A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"I will cut the walking fire."

Enkrid had spoken those words from inside the mirror, and the moment Esther heard them, she transformed into a leopard and ran.

If she had been an actual leopard, her stamina would have run out quickly — leopards were not built for long runs.

But she was a witch.

And witches could run all day.

Besides, Cross Guard was not that far if one sprinted at leopard speed.

Luckily, she had been near the Fen-Hanil river rather than at the Border Guard.

That made it even closer.

She sprinted toward Cross Guard.

As for the river?

She crossed it using the spell Del Grecher's Promenade.

Thin sheets of ice formed beneath her paws as she ran, becoming stepping stones.

To cast her spells, she had to return to human form — but her physical strength remained the same, making her much faster than any normal human.

So she crossed the river, transforming back and forth between leopard and human as needed.

Though it consumed both magic and stamina, it was worth the speed.

'Am I too late?'

That thought did not give rise to hesitation.

If you stop just because you're late, then that's where it ends.

Esther kept running.

The traces left behind by Apostle Anella, who had cast the walking fire, were still vivid — detecting them and running toward them was easy.

As she crossed the river toward Cross Guard, she instinctively changed direction.

A great witch could read the traces left by spells.

This was no coincidence.

It was tied to Enkrid — which meant cutting it off ahead of time was the correct move.

Judgment and action came simultaneously.

No need to wait for the stars to rise and read their constellations.

The magic in the air was thick and heavy.

Soon, she saw the place where the spell had been cast.

There were a hundred corpses.

To be precise, there was a pit of ash — the remains of people caught in the flames.

"A forbidden... annihilation spell."

It truly had been the walking fire.

A forbidden spell, and not just any — a spell of annihilation, one that would not end until everything around it had been destroyed.

As she approached the pit, a twin-headed dog with human-like faces lunged at her.

But she had already sensed its presence — no hesitation.

"Drumuller's Scythe."

Esther waved her hand.

The gesture looked meaningless, but it gathered wind and formed blades.

Thwack!

The twin-headed monster was split cleanly from crown to torso by two heavy wind-blades, cut into three chunks as black blood and entrails sprayed the ground.

Even with its body cleaving apart, the creature staggered forward a bit before collapsing.

Esther's eyes turned toward one side — where a camouflage spell had been cast.

She had sensed it with pure instinct.

Once you sensed such a thing, what came next?

Naturally, you attacked.

She formed hand signs, guided her magic, murmured ancient runes, and summoned something stored within her own magical realm.

"Come forth, Bonehead."

It was an improved version of the flash golem that Enkrid had dealt with before.

Following her signal, a circle of light was drawn on the ground, and within it, flesh and blood coalesced — forming the flash golem.

The golem immediately charged forward.

One of the most effective ways to break through illusion magic was brute force.

It was the correct answer — the most reliable one.

As the golem kicked off the ground and rushed forward, a thin black veil rippled and shattered.

A voice emerged.

"How dare you."

A woman sprang out from within — her mouth moving with anger.

Esther saw her face, but did not acknowledge her.

She kept forming hand signs, her mind focused.

'Not an ordinary one.'

Ignoring someone did not mean she underestimated them.

She simply judged that speed was more important right now.

The magic she sensed from this woman was dizzying.

It was denser than her own — proof that the woman had already reaccumulated a significant reserve of magic.

Violet spiritual energy rippled over her shoulders.

"A mere witch..."

She spoke the way only one claiming to be a divine apostle would.

Esther, forming her signs, recalled her own condition.

Thanks to Enkrid, most of the curse had been purged.

Now she was rebuilding her magic domain.

She had not yet regained her former power.

So was she at a disadvantage?

Possibly.

But that was not reason enough to stop.

Among the countless todays, there had been one where Enkrid had contacted her through the mirror.

And each time, Esther had run to him.

"Demon God, your sons and daughters who wish to be reborn stand here before you!"

Apostle Anella shouted.

She had recognized that Esther was no ordinary witch.

She reflexively drew the sword she had prepared for after the walking fire.

Modified ghouls, stripped of reason, erupted from among the corpses.

Each was monstrous — enhanced physicality that made the term "beast" seem too kind.

There were skeleton soldiers too, formed by reassembled bones.

Necromancy fused with spellcraft — a sign of Anella's craftsmanship.

Their bodies caught fire — monsters wreathed in flame.

They could not be used alongside the walking fire since they would have just burned each other.

But they were devastating against anyone exhausted from stopping it.

Esther did not allow even a single spark to escape.

She did not use Bonehead here.

Brute force was not the right answer now.

She reverse-summoned it to recover a bit of magic.

"Del Grecher's Zone Mark."

Borrowed spells called upon the presence of another being.

For example, Drumuller was a spirit of wind, obsessed with the act of slashing — a being that found joy in carnage.

Del Grecher, however, was a beast who had lived on glaciers and loved to take long walks — a four-legged creature who had once been something else.

Esther was a genius who could blend borrowed spells with creative ones.

"Burn to ash."

Anella commanded.

As an apostle of calamity, she had a special talent for handling fire.

The flames on the ghouls grew stronger.

Esther responded by invoking a spell she had not yet refined — but had perfected in the past.

"Permafrost."

Crackle.

From the spot where Esther stepped, ice crystals spread outward, freezing everything nearby.

Though there was no blizzard, the temperature plummeted.

It was said that if you walked north past the glaciers, you would find a sky painted in unearthly colors, and a land where your breath would freeze.

That land was called Permafrost — the eternal frozen ground.

Spells were influenced by the words used to cast them.

So it was with Esther's.

