A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 438

The bandits had recently fattened their bellies by raiding merchant caravans passing through the region.

They didn’t even have a name for their group. At the center of it all was a swordsman named Jack.

He was a mercenary-turned-bandit, known for swinging a wide-bladed sword with zero recoil as his trademark.

Technically, he was a deserter—but there was no need to go telling tales of his past while robbing people.

Jack stepped forward, brushing past the man who had just spoken.

‘So the guy panicked just because someone swung a sword? Or is he relying on Frokk?’

At times like this, you only had to break the nose of the one who stood at the front. After that, the rest would fall in line.

That was the idea.

Clang.

Without a word, Jack drew his sword and brought it down.

It carved out a near-perfect arc, the kind he’d rarely experienced in his life.

He could feel it as he swung—one of those rare moments where luck aligned, and a strike landed sharper than his skill alone could explain.

A slit in time.

He targeted the black-haired man standing in front. Anyone could see he was the center of the group.

If he killed the leader, everything else would be easier.

Frokk was annoying, sure—but Jack had confidence.

With a bit more effort, he could easily reach knight-candidate level.

‘Fucking knights.’

The thought of them irritated him.

But why did time feel so slow all of a sudden?

It was like everything around him had slowed down. And in that stretched-out moment, something whooshed past.

Faster than the raccoon he’d seen in the mountains as a kid.

Back then, he’d only seen the shadow—his friend said it was a rabbit, but Jack had insisted it was a raccoon.

Turned out he was right.

While those memories flashed through his mind, the sky and earth suddenly flipped upside down.

Huh?

He didn’t even have time to think, I feel dizzy, before he saw a body standing on the ground.

A man, sword still mid-swing, but now missing his head.

He was dressed an awful lot like Jack.

That was the last thought that crossed his mind.

Enkrid, who had severed Jack’s head in a single stroke, flicked his blade from the horizontal position.

The blood of the bandit splattered from Acker and pattered onto the ground.

Swordsman Jack had recently made a name for himself as a mercenary. He was also a deserter who had survived near the Demon Realm border.

He knew the layout of this region well and had planned to make a quick score before disappearing.

Barely a month into his new life as a bandit, and he met Enkrid.

Jack wasn’t the kind of guy who should’ve died in a single blow. But that’s what happened.

“Run!”

The remaining bandits bolted. Even the one with a bow didn’t dare draw his string.

It was only natural. Jack was the reason this group of bandits had held together in the first place.

If it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t have bothered working in this kind of trade.

But that terrifying Jack had his head sliced off in one stroke. Terror kicked in immediately, and the survivors scattered purely on instinct.

Enkrid didn’t bother chasing.

“They’ll die on their own anyway.”

Rem sniffed and said. And of course—this was monster-infested territory. Scattering like that? They might as well pray for death.

They’d already run into more than a few monsters and beasts on the way here.

Bandits attacking them was unusual, but monsters and beasts charging in? That was practically expected.

From the outside, they only looked like a group of four.

Some tried sneak attacks, sure, but none of the monsters had the cunning to outsmart this lot.

And it wasn’t exactly common for a monster or beast to get past Dunbakel’s sense of smell.

“That was dull,” Dunbakel said.

“Must be that time of year when those types get bolder,” Lua Gharne added.

She looked like she knew something, so he asked.

“There are times when monsters come in waves like a tide. The annoying types show up too, and then you end up fighting without sleep, the pay sucks, and if things go wrong, you die. Naturally, some folks run. Still, this group was pretty big.”

There had been over twenty bandits centered around that one guy. All deserters?

Hearing Lua Gharne talk brought back old memories.

More precisely, it reminded him of something a former comrade once said.

“That’s a foolish and stupid thing to do.”

Enkrid had answered that he knew.

“We have to run.”

That was what the comrade insisted.

A cannibal bear-turned-beast had attacked the village. The village was just starting to form, gathering people.

It wasn’t a formal request for help—just something that happened while they were passing through.

His comrade’s words made sense.

Enkrid understood well.

“Are you being foolish, or just stupid? Trying to hold out here with our strength is suicide!”

His comrade was angry. Back then, Enkrid knew it was a stupid thing to do—but did it anyway.

The bear-turned-beast had eaten people, and Enkrid saw the child of one such victim crying.

