A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Enri had set out with a cart loaded not just with obsidian and talismans—western specialties—but also with other useful, sellable goods.

He'd expected it wouldn't be easy from the start, but it was harder than he imagined. To the point he sometimes questioned if he was doing the right thing.

It wasn't that he wanted to give up midway, but the dry-mouthed anxiety never fully left him either.

Still, he had to press on. He'd already made up his mind, and more than anyone, he knew this was an opportunity.

Captain.

Gripping the bow Enkrid had given him, Enri swore he wouldn't be the fool who missed his chance.

He needed a wagon and something to ride. Bellopters were no good once you left the West, so he needed a horse.

But not enough krona.

With his pockets far from full, Enri had managed to procure not horses, but donkeys and carts.

He ended up with ten carts—decently loaded—but looking at the donkeys and the people accompanying him, their appearance was undeniably shabby.

"Don't worry."

"We're coming with you."

Fortunately, the twin warriors from the western tribes had agreed to escort him. As far as military strength went, they were more than enough. He also borrowed a few extra hands from the oasis village.

"You'll pay us handsomely once we arrive, right?"

"You're covering food and lodging along the way, right?"

The questions they threw at him were all pretty similar.

"To be precise, if the trade succeeds, I'll make sure you're set wherever you decide to settle. But I can't promise success."

Plenty of fugitives came to this region, but there were also people falsely accused who had nowhere else to go.

Among them was a man who came with ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) his wife and child. He didn't seem particularly skilled in fighting, but he looked trustworthy.

Enri had only picked people like that. Getting dumped and knocked around in life had, ironically, sharpened his eye for people.

And if his judgment was wrong?

It'll be fine.

Even if a few of them ended up pointing their swords the wrong way, the western twins would handle it.

For the people who joined Enri's trade caravan, it was a gamble too.

They weren't getting paid upfront; they'd only see profit once the trade was successful.

Because of that, rather than clever opportunists, it was mostly earnest, desperate types who signed up.

The work was grueling and tough, but still cleaner than staying in an oasis village.

Compared to chasing jewel-covered beasts, this seemed like a saner job.

And so the journey began.

Magical beasts, monsters, even just rain—everything made the road hard.

Naturally, they didn't have enough krona to stay in cities along the way. Whatever they had had gone into buying donkeys and carts. So, they camped out every night.

Enri used every bit of his old tracker's skills to find decent routes and pick good campsites, while the western twins stepped up whenever force was needed.

On this route, bandits still occasionally popped up.

And on this continent, surviving as a bandit meant you had enough strength to survive magical beast attacks. There were plenty of them, and some were quite skilled, but they were no match for the twins.

At one point, a kid who'd followed his father showed off his skill with a sling.

Somehow, without losing a single man, they made it to where Naurill's walls were in sight. By then, Enri was completely exhausted.

"We should unload some goods here before we move on."

That's how they ended up in the capital—but the first merchant they met tried to pull a trick.

"Western goods? How do I know they're genuine? Talismans? How can you guarantee they work?"

Enri instantly knew what was happening.

The guy was trying to ruin his reputation and drive down the price.

The twins bristled at the insult and were about to step forward, but if they did, the city guards would intervene immediately.

Looking like raggedy foreigners from the West, they'd be the ones at a disadvantage.

Enri knew this well.

He'd seen this play out too many times before.

"We have to endure. Endure it."

He stopped the twins, gritting his own teeth, and made up his mind to abandon selling in the capital.

The place was crawling with fat pigs and toad-like bastards looking to pick a fight—there was no way he'd get fair value here.

If they could just reach the Border Guard, Enkrid's backing would guarantee there'd be no such problems.

Enri understood all this—but still, he'd tried to sell here, because the road ahead was so harsh.

Still, was it really smart to stay in the capital without even a single silver coin?

If you slept near the slums at night, you'd see at least a hundred thieves pass by.

