A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Kraiss was practically being chased by work, and he knew this kind of pace would continue for a while. He also had a rough idea of what was coming.

For instance—

'Maybe I'll only have to keep rubbing shoulders with Azpen for another six months, tops?'

If you just sit back and watch, the two sides would continue to be awkward with each other like cows and chickens staring blankly across a fence. But steps to break that stagnation were already underway.

Things might not go according to plan. But so what? If nobody dies from it, you might as well go ahead and do it.

The only real variables were a foreign invasion or a breach at the Demon Realm border.

'But that's beyond my reach anyway.'

As for the Demon Realm border, there was nothing he could do about it even if he worried, so that was set aside. But Crang had already made his move to counter a potential foreign invasion.

How far Crang's maneuver would go, no one could say—but the other countries would watch and wait for now.

Naurillia and Azpen had, instead of burning down the entire continent, chosen to hold hands.

War? No, we've reconciled, don't you know?

That was practically the message being sent to the whole continent at the moment.

Ceding the border had that kind of meaning.

What's more, the Border Guard had already proven their strength.

Those in the know already understood that Azpen had lost all its knights—but what did that imply?

'It's proof that the Border Guard has that level of military force.'

In short, without an accurate assessment of the forces on this side, no one would dare jump in carelessly.

It was almost as if Naurillia's Red Cloak Order had suddenly doubled in size.

Even those who assumed some level of military expansion had occurred would've been caught off guard.

Even as songs about the "Sword of the Iron Wall" and knighthood spread, the cold-hearted would've been running calculations on the Border Guard's strength.

'Rem and Ragna are just too sharp and crazy to hide.'

At this point, it was safe to assume the information had already spread.

Two countries that had been at each other's throats had now, however awkwardly, joined hands.

That meant if the Border Guard's knight-level power was standing beside Azpen, it could amount to a considerable force.

So for the time being, no matter how much the southern kingdoms or the empire might dislike it, they wouldn't be marching in.

At the very least, they'd study the Border Guard's inner workings more closely before making a move.

'What else is there?'

Fanatics gaining ground couldn't really be factored in, so excluding that, it could be said they'd managed to secure a brief peace.

'In the meantime, no random sword gangs, bandits, or mercenary groups will be picking a fight, either.'

In weaker nations with no power, just a famous mercenary unit could cause constant bullying.

There had once even been a small nation in the southeast that got eaten alive by a mercenary group.

In fact, a trade city that once claimed southern independence had been extorted for krona several times due to lack of military force. But then came the infamous "merchant blade" incident—where the city had mercenary groups fight each other, then raised their own and wiped the rest out. That story was well known.

The mercenary companies under that trade city had names like Gold, Silver, and Bronze.

The Mercenary Company of Gold, the Mercenary Company of Silver, the Mercenary Company of Bronze—names that were anything but creative.

There were also rumors that the leaders of the trade city had ties to the continent's most notorious assassin guild, and that the "merchant blade" group occasionally stirred trouble in other cities.

'But would that trade city really have a reason to mess with us?'

If we were to compare it to a person, the trade city would be a tough, hardened bastard.

It was something worth thinking about.

They didn't care if the «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» other party was an empire, the south, or Naurillia. The only things that mattered were deals and commerce.

Leona, the head of the Lockfried Caravan, once told him that a marriage proposal had come in when she was scrambling to inherit the merchant guild.

"At least the guy wasn't a perverted toad-faced fifty-year-old, but still. Giving up my guild as a dowry? That's a hard no."

What the trade city had been aiming for was clear.

They wanted to bring the dynamism of Lockfried into their fold through marriage.

Experience earned by traversing the continent on foot wasn't something you came by often. Especially not with Lockfried, which had opened business with the Black Leather Guild and the Glacier Rangers.

There's no way they weren't tempted. They might've seen it as a golden opportunity when they heard the head of the Lockfried caravan had changed.

If the Lockfried Caravan had joined the trade city, they probably would've grown even more rapidly.

But in that case, it might've been hard to call Leona the true owner anymore.

That's the downside of opening a shop with someone else's krona.

At first, they smile and hand you the money, then later they demand repayment—and if you can't, they start claiming parts of your shop as theirs, leaving you with nothing to say.

If Leona had been even slightly less sharp, she might've fallen for it—but she was clever, and her goals were clear.

Leona wanted full ownership of the caravan.

"So damn much work."

Interrupting his thoughts, Kraiss took a sip of tea.

It was a gift from the royal court, accompanied by a letter from Marcus.

A note thanking him for all his efforts and consideration.

'If I'm not going to break ties with the royal family, I might as well stay on good terms.'

Drinking the tea Marcus had carefully chosen as a gift, the fatigue in his head seemed to lift just a bit.

