A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 482

Narae, Garam, Maru, Soothsayer, Cloud, Hani.

If you limited it to their tribal affiliations, the West had six main tribes in total.

They said it was a form that developed from many small, unnamed tribes gathering into one large tribe.

So if it was the Narae tribe, it was just called Narae, or if it was the Great River, it was the Great River, or if it was Foot Cloud, then it was Foot Cloud—but that same name was used whether it referred to a small splinter group or the larger tribe as a whole.

When a single adult chose to leave the tribe and move with their magic arts, if that adult came from the Narae tribe, they were roughly called the “small Narae.”

The largest of these would eventually become the “great Narae,” and that’s exactly what Rem’s tribe was.

Most of the western tribal society was structured like this.

Within that, there was a chieftain, a head warrior, and someone referred to as the “word-shaman.”

These titles signified both authority and martial power.

Every tribe within the great Narae was like a parent of the tribe.

Because the great Narae was the biggest organization among them.

This was what Enkrid could deduce from the bits he’d heard about the western tribes.

There was always something being shared around.

There was Sword-Narae, there were twins, and some warrior from the Maru tribe would constantly drop by.

After sparring, there were even people who asked to be taught by him, and when you’re resting after a fight, what else is there to do but talk?

It might have been one of the more fulfilling martial experiences during the apprenticeship phase.

Maybe that’s why it was hard to find anyone quiet.

Anyway, these were the kinds of stories going around.

“You probably won’t understand. Once family, always family—that kind of thing,” said Sword-Narae, but Enkrid understood it immediately.

He’d grown up in a similar village.

Even across the continent, villages would gather into small hamlets that weren’t quite cities.

Not a city, but a hamlet.

The meaning of “clan” was strong—most of the time, they started as tightly-knit communities of relatives, and one step removed, they were all practically cousins.

Even if outsiders came in, they’d be folded in similarly.

Villages where even without blood ties, people lived together almost like family.

Enkrid’s own village wasn’t exactly a clan either, but it had a similar structure.

It was formed from refugees who had gathered due to war.

That was how the village began.

Small houses barely managing to make up a neighborhood—people wounded across the continent gathering in one place.

It was also where Enkrid’s dream had started.

Where the apple seller used to cut out rotten western slices.

Where the old ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) crone who roasted potatoes for the starving used to live.

Where the old lady from a hurricane-hammered ranch once gave up on words.

Where a retired mercenary who’d fled from battle and bloodshed had found shelter.

If there hadn’t been relatively few monsters and beasts in the area, the village wouldn’t have lasted.

It didn’t have any special food, no outstanding specialties, and no value as a trade route, so it never developed into a city.

But people lived there, scraping by through the trade zone.

“I’ll return what was done to us in full.”

Should he call it a campaign?

Anyway, that’s what Sword-Narae said with a sharp-toothed grin before stepping forward.

There was a clear solemnity in his smile.

That unique forcefulness of someone who’d risked their life.

‘Retribution.’

His village had a similar concept.

If you didn’t retaliate, you’d be seen as weak. If you were seen as weak, you’d become a target for plunder.

It might not have been exactly the same, but to Enkrid, it felt close enough.

Sword-Narae wore a faded fur pelt with a wolf’s head as the hood.

When he crouched and wore it, he probably looked just like a wolf.

There were still purplish marks on his forearm, but he didn’t seem to have any intention of removing them.

He was the warrior who led them all—the head warrior.

As the head warrior of the great Narae, how could he possibly not be part of this battle?

Naturally, the Westerners weren’t just taking hits. They were preparing something of their own.

They were gathering warriors, resisting the curse, and finally, the one leading it all was the chieftain of the Narae tribe.

“Sky God, watch over us.”

The chieftain stood beside Sword-Narae, concealing his anxiety.

If they just suffered and ended it there, the enemy would only grow more arrogant.

Normally, he’d have tried to appeal to patience with words like Urkioya or Eoksuha, but they didn’t have the luxury for that.

As soon as the curse was recognized, the word-shaman stepped in to suppress it, conducting a few experiments to hold it off.

Even that had taken a toll.

Both the word-shaman and the head warrior had been struck by the curse.

Thinking about it another way, if it hadn’t been those two, the rest would’ve been taken out by the curse completely.

‘The stone blocked the disaster.’

Like using a large rock to block a rushing water current.

Small trickles might slip through, but at least the big flow could be stopped once.

In that time, they could gather dirt, build up defenses—even stop the smaller streams.

That was the plan.

While the Soothsayer tribe was the most skilled in magic, the Narae side also had quite a few formidable individuals.

But then two giants appeared.

They threatened the five tribes that had rallied around the great Narae.

In the process, the head warrior of the Maru tribe was killed.

“I’ll hold them off! Everyone, head to the great Narae!”

That warrior had set out with three others to protect the whole Maru tribe.

He was better with dream-speaking than shamanism, and during inter-tribal festivals, he often led dream rites.

