A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

A tree smoking a cigarette—it was, of course, the first time Enkrid had ever seen such a thing. Before he could even say a word, the wooden giant spoke again.

"Ah, a human. Then I suppose this is your first time seeing one like me."

Its eyes, dark brown and seemingly carved from bark, were strikingly curious. They blinked, fixed on Enkrid. He'd heard tales of fairies made of wood before.

"...Woodguard?"

From half a step behind, Lua Gharne tilted her head and asked.

"That's right," replied the white-haired fairy with a nod.

Woodguard—one of the fairy clans created long ago by a forest god to protect and tend to the trees.

So not all fairies were like Shinar.

"Fairy" was a broad term. It included Dryads, Woodguards, and Wing Fairies alike. Dryads were a race said to resemble pale green leaves, while Wing Fairies were tiny, winged beings, no larger than a palm.

Yes, Enkrid had known all this.

He just hadn't expected to see one so expertly smoking a cigarette.

Between lips made of bark and dry leaves, a tightly rolled brown-leaf cigarette glowed red, then faded again.

Puff.

Smoke drifted upward in soft clouds that hovered in the air.

And how was it even doing that?

Even the mercenaries Enkrid had known who were practically fused with their cigarettes could only blow rings at best.

That one merc, the one obsessed with smoke tricks—if he saw this, he'd be calling this thing "Master" and clinging to its leg.

"Want one?"

The wooden giant offered.

"You're being rude to our guest, Bran," chided another.

"Rude? What are you on about? This isn't like what humans smoke—this stuff's good for you."

Bran the Woodguard spoke as he turned and walked off to the side, his bark creaking with every step.

"I don't smoke," Enkrid finally replied. He was, after all, still human. If there was ever a time to be surprised, this was it.

What was that thing? Why would a tree be playing with fire like that? Shouldn't it be avoiding flames?

Yet there he was, puffing away at his leafy cigarette and strolling along with obvious satisfaction.

What if he caught fire?

Maybe Shinar wasn't wrong to be so cautious about flames.

Enkrid found his mind wandering in all directions.

When Bran stepped aside, the view finally opened up.

No one around was paying any attention to the smoking tree giant. They were all too focused on Enkrid and his party.

Enkrid instinctively swept his eyes around.

"Whether you fight or not, observation comes first."

Lua Gharne's lesson. Enkrid followed it to the letter.

There was a clearing at the entrance to the city, surrounded by towering trees. Sunlight streamed down through the open sky above.

It was peaceful. The city as a whole radiated a sense of calm.

He could hear birds chirping, insects buzzing—but even those sounds felt more like ambient background music than noise.

Enkrid sharpened his awareness and took in his surroundings. There was plenty to notice.

A fairy poked her head out of a hollowed tree like a squirrel.

More tree giants—others like Bran—stood beneath the ancient trunks. They all had deceptive sizes that toyed with depth perception.

Some were bigger than Audin. Others stood twice as tall as a man. One even looked to be three times that.

The largest one had its eyes closed and mouth shut—if it didn't move, it could easily be mistaken for an actual tree.

Taking in what he could see, Enkrid widened his perspective once more.

The layout was clear: a broad clearing at the center, surrounded by wooden structures.

But this wasn't the entire city.

Did they use the forest itself as the foundation for the city's design?

A place where hundreds—no, easily over a thousand—fairies lived. It was too vast to take in all at once.

Even just walking around would take days.

The city was massive—larger than Border Guard.

There were no paved roads, of course, but here and there between the trees, paths could be seen.

After observing the details, Enkrid focused in.

What caught his attention most was the floor beneath one of the wooden structures—presumably a house.

It looked like a natural home a squirrel might build if it joined an architect's guild. The roots burrowed into the ground, anchoring it. The whole thing retained the shape of a tree.

But something about it gnawed at him.

Why?

He asked himself the question twice, searching for the answer. His instincts whispered: this was no ordinary house.

It looked like a tree with roots planted in the earth—but that was just a facade.

If pushed, that thing could move.

That was what his gut told him.

The way they were all arranged around the clearing in such an even, intentional pattern—it didn't look natural.

Even the soil around the roots was a slightly different color.

An exceptional observation. Perhaps it wasn't just martial arts that Jaxon had taught him.

He always stressed the importance of reading the situation.

And understanding your environment before a fight? That was something Lua Gharne had beaten into him, literally.

Enkrid had only done what he was taught. He might be a slow learner, but he never forgot a lesson once it stuck.

What someone else might learn in a day, he'd wrestle with for a week. But once it settled, it never left.

Especially when he listened and gave his full effort.