Maybe this is why people pay so much for high-quality tea leaves.

Should he stock up on tea like this when he opens his salon in the future?

Not a place to just eat, drink, and mess around—something with more value. A space for serious conversations and expanding networks.

Right now, noble parties and banquets fill that role, but with cafés taking hold in the city, salons might become a natural replacement.

For now, a "salon" still conjures up images of young noblewomen married to old men or just sex-crazed perverts gathering—but it's all in how you run it, isn't it?

'Nothing strange going on with the royal family, I hope?'

"Don't worry. I'm going with him."

Kraiss felt a twinge of unease remembering what Rem said before leaving.

Would the nobles gathered at the palace really accept the commander without fuss?

There would definitely be those grumbling about the Border Guard gaining power.

Well, it was the commander's problem to deal with.

He'd handle it one way or another.

Sure, it was Rem they were worried about—but realistically, no one other than Enkrid could manage her anyway.

"Ah... I just wanna go into hiding and open a damn salon."

There's a reason those old stories always have some wise hermit living in seclusion.

You step away from the front lines, collapse from overwork, and next thing you know you're tossing everything aside and heading into the mountains to bathe in the forest air.

You might end up as a monster's dinner if you get unlucky—but if you hate working that much, maybe you need to learn magic and really disappear.

Of course, Kraiss had zero intention of doing that.

He hated responsibility—but not the pleasures of city life.

Busy as he was, his thoughts even wandered to that bastard Abnaier.

How easy would work be with someone that sharp helping out?

Still, dragging him in right away left a bad taste.

Maybe he'd ask Enkrid about it when he arrived.

With that thought, Kraiss downed his tea in one go.

It was time to get back to work.

He had to divide the trained troops according to their assignments, arrange their weapons and armor, and sort out those entering the city for unnecessary reasons.

He couldn't handle all of this alone, of course, so he had people planted here and there to manage things—but he still didn't have enough hands.

Kraiss suddenly wondered, Is this really where I belong? But he pushed the thought aside. Even if some bitterness remained, what could he do?

This was the busy season.

***

The sun had been blazing when they set out, but the sky had grown dark and heavy.

The gray sky now looked like Rem's thick skull.

It felt like it was going to rain soon.

"Looks like rain. Hm... yeah, it's gonna pour. We should find shelter."

Rem glanced up at the sky and muttered. He had always been good at picking up on changes in the weather.

"How do you even do that?"

Was this supposed to be boring?

The road between Naurill and the Border Guard wasn't fully secured, but the route to major cities had been nicely paved.

They'd laid stone to make the road.

And every half-day's travel, they'd built three-story towers as outposts.

Towers with firing slots perfect for launching arrows in case monsters or magical beasts attacked.

They might be vulnerable to griffons, harpies, or wyverns—but for that, they'd apparently installed giant ballistas on the rooftops.

Just making one of those required collecting monster fur for a long time, and there were even stories about women selling their hair to raise funds.

Once the frame was built, they used steel tendons and various furs to make the bowstring.

Some even claimed they made a nice pile of krona by selling their hair during that period.

Thanks to this safe road system, it was hard to even catch a glimpse of monsters—let alone bandits.

In short, a safe and peaceful road. They even passed several merchant caravans traveling along it.

The guards they'd hired were mostly standing army from the Border Guard.

That alone was proof of how heavily the Border Guard influenced the region's safety.

It wasn't so much boring as it was secure—but for Enkrid, Rem, and Audin, it felt like a relaxed journey.

All three were on horseback, and Rem tugged at his reins to shift direction before finally answering the earlier question.

"You could know how it works and still not be able to do it."

"Why?"

"You sure are full of questions today. I've lived in the West my whole life, you see. Born and raised out there. When you dabble in shamanism, you start getting sensitive to the way smells shift. You could say it's a kind of sense that comes from spending your life in a dry climate."

"I see."

This probably wasn't something you could just learn.

Enkrid thought that to himself as he nudged his horse forward to follow Rem.

He'd heard the stablemaster had quite the hard time picking out a horse big enough for Audin to ride.

It was that large a horse.

It would've been nice if Odd-Eye had offered a ride, but that beast rarely let anyone on its back except Enkrid.

It was as clever as a person—so if things got dangerous, it might offer a ride or even go retrieve a lost Ragna. But it wasn't about to lend its back for mundane travel, and didn't seem inclined to follow, either.

The same went for Esther.

"Lots to do."

Apparently, she was busy with teaching and refining spells.

Esther, having taken human form again after a long time, was also tending to some soldiers—whether they were her disciples or subordinates was unclear—but she looked genuinely pleased while doing so.