The kid had barely survived, and who knew how much longer he would last?

And that kid wasn’t going to be the last.

A child without a mother.

A mother without her child.

A person without their lover.

A person without a friend.

A person without their comrade.

You could find scenes like that all across the continent. The threat of monsters was like a blade forever pressed against your throat.

People were dying. That was obvious.

And yet—should you turn your eyes away just because danger was coming?

Even knowing there were people struggling desperately to survive?

Snapping out of his thoughts, Enkrid looked at his own palm.

Calloused and scarred from breaking and reopening again and again.

What had he meant to do when he first took up the sword with that hand?

He’d picked it up to protect what was behind him.

Because he’d resolved to live that way, he’d made it this far. So of course he wouldn’t stop now.

“Let’s go.”

Enkrid said.

The difference from before was that, back then, he had comrades who turned their backs on him. Now, it was different.

“Let’s do it,” said the barbarian, casually following.

“Let’s move,” said the beastwoman, blinking her golden eyes—and Frokk too.

‘Suppose you could call this a luxury team.’

The thought crossed Enkrid’s mind.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Honestly, if the monsters they ran into were just a bit average, this group could grind them down the moment they showed up.

They’d been doing just that so far.

***

The group continued toward the borderlands, resting in villages when they found them, and camping out in the open when they didn’t.

None of them found camping awkward.

They were all used to it in one way or another.

And so, tonight was another night in the wild.

There didn’t seem to be any small villages nearby, likely because a major city was just ahead.

They’d soon reach the city that guarded the border of the Demon Realm.

Before nightfall, they found a spot between two large rocks, cleared the ground, and started a fire.

Dunbakel brought back a rabbit, and Rem chopped it up to make a stew.

“If you can cook like this, why don’t you do it at the barracks?” Dunbakel asked curiously.

Rem grinned and answered, “That’s field cooking. That’s proper cooking.”

“How about sticking to field cooking from now on?”

Enkrid sometimes thought Dunbakel had no sense of fear. Not that he said things like that consciously.

“You’ve been quiet lately, huh?” Rem asked, slurping his stew. A drop of broth ran down the edge of his wooden bowl.

“Quiet about what?”

“Sparring.”

“I haven’t been quiet.”

He had. Rem had just been too calm lately to notice. Though it seemed like things were finally returning to normal.

“Come out when you’re done eating. Beastfolk can regenerate a missing leg, right?”

“No, we can’t!”

“Oh, was that just Frokk?”

Rem definitely knew how to mess with people. He was surprisingly articulate {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} at times like this.

If only he taught with that same energy.

As Enkrid was thinking that, Lua Gharne, sitting next to him, spoke.

“Something feels more off than before.”

“What does?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s why. Want to learn Frokk’s footwork?”

It didn’t make much sense as a transition, but Enkrid didn’t question it. Learning was learning. He knew how to set aside minor awkwardness in pursuit of it.

He set down his empty bowl. He’d already spotted a stream for washing later.

If Dunbakel didn’t pass out, he could make him do it.

As expected, Lua Gharne’s instruction was enjoyable.

“You bend the knee of your back leg. Then, in one burst, use that to drive yourself forward. But before that, show your front leg to your opponent to unconsciously close the distance. It’s called the Tree Frog Step.”

It wasn’t swordsmanship—it was a charging step.

More like a technique from Valen-style mercenary swordplay.

You feinted with the front foot and burst forward with the rear.

In addition to that, Frokk taught a few more steps.

How to leap from a moving wagon, how to fight on horseback, how to fight someone on a horse from the ground, how to deal with unfamiliar monsters, eleven techniques to block arrows, and so on.

Of the arrow-blocking methods, the best was simply a shield.

But training to block with a sword wasn’t a bad idea either.

She really was an excellent teacher.

“Not bad,” Rem said, nodding as he listened.

Enkrid wasn’t a genius, but he tried to fully grasp whatever he was taught.

Lua Gharne broke everything down into steps to help him learn.

He even learned how to jump off a rock with swords in both hands, roll, and recover balance.

Before they knew it, the day had passed with only step training.

The full moon hung bright overhead, and Dunbakel ended up doing the dishes.

He limped dramatically, looking pitiful to anyone watching.

