A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Bianca Conti showed a troubled expression.

She had come without an appointment, but with courtesy. She had stayed in the city for days, waiting to be summoned. And yet the person she sought had ignored her and vanished. If he had met her and said outright that he held resentment toward the Empire, that would have been understandable—

But this? No message, no word, just disappeared?

"I'm sorry. The captain has left on a mission."

"Didn't you say he was here until yesterday?"

The man with brown hair and large eyes sighed and shook his head slightly. The gesture was so natural, like someone caught off guard by a twist of fate, as if he too was a victim. A noble and matchmaker from the Empire, Bianca Conti had met her fair share of masked figures—even at unmasked # Nоvеlight # occasions. But it had been a long time since she'd encountered someone who so perfectly hid his true feelings like the man before her. Just listening to him, even she might have thought he was wronged.

"Well, he's not one to report his movements. Hah, I mean, you can probably guess just by the name... He's a bit odd in the head, you know?"

Kraiss said as he tapped his temple with a half-curled index finger.

He knew full well that Enkrid wouldn't bother flirting or discussing marriage with some Empire matchmaker. So revealing a portion of the truth—that his commander was a bit off—didn't seem like an issue.

Still, Bianca didn't flare up. Showing emotion first was the mark of an amateur. Even if she hadn't ruled the Empire's social scene, she had long survived as a matchmaker and broker behind it. She wouldn't be taken in by this little performance.

'What a joke.'

The man who introduced himself as Kraiss had such perfect acting skills and presence, she almost wanted to put him on a stage in the Imperial theater. But she focused not on his words or behavior—but on the situation.

'He avoided meeting me under the excuse of being busy... and now he's just gone on a mission?'

He was dodging her. Why? Was it because she came from the Empire? Was that a burden?

Fine. If so, there were other approaches to take.

It wasn't as if she was sent here under direct orders. She simply believed that the man who had become the subject of rumors all the way to the Empire's borders could become one of her achievements.

"I'll wait."

Clack.

Her teacup hit the solid rosewood table.

Bianca believed that if she could simply get a conversation going, she could win over a man who had held only a sword all his life. Such men, devoted to training and discipline, often had no clue about power or what they could actually possess.

There's no bear that hates honey. No merchant who hates gold. And no man who hates women.

That was Bianca's personal philosophy. Of course, there were always exceptions—but she knew well that few people ever strayed far from such truths.

Naturally, she was also aware of the Black Flower and the Golden Witch. But what she was offering wasn't a simple arranged marriage.

"Well, you're free to wait, but we're doing some construction inside the fortress right now, so there aren't any proper accommodations..."

Kraiss trailed off at Bianca's words. He conveyed the awkwardness of the situation with just a slight droop of his eyes. The man truly had an extraordinary control over expression and body language.

"Don't worry about that."

Bianca figured she could just stay at an inn.

Kraiss looked into her eyes, then at the man accompanying her. Behind him, Nurat and Lua Gharne stood as escorts.

'The Empire, huh.'

Finding out what went on inside the Empire from this side was hard. Even though Count Bianca Conti claimed to be from the Empire, she wasn't from the capital or the imperial city.

Between the Empire and the Kingdom lay the Gigant Mountains—larger than the Pen-Hanil range and nicknamed the wall made by God. The mountains affected the entire region's climate by blocking winds and clouds.

In myth, it was said that one of the ancient gods created the range, setting it down to divide the land—bringing rain to one side while leaving the other dry.

Moisture couldn't pass over when the wind blew, since the mountains blocked it like a wall—

Such natural phenomena had long been described in mythological terms.

Kraiss briefly let his thoughts drift into mythology, then snapped back to the present.

"What do you think?"

He wasn't asking whether the woman who had just left was an imperial envoy or a madam matchmaker.

"She shows no signs of training, and the man with her is a quasi-knight."

"I agree. There were five in total, right? I saw them. All similar. Not just in skill, but temperament."

Nurat and Lua Gharne answered in turn.

"Temperament?"

"They were all taught by the same person. You can tell from the way they've trained in the same martial style for a long time."

Kraiss had trained enough to manage himself, but he wasn't at the level of a quasi-knight or anything. To be honest, compared to the people popping up around Enkrid these days, he was the kind whose head might fly off with a single swing. Not that he'd allow such a thing to happen, of course.

Lua Gharne puffed her cheeks and blinked a few times after speaking. She'd agreed to play escort and scout, but now she was second-guessing herself—their aura of refined Will was undeniable.

That was one of the reasons she had stayed behind instead of following her subject of fascination, Enkrid.

"Just a guess,"

Lua Gharne started, then paused to breathe. A servant peeked in from outside the door, waiting for Kraiss's instruction. Kraiss waved him off, signaling to wait.

"If someone systematized the process of attaining Will—and devised a training method around it..."

"And if so?"

Kraiss, ever the good listener, gave the cue, and Lua Gharne finished.

"Then people like them would start appearing."

The Empire wasn't just a superpower—it was the only place on the continent ruled by an Emperor.