What, kill them all? Thief guilds were the kind of groups that would start a fight, lose, and then swear revenge.

Outside the city, maybe you could handle it differently, but inside, you couldn't just spill blood whenever you felt like it.

Sigh.

He sighed a couple of times, steeling himself to leave—when, at the very last second, a pig-toad—or maybe a toad-pig—picked another fight.

Enri's hand kept drifting toward the bow Enkrid had given him.

If we were outside the city, I'd plant an arrow right between your eyes.

Just as he thought that, Enkrid suddenly popped up, smiling brightly, and called the toad-faced man "uncle."

The man, who had just been cursing him, only tilted his head, confused.

***

Not everyone in the world lived upright and righteous.

There were all kinds of people.

And Enkrid didn't think all of them were villains, either.

But this was a little different.

He understood the situation at a glance.

Enkrid casually leapt down from his horse. Dust puffed up from the dry ground where he landed.

Looking at the stones embedded in the road, it seemed the street had been newly paved recently.

There was a cart and donkeys sitting there—and Enri, cheeks sunken from exhaustion.

Opposite them stood Malten, the greasy-faced merchant, a stark contrast.

"Uncle, why are you pretending not to know me?"

Enkrid said as he walked over. The guard captain at his side asked,

"You have an uncle, sir?"

"He's a recent acquisition."

"...What?"

Rem let out a sharp, deflating laugh. He knew that mischievous gleam in Enkrid's eye too well.

"Why don't you recognize me?"

Enkrid even lifted his wrist, showing off the leather bracer wrapped around it—the one made from the giant's hide.

"Huh, huh, you? That punk?!"

Malten stammered, pointing at Enkrid.

"That punk?"

The guard captain's expression sharpened.

His gaze snapped to the toad-faced merchant, whose bulging eyes rolled in confusion.

What the hell's going on? Why is the guard captain acting so deferential? Why's this guy so confident? Wasn't he just some thug?

A mess of thoughts scrambled through Malten's mind.

"Uncle."

Enkrid called him again, and Malten remembered the nonsense he'd spouted before.

You're friends with the Lockfried caravan master? Ha! Then I'm Enkrid's uncle.

Friend. Uncle. Lockfried caravan master. Enkrid.

The words jumbled together, the face clicked into place—and he drew the obvious conclusion.

He dared to ask—but feared the answer. Yet some part of him was also half-sure.

Everything lined up perfectly.

"The Ironwall Knight?"

The infamous nickname slipped out of Malten's mouth.

It was more of a desperate prayer than a real question—Please say no, say it's a mistake, say you're a fraud.

"You know my nephew's nickname well."

Enkrid said, smiling.

And at that, Malten felt the bottom drop out of his world.

Why's it true?

Why the hell is he really the Ironwall Knight?

"Huh?"

Malten's brain stalled.

It was real. It really was him.

His survival instincts screamed—and he spun his head toward the noble backing him.

Specifically, the noble who had been eyeing the western goods Enri brought.

It hadn't even been that long since the civil war ended, but already there were nobles trying to build new factions.

Maybe not full-fledged factions yet—but they were definitely trying to expand their power.

And expanding power required gold. Naturally, rare goods were tempting.

Enkrid, of course, had no idea who the noble was. Even if he'd heard the name, he would've forgotten it.

He just followed Malten's gaze and looked at the noble.

"It seems there's a misunderstanding."

The noble tried to smooth things over.

In his mind, it didn't matter if the man was a general or not—this was the capital, a land governed by law, and he was still a noble. His status couldn't be ignored.

Still, he was sweating bullets.

I'm not gonna get stabbed here, right?

The fear made him instinctively edge backward, even as he kept speaking.

He was talking—but his ass was already halfway out the door.

"What misunderstanding?"

Enkrid asked lightly, and the noble's eyebrow twitched.

"That merchant only sought a fair deal, that's all."

