A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

In a land where polytheism—belief in and worship of many gods—was accepted, being called a heretic meant being abandoned by all gods.

To put it simply, in a society where faith was central, heretics weren't even treated like human beings.

Thus, once branded a heretic, there was no place left to live.

Especially when life was centered around city living—where could a heretic go?

Either become a bandit or flee to another land, like a western oasis village or the eastern frontier settlements.

Of course, the journey was anything but easy; it was a matter of staking one's life.

One scholar who had seen this reality clearly once said that the rampant witch hunts and heretic hunts had, in fact, created the bandit clans.

But even he was eventually branded a heretic and burned at the stake.

Thus, the truth was something people knew yet chose to turn away from.

Being a heretic originally meant believing in concepts opposed to the continent's mainstream faiths—worshipping idols instead of gods.

In other words, cultists were rejected by all gods and declared enemies through religious doctrine. They were the true heretics in the strictest sense.

In reality, outside of the cultists, the label of heretic could be twisted any way the authorities pleased.

Anyone living on this continent who wasn't a blind fanatic or extremely naïve knew that well enough.

In theory, there shouldn't have been many heretics beyond the cultists, but how often did the world move in a perfectly just and honest way?

The term witch hunt hadn't been coined without reason.

After all, how many people on the continent had the courage to kill a true witch?

A wizard was dangerous enough in their own territory.

To kill a witch, a wizard in their haven, even if someone had the courage, they would die attempting it.

Any brave soul would not live long enough to be remembered.

And why kill a witch who simply stayed quietly within their sanctuary, studying magic all their life?

Of course, it's only natural—yet not all witches were innocent.

Even among the cultists, there were witches who still lived by harvesting children's hearts.

And yet, the Church did nothing to punish them.

As for the reasons—any excuse would suffice.

If one looked at the real face of the witch hunts declared by the Church, it would make one sick.

Even now, such things didn't happen easily anymore, but they still weren't completely gone either.

The world was absurd, and that absurdity was always harsher on the weak.

All of that absurdity had also made Audin into a heretic.

'Have You abandoned me, Father?'

Audin had doubted countless times, even tried to throw away his faith.

And yet, not once had the gods stripped Audin of the proof of Their love.

The blessing from the God of War—the divine power—was still firmly rooted inside him.

It had been so when he was cast out of the Church, and it remained so to this day.

If he had truly been a heretic abandoned by the gods, his divine power would have vanished immediately.

But it hadn't.

Thus, even the Church, having no means to erase what was divine, could only place a prohibition upon him.

That was all that was contained in the phrase "Audin is a heretic."

"You are a heretic."

The Church had declared him so.

Why?

Previously, he had vaguely understood but looked away.

Now, he clearly understood but preferred not to see it.

The stain of heresy was determined not by divine teachings, but by the Church's own interests and political needs.

Audin himself was one of the symbols of that corruption.

A man gifted with talent, who had failed to fulfill the duties of a heretic inquisitor and ultimately stood against the Church.

Speaking now, Audin lowered his gaze, staring at the reins he held.

In his mind's eye, he saw blood dripping from his hands to the ground.

The blood from the past—the sins and mistakes he had carried.

The hand that had once captured and beaten innocent people in the name of righteousness.

'Forgive not my sins.'

Audin recited the opening line of the dawn prayer he had said every day since abandoning the title of inquisitor.

It had never changed.

At Audin's words, Enkrid, who had been riding with his head bowed in deep thought, lifted his gaze.

Enkrid had spent the whole ride silently immersed in his own thoughts, barely speaking.

A ray of light touched his distant gaze, and, soaking in the light, he turned his head.

Thus, their eyes met—Enkrid and Audin's.

Even Rem, riding nearby, glanced over at Audin.

With an expression that said, What the hell is this bear bastard talking about?

Enkrid, still holding the reins, sat upright, though his trapezius muscles relaxed gently, giving him a loose, unbothered posture.

To sit so naturally atop a horse showed considerable riding skill.

The horse was trotting lightly, the autumn breeze bringing a pleasant chill, though the sunlight was a little harsh.

The yellowed grass beneath them bent under their hooves.

What was this land called again?

Such idle thoughts flitted through Enkrid's mind as he spoke.

"If that's what you wish for, then I'll grant it."

On the surface, it sounded utterly indifferent.

Someone had just confessed something akin to a lifelong secret, and this was his reaction.

"Wish? I'll handle that instead. Hey, bear, what kind of cursing do you want?"

Rem jumped in enthusiastically.

