A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The tea had gone cold. He didn't feel like drinking it. Nor did he touch the refreshments. Enkrid was deep in thought.

Kraiss once said that Enkrid was also excellent at thinking through problems.

"Yes?"

Across from him, on the old but soft sofa and the plain wooden table devoid of any decoration, Deutsch blinked blankly and belatedly asked again.

He must've been wondering—why ask about the motive behind a kidnapping here?

"Can you make potions if you have the Saintess?"

Enkrid asked.

Deutsch blinked again, then asked back,

"...Me?"

"Yeah."

Why was he asking this?

"No."

Despite his confusion, Deutsch answered faithfully.

"Is there maybe someone who could?"

"...Could there be?"

Common sense said no.

The method of potion creation within the Order was a tightly held secret. All anyone knew for sure was that it wasn't alchemy.

Not everyone who could wield divine power could become a Saintess or Saint.

Enkrid had dragged this thought from what he'd heard from Audin, trying his best to think from the kidnapper's perspective.

Maybe someone dreamed of making potions by kidnapping the Saintess?

Wouldn't it be more efficient to study alchemy instead?

If not that, then maybe they were terminally ill and trying to get treatment?

Even then—it didn't add up.

'I'd never do it that way.'

Let's say he had the ability to kidnap the Saintess.

Let's say he was even fatally ill.

Then what would be the right course of action?

Breaking through the multi-layered security of the temple to kidnap the Saintess would be absurdly difficult.

Instead, it'd make more sense to rob a few high noble estates.

That would be far, far, far, far, faaar easier.

With that money, he could make a donation big enough to qualify for treatment without question.

It'd be faster, more convenient, and a hell of a lot easier than kidnapping a Saintess.

"Then why did they do it?"

There was no gain in it. It wasn't murder—it was a kidnapping. And kidnapping meant a clear purpose.

In other words, some kind of benefit was being sought. But at present, there was none.

What, a rival Order stole the Saintess out of jealousy? Took her to their own temple?

If caught, that would spark a war nearly on par with the Holy Sword War.

The Holy Sword War—the kind that was always mentioned at the start of history books.

A relic imbued with divine power was found in some ruins. Every Order that saw it claimed it was a holy artifact from their god.

So they fought.

Was it over ten thousand lives lost in that war? No one had precise records anymore, but the story said that many had died.

After that, the Orders had reconciled dramatically and vowed never to let such a tragedy happen again.

They had unified under one banner.

Different gods, yes—but all the Orders were now brothers and sisters.

At first, it was only in name. But time had stitched them together, and now they truly were one.

"It's not a kidnapping."

Audin reached that conclusion faster than Enkrid—he knew more about the Orders.

He'd seen them from both the inside and the outside.

"Most likely."

Enkrid agreed, naturally arriving at the same conclusion.

"I... I'm not sure what you two are talking about..."

Deutsch trailed off, clearly confused by the conversation. He looked at Enkrid, who decided not to explain but to simply ask what was needed.

"The ones from the temple—did they just leave?"

A question born from experience.

If you're chasing someone, and that target is escaping way too easily... what do you do?

'If it were me, I'd widen the net.'

What's hard to do alone becomes doable with two. With ten, it becomes easy.

So, you just increase the number of people who'll follow your command without question.

And where do you find such people?

There are always folks out there who will fight like ghouls for a few gold coins.

Even if the Holy Nation wasn't the type to ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) recklessly throw around krona, if they were truly desperate...

"Yes? Ah, yes. They asked for tighter city patrols."

"And?"

"Um... they asked if there was an information guild in town."

Seemed like at least one of the pursuers from the Holy Nation had a decent head on their shoulders.

They must've arrived at the same conclusion: bring in more people.

Enkrid raised his head.

"Where? Who?"

Deutsch was sharp. He was starting to get a bad feeling about what he'd gotten himself into.

Enkrid, seeing the unease, spoke first—

"There won't be any damage."

Deutsch's expression soured for a moment, but he soon shook his head.

"Even if there is, we'll endure it."

He had no intention of backing down. There was resolve in his voice.

He'd seen the man who saved the city from the Nol assault.

He'd trained harder each day since then, trying to match that image.

Enkrid had assumed Deutsch became mayor because of his sharp instincts, but it was more because the settlers he'd helped protect had supported him.

