No moonlight, no bright sun, no dawn in sight. But sometimes, people get swept up in something deeper.

Even after finding his answer, Peld was lost in it.

He sighed once more.

Now it was time to shed his past self and greet who he would become.

He knew—without thinking—that the road ahead wouldn't be easy.

"...Did this bastard eat something weird?"

The Azpen shock troop captain muttered, scooting back ever so slightly.

He looked completely deranged.

Peld looked at him—his words just now had hit a bit too close to the heart.

"I think you're right."

So he agreed.

"What?"

"Hm. The air. I think I breathed the wrong air."

"What the fuck are you saying?"

Now the shock troop captain was scared.

He could've handled being stabbed—but this? A guy that fights well and spouts gibberish?

Peld thought of Enkrid and this place—what was different?

The atmosphere.

How exactly?

Around Enkrid, it was like an aura drifted through the air.

What had changed that aura in the air?

The air itself.

"Ahh."

Peld let out a small gasp of realization.

"...Nope, fuck this. I'm not dying to some lunatic."

The Azpen shock troop captain hurled his axe.

A weapon he'd relied on for years.

Peld twisted his body and caught it midair.

As he did, he thought:

Is it the air that's different?

The realization started to fade—it didn't feel right anymore.

Either way, the enemy had already bolted like his ass was on fire.

He dashed back to his horse, grabbed some backup weapon from the saddle, and threw it away as he fled.

Clatter! Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!

Hooves thundered across the earth, raising a cloud of dust that obscured everything.

Peld had no interest in chasing him.

He didn't even bother drawing his sword.

The watching soldiers on both sides saw it clearly.

"...He didn't even draw his sword?"

Two soldiers—one from the Border Guard, one from Azpen—muttered the exact same thing, word for word. Of course, they weren't close enough to hear each other.

Peld, having chased off Azpen's shock troop captain, returned to the formation.

Kraiss came rushing up from the rear.

"It's better you didn't kill him... was that on purpose?"

"It just sorta happened that way."

Peld's once-weary gaze had shifted.

He had shattered the shell and been reborn.

His eyes now gleamed mischievously, like when he'd first met Enkrid—pure and bright.

The glint of playfulness in his eyes moved his tongue.

"Rophod—if you die out there, you're calling me 'big bro' for life."

"I'd rather die on the battlefield than do that."

He challenged the rival he'd grown fond of—and the rival, fully armed, stepped forward.

He was the third of four.

"Come on out, anyone! I'm Rophod of the—no, of the Mad Squad!"

Kraiss watched and felt a flicker of reassurance.

Sure, what he was doing now did match Abnaier's predictions—but it also felt like a desperate act to smother his own fears.

Kraiss had two options.

One road was relatively safe, with fewer threats and variables—but it required sacrifice.

The other was dangerous, fraught with risk.

If things went wrong, they'd all end up nothing more than dog cocks.

At least, that's how Kraiss saw it.

And yet, he'd chosen the second path.

Captain... will we be alright?

He asked the question silently.

It hadn't been his decision.

If it were up to him, he'd have taken a third route—surrender the city, go into exile, survive with just his own people.

But that was just talk.

Nurath had seen through him.

Kraiss had no more room to retreat.

Too many familiar faces. Too many people he couldn't abandon.

Could he truly throw them all away?

He couldn't answer easily.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Before Enkrid left, Kraiss had asked his captain a question when given two paths:

"Is it okay to be greedy?"

That was how Kraiss had put it.

And Enkrid had answered:

"When have you not been?"

Even in a situation where laughter felt impossible, Kraiss had smiled.

"Not something I should say to the captain, but... how about you bring them all back alive, then?"

Enkrid gave a soft smile and answered with a face full of mischief.

"Yessir."

It came with a mock salute that looked half like a joke.

And it was precisely because Kraiss believed in that captain that he'd left Audin, Teresa, Rophod, and Peld here.

If not, he would've taken the first path.

He °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° would've thrown all of them down the enemy's path.

Not just them either.

He would've emptied the remaining ranger units and bled the enemy dry before beginning the fight.

That would've been the optimal move.

Probably exactly the tactic the enemy themselves would've chosen.

As Kraiss thought, he caught sight of Rophod landing a solid hit on his opponent.

"I'm the big brother!" Rophod roared after winning.

"The hell you are, crazy bastard! Just 'cause you won doesn't make me your little brother!" Peld shouted from the friendly line.

Kraiss looked at them like they were both out of their minds.

Next up was Teresa.

"Brothers and sisters... now it's my turn."

The blood of giants ran thick with the urge for battle. Though she had tempered it with faith, when a moment like this arrived, Teresa could hardly resist.

Especially now, after watching Enkrid—she felt more provoked than ever.

When a warrior woman as big as Audin stepped out, the Azpen line started to murmur nervously.

Had all of them already shown their hand?

They hadn't.

But if they let this keep up, it wouldn't just hurt morale—it would look like they'd lost the war before it even began.

