A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 446

“What is swordsmanship, really?”

Oara asked that question after their spar. They weren’t even in a proper training yard—it was just a backyard.

Enkrid was kneeling on one knee, clutching his abdomen.

He had dodged a vertical slash, and the follow-up thrust as well.

He’d seen that move many times before. With his sense for evasion honed, he could avoid it.

But while he managed to dodge the swordplay, Oara had immediately closed the distance after her swing and slammed her palm into his gut.

The impact pierced through his organs and felt like it burst out his back. It was a miracle he hadn’t coughed up blood.

Of course, her strike was imbued with Will—but the motion itself had been simple. Almost absurdly so.

“What does it take to subdue your opponent? Think about it.”

Enkrid nodded. As he showed proper military etiquette, Oara gave him a bright smile and walked off.

Enkrid chewed on her words. They didn’t really hit him.

Oara showed up again the next day.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t get what I meant. That’d be weird—at your level, your body should’ve understood by now.”

Tilting her head, the brown-haired knight continued like it was no big deal.

“Don’t you think you know too much? When a water jug is full, it overflows—and the water that spills over can’t be drunk.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“As long as you swing only what’s needed, when it’s needed, that’s all there is to it. You need to remember that.”

It wasn’t some thunderclap of realization. But Enkrid understood what she meant.

‘Too much knowledge is a weakness?’

Oara had said something similar again.

“You’ve got more than enough in terms of technique. Toss out what you don’t need.”

She was firm, and Enkrid hesitated. It might have been the perfect advice for him at that moment.

But why couldn’t he fully accept it?

He didn’t know. Just a gut feeling. He didn’t like it.

As he pondered, his gaze drifted to Rem, who was diligently sharpening his axe.

Shhrrrk.

The sound of the whetstone sliding along the blade rang clean and bright in the air.

Sweat beaded on Rem’s forehead. He was more focused than ever. It was rare to see him this serious.

Far more effort than he ever put into teasing Ragna or messing with the soldiers.

Shhrrrk.

That sound had been constant for the past few days, echoing in his ears.

“Rem.”

“Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Rem replied without even glancing up. Enkrid moved to stand where he cast shade over Rem’s head.

“Do you think I’m greedy?”

Shhrrrk—the whetstone moved again.

“Is that even a question?”

The reply was blunt. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

To Enkrid, it didn’t even feel like a real answer—it was like Rem telling him to shut up.

So he sat down beside him.

He drew Acker, Spark, and Gladius and began wiping them down with linseed oil. The blades gleamed, catching the sunlight.

Snort.

Dunbakel exhaled beside him, training her muscles.

Lua Gharne, on the other side, was whipping her loop sword and the lash coiled around her waist.

Said her instincts had dulled and she needed to sharpen them. Something about letting Enkrid experience Frokk-style combat firsthand.

That, at least, was something to look forward to.

He polished his swords and checked his stock of Whistle Daggers. Three left. He honed those too.

Tuned his throwing axes and round shield. Inspected everything for damage from the humidity, and when he had time left over, swung his sword a few times.

That evening, they went out to finish off the last remaining colony.

This time it was a group of ghouls.

You rarely saw ghouls like these outside of Demon Realm borders—ones that spat venom.

The spit looked disgusting even before it hit you, and when it did, it smoked and corroded even metal. Definitely not something you wanted to get hit by.

Lua Gharne took care of them.

She wrapped her whip around their necks from three steps away and snapped them clean.

The Frokk were a race known for their combat prowess, and Lua Gharne proved it.

“That’s the last colony, huh?”

Dunbakel said. She clearly wanted to head back, but Enkrid ignored her.

Afterward, he returned to enjoy life in Thousand Brick.

During that time, Oara went out just once—and came back covered in black blood from head to toe.

“A bunch of spiders were gathering, so I cleaned them up.”

Just a light warm-up, apparently.

“Thanks to you, pretty boy. With nothing popping up in the rear, I can go handle the frontlines in advance.”

A knight was someone who could cut down a thousand foes alone. She’d strolled outside like she was going out for tea, slain dozens of monsters, and returned.

Beside her were the same two squires as before.

The burly man and the petite woman.

“Not quite as handsome as me, but yeah, I’ll give you props for skill.”

The man said.

“Feel free to ignore whatever this idiot says.”

The woman added.

Enkrid looked at them.

They were clearly strong. Squire Oliver, the arm-wrestling champ, was no slouch either.

He stood in the back and gave Enkrid a knowing nod.

Enkrid thought: these were all straightforward, honest people.

Not a hint of pretense. They spoke their minds, cracked jokes without hesitation.

‘If Shinar were here, this might’ve been even more fun.’