“Limp one more time and I’ll cut it off.”

At Rem’s words, Dunbakel immediately walked normally. He’d been faking it.

His acting was impressive, honestly.

Enkrid washed his sweat off at the stream, came back, tidied his spot, and lay down to sleep.

Even lying down, he continued his training in his dreams.

Lunges, passing steps, gathering steps—basic movement drills, techniques to close or confuse distance.

After waking, he cleaned up, reheated the leftover stew, and the group set off again.

Though summer should have been ending, the further they came, the hotter and more humid it got.

Lua Gharne liked it. Dunbakel didn’t care, though the weather wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Frokk naturally enjoyed this kind of muggy climate, and Dunbakel didn’t bother washing, so it suited them fine.

After a brief rainfall, the air grew even more humid.

Enkrid had a nagging feeling he’d forgotten something.

‘I forgot.’

He hadn’t told Shinar. She had asked to be informed the next time they went anywhere—but Kraiss would probably explain everything well enough.

He was thinking vaguely as they walked.

“Rotten smell. Beast,” Dunbakel said.

Enkrid sensed killing intent in his gut.

They were on a proper road now. A paved route leading toward the city. Not just a footpath trodden by travelers, but a real road laid with stone.

And yet, monsters appeared right in the middle of it?

No matter how hungry they were, this wasn’t something that happened often.

Especially not here—right near the city that guarded the border with the Demon Realm.

“Grrr!”

A few hunting dogs, transformed into beasts, appeared. They were far larger than normal dogs.

Bandits first, now beasts. They’d seen monsters on the way here, but beasts showing up here was something else.

This was inside the city’s side of the region—away from the Demon Realm.

A few ghouls showing up might be one thing, but beast-hounds? That felt wrong.

“Something’s off,” Lua Gharne said, puffing her cheeks and blinking her big eyes.

She’d worked in the royal palace before and had some knowledge of these affairs.

There must’ve been a significant number of monsters coming out of the Demon Realm.

Otherwise, there’d be no reason for beast-hounds to be running loose here.

Same with those bandits earlier.

Ordinarily, a bandit group wouldn’t be able to operate in this region.

If they tried openly robbing people, the knights would come slice their heads off—who’d dare run around committing crimes here?

‘They’ve lost control?’

Watching the situation unfold, Lua Gharne began forming several theories.

All of them bad.

Meanwhile, four beast-hounds charged in without fear.

While Dunbakel stepped forward and lopped off two of their heads with his curved blade, one of them darted around and lunged for the packhorse.

It had doubled back through the brush, pretended to flee, then lunged and bit the horse’s neck. All in one fluid motion.

If it were Cross-Eye, it might have dodged, but the horse they’d brought wasn’t a warhorse.

It hadn’t been trained for combat.

The horse let out a heart-wrenching cry as its neck was bitten.

Hiiiiiing!

Blood poured down the beast’s hide, dyeing its fur a deep crimson as it soaked in.

It had been an unexpected ambush. The beast hadn’t gone for the threatening Dunbakel, or the others radiating killing intent—it had gone for the horse.

‘Smart.’

Were beasts really this clever? Even its size was far from ordinary.

Feigning a sloppy attack just to strike the horse made it seem almost trained.

Lua Gharne killed it with a single kick.

Yelp! Splat!

The beast’s stomach split open from Frokk’s strength, spilling its guts.

“Something’s wrong,” Lua Gharne muttered again, withdrawing her leg.

This region was under the control of the Red Cloak Knights. Beasts could appear, monsters too—but this was too much, too often.

“There are too many.”

“And the smell’s still here,” Dunbakel added.

Rem turned his head.

He didn’t like this either. They were near the Demon Realm border, sure—but this road was supposed to run along the city’s walls, meaning it should’ve been relatively safe.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t have paved it so well in the first place.

Enkrid checked the horse’s neck. No saving it. It had been bitten by a beast—if they got unlucky, it might even transform.

“I’m sorry.”

He’d grown fond of the horse on the road here, and felt like he hadn’t taken proper care of it.

Hiiing.

The horse cried. Enkrid slit its throat.

Blood soaked the stone road beneath them. Enkrid stepped through the pooling blood and said,

“Let’s keep going.”

If they weren’t going to turn back, then the only option was to move forward.

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