So Azpen responded by fielding a true asset: a quasi-knight they'd been holding back, just in case things went sideways.

He was leagues stronger than the man Audin had faced earlier.

"A mercenary? Bound by contract? How pitiful. Looks like giant blood runs in you. Well then, it's better you die here."

Within Azpen, this man was known by the nickname "Emel the Arbiter."

He pronounced people's fates. Not always—only when he was sure he'd win. That's how he earned the name.

Teresa was the fourth to fight, after Audin.

And this fourth duel ended up being the second shortest—right after Audin's.

Teresa took Emel's sword with her body and struck him with her shield.

She used a body-roll deflection technique she'd learned from Audin, but his strikes were sharp—blood spattered from her side.

Flesh was torn. Not deep enough to hit bone, but not a minor wound either.

Still, Teresa didn't stop.

Red droplets flew into the air with each clash.

In three exchanges, only she bled—but that blood bought her an opening.

She closed the distance and slammed her shield into him.

Emel reacted quickly, trying to leap back by pushing off her shield with his foot. He wanted space.

This wasn't his preferred range.

But Teresa let go of her shield.

She'd never strapped it to her arm—only gripped it.

Just holding a shield that massive by hand was impressive enough, but letting go of it mid-fight? That was something no one expected.

Emel included.

"Guh!"

The shield he'd planned to push off of gave no resistance, and the energy behind his jump faltered.

He only managed to stumble back two steps.

Teresa followed, face expressionless.

Their bodies twisted in the air, tangled together.

A crackling noise followed—though few could hear it amid the chaos.

"Win! Fight!"

The cheering and shouting had erupted somewhere along the way.

Azpen's side was loud.

They'd shouted harder when it looked like Teresa might go down.

But the Border Guard stayed orderly even in their cheers.

Flap!

They shouted in unison with the wave of the flag:

"Bear Siblings!"

"Teresa!"

"Giant Goddess!"

"Teresa!"

Had she heard, she probably would've smiled wide and asked which sibling made that chant.

But you can't go skipping around the formation mid-duel.

At close range, Teresa used a Balraf-style neck-snap technique.

A move that required brute strength—perfect for her.

It wasn't a sophisticated technique: one hand gripping the head, the other slamming the shoulder.

Emel didn't go down quietly.

As soon as she grabbed his head, he stabbed his sword toward her neck.

Teresa twisted just enough to dodge, though blood gushed regardless.

But in exchange—

She tore free a dangling vertebra as a trophy.

Blood, heat, the battlefield—it all filled her with elation.

That energy exploded in a roar.

"I'm the big sister!"

The phrasing had clearly been influenced by Peld and Rophod.

Both armies watched the whole string of duels in stunned silence.

To Azpen, these people were nothing short of lunatics.

Never mind who won or lost—they just kept spouting crazy shit.

But if we pause to ask why they'd won so overwhelmingly...

Azpen's commanders couldn't understand it.

But Kraiss could.

Think about it.

These fighters—Peld, Rophod, Teresa—they sparred daily with Rem and Ragna, fighters on knight-level strength.

Had any of Azpen's duelists fought knights on the regular?

Not a chance.

So of course this was the result.

Still, Kraiss had been anxious.

Only now, seeing it unfold before his eyes, did he finally relax.

And really, this force had just been held back as a contingency.

They'd shown the enemy a disciplined wall with formations... then broken their spirit with raw power from Audin and the others.

Now, there was no way Azpen could risk a full frontal assault.

That was exactly what Kraiss had been aiming for.

***

This bastard.

Abnaier, having taken hit after hit, couldn't help picturing the enemy strategist in his mind: an old, grizzled veteran. That's what the tactics suggested.

But he was wrong.

The strategist was a young man—boyish even—with big, innocent eyes.

Not that it mattered. That was just the image Abnaier conjured up.

"A real son of a bitch."

Abnaier couldn't hide his admiration.

Still—it was only the beginning.

There were things you couldn't forget, even in victory.

Namely, those who had sacrificed themselves for it.

Abnaier turned his focus to where the real battle was taking place.

Where the honored dead would fall.

All of it—for victory.

And Abnaier's plans had worked too.

He'd arranged it all so the enemy would be met when and where he wanted.

Enkrid had departed after their forces pushed forward.

He was not moving quickly.

Meanwhile, the wolf-beastman Barnas Hurrier had already crossed the mountains multiple times before Azpen declared war.

He'd familiarized himself with the terrain.

And he had set out early—before Azpen even fully deployed.

To secure favorable ground.

To dictate the timing of battle.

And as a bonus, to gift the enemy a little panic.

To keep spies guessing, they'd even set up body doubles for Barnas and the other known faces.

That too had taken effort.

Even Abnaier had prepared.

Then a thought struck him:

Isn't preparation a kind of strategy too?

Yes. If they won, it would be.

Lose, and you're a traitor. Win, and you're a hero.

That's how bold strategies always go.