Though she had only frozen a radius of twenty paces around her, everything within that circle was gripped by frost.

The flames vanished.

The burning ghouls and skeletons lost the foundation of their existence and staggered.

"You... cast a spell like this without preparation or sacrifice?"

Anella was truly shocked.

There existed a forbidden spell known as the Blizzard of Calamity.

To cast it, one needed a frozen offering — often a part of one's own body.

And yet now, she was witnessing a spell of similar force, aimed directly at her.

The range was not enormous — but still, it was incredible.

She had no intention of taking it lying down.

Even as she spoke, she gathered magic, formed signs, and chanted.

"Flame Dancer of Ruin."

Anella incanted.

Flames erupted from her body, surging in all directions.

One side burned.

The other side froze.

Whoooosh.

Even the wind turned to blades.

"Scythe of the Freezing Wind."

Esther uttered another spell — a refined version of Drumuller's Scythe.

Anella's eyes widened.

She was casting a different spell now?

After Permafrost?

To summarize — multiple spells clashed, but Esther won.

And Anella died.

The difference in raw power was not massive.

In mage duels, overwhelming strength was not always the deciding factor — preparation often was.

But neither had been able to prepare for each other.

If anything, Esther had been at a disadvantage — she had run here.

But her instinct for spellcasting, her creative combinations — those closed the gap.

To put it simply, it was genius.

And in the early winter cold, spells ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) that lowered temperature were far more useful than flames.

A true witch bends the environment to her favor.

That was why they said, "No one can defeat a witch in her hut."

'Overdid it.'

But yes — her body was clearly strained.

Esther trembled from head to toe.

She needed to eat a heat-seed, or surround herself with similar energy.

At the very least, she needed a thermal hide cloak like the one Rem always wore.

She could not go far in this state — so she headed to Cross Guard.

Finding Enkrid was easy.

She had not given him a spell object for nothing.

She tracked its residue, arriving soon after.

Even wearing her heat-retaining robe, her body shook.

The early winter wind felt like it pierced her bones.

She was cold.

So cold it felt like the first time she had ever experienced cold in her life.

"Esther?"

The man standing before her was Enkrid.

He was unchanged.

His blue eyes pierced the dawn, and even though the sun had not yet risen, there was still an undying flame within him.

"Hold me. I am cold."

Esther said, just before losing consciousness.

***

Enkrid instinctively caught Esther in his arms.

Her skin was cold — ice cold, like frozen glass.

Her face had gone pale blue, and even frost had formed in her hair.

"Lua."

"I'm up."

"Call the castellan. Bring every heating stone the city has."

"Got it."

Lua Gharne took off running.

Enkrid held Esther gently and lifted her.

He didn't know what had happened.

But...

'Something tells me this has to do with me.'

That was the feeling in his gut.

He laid her down on the bed.

He had once seen someone with frostbite.

Some lunatic noble had insisted on gathering herbs from the polar wastes.

A truly idiotic endeavor — but back then, Krona had been desperate, and there was no choice.

Enkrid had acted as their guide.

Three of his companions died from frostbite.

The one who lived had to have his toes cut off.

Had it not been for a passing cleric, they likely all would have died.

"You carry the sun inside your chest."

That's what the cleric had said to him.

Everyone else was freezing to death, but Enkrid had managed to endure — and the cleric had noticed.

"She'll freeze to death if I leave her alone."

Enkrid murmured.

He lay down on the bed beside her.

Pulled the blanket over both of them and held her close.

"Bring some hot water, Delma."

"Wha—? Oh! Yes!"

The inn's worker had been up early and seen a strange woman arrive — then watched the hero of the city embrace her.

'Lover?'

Possibly.

She hadn't meant to pry, but the mood was odd — and somehow, she ended up watching from the shadows.

That was when Enkrid had called out to her.

"Not too hot."

"Understood."

Enkrid removed Esther's robe and then his own shirt, holding her directly.

Even with the robe off, her body temperature remained chillingly low.

He didn't look at her body.

He didn't want to lose his eyes.

Through that day and night, he held her.

Lua Gharne helped bathe her in lukewarm water, dried her off, and brought her back into his arms.

"My body temperature is too low. I wouldn't be able to help her."

Frokk's body temperature was naturally lower than a human's.

So Lua could only worry from the side.

"I brought everything I could find in the city."

The castellan managed to collect a few heating stones.

In this wretched, broke little town — where drugs and gamblers were everywhere — it was still hard to find the things that actually mattered.

That would change later, perhaps.

Enkrid held Esther in his arms for two full days.

Finally, her body temperature began to rise.

A little color returned to her cheeks.

And on yet another early dawn, with Esther still in his arms, Enkrid woke up.

Blue eyes — the same color as his own — stared back at him.

"Did you sleep well?" Enkrid asked.

"...Why?"

"Why are we... in the same bed?"

Esther asked, a moment of confusion flashing across her face.

A brief gap in her memory.

"Because there's no better way to recover lost body heat."

He didn't literally carry the sun inside him.

But at the very least, he was the only one who could endure holding her.

Even just by breathing, Esther chilled the surrounding air.

As if she were carrying some curse with her.

Enkrid could endure it — but most couldn't.

Delma wouldn't even come near, muttering that just being nearby was cold.

Even Enkrid, while holding her, had felt Will stirring through his body, trying to resist the unnatural chill.

It was proof that the cold around her wasn't natural.

It had to be magical — though there was no one to ask.

So what else could he do?

He had to hold her through it.

Not that he was about to explain all that out loud.

Instead, Enkrid spoke with his usual calm tone.

"You used to curl up in my lap all the time when you were a leopard."

At that, Esther stared into his eyes in silence.