Rem had even learned a bit from him once.

But going up against two giants had been too much.

And now—those two giants were dead.

Killed by a massive, eccentric outsider.

For the Westerners—especially the Maru tribe—the shock was tremendous.

“A hero?”

Someone from the Maru tribe shouted that, and it didn’t even sound strange.

Afterward, the chieftain of the Narae tribe kept gathering warriors.

To wipe out the ones blocking the sacred land.

Among them were members of the Soothsayer tribe, the remaining giants, and whoever was orchestrating this.

Sungsan? There was no time to even consider that.

At this rate, they’d wither and die.

Honestly, if those damn giants had charged right after taking one of their allies, the battle would’ve been over.

But for some reason, they’d hesitated.

That gave them time.

The curse had been handled, the giants had been killed.

That was the trigger.

Even so, the chieftain remained uneasy.

Even if they were moving to avoid further harm…

Were giants really the only ones gathered at the sacred land? Was that everything?

As he pieced things together, more and more things felt off.

And the more he spoke with the returned Rem, the more certain he became.

“You’re saying those damn giants poked around a few times and herded all the tribes here like water driving prey? That’s why so many warriors died, and now we’ve gathered like this?”

“Yeah. Probably to spread the curse.”

By drawing them together, they’d create a chance for the curse to take effect.

“…I see.”

Rem paused in thought, then asked,

“And after they gathered everyone, what happened?”

“What do you mean what happened?”

“Did the giants demand anything? Make any kind of offer?”

If they went this far, there had to be a purpose.

And maybe, it was right there in plain sight.

This was the West.

Not a fertile land.

Trying to eat people here like some man-eating monster wasn’t exactly a great return.

If anything, they’d have been better off attacking a few of the smaller villages past the named regions in a planned assault.

In that sense—

the chieftain hadn’t heard the reason directly.

He just relayed what he’d heard.

No demands. Nothing hidden. Just time slipping by.

So now, it was desperation.

Better to fight and die than sit around and rot under a curse.

“Let’s go.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

They’d known for a while that giants had gathered in front of the sacred land.

The western warriors began to move.

“Count me in!”

The chieftain turned his gaze toward the voice behind him.

Someone with a lively air and a carefree tone was approaching.

The giant killer—the savior of the tribes.

Black hair, a new collar, black leather armor,

adorned with weapons imbued with magic.

Decked out in gear—but it all somehow looked necessary.

It didn’t look overdone, nor did it feel awkward.

Rem answered the question for him, having kept watch in that direction.

“He says he’s coming along as a mate.”

Rem, standing next to the outsider, replied.

“As if that needed saying.”

Owl, who stood beside her, picked up the comment.

Even on her face, there was a faint flicker of unease.

He was both her father and the chieftain. He looked at Owl’s face.

He couldn’t stop his daughter.

He couldn’t tell her to sit this out because it was dangerous while telling everyone else to fight.

That wasn’t something he’d ever do.

He was the elder of the great Narae—the one responsible for all these tribes.

“Let’s smash them all.”

The chieftain shouted again, trying to suppress his anxiety.

Sword-Narae raised his greatsword in response, a wordless signal. The warriors nodded and marched forward with tense steps.

Enkrid glanced at the chieftain, who kept muttering things to himself.

Why is that man even coming along?

“There might be cultists too, not just giants,” Enkrid said.

“Seems like it,” Rem replied.

“You knew?”

When Enkrid asked again, Rem lowered her voice sharply.

“You think I’ve just been out here picking flowers?”

That’s what I figured.

“His eyes are weird.”

“No, they’re not.”

Dunbakel, standing beside them, tilted her head and cut in.

“Giants are gathering, huh? You think this many are enough to handle that?”

For once, she raised a good point with a sharp tone.

“We need to gauge their guts first. It’s not about jumping straight into a frontal assault. We go in, figure out the enemy’s numbers, set up a nearby camp, and go from there. This isn’t one of those 'full moon charge with a warcry' situations. If we’re fighting properly, this is the way to do it,”

Lua Gharne interjected accurately.

And she was right. Enkrid knew there were still other warriors besides this group.

The Twin Lookouts from the base, Hurita, the senior shamans from Bigmaru—they had all come too.

They were the forward unit, clearing the way for the main force guarded by the strongest warriors.

Westerners might have looked disorganized to outsiders, but the way they moved in and out wasn’t without strategy.

Riders on specially trained horses followed on one side, and about fifty more warriors, give or take, had joined.

Of those, twenty-six followed Lua Gharne directly.

“The rest of you, if you don’t want to die, better stay sharp.”

Lua Gharne’s tone slowed, and her eyes deepened as if she'd reached some kind of enlightenment.

No one asked her what it was.

People had all kinds of thoughts when marching to war.

And often, those thoughts were right.

If it looked like it would distract her, she’d snap back to focus fast.

If it were the Lua Gharne he’d seen till now—no doubt she’d handle it.

Enkrid trusted her.