That's what kept him from forgetting what he learned.

Do the houses move?

That was his conclusion.

Aside from that, all he saw were blank, emotionless, glassy eyes.

Enkrid's finely tuned senses picked up subtle confusion and curiosity in those eyes—but only barely. To the naked eye, they revealed nothing.

"What's with those eyes?"

Pell's words echoed in his mind. Eyes that betrayed no emotion could instill a primal kind of fear.

Not that it was frightening, exactly.

Pell had said it like a joke, but his voice had stayed flat.

Maybe he'd seen enough already to take this in stride.

Or maybe it was just what happened when you spent enough time around someone like Enkrid. Pell had survived this long among lunatics—now, nothing really fazed him.

His mental fortitude had grown stronger than anyone could have expected.

"A human guest. What a rare sight."

One of the beings approached and spoke.

She was a Dryad—one of the forest tribes renowned for healing magic, where males were rare and femininity was dominant.

This Dryad, too, was female. Her hair was deep green, and her skin a soft leafy hue. Rather than human beauty, she carried the cool, refreshing aura of the forest.

She wore green fabric stitched with gold thread—material unknown, but it added to her mystique.

Her eyes, the color of polished leaves, scanned the group before she spoke again.

"Not like those little sproutlings, are you?"

Calm and quiet, but the words hit like a blade.

It was the vibe she gave off. Enkrid, at this point, let his mind relax.

They say only an empty cup can be filled. If he let go of assumptions and prejudice, he could accept whatever came.

In just a moment, his whole mindset had shifted.

The white-haired fairy caught the change with that typical fairy sensitivity—and was quietly impressed.

His mind is straight and unshakable.

She was impressed, but not overwhelmed. Accepting others as they are was enough. There was boldness in that kind of composure.

"It's not the season for guests," said the white-haired fairy.

"It's been a long time since a human came here," added another Woodguard. His voice rustled like dry leaves underfoot.

Crackling, but strangely clear—every word carried effortlessly.

Bran's voice, and the voices of the Woodguard in general, were extremely peculiar.

Enkrid, watching the wooden giants, decided there was no way he could tell them apart just by appearance.

Compared to them, even Frokk would be easier to distinguish.

And Frokk wasn't easy, either.

"It's been a long, long time since a human came," the Woodguard repeated with a leaf-crunching rustle.

Their vocal organs were clearly different. The pronunciation was odd—but still understandable. He'd been through enough surprises today. This was just another one to add to the list.

They say the ability to accept is also a kind of strength. If so, Enkrid might be the best on the continent.

He'd been the one to lead the Mad Squad, even when Rem and the others were absolute disasters. He could handle weird.

No matter how strange the Woodguard looked, they couldn't be weirder than Rem's personality.

Enkrid faced the wooden giant blocking the clearing directly. Time for introductions. Just because this was a fairy city didn't mean intelligent beings talked any differently. That much was clear from the atmosphere.

"Enkrid of Border Guard," he said, in his usual tone.

A brief silence followed.

"He's the one they call the Demon Slayer," explained the large fairy who'd accompanied the white-haired one.

A few fairies murmured at that.

"Demon Slayer?"

"Knight of Iron Walls?"

"Enchanted Knight?"

"Heartbreaker?"

Their voices were flat, like they were reading lines from a book—but this was their version of surprise.

Their glassy eyes widened ever so slightly.

Of all those names, the last one caught Enkrid off guard.

Heartbreaker? He'd never heard that one before. Why was that name popping up here?

He was genuinely confused.

But a subtle air of fondness followed the murmurs.

"I'll show you inside," said the white-haired fairy.

And with that, Enkrid was led in, surrounded by unexplained warmth.

As they walked past the clearing, the fairies never took their eyes off him.

It should've been uncomfortable—but Enkrid masked it with indifference. Still, those eyes watched him carefully, with something like reverence.

Not a single whisper. Just endless, silent staring.

Fairies, Dryads, Woodguards—they were all the same.

If eyes were instruments and gazes were music, then this was a silent orchestra of observation and curiosity, with a delicate hint of goodwill.

So quiet, you'd miss it if you weren't listening.

"This way," said the white-haired fairy.

She led them into a home hollowed from within a large tree—the second tree on the left side of the clearing.

The entrance was taller than expected. The interior, while not expansive, had a cozy, welcoming feel.

The humidity and temperature were just right. They passed through a short corridor made of twisted roots that formed the walls. The room beyond had a table draped in a green cloth, radiating a sense of freshness.

Being inside a living tree, it was only natural that the scent of grass filled the air.

"It smells like summer," Pell murmured. "Even though it's deep winter."

