A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

When Enkrid let his arms fall, the tip of his sword pointed toward the ground. In front of him, the monster had been split in half—its flesh strewn across the floor.

Black blood soaked the ground, with chunks of brown flesh left in the pool.

"Anyone else want to try?"

His voice was plain, his question straightforward. Heads lifted in response.

"Mercy... please spare me..."

Thunk.

A soldier dropped his weapon as he spoke. The spear clattered to the floor. Enkrid hadn't even aimed his sword at him.

The transformation of the administrator into a monster had shocked them all—so much so that most of the soldiers looked hollowed out, lost in a trance.

There might be a time to assign blame to the soldiers who obeyed their orders blindly, but this wasn't it.

With that in mind, Enkrid turned his gaze. Lua Gharne was inspecting the corpse.

"The cult bastards really tried every experiment under the sun."

From her tone, it was clear the cultists had done more than hold gatherings. They had conducted twisted rituals—abominations that Enkrid's blade had now partially brought to an end.

The monster behind all this was dead.

Enkrid's eyes landed on the self-proclaimed lord, head bowed low.

Was it time to ask what had happened? To demand he take responsibility?

The man's shoulders trembled.

In moments like this, what does the person in charge usually feel?

Were his shoulders shaking from relief? Or from despair?

It could've been despair first. The events had unfolded beyond his control, snowballing into a situation he could no longer handle. And now, it had been resolved—not by him, but by a knight from the Border Guard.

Regardless of pride, there wasn't much to be joyful about in his position.

Even without knowing the intricacies of politics, Enkrid could grasp the mood and read people well enough.

Even if the man felt momentary relief, it couldn't hide his hollow sense of failure. The lord raised his head and looked at Enkrid.

Step.

Unconsciously, Enkrid shifted his weight backward. Lua Gharne noticed and followed his gaze.

What's with that look in his eyes?

The lord's eyes sparkled—intensely, unnervingly bright.

"Your skill is... truly extraordinary, Sir Knight."

His tone was steeped in respect.

"Surely you don't intend to leave now, do you?"

A desperate hope clung to his words.

"...Isn't it right to return, now that the cultist problem is solved? This is Azpen's territory, after all."

Enkrid replied. He didn't have to leave immediately. Cultist remnants were still likely lurking, and he intended to clean them up.

That was the reason Lua Gharne had come along, after all.

"Dangerous eyes," Lua Gharne muttered, staring at the lord.

Enkrid silently agreed.

There was definitely something off about that gaze.

It reminded him of the look in Kraiss' eyes when he'd uncovered a monster-infested ruin.

The so-called lord looked at Enkrid as if he'd stumbled upon some rare medicinal herb.

"Please, Sir Knight, help us now that it's come to this!"

The man dropped to his knees.

His name was Louie. And Louie knew he wasn't a particularly capable man. But his love for the city was real.

"You there—kneel, all of you!"

He shouted to those around him. The idiot who'd guarded the basement knelt first, followed by the dazed soldiers. Even the former members of the crime guild had no choice but to follow.

"Help us! Everyone, say it!"

Until now, events had been too chaotic to judge Louie's character. But with this brief moment of calm, it began to show.

He was a tenacious man who wouldn't let a chance slip through his fingers. His glittering eyes resembled those of a merchant discovering a rare treasure—or a starving vagrant holding a loaf of bread.

But somehow, it wasn't unpleasant to witness.

"Please, help us!"

Louie had more urgent concerns than arguing with his commanders about his association with the former administrator.

The most important concern?

A knight had arrived. A knight who harbored no demands and asked no price—and had slain a monster.

Should he just say thank you and let him leave? Cry tears of joy? Or fall into despair, blaming his own incompetence for nearly losing everything?

No. That's not right.

Louie's desire was simple and clear.

As a child, he had believed he'd become a legendary knight. That belief lasted only a few months.

"There's not much a single sword can change in this world," his father once told him.

Louie took that to heart. He tried learning magic, tried dabbling in this and that.

But he came to understand: he wasn't particularly talented, and he didn't need much in life.

All he really wanted—his greatest childhood wish—was for the fighting to stop.

Cross Guard had been in constant conflict with the Border Guard over the Pen-Hanil River.

Can't people just live moderately, decently?

He wanted the people of his city to get through winter without starving or freezing to death.

That was all.

But somewhere along the way, everything went wrong.

He'd let in mages and lunatics who claimed to control monsters. A madman who said the city could burn for Azpen's sake became the commander.

Then, as if bad luck weren't enough, his elderly father died of old age.

His mother had passed when he was young. All that remained were distant relatives—none of them good.

Some wanted the lordship. Others wanted him dead.

The new "lord" who replaced him was supposedly his uncle. Louie wasn't even sure they were blood-related.

But one thing was certain: that man was the best swordsman of them all.

From then until now, Louie had only one wish: that his people wouldn't have to suffer.

Why? Was a reason necessary?

If he had to name one—it was because he truly loved the city where he was born and raised.

"...May I ask what exactly you want my help with?" Enkrid replied politely.

Louie wasn't trying to hide himself behind a fake identity. And what was even left of this city to claim lordship over, anyway?

"Some remnants still remain. Since you've already stepped in, might I ask you to continue...?"

His voice trailed off, replaced with an awkward smile. Brazen as it was, Enkrid sensed sincerity.

