A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The man sitting in the chair noticed the two figures kneeling quietly by the table. They were the same pair who'd been tied up all night without sleep. Heads bowed, they didn't dare meet anyone's eyes, only shifting their gaze with furtive glances.

They got taken down by Frokk. Idiots.

The man wasn't watching Enkrid—he was watching Frokk. It was obvious that Enkrid was someone emboldened by his faith in Frokk.

But he was no better than the ones who had attacked the night before.

He didn't know who he was dealing with. People trapped in a narrow well never understand the world outside.

Cross Guard was tangled in internal guild warfare. Everyone was too busy protecting their own interests to care about the outside.

Lately, rumors were spreading that the lord was planning to break away from Azpen.

Could that even be true? Who knew. People just accepted it because it was being said.

These people were birds and frogs trapped in a narrow cage. So maybe it was natural they didn't know anything. Or perhaps someone had wanted them to stay ignorant.

Not that it mattered to Enkrid. All he needed was to understand the purpose of anyone who came to him.

"You're here to fight, aren't you?"

Enkrid glanced once toward the kitchen and asked. Breakfast hadn't even been served yet. Showing up before the food—were they really that eager?

Or maybe they'd been up all night gambling. The thick stench of stale tobacco and rot wafted from the man's mouth. Judging by the greasy hair, bathing wasn't a habit of his either.

Worse than Dunbakel, even.

"You acting tough 'cause you've got Frokk behind you?"

The foul-smelling man wiggled his left hand.

Another Frokk walked in barefoot from outside.

"You haven't killed them yet?"

This Frokk's eyes were particularly red. His gaze stopped on Lua Gharne.

Frokk, huh? Doesn't look like much fun to carve up.

That was probably what he was thinking as he stared—but no one could guess what was going on in a Frokk's mind.

Whether Frokk was there or not, Enkrid said what he wanted.

"Let's eat first."

That was a habit from dealing with the Boatman. When speaking to him, you had to ignore everything he said and just deliver your own message clearly.

Come to think of it, Enkrid had learned a lot from the Boatman—but applying those lessons now felt tedious.

"Is that so?"

The seated man stood up.

Enkrid saw exactly what was coming. He'd shove the chair aside and thrust with his weapon.

The one standing behind had already shifted to the side, intending to strike in tandem.

That one's waist held an axe worn with use. His hand had already moved toward it. The intent was as plain as day.

How should I deal with this?

With the question, the calculation was already done. These were the kind who'd kill without hesitation. Enkrid concluded he didn't need to draw even a single dagger. It was the right call.

Clack!

Ching!

The man shoved the chair aside and lunged with a short sword. Simultaneously, the other man swung down with a hand axe.

Their ambush was well-coordinated. Still not as skilled as a soldier trained in the Border Guard's basic drills, though.

Even basic training would've helped.

Enkrid moved—slower than them, but with vastly superior strength and reflexes, he still appeared faster.

He reached out, grabbed the blade, and yanked.

The difference in strength was brutal. One held the grip with both hands. Enkrid caught the blade between his thumb and four fingers—and the sword came free.

With a flick, Enkrid reversed the blade and slammed the guard against the wielder's skull.

Thud!

The sword's crossguard became a bludgeon, punching a hole through the man's head.

A man with a hole in his skull doesn't live long.

"Guh—"

He groaned as he collapsed. The axe-wielder fared no better.

While Enkrid's left hand finished the sword-wielder, his right hand snatched the axe and returned it—to its owner's head.

They died simultaneously, but only one thud was heard. That's how smoothly it was done.

Blood flowed freely from both corpses.

The red-eyed Frokk moved too, but he was already lost to the thrill of bloodshed. He'd long abandoned the innate talents Frokk were born with.

Some Frokk were like this—insane with the ecstasy of cutting and slashing.

Lua Gharne saw the weapon he pulled: a loop sword. Its blade was short, but jagged like a saw.

Shrrrk!

As it slid from the sheath, the sound was nauseating.

It was a weapon made purely for the feel of slicing.

He kicked off from the inn floor with a loud bang, splinters flying.

He was trying to use his momentum to slice Lua Gharne the moment he closed the gap.

She was seated, so he thought he had the upper hand.

Still seated, Lua Gharne tracked his charge and snapped her whip.

Whiiip!

It looped around Frokk's neck and halted his rush.

Grkk!

Despite the whip around his throat, the red-eyed Frokk just puffed his cheeks once.

He grabbed the whip with his free hand. Barbs tore into his palm, drawing blood—but he didn't care.

He pulled hard.

A Frokk always trusted in their raw strength.