The funny part was, Enkrid hadn't said a single word yet—and the noble was already falling over himself to explain.

The situation was downright hilarious.

Enkrid stepped forward and exchanged a few words.

"You guys had a rough time, huh?"

"More like that bastard over there..."

Rem had already heard everything from the twins.

"Hey, did you say that the talismans made by westerners are fake? That their magic is all a scam?"

Malten had said exactly that.

But wasn't it all because of the greed of the noble standing behind him?

He glanced at the viscount.

Save me.

The look in his eyes said it all.

Rem, however, wasn't the kind to let things like this slide.

Casually, he grabbed his axe and began striding forward.

"Apologize, or die. Just say 'I was wrong,' and nothing terrible will happen."

Rem said.

Was it his temperament? His nature?

Or maybe it was because the first thing he'd seen when coming to the continent was a noble who took pleasure in harassing women and tormenting his own people.

Rem despised bastards like that.

As he approached with the axe in hand, the three guards behind the noble furrowed their brows and moved as if to intercept.

But then the guard captain's voice cut in.

"Know when to butt in and when to back off. Don't you know who you're dealing with? Black hair, blue eyes, gray-haired axe wielder, a bear of a man. Seriously, you don't recognize him?"

Stories had spread along with the songs about the Border Guard's defenders.

Even aside from Enkrid.

"The noble butcher."

A madman who supposedly lost his parents to nobles and now split noble skulls with an axe wherever he found them.

It wasn't true, but the rumor said it was.

"A bear beastman who rips people in half for fun."

One of the guards muttered.

"...Is that me?"

Audin asked, half-laughing, half-pained.

He wasn't a beastman. And he certainly didn't have that kind of hobby.

"Ahem."

The three guards fell silent.

Rem was actually holding back—for Enkrid's sake.

Otherwise, he would have smashed someone first and talked afterward.

"...I will apologize. I was wrong."

The viscount bowed under the sheer pressure.

He didn't even need Will to force the issue. The guards weren't stepping in either, and the term "noble butcher" had clearly rattled him.

He was ready to piss himself.

The viscount fled, and the remaining merchant looked about ready to cry.

Enkrid turned to his "uncle" and said,

"Give me some allowance."

"...Huh?"

"Not gonna?"

As Enkrid asked again, the guard captain glared daggers at Malten.

Just watching how things were unfolding, he could tell: this merchant bastard had pulled something shady.

And he, the captain, had let that bastard inside.

He had insulted Enkrid—his idol.

You're dead. Absolutely dead. I will kill you. I'll kill you for sure.

Even though he couldn't wield Will, the guard captain's murderous intent practically manifested around him.

In other words, he looked ready to kill with his eyes alone.

"I-I'll pay! I'll pay!"

Malten hurriedly opened his coin pouch.

"That's not much."

Enkrid said, glancing at it.

There were over twenty silver coins and even a gold coin, but if Enkrid said it was too little, it was too little.

Malten immediately sent a servant running to the bank.

Every major city had a big bank.

Typically staffed by citizens from the trade cities, it had reopened only recently after being abandoned during the civil war.

Clink, clink.

A beautiful scene of a new pouch being handed over unfolded.

Enkrid took it all and handed it to Enri.

"Sell the donkeys and get some horses. Swap out the carts too. Eat well, rest properly, and then set out again. The road will be easier from here on."

"Thank you."

Enri bowed his head.

Thinking of all the hardships he'd endured, he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Seeing that, the guard captain stepped in.

"I'll personally escort you all the way to Zaltenburg. Please don't refuse. I want to do this."

"I was just about to thank you."

Enkrid nodded.

"Then please wait just a moment."

The guard captain took a deep breath, then walked over to Malten, clamped a hand on his shoulder, and led him away.

Enkrid waved goodbye to his "uncle."

Among Enri's group was a boy, around twelve or thirteen, who had come along with his father.