It was lucky the word baby didn't slip out.

Audin didn't respond right away.

Even as he spoke, he had somewhat expected this kind of reaction.

They had spent enough time together for him to know.

Yeah, fine. So what?

He thought that would be the reply.

He had expected Enkrid to know the rumors and still not care.

Yet the reply was a little different.

Wish? You want to be cursed? Why had that come up?

"You confessed because you wanted to be cursed, right?"

Enkrid spoke again, and Audin realized something small but undeniable.

A flash of realization struck him in the brief exchange.

Did I... want to be cursed?

Enkrid surely knew why the rumors had spread and why Audin remained at the Border Guard.

And yet, Audin had confessed.

Because he wanted someone to curse his sins and punish him?

God had not punished him. Thus, he was still unpunished.

Audin, with his rigid and absolute faith, truly believed so.

That he had not yet paid for his sins.

"Self-harm isn't a good habit,"

Enkrid said, his voice dry and careless.

"What do you mean, self-harm? Just curse the bastard properly. Hey, bear, you honey-eating fool who gets your eyes stung while raiding tree hollows!"

Rem had been practicing colorful insults lately, but this attempt was abysmal.

"That's not quite it."

"Yeah, even I think that was crap."

Audin didn't even react to the barbarian's nonsense.

Because Enkrid was right.

What Audin was doing was self-harm.

The sacred text said not to mistreat the body gifted by the Father.

But was that command only about the flesh?

What about the mind?

What about the soul?

What about the heart?

Audin had never neglected his physical training, yet he had constantly flayed and crushed his own spirit.

It wasn't some deliberate asceticism.

It wasn't for mental growth.

He had simply ripped apart his own mind and soul in endless, brutal repentance.

Without even questioning why.

If asked why, he would simply answer: Because I had to.

Even if his past sins could never be forgiven, he had to show the Father that he recognized and confessed them.

It was a voiceless cry begging for punishment.

Yes. That was what it was.

"Ah."

Audin exhaled a low, deep breath.

His thick voice carried through the autumn air.

The Father had taught him yet again.

Self-harm stood on the opposite side of the sacred teachings.

Thus, it was a path that led toward true wrongdoing.

He must not tread that path.

I will never release my divinity for my own sake.

Even if death came, Audin would not waver.

It wasn't about seeking atonement.

Audin didn't dare to even hope for forgiveness.

Within his body, sealed by prohibition, the divine power trembled.

It tried to radiate with the light of realization, but Audin calmed and suppressed it.

If he ever broke the seal, all the accumulated divine power would surge explosively.

But that would never happen.

Audin swore once more.

It is not a power to be used for myself.

An eagle soared overhead, its cry sharp.

Piiiiiiiik.

Enkrid thought it sounded similar to the Whistle Daggers.

Hearing the same cry, Rem said,

"If that was a confession, then I'm a westerner."

"Yeah, and I'm a continental,"

Enkrid replied smoothly.

Audin smiled as usual.

They knew full well he wasn't truly a heretic nor someone who deserved exile.

It was a rough but genuine way of saying, Stop with the nonsense already.

And the fact that even the brutish brothers could say so—

It showed just how much time he had spent together with them.

Kyaaaaak!

Following the eagle's cry, came the wail of a beast.

The resonance was completely different.

One was clear, stirring reverence; the other was unstable, an unpleasant dissonance.

Off in the distance, several harpies flapped their wings, their silhouettes flickering.

Not exactly close, but not far enough to ignore either.

Near the capital or the Border Guard, magical beasts had a hard time running rampant, but in these still-untamed zones where the safe corridors hadn't been fully established, sightings of beasts and monsters were becoming more frequent.

When monsters or beasts were driven into a single area, they sometimes formed colonies—gathering into packs.

There were only a few harpies, but if left alone, they could become a real nuisance.

And since it would take only minimal effort to deal with them, there was no reason to pretend not to notice.

"I'll go."

Rem spoke up, and Enkrid nodded.

To ordinary travelers or merchants, it would be a considerable threat.

But not to Rem.

The barbarian from the West spurred his horse forward.

As the hooves struck the earth, dry soil—untouched by rain for days—rose in a thick cloud of dust.

Audin, gazing at the swirling particles ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) for a moment, opened his mouth.

"I used to be an inquisitor of heretics."

If calling himself the source of the rumors was self-harm, this was a true confession.

"I see."

Enkrid's response was the same as before.

Audin spoke about his past.

It wasn't a long story.

He condensed his life into a few simple lines:

An orphan.

A priest he considered a father.