He didn’t feel tense at all about the path ahead. There was no reason to. His instincts weren’t warning him either.

It was just another fight—meet the enemy and cut them down.

The giants might be dangerous, or something unexpected could happen,

but nothing about it made him uneasy.

They’d said the sacred land was a cliff with over a hundred inscriptions carved into it.

“A long time ago, bears, tigers, wolves, foxes—all kinds of animals received the Sky God’s blessing through those inscriptions and became human. That’s the kind of myth we have,”

Rem said, adding her usual one-liner while picking at her ear as she walked.

Beside her, Owl was saying something about how it wasn’t just the giants and they should stay alert.

“The enemy knows nothing, so they’ll need a good beating to catch up,”

Lua Gharne muttered, her tone starting to sound strange.

“What do you mean, they know nothing?”

She’d shown a flash of sharp intuition for a second, but then nothing more.

Lately, Dunbakel seemed to have given up thinking entirely.

She just stared like it’d all be over once she took them down.

Like a big cat swatting at butterflies—just instinct.

Enkrid agreed with Lua Gharne’s words.

What don’t they know?

They don’t know him.

They don’t know Rem.

Two giants had already been killed. Would they be cautious now?

Maybe.

So what?

Lua Gharne had said she was somewhere between a knight and a quasi-knight.

What does that even mean? Who cares?

Enkrid never bothered with that kind of classification.

Like, does a mid-tier soldier always beat a low-tier one?

Does a quasi-knight always beat a lieutenant?

Fights weren’t polite duels in a ring with introductions and rules.

On the battlefield, the only standards that mattered were the ones that applied to you.

The only constant was that anyone could die at any time.

Standards didn’t exist in war.

Carelessness invites defeat.

Defeat invites death.

So always give it your all.

‘Well… I guess I can afford to ignore the magic a little.’

If that person really swallowed the curse whole, like they say.

As he walked and thought through everything, Enkrid refocused himself again.

That was one of his talents, really.

Even if the enemy was a child, he never let his guard down.

You could get stabbed by some twelve-year-old brat and end up full of holes.

It was around then that they reached a lightly rolling area.

Small hills scattered here and there, and the ridges on either side created a small valley.

And there—on a wide patch of land—dozens of giants were gathered.

They looked almost like a proper army.

Even at a glance, there were more than thirty heads.

They weren’t full-fledged soldiers. They weren’t lined up in ranks or rows.

Their formation was rough.

But even so, just seeing that many massive figures standing together… the pressure was intense.

A few Westerners swallowed nervously.

Shit. Looked like they were completely ready for a fight.

“So you’re the outsider they were talking about.”

An old man stepped forward from the giant ranks and spoke.

At first, thanks to all the big bodies, no one had noticed him.

But lined up among them were several figures that looked human.

One of them stood in the center—an old man in a long cloak, holding a wooden staff.

The textbook image of a mage.

There were people standing to his sides too, but Enkrid couldn’t tell if they were friends of Dunbakel or enemies.

Their faces were pitch-black from grime, so dirty their whites of their eyes stood out.

One of them opened his mouth.

White eyeballs, black teeth, and a magic circle—

Just looking at that made Enkrid dig his toes into the ground.

Back when he spent time drowning in the Lake of Experience with Lua Gharne,

Esther had taught him a lot too.

She taught him how to fight a mage.

How to fight a mage.

“You fool! I am the great S—”

Before the enemy mage could finish whatever he was chanting,

Enkrid simply cut him down.

He exhaled sharply.

Tensed his toes, then shifted all his strength into one movement.

He planted his foot, pressed hard into the ground—and the reaction force launched his body forward.

A full-power charge, applying the Knight’s Strike technique.

It was even faster and more explosive than the charge that the red-cloaked quasi-knight from the Azpen battlefield had shown.

Most of the Westerners probably couldn’t even track Enkrid’s movement.

Boom!

The ground exploded. Dirt shot up like a fountain.

CRACK-K-K-K!

In the blink of an eye, the blade of Acker was drawn and swung.

It cleaved through the mage’s body with a chilling hiss.

There was a ripping sound, like cutting flesh, bone, and even thick bark all at once.

And though part of the mage’s body burst and got sliced, the job wasn’t finished yet.

But…

There was no death in his eyes.

The figure blurred—and another, identical body stepped out from behind.

“You—”

He tried to say something more,

but Enkrid’s left hand had already pulled and launched a flash—a spark—straight into his face.

Rule two of fighting a mage: Don’t give them time to talk.

“You’re in a damn hurry,”

Rem said from behind, launching herself off the ground.

There was no time for surprise, no time to speak.

The skirmish had begun.

Rem thought: Normally, one-on-one chaos like this was the kind of fight you avoided.

But honestly? Right now, it didn’t matter.

Watching Enkrid and Rem charge in, Sword-Narae moved as well.

They’d come here to fight. What was there to talk about?

It was simple.

Now it was time to pay them back for everything they’d done.