In his eyes, Enkrid and his companions looked like gods.

More majestic than a king.

There were many children like him.

To them, Enkrid wasn't just a swordsman with heroic airs.

The king might have been a distant figure, but Enkrid had personally protected them.

In any case, it had been a small, spontaneous incident.

"See you at the Border Guard."

Enkrid parted ways with Enri, while Rem ordered the twins to handle something else. Then they rode their horses along the outer road leading to the royal palace.

It was the same path Enkrid had once galloped down atop Odd-Eye.

At the palace, they stayed for a night.

Since there was no business at night, Enkrid borrowed the training yard and sparred vigorously.

Naturally, people gathered, asking to learn from him.

Among them were familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, but Enkrid treated everyone equally.

"As much as you want."

Among them was Rearvart, who had now become a member of the Royal Guard, and Matthew, who should have been by Crang's side.

Even the Royal Guard captain, the one with the dark gray helmet, dropped by briefly.

He simply gave a nod instead of sparring—an extremely silent type.

Whatever the case, Enkrid was completely at home in this environment.

Having others watch him, analyze his techniques—it wasn't just pleasant; it made him giddy with joy.

Seeing that, Rem muttered that his illness was acting up again—but honestly, he seemed to be enjoying it too.

After just two days of rest, tailors measured Enkrid's body and whipped up a new outfit: a formal tailcoat.

Not one of those tight shirts clinging to muscles—it was cut generously.

Rem and Audin didn't come along.

"No need."

"I'm fine."

And they weren't the kind to show up just because they were called.

Crang would have known that too.

The night before, Enkrid had randomly asked Audin why he'd decided to come along.

Thinking about it, Audin wasn't the type to enjoy leaving the Border Guard.

"I think it's time to free myself from the prison of delusion."

That's what Audin had said.

It made no sense, but he didn't seem interested in explaining further, so Enkrid let it go.

He always respected his men.

And Audin, for his part, just smiled, seemingly content.

"The Hero of Salvation, the King's Close Friend, the Demon Slayer, the Sword of the Iron Wall, Enkrid Janguun of the Border Guard!"

Hearing the herald's announcement, Enkrid stepped into the audience chamber.

And there he saw Crang, seated on the throne.

They exchanged perfunctory greetings.

"Well met."

"I came at your summons."

As soon as the formalities ended, Marcus brought up the subject of knighthood honors—and immediately, the nobles raised objections.

"It is, of course, right to grant such honors to Sir Enkrid, but should we not reconsider granting them to others as well?"

It was one of the more eloquent nobles who stepped forward.

Among the group was also that toad-faced bastard they'd seen the day before.

"Have you heard the term 'noble butcher'?"

The noble said, stroking his mustache.

What did the royal family and the nobility fear most?

Knights—those living disasters.

If knights changed their hearts, they could topple a royal family with a single sword.

Naturally, every royal house maintained its own defenses against such threats.

In the old Naurillia royal family, the Bound Knights had served this role.

All knights swore loyalty to the crown—it was a ritual even before becoming a knight.

But Enkrid and his Mad Platoon had never taken such an oath.

Could Naurill now restrain them?

Enkrid himself, maybe—but the others?

Thus, the noble was questioning whether it was wise to elevate those lacking in proper character to knightly status.

Enkrid thought to himself that every word made sense.

No matter how you looked at it, he couldn't picture Rem pledging loyalty to any royal family.

And with that thought, his mind drifted elsewhere.

Those pastries I ate yesterday were delicious.

The bread was excellent, too.

The noble delivered a fiery speech, but when you stripped away the bluster, it all boiled down to:

How can you trust someone called the noble butcher? This whole thing needs to be reconsidered.

If some clueless bumpkin had been standing here, they might've clapped in admiration.

Of course, no such thing happened.

"Are you finished speaking?"

Crang replied, wearing a soft smile that didn't match the situation at all.