He thought he could just snap the whip. With enough time, maybe he could—but he wouldn't get it.

As he tugged, Lua Gharne leapt.

The chair clattered backward as she launched herself.

Compared to him smashing the floor, her motion was graceful.

A support beam stood between the two Frokk. She feinted left, then darted right—thrusting her sword.

A simple feint, but an experienced one.

The red-eyed Frokk swung his blade to block left—but it was a false move.

Her loop sword plunged into his gut.

She dragged it upward in one clean stroke. His belly peeled open, gut and bone giving way.

Skrrrch!

The blade cleaved intestines, leather, ribs—until it reached his heart.

The foolish Frokk hadn't armored his belly. His heartplate was good for frontal attacks, but vulnerable from below.

"Gwahh—!"

He shrieked as his tongue lolled out, blood pouring down it.

His heart had been split. Blood surged upward.

Lua Gharne wiped her blade on his clothes.

Where did this rotten Frokk come from? she wondered. Probably drifted into this filthy city and settled. Flies always gathered on rotting meat.

It wasn't a kill to be proud of.

"Disgusting," she muttered.

Yesterday she'd said that about the water. Today, she meant the city itself.

Enkrid agreed.

"Clean it up."

At his command, the Awl Brotherhood survivors-turned-janitors got to work. They cleared the bodies, poured water to wipe up the blood—but the smell only got worse.

Just then, the waiter arrived, pale-faced, carrying their food.

On the battlefield, you eat with corpses nearby. Today was no different.

Enkrid dipped some white bread into the bean purée.

The young server trembled, lips quivering. He looked like he had something to say, so Enkrid glanced him over.

It was brief—mere seconds—but he learned a lot.

Subtle fear. A nervous step backward. A different pallor than earlier, when the boy had warned him to flee.

The more Enkrid stared, the more the child paled.

"Please don't kill me," the boy whispered.

He wasn't lying. He was the one who'd done it—tampered with the food.

They'd used sleeping incense already, so poison wasn't a surprise.

"I did it. Please, kill me instead,"

The innkeeper stepped forward. This time, his hands were empty.

A father and son, perhaps? Could be.

Enkrid looked ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) between the weeping child and the innkeeper and thought:

They sure react fast.

When had they even threatened them into poisoning the food?

The attack had been just last night. Two assaults already, and now poisoned food.

This is too much hospitality.

Unless they'd planned it in advance...

Enkrid felt a malicious gaze lurking behind all of this.

As if something was watching him.

And with that thought, he did feel it—eyes on him.

Trusting his instincts, Enkrid hurled the fork in his hand.

Thwack!

It flew with a ping, embedding into the dark corner of the inn's wall.

The innkeeper, startled, pulled the boy into an embrace. Sweat poured down his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lua Gharne asked.

"Thought there was something there."

Enkrid checked the wall again—nothing.

The boy looked even more terrified.

So did the innkeeper.

Enkrid rose, gently tapping the boy's head.

"There'll be no punishment. I won't ask who made you do it."

If the criminal guilds were behind this, of course they'd fear retaliation.

He wouldn't blame them.

There were those who tampered with food, with sleeping arrangements, who tested him by sending blades and Frokk.

What waited outside would likely be worse.

And more elaborate.

"If we fight inside the city, they'll probably have traps set," Lua Gharne said, reading his thoughts.

She had plenty of experience across the continent. She understood everything from just observing.

"At this point, maybe it's time for a purge," Enkrid replied, tone calm, unaffected by danger.

He'd come to hunt cultists, and instead found garbage piling up first.

He was about to leave when—

Clack.

The inn door opened. The administrator entered, flanked by two more guards than yesterday.

"I heard about the attack last night. These fools..."

He looked rushed yet calm. Polite yet troubled. To Enkrid, it seemed forced.

"I apologize. Our city's security has collapsed. It's all the fault of the Demonic Sanctuary cult."

He bowed again.

Before the administrator had entered, Enkrid had sensed something watching him—but the moment he arrived, that sensation vanished.

It was strange.

"Take those two away."

At his command, two gambeson-wearing soldiers seized the surviving guild members.

"You're to be hanged," the administrator said coldly.

"News travels fast," Enkrid finally spoke.

How did he know?

"Some soldiers were observing. I told them to report immediately. Ahh, once again, I'm terribly sorry. I personally invited you here, and this happens."

The administrator looked genuinely regretful.

Enkrid nodded. He didn't bother adding that the criminal guilds considered him a spineless fool.

"Seems things are getting complicated. I'll escort you to the estate."

Before Enkrid could reply—

"No, I'm the one he needs to follow."

The voice came from outside the door. A new voice, unfamiliar.