A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"You must be the lord, right?"

Graham turned to face the man who had suddenly appeared and was now staring at him.

'A lunatic?'

He looked like someone who should've been drooling from the mouth.

His torn gambeson, old scabbard, and dented helmet all screamed of madness.

Outwardly, he looked like a mere madman, but Graham gripped his sword and shield and took a stance.

The ragged figure let out a breath—huff—then blinked his bloodshot eyes several times and spoke.

"Busy. I'll finish this quickly."

The tone was casual, but the murderous intent beneath it was anything but.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a cheer erupted in the distance.

Waaaaaaah!

It was from the battlefield. Graham could hear someone's name being shouted among the cries, but it was too far to make out clearly.

Graham had been moving to gather the rear forces in preparation for a full-scale battle.

Whether the situation was favorable or not, having even one more person able to fight was the surest way to minimize allied casualties.

Then, suddenly, this man had popped out from the brush beside the encampment and blocked his path.

There were hardly any soldiers around. Supply lines or otherwise, everyone's attention was on the front lines at that moment.

Srrrrk.

The lunatic with bloodshot eyes drew his sword, twisting his neck side to side as the blade shook with him. Whatever he'd been through, both his mind and body were clearly not intact.

His center of gravity was off, his balance visibly twisted.

And his muttering was even worse.

"Taking the lord's head would be the highest merit, right?"

What kind of bullshit was this?

Graham was the lord of Borderguard, sure—but even a passing child knew who truly represented this land.

The Demon Slayer, the King's Companion—Enkrid.

His own position was practically just a formality. Though, Graham himself never thought of it that way.

Being able to remain by Enkrid's side, training and honing his skills under his gaze, was a blessing the aging warrior knew too well.

Even though the man before him had staggered while drawing his sword, Graham could tell this opponent was no amateur.

If he were just some crazed lunatic, he wouldn't have made it this far.

Even by Graham's judgment, the man's skill was formidable—and nearby, Frokk, whose keen perception far surpassed that of humans, whispered supportively.

One of Kraiss's guards assigned to Lua Gharne.

"A knight."

Those three words were enough.

Just before Frokk spoke, one of the guards had furrowed his brow and moved to intervene, but Graham stopped him.

"Stand down."

"Sir?"

"Fall back."

Graham wasn't the type to calculate everything, but he wasn't the kind to ignore the obvious either.

If the guard stepped in, he would die. There was no way Graham would just let that happen.

Send someone he knew by name, had trained and eaten beside, just to test the enemy's strength?

By Graham's standards, any commander who'd do that deserved to be beheaded on the spot.

So he couldn't be that person. Graham pushed the guard back.

'Is today the day I die?'

He didn't know how an enemy knight had ended up here in such a state, but if this man truly was one of those knights known as walking disasters, even blocking one attack would be difficult.

If he got lucky, maybe two?

Still, Graham gripped his sword.

Any soldier stepping into battle had to fulfill their role.

To quietly offer up his neck and die here—that wasn't the role of a lord.

"I am the lord of Borderguard."

As Graham gripped his sword and stared ahead, the enemy's blade suddenly vanished.

He hadn't even finished speaking. There wasn't ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) even time to shout a battle cry. What saved him was nothing but the dull, repetitive training he'd endured.

He had thought he'd reached the limits of his age and skill—but after meeting Enkrid, he had begun to see it as a new beginning, not the end. Since then, he hadn't spared a drop of sweat.

And that had saved him.

Out of habit, he slashed diagonally and anchored his stance with both legs, trying to deflect the blade.

It was a habit he'd picked up fighting beside Enkrid.

A desperate attempt to survive even one blow.

In the end, by holding his sword diagonally and putting strength behind it, he managed to deflect a violent force crashing down like a blade of pure pressure.

Clang! Kakakakak!

It wasn't a perfect deflection. Strictly speaking, it was more like half a deflection.

But he had endured it.

Being the lord, Graham naturally possessed a fine blade—Valerian steel. Yet even that blade's edge had been chipped halfway like a saw.

Even with only a partial deflection, the force in the enemy's blow made his grip feel like it would explode.

It might have even torn slightly.

'I blocked it.'

Even if it was half luck, the result remained—a knight's strike had been stopped.

Of course, the only reason it was possible was because Corwin wasn't in his right mind.

The battlefield, blood, the chaos of retreat—his brain had been broken by the overlap of all these things, leaving only one clear purpose.

It was meaningless, sure to bring resentment, but his goal was simple: to kill the lord and escape.