Why was it so powerful? There were countless reasons, but Kraiss felt he'd just glimpsed one.

The mere fact that they could assign five quasi-knights as escorts showed the Empire's might. This wasn't even a major figure—just a random noble who showed up uninvited. And it wasn't even an official visit, so those quasi-knights weren't technically Empire-affiliated. Then whose unit were they?

They couldn't be mere mercenaries. Most likely, they belonged to a force stationed in one of the Empire's cities near the Kingdom.

Even the Empire wouldn't have quasi-knights wasting time guarding card tables. So just from this one visit by a matchmaker from the Empire, Kraiss had gleaned quite a bit.

And the Empire hadn't even tried to hide it—these escorts had volunteered their presence, their strength, their identity.

The Empire's true military force must be far beyond this.

Goosebumps rose on his arms, and he felt a chill run down his back and between his legs.

Kraiss exhaled sharply and steeled himself.

'Still... no reason to panic.'

One day, a city would rise at the Empire-Kingdom border. On top of its walls, a glowing orb would shine—

The city of pleasure would await him. How could he cower now?

The next visitor was a merchant from the south.

The southern empire, Rihinstetten, was officially an enemy of the Kingdom of Naurillia. Kraiss thought the Kingdom sure had a lot of enemies.

But he couldn't deny it made sense. Any country expanding its territory would need a foothold—

And this land was rich in grain, fertile, the very center of the continent.

Really, it was a miracle the land hadn't collapsed already, given all it had endured. In the past, there had been times when the Demon Realm went wild, monsters overflowing everywhere. More recently, there had been Count Molsen's rebellion.

Even though the southern empire had crossed the border many times, the Kingdom had never truly been pushed back.

The merchant from the south rambled on about this and that, but his real point was this:

If Enkrid came to the southern empire, he could marry a princess.

"Has he seen the Black Flower?"

Kraiss, annoyed, turned the offer down bluntly.

He said Enkrid was picky about women's faces—so unless she was more beautiful, there was no chance.

Whether that was true or not, Enkrid had dumped all this responsibility on him. So making up an excuse to reject the proposal was his job now.

It was a short conversation—just a few words. But it caused a minor ripple.

"Oh, so he's a man, after all?"

"They say he's especially picky about looks?"

The southern merchant had a loose tongue—and he let it run wild.

At the same time, Enkrid was staring up at the sky, enjoying the autumn weather, lost in thought.

***

Since he'd founded a knight order, he had to fill it with knights.

Was it enough to just order people to join?

Of course not.

Everyone had their own will, their own ambitions. He couldn't just force someone to sit in this seat.

What if someone did that to him? There's no way he'd accept it.

So his subordinates would be no different. Back in the capital, they were already arguing whether all of them should be knighted.

'Not like they all agreed to join the order to begin with.'

It was like someone getting excited about a gift they hadn't even been offered yet.

He didn't care what they said, though.

With that mindset, Enkrid began asking each of his subordinates a question.

"Rem, what do you want to do?"

Before setting out on the mission to retrieve the Saint, he held little one-on-one talks with the Mad Platoon.

"I'll give them this and make them run."

To a broad question, he got a very specific answer.

"What is that?"

He could see it right in front of him, so he asked anyway, curious.

Rem was holding what looked like a training axe—similar in shape but clearly different. It had no sharp edge, just a lump of iron, and even the handle was made of solid metal.

When Enkrid took it, it wasn't overwhelmingly heavy, but it had serious heft.

It could probably be used for building arm strength—

Though its balance was a mess, making that difficult.

Would running with this really help?

'Hmm, not bad.'

He recalled Rem's recoil-less axe strikes—

Which were based entirely on controlling the weapon's weight through brute force.

Not every strike needed to be recoil-less.

But pulling it off even once or twice in battle could mean the difference between life and death.

If all his soldiers could use their axes like that? It would take both talent and hard work—

But Rem's unit would be fearsome.

"Not bad at all."

Enkrid said, recalling his own training, Rem's goal, and what was to come.

His words held a hint of admiration.

Rem was more serious about training than he let on.

This wasn't some half-baked idea—this had been thought through.

It was a thoughtful training regimen.

He even considered doing something similar himself.

Of course, if Rem's soldiers heard that, they'd curse him as a soulless ghoul and come swinging.

Enkrid turned his attention away from the training tool and asked again.

"Is it enough just to destroy the Demon Realm?"

There was a Demon Realm called Silence in the west, and Rem wanted to erase it.

But was that all?

Would that alone satisfy him?

Was being part of the knight order really what Rem wanted?

"What are you trying to say?"

Rem tilted his head. Enkrid said weird stuff sometimes—okay, often. This felt the same.

The point was this:

He'd made a knight order, and Rem had a place in it.

But if there was something he truly wanted more—he could walk away.

"What are you talking about? I'm the vice-captain, aren't I?"

Rem blinked, confused.

Enkrid paused, then replied.

"There is no vice-captain."

There was no rank besides captain.

He had no choice.

Any further titles would escalate into fire, not friction.