"Lower your eyes. If you roll them around carelessly, I'll pluck them out."

That was how she greeted her unit.

She hadn't even said it yet and all the soldiers were already keeping their gazes respectfully lowered.

Whatever had happened in the past, they sure learned their lesson.

They all carried crystal orbs about the size of a fist, constantly polishing them and murmuring. To anyone who didn't know better, they'd look like part of some lunatic cult.

"Shall we spar a bit when we rest? Brother."

Audin broke into his thoughts with a question.

"Let's."

Enkrid nodded.

"I'm in too."

Rem jumped in as well.

If they were really going all out, someone would end up hurt, so this would be more of a warm-up than a serious duel. But to an outsider, even that would be a shocking spectacle.

Their journey was full of these routines.

If rain seemed imminent, they'd find the nearest town or cave for shelter.

"KRUUUUGH!"

And if a magical beast emerged from that cave, all three of them would leap in without hesitation.

Whether it was Audin beating them with his fists or Rem splitting heads with his axe—if magical beasts that could endure those attacks were common, this whole land would already be a Demon Realm.

In between, they'd watch merchant caravans pass, duel again, and joke around on horseback.

Eventually, Naurill was just around the corner.

Normally, when someone in charge of a major territory came to the capital, they brought a large entourage.

Even the Count of Molsen and other nobles used to arrive with droves of attendants—but Enkrid came with just three people.

Why bring a crowd when it wasn't necessary?

It was only three, sure, but two of them were knights.

Who'd dare pick a fight?

No one should—but the truth was, most people didn't recognize Enkrid's face.

Which was perfectly normal.

Fame didn't mean anything if they'd never actually seen your face.

However, the guard captain stationed at the city gates couldn't possibly not recognize him.

He'd seen Enkrid's face during the civil war in the capital.

Amid the crowd in front of the gate, Enkrid patiently stood in line to enter. The guard captain, keeping watch near the gate, spotted him.

"Huh? Huh? Huhhhh?"

He pointed a finger at Enkrid and stammered, failing to string words together—until he finally blurted out a single phrase.

"Demon Slayer!"

Apparently, that nickname was still more famous in the capital.

Audin's massive frame had already drawn attention from the crowd.

At the guard captain's words, everyone around them turned their heads.

Dozens of eyes locked onto Enkrid.

"That guy?"

"That's him, you idiot."

"Oh, that's him?"

"The one?"

"The leader of the Border Guard?"

"The king's closest friend?"

"The Demon Slayer?"

"...Why's he so good-looking?"

People muttered all kinds of things. Dozens of eyes on him, but Enkrid remained calm.

He'd experienced this kind of thing even before becoming famous—at noble banquets and the like.

"I am Enkrid of the Border Guard. I've come at the king's summons. May I enter?"

There was no need to show a badge or prove his identity.

"Of course, sir."

The guard captain grabbed his reins and personally led him in.

Enkrid had been here once before and even rolled around in battle, so the layout was roughly familiar.

The only difference was that there were more children laughing and playing now, and the slums near the outer wall had shrunk a bit.

Since becoming king, Crang hadn't just been sitting idle, it seemed.

As he passed through the gates and was about to send the guard captain away, the bearded man suddenly said,

"I respect you."

This was a man who could recite the song of Enkrid by heart.

He'd been born and raised in the capital and loved his country.

To someone like that, the hero who had protected his homeland, his city, and his family was equal to a god.

To him, Enkrid was faith itself.

There were many like that even within the Border Guard, and as Enkrid gave him a modest nod in return—

The capital, on his second visit, was bathed in clear, gentle sunlight and the air was cool. The crispness of early autumn.

He found himself between the stench of a long line of stables and the acrid piss-smell of an alley, when a commotion ahead drew his attention.

"Don't cause trouble. We're just passing through."

"Hmph. All I said was I'd pay a fair price."

Enkrid hadn't expected to run into them here, but he recognized both parties.

"Huh?"

One of them was familiar to Rem as well, so he greeted them first.

"Twins? What are you two doing here?"

One was Enri, the western twin and former hunter turned merchant.

His hair was cut short, his beard cleanly shaved, and his face looked sharp and tidy now.

It wasn't Rem, but Enkrid also recognized the man on the other side.

A merchant. What was his name again? Malten. Malten.

He was the one who once scolded Enkrid back when they encountered the giant merchant at the Border Guard.

What was it he said back then? If I'm friends with the Lockfried caravan master, then he's Enkrid's uncle, or something like that?

"Uncle?"

Enkrid called out to him with a cheerful smile.

Malten stared at him for a moment and tilted his head.

He didn't seem to recognize his face right away.

A truly unreliable memory. How could a man forget his own nephew's face?