He wasn't wrong. The fragrance was a perfect blend—fresh greenery, aged wood, and rich earth.

No need for perfume here. The scent reminded Enkrid of Shinar. Though truthfully, the fragrance that came from Shinar had been deeper, more refined.

Pell and Lua Gharne, who followed Enkrid in, looked around, visibly impressed by the fairy structure.

The tree had been carved out in its entirety—furniture and walls alike—but everything had its own distinct style.

The chair in front of the table, for example, was hardly a chair at all—more like a chunk of wood that just happened to resemble a seat.

If left on the roadside, one might mistake it for firewood.

It was shaped like one of those naturally grown, twisted logs.

"You said you came to find Shinar of House Kirhais?"

The white-haired fairy asked from her seat.

"Yes," Enkrid replied.

That was the entire purpose of his visit.

He chose to set aside his surprise and curiosity for now. They could be processed later.

Originally, he had assumed that finding her wouldn't be difficult upon arrival.

He'd heard she was fulfilling some kind of duty—something for the good of the city. So of course, he had assumed she was here.

But clearly, she wasn't.

If Shinar had been here, she would've come out to greet him with her usual tone: "Did you come because you missed me, fiancé?" Or maybe: "Have you finally decided to marry me?"

But she hadn't.

So Shinar wasn't here. That much was clear—both from logic and instinct.

"A truly unexpected guest," said the white-haired fairy.

As she spoke a few more words, a silver-haired fairy emerged from the corridor, carrying tea.

The teacups were like the chairs—more like carved wood with a hole in it than proper crockery.

But the tea inside? Perfectly drinkable. No—more than that. It was excellent.

Had this been a proper tea ceremony, Enkrid would've had nothing but praise.

"Shinar isn't here, is she?" he asked, despite already knowing.

Sometimes you asked questions even when you knew the answer. No need to dance around it with euphemisms—he preferred directness.

"She is not," the white-haired fairy nodded.

"Is she dead?"

No. He already knew that too.

But some questions had to be asked aloud. He needed to hear it from someone else.

The white-haired fairy shook her head.

"For the next few years, even if she wished to die, she could not."

There was a weight in her words. Regret. Remorse.

It was the first time Enkrid had sensed such a clear emotion from her.

Granted, for a fairy, it was subtle. Just a slight inflection of feeling behind her otherwise measured tone.

A few thoughts passed through his mind.

He didn't know the details, but... was she trapped? Sealed away?

"May I hear the full story?" he asked.

Their treatment had been nothing but kind, and he had no reason to show hostility in return.

Not just the fairy in front of him—the one who had brought tea as well. Their warmth was genuine.

"I have questions of my own," the white-haired fairy said.

A question in return. This time, emotion shone through more clearly.

She wrapped it in calmness, but the sincerity was unmistakable.

Enkrid waited patiently. He understood—Shinar wasn't dead, so he just needed to learn how to reach her.

Was she lying?

Fairies find it hard to lie, Shinar had once told him.

Sure, some fairies might have been corrupted out in the world, twisted by the chaos of the continent. But among fairies who'd grown up in a society where lies were unnecessary—where truth could be felt instinctively—deceit had no place.

There wasn't even a word for "lie" in the language of fairies, or so they said.

After a moment of silence, the white-haired fairy finally spoke.

Her voice was steady, yet heavy with meaning. Calm on the surface, but laced with urgency beneath.

"Do you know how to kill a demon?"

Enkrid didn't answer right away.

He could sense how deeply she meant it. This wasn't a question to be answered lightly.

He took his time, lips parting, then closing again. Thinking.

Only after collecting his thoughts did he nod, then speak—truthfully, sincerely, repaying her goodwill in kind.

"Slash with all your might."

Silence.

No one said a word.

There was a rustling sound from the room next door. It was so quiet that even that small noise carried.

"...I'm ashamed," Pell muttered, breaking the silence.

Lua Gharne hesitated, glancing at ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) the fairies, then added,

"He doesn't mean to mock you."

Enkrid repeated his own words in his mind—and realized his mistake.

This was all because of that damn Rem. Ragna, Jaxon, Audin—they were all at fault too.

He'd spent so long among them, exchanging nothing but blunt, direct battle philosophy, that he had lost the ability to speak in nuance.

There were too many things he couldn't explain, even if he tried.

That habit had just reared its head again.

Trying to recover, he added:

"Slash with all your might... until they're dead."

"...We should sew your mouth shut," Pell murmured again.

"It wasn't this bad before," Lua Gharne muttered, then looked at the fairies and said clearly:

"He truly doesn't mean to mock you."