Ever since the Nol attack, Deutsch had lived for the city more than anyone.

That was because he'd been inspired by one man's heroism.

And he hadn't forgotten.

He'd lived many years as a mercenary. And though a sharp-witted mercenary can survive long, one with loyalty survives even longer.

"If you need anything, I'll bring it to you."

Enkrid didn't bother rejecting that offer.

"Information. Movement patterns. The information guild—do they only deal in intel?"

The question was its own answer. Deutsch replied,

"They're a brotherhood. A gang of thugs, basically."

"I want to know everything they've heard from the ones who came from the temple. And what they're doing."

"Everything?"

"Just give me their location—I'll take care of the rest."

"No."

Deutsch shook his head.

Enkrid couldn't bring himself to override the man's resolve.

How could he reject help offered with sincerity?

Besides, from a practical standpoint, Deutsch—being a founding settler and now the mayor—was the better choice for this job.

"Half a day. If you haven't eaten, please take your meal, Sir."

Deutsch bowed to the Ironclad Knight and headed out.

Watching him go, Enkrid decided to take him up on the offer.

"Yes, yes."

The maid, flustered, answered twice and brought out various dishes.

Enkrid drank the cold tea in one go to quench his thirst, then looked to Audin.

Audin's eyes showed no gleam, and his face betrayed no thoughts. But Enkrid wasn't fooled.

He was merely putting on a calm facade.

That didn't mean he was emotionally overwhelmed, but his nerves were no doubt taut.

"We will save her."

Audin said.

Enkrid nodded.

"Of course we will."

Shinar added.

If this were a kidnapping, then the child's will wouldn't have been involved.

But if it was a flight?

That changed everything.

If a child was being oppressed and abused, what was the right thing to do?

And what if that abuse, that suffering, was supposedly for the peace of the continent?

Who cared? Honestly, the idea that one girl's pain could be tied to continental peace was bullshit.

So they would rescue her.

Even if this turned out to be a mistake or misunderstanding—if she really had been kidnapped—so be it.

They'd still be saving her. And that'd be a favor the Holy Nation owed them.

But if it really was a flight—if she had run away of her own will...

Then it wouldn't matter if the enemy was the Holy Nation or anyone else.

***

Loge was the head of the largest Brotherhood in Fellheim.

He had a brother who had been with him since childhood, and after settling in the pioneer city, they'd built their organization together.

Bang!

At the outskirts of the city, the door to the Brotherhood's warehouse headquarters exploded open.

"The fuck?!"

Loge snapped his jaw shut and gripped the handle of his dagger. The figure standing in the doorway was backlit by the sun, making his face a dark silhouette.

The midday sun shone from behind him.

Loge narrowed his eyes. The build looked familiar somehow.

In the stranger's right hand, he saw a long weapon.

A polearm with a blade at the end.

A glaive?

The shadow's owner spoke.

"Restrain them. If they resist, kill them all."

With that, a group of soldiers surged in.

Clearly Fellheim's official city guards—the civil guard, the core force of the city.

Not something a Brotherhood of petty criminals could hope to face.

"W-what?"

The Brotherhood members panicked. Should they fight back? They all gripped their daggers but didn't even draw them, hesitating.

"Jake?"

Some Brotherhood members recognized the guards. One called out to someone he knew, but the guard ignored him.

"Stay where you are. Drop your weapons."

The soldier named Jake said.

The tip of his spear gleamed, and it wasn't the kind to allow for jokes.

It slid forward and halted in front of the gut of the familiar Brotherhood member.

Jake's eyes were cold. His tone, even colder.

"Drop the weapon."

Loge had always thought of himself and his men as the crocodile birds of this city, scratching its itchy spots in the dark.

He had never met Deutsch Pullman directly, but people used to say the two of them shared responsibility for the city—day and night.

Deutsch had never bothered to correct that rumor. Not until now.

Wasn't their relationship one of mutual respect?

So what the hell was this?

"I won't say it twice. Recite every request you've taken recently. Were you following anyone? Did any people-hunters come into the city?"

Loge blinked.

That's what this is about?

Maybe an hour ago? There'd been a message telling him to compile any recent job requests and bring them.

And it had come directly from Mayor Deutsch Pullman.