The doubts he gained while judging heretics.

The life he chose after turning his back on the Church.

He left out the reasons for coming to the Border Guard and any realizations he had along the way.

It was a plain, stripped-down tale.

Enkrid thought Audin had no talent for storytelling.

"Yeah."

Still no sympathy. No particular emotional reaction.

Just simple acceptance.

And really, what right did Enkrid have to pass judgment?

What was the point of digging up the past?

To tell him to live properly now?

Or never make the same mistake again?

Who was he to say such things?

Audin had once led some to the Church's prisons as an inquisitor.

As he confessed that, a thought crossed his mind.

Were they truly sinners?

Now, he didn't think so.

Then why had he dragged them away?

As he spoke, his heart seemed to settle little by little.

It was a strange feeling.

Enkrid didn't sympathize, but he listened properly—attentively, without distraction, without judgment.

Because of that, as Audin spoke, he felt a little lighter.

"I doubt the Church's corruption is your fault."

Enkrid wasn't trying to sympathize or comfort him.

He simply stated a fact.

But Audin couldn't answer, I think so too.

Whether the Church was rotten or not, his sins would not disappear.

It was similar to how Enkrid lived his life.

Everyone said it was impossible, but he had chosen to become a knight.

Thus, he lived according to that choice.

Audin too simply followed the path his heart led him to.

Everyone had different perspectives, different values for life.

Enkrid had no desire to correct or blame another's way of thinking.

Even if his method was right for himself, how could he be sure it was right for others?

He couldn't.

Thus, there was no reason to force it.

Each person lived by their own will.

And Audin wasn't some spineless fool swayed by a few words from others.

If he were, he could never have achieved his current level of strength.

Conviction, will, resolve.

Without those, climbing walls or forging ahead would have been impossible.

Enkrid, as he spoke with Audin, suddenly realized something he had been grappling with about his swordsmanship.

Firm resolve.

Stay firm and unyielding.

Hadn't he gotten impatient after catching a glimpse of new talent?

Hadn't he, seeing the oarsman assisting him, gotten drunk on his own skill?

Lately, he'd been struggling with the Wavebreaker Blade, a technique that added rebound force.

Instinctively, he tried to find a way around the bottleneck by applying different sword techniques he knew.

He had even resolved to solve it before reaching the Border Guard.

But no, that wasn't it.

He realized now that rushing wasn't necessarily the right path.

The method wasn't wrong.

It simply wasn't the right one for him right now.

For someone else, a roundabout way might be perfectly suitable.

Each life, each method, was different.

The Wavebreaker Blade too should be approached according to its own nature.

Reflections on technique were a constant part of life.

The autumn sun warmed their backs as they traveled.

This time, there was no rain, so there was no need to seek shelter in caves.

They stopped briefly at Zaltemburg.

In a tavern, Enkrid lightly sparred with a mercenary eager to test his skill.

Because someone recognized Enkrid, nobles and commoners alike began flocking to him day and night.

"You're not going to cut off my head, are you?"

one of them asked fearfully after seeing Rem.

Despite his efforts at the banquet, Rem's reputation hadn't changed.

A madman who, after losing his parents to a noble, would split any noble's skull with an axe on sight.

"The hell, why would my parents die to nobles? I'm a westerner. There's no such thing as nobles in the West."

Rem was frustrated, but he didn't beat up any of the nobles before him.

Though there were no bandits, if they spotted monsters gathering, they never just ignored it.

It became a good excuse to stretch their limbs.

"I shall send you to the Lord!"

Audin, seeing battle opportunities, often stepped in.

Enkrid learned some hand-to-hand techniques from those fights.

It was a good kind of training, fighting with real monsters under the guidance of a capable mentor.

Rem, of course, grumbled now and then, but that was everyday life.

"At the level of a knight, shouldn't you get it after I say it just once? Frustrating."

When it came to duels, they were fairly even, but Rem still said what needed to be said.

And he wasn't wrong.

Through such experiences, they eventually returned to the Border Guard.

Enkrid resumed his usual days, filled with training and sparring.

As Crang had said, it was time to eat well, live well, and build strength.

And then, Enkrid formally announced the establishment of a knight order under the Border Guard.

"Mad Platoon Knights? Why that name..."

Kraiss shook his head in disbelief, but the name was already official.

This news spread faster and farther across the continent than any of them had expected.

The founding of a new knight order?

It was something no one could even remember happening before.

Along with it, rumors about the core strength of the Border Guard also spread.

Thanks largely to the efforts of Rem and Audin.