She liked jokes too, didn’t she?

Aisia had been handling the city’s public order.

With no attacks, she had nothing to actually do.

After that outing, Oara didn’t leave her house for two days. The reason? Unknown.

In the meantime, Enkrid sparred with a few soldiers.

Several days passed like that, and on one such evening—just as the sun dipped low and dusk painted the edge of the sky—

That time when it’s too dim to tell a dog from a wolf.

Chirrrrp.

The insects cried.

Dunbakel’s skewer sizzled over the campfire, meat slowly roasting.

Rem sprinkled salt and spices over it. Lua Gharne munched on a bug with puffed cheeks, clearly enjoying herself.

Oara returned then. They sparred again. And at the end, she said:

“Now that was refreshing.”

“Was it?”

“You’re a stubborn bastard, aren’t you?”

“I prefer to say I have strong convictions.”

“Yeah. You’re stubborn.”

Rem snorted with laughter.

“She reads people well.”

“I agree,” Lua Gharne added.

Dunbakel opened her mouth, then looked into Enkrid’s eyes and chose instead to take a bite of meat.

Crunch, crunch.

She ate heartily.

Enkrid didn’t offer an excuse.

He wasn’t “stubborn”—he simply had conviction.

He didn’t need others to validate that.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Looking into your eyes, now I’m sure—you’ve got mania.”

Oara said it like it was nothing. If she weren’t a knight, someone might’ve socked her for it.

Rem let out a giddy cackle.

“A kindred spirit.”

Whatever the hell that meant, he’d have to ask later.

Not like the craziest guy in the platoon had any room to talk.

“You’re the first of your kind. You’re fun.”

Oara took a chunk of meat and turned away. Gave a thumbs-up, saying it was well-cooked.

All this came after facing her in a spar, under the glowing sunset.

In other words, the fight was over—and Enkrid was flat on the ground.

Not bad, really.

“Not bad at all,” Lua Gharne said.

She puffed her cheeks gently. That, he figured, was her version of smiling.

“Honestly, I was surprised.”

“You’d be surprised twelve times a day if you tried teaching him,” Rem said, chuckling again but this time in a calm tone.

Something about the way he said it made Lua Gharne respond.

“What’s so surprising?”

A question laced with pure curiosity.

“Because the crazy guy only ever picks crazy things to do.”

Rem stared up at the stars like some old sage as he answered.

For that one moment, he looked like someone who had attained enlightenment.

Of course, it was complete bullshit.

Enkrid still couldn’t agree with Oara’s advice to throw away what was unnecessary.

Could he only move forward by discarding the things that had protected him all his life?

He asked himself—and answered himself.

No. He didn’t want to.

So instead of throwing them away... he embraced them.

More precisely, he combined them.

He remembered doing this before. It had come naturally a few times already, so it wasn’t difficult.

He started with what he’d learned from Jaxon.

Whether it was evasion sense, combat instinct, or attunement to attacks—

It was all sensory-based. Jaxon had called it sensory techniques.

Had Jaxon ever separated them like that?

No. He’d been seamless. Fluid.

So maybe… Enkrid could be too?

It was a shift in perspective.

And he made it real.

Everyone who saw Enkrid said he had unimpressive talent, and that he didn’t even possess the repetition of “today.”

But he’d done it. Pulled it off.

And that made him quietly proud.

Even if it didn’t work on Oara yet.

“It just needs some polishing,”

Rem offered, pulling out his axe and whetstone again after finishing his meat.

“You’re gonna wear that blade down at this rate.”

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Who do you take me for, some idiot with no sense of direction?”

Lately, the one Rem seemed to harbor the most hostility toward was Ragna.

Probably because Ragna kept teasing him about Enkrid rising above the rank of knight.

Like he hadn’t been under Enkrid’s command himself once.

“Barbarian, no, no. That’s not how you eat. You’ll never improve like that. Fork properly. Properly.”

He was like that even during meals, which says it all.

“When attacking, strike like a storm. When defending, stand like an immovable mountain.”

Oara had given a few more lessons in the days that followed.

And then one afternoon, she asked him,

“You plan to become a knight?”

“Yes.”

Enkrid lowered his sword as he replied. His left arm was limp, still numb from an attack Oara had delivered—one of her so-called grabs, charged with Will.

If the Bull of the Mercenary King had weighted strikes,

Then Oara’s blade made your muscles spasm with just a graze.

It’d go back to normal soon enough, of course.

The Will of Rejection inside him slowly pushed out the Will she’d left behind.

Oara looked a little surprised.

You’re doing weird stuff, aren’t you?

That was the look in her eyes.

And then she asked the question.

“Do you want to be a knight?”

“Not a shred ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ of doubt.”