And so, driven by that lone thread of purpose, he had acted.

He'd hidden a non-engraved weapon in an old scabbard, stolen a gambeson, and unlike a fairy-tale knight like Jamal, lacked any grace—so he'd hidden in the underbrush and crept his way here.

Even then, he'd only gotten this close thanks to Azpen's frontal assault creating a gap in the lines.

Without that, he would've been caught long ago.

"Frog bastard."

Corwin's bloodshot eyes gleamed. His killing intent flared.

The reason he hadn't taken Graham's head with that last strike was at his ankle.

A whip wrapped around his ankle had saved Graham's life. And the owner of that whip, Lua Gharne, had watched that last strike and come to a conclusion.

'Half-baked.'

Of course, there was no doubt the man was a knight. But not all knights were created equal.

Compared to Enkrid, Rem, or Ragna, his completeness was embarrassing.

Which meant—

'He can be withstood.'

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Though only withstood. There would be no happy ending.

Lua Gharne had been placed here to guard Lord Graham at the request of Kraiss, who feared an enemy unit might circle around and attempt a surprise attack.

No one had expected a knight to show up here.

So there would be no reinforcements. No help to hope for.

Which meant there would be no good ending. At best, they would resist and die.

'So should I just give up?'

She asked herself the question. But there was no answer needed.

Gurgle.

Lua Gharne puffed her cheeks.

There are moments where despair and surrender have no place—when there is only the need to act. Just like the man she'd been watching.

She tightened her grip on the whip's handle.

"I'll kill you all."

Corwin growled, pulling his leg. Even though Lua Gharne held firm, she was dragged forward.

Boom!

She raised her loop-sword with her right hand and blocked above her head just as the enemy's blade slammed down.

She hadn't seen the blade's path—she had predicted it.

And immediately beside her, Graham let out a ha! and brought his sword crashing down.

Beyond the guards, some soldiers began to gather at the commotion, but Corwin's eyes were already gone.

He believed that no matter who tried to stop him, he could kill and escape.

That belief alone was madness.

Even if knights could cut down hundreds, how was one supposed to survive in the middle of a storm of arrows and advancing armies?

Knights weren't tireless.

But if he had the mind to think about such things, he wouldn't have made it this far.

Corwin's eyes grew even redder. The burst capillaries made him seem less like a man and more like a beast or demon.

The blade of killing intent flew, vicious and wild.

Whiiing!

A knight whose weapon was insight now charged with speed and power.

Ordinarily, Graham should have been cut down and killed immediately—but even as his armor flew off and his forearm was split, he endured.

Because Graham had been training relentlessly under Enkrid's gaze.

He'd left the responsibilities of lordship to Kraiss and done nothing but train.

And so, he'd reached the level one might call a quasi-knight.

Of course, that didn't mean he should have been able to block these strikes.

That would normally be true. But he blocked them.

Why?

First, because Corwin's Will had become disordered from fleeing and ignoring the damage he'd taken.

Second, because Lua Gharne's whip continued to wrap around his ankle, constantly interfering.

Third, it was because Corwin hadn't capitalized on his strengths, but instead led with what was normally his weakness.

Instead of cutting with insight, he tried to crush with brute force.

"Uaaaaaah!"

Corwin's shout, stripped of composure, was soaked with nothing but negativity. Just hearing it made one feel sick.

Most of the nearby soldiers furrowed their brows.

But that didn't mean any of them could step in.

Whoosh.

Corwin's sword once again cleaved through the air. Even if his Will wasn't as firm as before due to his own foolishness, a knight was still a knight.

If this strike severed Graham's head, there would've been nothing to say.

Especially since Graham had ordered the entire unit assigned to protect him to fall back, fearing their deaths.

Thwack!

But even now, Corwin failed to achieve what he wanted.

His sword had cut something—but it wasn't the lord's neck.

Flap flap.

What he had struck was one of Frokk's arms, now twitching on the ground like a fish freshly pulled from water, spraying blood.

"How many more times do you think you can block me?"

Corwin hissed, oozing with dark killing intent.

By now, Corwin had regained a faint semblance of composure.

To him, it was more a desperate hope than a reality, but had enough time passed like this, this sinister intensity might've been sublimated into Will, opening some new path to him.

Even if it was the life of a mad knight soaked in slaughter.

That is—if he had survived.

Corwin had broken Graham's shield, snapped his fingers, and severed Lua Gharne's leg, but he hadn't managed to kill anyone.

The important part was that time had passed, and the deranged Corwin had failed to properly register that fact.

"Well, shit. You made it all the way here? What the hell are you doing here?"