If we start giving that stuff out freely, what's the information guild supposed to live on?

Did they think he was some pushover who'd just spill because they told him to?

So he ignored it. If they wanted to know that badly, they could come ask themselves.

That's how mutual respect worked.

"You said come in person, didn't you?"

Deutsch Pullman said, stepping forward. The scar across his face looked more vicious than ever.

A pioneer city was a place where people lived by taking risks. So it was natural for rough types to gather.

Even after Enkrid destroyed the Nol colony, the city had seen its fair share of troubles.

The fact that Deutsch had started as a guard captain and risen to mayor of a frontier town meant he'd dealt with those troubles well.

That included ignoring petty provocations and letting minor criminals be if they didn't cause real harm.

That kind of attitude lulled people into complacency. So when he finally moved, the one in his sights usually ended up just standing there blinking.

It was a tactic. A simple one—but it always caught those who didn't understand.

Like now.

"Hey, what was your name again? Loge? Rouge? Should we start by cutting off one ear and talking after that?"

Deutsch Pullman had come to handle this "peacefully."

Most of his "peaceful" methods involved overwhelming force.

If he didn't use his hands, he might let things slide with a look. But once he did, he did not hold back.

If he didn't go that far, then the kind of bastards who stabbed people and dumped their bodies in alleys would keep flocking to the city.

He didn't tolerate that.

Everyone acknowledged that one of the reasons Fellheim had this level of public order was because of Deutsch Pullman's glaive.

"Spit it out nicely. There's nothing good about shedding blood."

Loge felt humiliated by Deutsch's words and immediately drew his dagger.

Shing.

The blade caught the light.

Loge clenched his molars.

Then—he carefully placed the dagger on the ground.

Blade facing toward himself. Meek. Proper.

"Yes, my lord."

So what if he felt a little shame?

Staying alive was what mattered.

He recited it. Not like it was some huge secret.

The one who'd made the request was an inquisitor from the Holy City.

Their order was to find any lone girls passing through the city.

It wasn't a hard job, and the payment had been generous.

They'd also hired people-hunters to assist with the request.

"Alone?"

Deutsch Pullman interrupted in the middle of the explanation.

"No, go on."

He motioned for him to continue.

"Yes, sir."

Loge nodded and revealed everything one by one.

Deutsch had a head on his shoulders. He began putting things together.

Now he understood why Enkrid had come. He'd already received a letter from the royal capital.

But if inquisitors and templars from the Holy City had asked him personally for help, it was work he could've handled himself.

Why, then, would they waste krona hiring bottom-feeder gangs like the Brotherhood?

That Order? The stingiest of them all? The one rumored to secretly sell black-market rock salt?

Something stinks here.

The word "alone" especially rubbed him the wrong way.

On his way to report what he'd heard from Enkrid, Deutsch mobilized his forces.

He meant to trace the movements of the templars and priests.

"They've already left the city,"

said his deputy, who had just come back with intel.

Deutsch asked as he walked,

"Which direction?"

"East."

Having returned to Enkrid and relayed everything, Deutsch now shared his thoughts and theories.

Enkrid repeated the same question:

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone."

Enkrid straightened his head, thinking.

So it wasn't a kidnapping, but a flight. His prediction was correct.

And Audin had heard it too.

"She's alone, Brother Mayor? Are you certain?"

"Yes."

There was no hard evidence yet, but now testimony had been added to suspicion.

Enkrid decided to revise the mission on his own.

From helping the Order's pursuit party recover the Saintess—

—to prioritizing the rescue of the pursued child.

Still, questions remained.

'But how hasn't she been caught yet?'

Back when he worked as a bounty hunter, he memorized the faces of the top hunters. There were three known to be the best.

Two were now dead, one had retired.

Strangely enough, all three were from the Order.

He'd once asked how that was possible.

The man who taught him the trade answered,

"The Order's the best at chasing people. No question."

Why?

The old hunter had laughed.

"Why do you think? Practice. They've done it a lot."

Because hunting wasn't about talent—it was about experience.

Declare someone a heretic, and they'd run.

Chase enough runners, and you naturally get better at it.

And now—

A child who had once been a kidnapped victim was on the run from those very same pursuers.

A Saintess, fleeing from the Order's best.

It was more miraculous than any spell.