“Good. You’ve got the face, and now I like your attitude too. Then let me give you a piece of advice.”

“I’ll gladly listen.”

His voice was calm, but his eyes lit up. Oara liked that about him—those sharp blue eyes.

If not for that, she wouldn’t have bothered sparring with him so many times.

Was it because she was attracted to him as a man? Sure, he was handsome—but more than that, the way he carried himself stirred something in the heart.

“If you want to become a knight, define the bounds of what you’ll protect.”

She said this as the sun set behind her. Shadows fell across her face, but the smile she wore was unmistakable in the fading light.

Was she beautiful? Did she have striking features, a refined jawline?

If you went by looks alone, then Shinar’s inhuman beauty would outshine hers. Or Esther’s otherworldly grace.

In terms of human appeal, that noblewoman from House Baisar was excellent too.

What was her name again—Kin?

She was the type who’d explode if she found out Enkrid had forgotten her name again.

She practically radiated vitality.

Even Dunbakel had that lively charm—though she carried a musky stench from refusing to bathe, that was a separate matter.

Teresa had a dependable, grounded beauty.

But Oara was different from all of them.

What she exuded now wasn’t attraction in a romantic sense. It was something else entirely.

“I’d love to be arrogant, but this is as far as I go. The city. The people behind me. That’s my domain.”

A knight establishes conviction with Will.

That conviction becomes their vow—and their limitation.

“As long as I stand, this city will not fall. I won’t allow the Demon Realm to encroach, either.”

The smiling Oara.

That was her title as a knight.

A strange epithet. Aisia once told him how she got it.

Because no matter what moment she faced, she never lost her smile.

Oara hadn’t really posed a question—but Enkrid already had the answer within him.

So he gave it.

How far does the boundary of protection go?

“Everything I see and everything that weighs on my heart.”

“Huh?”

Still standing against the sun, now with rain gently falling around her, Oara blinked.

Her smile seemed to fade for just a moment—then spread again.

“You’re completely insane.”

“Am I?”

“That’s far too arrogant. But… do whatever you want.”

That was the plan, anyway.

“The job’s done. You’re free to go, Border Guard Enkrid.”

“I’ll stay a little longer. I’ve got a feeling about this place.”

“Can’t stop that, can I.”

Oara disappeared like a gust.

Enkrid stood a moment longer, watching the rain cool the earth, then packed up his gear and went inside.

Rem was still sharpening his axe.

The next day, a familiar soldier sought him out.

“I’m Millio. Just in case you forgot.”

A soldier with a solid presence rather than sharpness. He was the one who had helped guide Enkrid through the city after Aisia.

He’d also been the one who wanted to learn from him.

“I didn’t have any days off until now. I’d like to request a lesson.”

Enkrid obliged. Beat him down.

The next day, Millio came again. And the day after that, too.

It rained for two straight days, and even when he was covered in mud like he’d crawled through a bog, Millio showed up without fail.

Enkrid began to feel like the atmosphere around them had grown heavy somehow.

It was the dawn after the rain finally stopped.

Millio came early.

“I’ve got a shift during the day. So I came now.”

Millio wasn’t the only one who came to learn.

Several other soldiers had too—all of them strong.

Watching them, Enkrid had a realization.

Too much manpower?

They had one full knight, two quasi-knights stationed here, and four squires.

Even excluding Enkrid’s group and Aisia, there was serious talent.

All of them were essentially knight-level.

On top of that, the average soldier here was elite. Repeated real combat had turned them into hardened veterans, not far from the Border Guard in terms of skill.

The only difference was that the Border Guard had fought Azpen, and these people were fighting the Demon Realm.

But both had been forged in real war.

There just weren’t that many of them.

So was it normal to hold back the Demon Realm with so few?

Of course not. It wasn’t normal. It was only possible because they had a knight here.

And because the soldiers made up for the rest with their sheer quality.

This wasn’t a case of manpower being concentrated here.

It meant this place was just that dangerous.

That’s why he didn’t want to leave.

And if he had to add one more reason—it was this:

Every single soldier here carried something in their hearts.

Duty. Responsibility. Purpose.

Among them, Millio stood out.

“What’s your goal?” Enkrid asked.

Millio, uncharacteristically, turned red and scratched his cheek before answering.

“I want to marry Lady Oara.”

What a bold dream this kid had.

He was twenty-five. Looked thirty-five. And he was aiming for a knight who had probably lived at least a decade longer than he had.

But Enkrid supported that kind of dream—because he, too, was chasing a dream that didn’t make any sense.

There was no rule saying Millio couldn’t do the same.

“Good luck.”

“I’m doing my best.”

It was two days after Enkrid had cheered him on.

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