If he was wrong, so be it.

Before nodding, Enkrid asked casually:

"Why go this far? You could've fled. You had time."

He could've escaped to the Border Guard and lived well enough.

Why stay in this ruined city? Was it pride? Or did he want something more?

When Louie answered, there was nothing but dignity in his tone. No shame. No despair.

He had never wanted to be a hero, nor a savior.

A miracle angel descending from heaven to save the city? How nice that would be.

But the world didn't work that way. Instead, maybe... a knight's sword could serve in its place.

Perhaps this was that moment.

"I just want the place I grew up in to be a little more whole," Louie said.

"You could've taken your people and gone into exile," Enkrid countered.

"If peace means abandoning your homeland, then it's not real peace. And what if the same thing happens again? Will I exile myself all over again? Pick a new group to flee with? Who would accept that? Before I am a lord, I am a man who loves this city. All I want is for these walls to protect the people inside."

There was intent in his heart. A Will. Even without swinging a sword, his purpose was clear—and that alone gave him strength.

Louie lacked talent, but his heart for the city was genuine. When the opportunity came, he knew how to seize it.

Enkrid nodded.

From then on, Louie threw everything he had into action.

"You! Tell us where your hideout is! Or the knight will cut you down!"

He snapped at a nearby crime guild member.

"Wh-what? P-please, don't kill me! I'll take you, of course!"

A fox riding a tiger—that was Louie now.

"Lead the way," he shouted boldly. Lua Gharne muttered, "What a funny guy."

Before the sun even set, they were moving.

Enkrid hit three guild hideouts in a row.

At one:

"You know who I am? I'm the guild's second finger!"

That meant he was the second strongest, apparently.

"Who's first?"

"Swiftblade, of course."

"Ah, I see."

This one wielded a spiked metal club—not bad, technically speaking. But he had a habit: every time he swung with his right hand, his left shoulder opened up.

Enkrid stabbed that shoulder.

Thud!

"Agh!"

A clean hit to a major artery. Blood gushed out.

"Spare me!"

One stab and the bravado vanished.

"Have you ever spared anyone who begged you for their life?"

No answer. His eyes darted, his lips trembled. Before he could lie, Enkrid's sword moved.

And so the city was swept.

Eventually, they reached the manor where the old administrator had once sung.

"You dare challenge a Noble of the Night? Your choice is foolish," said the figure inside—an affected vampire dripping with theatrics.

"I knew you weren't really my kin!" Louie shouted. This was the man who had claimed to be his relative, usurped the lordship, and kicked him out.

Inside, the vampire had been feeding on young women and children—and not just their blood.

He tortured them, relishing their screams. Over a dozen corpses were found. A vice carried from life into undeath.

There was no need for debate. Enkrid cut him down.

Vampires weren't common monsters. Those who retained intellect and speech were considered high-tier threats.

But this one was bisected in a single swing.

"We need to burn it."

Veteran Frokk took over. He shoved the vampire's remains into a furnace, burning it thoroughly. The mansion filled with the stench of burning flesh and blood.

Three more werewolves appeared after that.

Grrrr...

They had no minds left. Enkrid cut them down with calm efficiency—herding them with the Acker's Web technique before decapitating each in turn.

Their heads rolled across the floor with a dull thump.

"There's more. Some only come out at night."

Louie said this respectfully, though shamelessly.

And sure enough, more beasts did show up—under the moon.

It was almost miraculous that this city had functioned at all until now.

Enkrid didn't stop. He fought through a full day and night.

At one point, he passed the inn he'd first stayed at.

A child stood outside, dazed, staring up at him.

"There won't be anyone left to hurt you now. Go tell your father."

"It's... it's my uncle. We're not blood. He picked me up and raised me."

Unprompted, the child blurted it out—perhaps confused by how quickly the city had changed.

"Is that so?"

Enkrid responded plainly.

Orphans were common.

Those who took them in... were not.

Especially in a place like this.

He hunted every hidden monster. Cut down would-be assassins. Caught the cultist ringleaders.

"A cultist, huh," he muttered when he caught one.

Lua Gharne took over the interrogation.

Could a disaster to one person... be a blessing to another?

At least for Louie—and for those who'd tried to live right—Enkrid, the walking disaster, had been a blessing.

A blade soaked in blood, cutting ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ through the dark—a faint blessing in itself.

Enkrid saw the city, and he saw its people.

There were those in crime guilds who still helped others behind the scenes.

There were adults who took in starving children.

There were retired mercenaries who died trying to protect others.

There was a lord who only wanted people to live decent lives.

There were people who shared bread and stew, even while struggling to survive.

Even among filth, flowers could bloom.

After a night without sleep, Enkrid passed the inn again. He saw a tree beside it.

A white flower had bloomed there.

Even in a ruined city, there were still people worth protecting.

That was what it meant to go beyond simply defending your back—to speak of ending war.

It wasn't a new revelation.

It was a promise he had made the first time he held a sword, drunk on a bard's song.

It was why he swung his blade instead of cursing his lack of talent—and why he couldn't stay where he was forever.

That night, the Ferryman reappeared and spoke:

"Are you satisfied? You saved them all? You'll regret this."

Enkrid replied, "Oh no, not regret! How terrifying."

The Ferryman grew furious.