A voice halted the battle. Light and breezy in tone.

Even so, Corwin still attempted to strike down the lord one last time—but his body no longer moved as he willed it.

Whoosh!

Along with the voice, something flew between Graham and Corwin.

Corwin instinctively stepped back. Graham, reacting too slowly, only flinched.

It was something several times faster than Corwin's previous attacks.

Boom!

With a thunderous crash, the object embedded into the ground, kicking up dust before dispersing it. Upon closer inspection, it was a hand axe.

Even Graham couldn't see it clearly as it flew—so to the soldiers, it must have looked like a bolt of lightning had struck.

The axe sank into the dirt, scattering soil, giving off an illusion like shattered light.

Though it was a throwing axe with a slightly smaller blade, the edge was buried entirely in the ground. The strength behind the throw was monstrous.

Corwin's head jerked back. His eyes widened as if tearing open. Some of the burst capillaries in his eyes exploded, leaking bloody tears.

"You? Why are you—?"

The Reaper had returned. The gray-haired monster.

Behind him stood a man with black hair and blue eyes, and next to him, an expressionless man with reddish-brown hair.

Beside them, panting heavily, stood a female soldier—Finn.

Finn had seen the situation while reporting back and had rushed to bring Enkrid.

Meaning, later, Graham would owe her more than just words of gratitude.

As Corwin instinctively turned to flee, something whizzed past the space he meant to occupy.

He twisted to dodge—and there it was, a sword shaped like a leaf.

The one holding that blade was a golden-haired fairy whose appearance was unforgettable the moment one laid eyes on them. They opened their mouth.

"You shall not escape. Shriveled one."

What kind of nonsense was that?

Corwin scanned everyone surrounding him with a glance.

"Brother, it is time to meet the gods."

The words came from a bear-like man standing still nearby.

And that prophecy was fulfilled.

"Uuaaaaah!"

Corwin let out a scream—or rather, a final battle cry—as he threw everything into escape. His insight, almost like a supernatural ability, glimpsed the future.

And in that glimpse, Corwin saw a strike he could not evade slicing through his neck.

"No—!"

That was his final word.

Crack!

Knight Corwin's head flew through the air.

Rem, who had swung the axe, nearly struck it again as it hit the ground—but let it be.

What was the point in cutting up a dead man's head?

"Fucking lunatic."

Rem spat on the ground. He was a bastard who left behind nothing but discomfort.

Only then did Graham and the limb-severed Lua Gharne let out heavy, relieved breaths.

Enkrid stepped in to support them both.

"Your limbs will grow back."

Lua Gharne said this as the soldiers ran over to bandage the severed stumps and reattach them.

"What's happening at the front?"

Graham asked.

"I sent them back."

It was Enkrid—who always treated Graham with respect—and his words this time hit particularly well.

It was likely thanks to that decision that there were no casualties in this battle.

Enkrid said it plainly, and some of the soldiers nearby looked upon the lunatic squad that had sliced down the so-called knight of disaster.

There weren't many who had seen it directly.

Even as Azpen's forces retreated, the allied troops had to maintain their formation.

But some had witnessed what Enkrid had done.

"Iron Wall."

Someone spoke.

And with that, Enkrid's most famous nickname was replaced. A new moniker was born—the Sword of Iron Walls.

"You're late."

Through the crowd of watching soldiers, King-Eyed Kraiss stepped out. Beside him, the leopard-like Esther looked at Enkrid with blue eyes.

If Azpen's end of the war spoke of ruin and despair—

Then Naurillia's end of the war spoke of the birth of a hero.

There were many eyes watching the battlefield now, so the rumors would spread quickly.

And so, on that evening—after Graham was saved, and Lua Gharne's limbs were stabilized—

There was no time for celebration or toasts. The battlefield had to be cleaned first, and that would take days.

They had to remain vigilant in case Azpen tried another foolish move. Getting drunk and passing out wasn't an option yet.

After washing up, eating, rearming, and unwinding a little, the soldiers talked and laughed into the evening.

Only then did Enkrid feel a vague sense of emptiness. And that emptiness arrived in full under the darkened sky of night.

"We were lucky to find him."

"He was heading toward Azpen, using his greatsword like a walking stick!"

The scouts and surrounding guards brought back Ragna.

"Ah."

Enkrid let out a short breath.

He had completely forgotten.

"Whew, you actually found me."

Ragna said nonsense as he stumbled into the tent—then immediately rolled his eyes and collapsed.

Naturally, he was taken straight to the medical tent.