A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 503

Nurat had been the adjutant to the battalion commander stationed in Grimperl.

“What was that commander’s name again?”

Enkrid tried to recall but couldn’t. What came to mind instead was that the man had a talent for poetry and singing.

Repeating the same day again and again meant some things got lost. No matter how good one’s memory, perfection was impossible.

But Nurat had stayed in his memory—dark skin, generous spirit, elastic muscles… and Kraiss’s lover.

Those overlapping impressions had helped establish a clear concept of her in his mind.

He was reminded again: Frokk’s ability to sense talent wasn’t perfect. No matter how good someone’s eye was, it didn’t mean they were always right.

Still, judging by Nurat’s posture, her gait, and the way she moved, it was clear she’d reached a certain level.

Unless she had memorized the exaggerated swagger of the Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship, Nurat had broken through a wall.

“Your skill’s improved,” Enkrid said flatly.

“Me? I did train hard, but does it look like I’ve gotten stronger?”

Kraiss flexed his biceps as he spoke, but Enkrid didn’t so much as glance in that direction.

Nurat had just lifted her left foot and placed it back down, spreading her weight across the entire sole.

It was a posture designed to allow reaction in any direction—left or right—at a moment’s notice.

Rem let out a low impressed sound, “Oho,” and Lua Gharne’s large eyes rolled wide in surprise.

Even from her perspective, Nurat’s talent was clearly exceptional.

Her body was different from the start—those taut muscles could rival a beastkin’s.

On top of that, she had stacked up the bricks of effort and intense training until they formed a peak.

Enkrid stood and dusted off his backside. No dust kicked up.

The sky was overcast with slow-moving clouds, and the rain came and went throughout the day.

“Nurat is my lover. You do know that, right?”

Kraiss said, noticing Enkrid watching her.

Ignoring the nonsense, Enkrid replied again.

“Not bad.”

It could’ve been misunderstood, but Nurat didn’t take it that way.

In truth, Kraiss already knew it wouldn’t be taken the wrong way—he was just joking since it had been a while.

Nurat bowed slightly, giving a brief military salute.

Rem and Lua Gharne got the picture.

Rather than focusing on how Nurat’s skill had increased, they understood what had brought it about.

The answer, simply put, was stimulation.

It was no doubt thanks to a monster with the kind of talent that incited others to grow.

Enkrid probably didn’t realize it, but his presence alone made him an excellent stimulant.

It wasn’t just Nurat—soldiers across the board were improving.

Why? Because of Enkrid, who trained harder than anyone, at any time, with full sincerity.

Some people made you reflect just by listening to them.

Made you ask yourself: Am I really giving my all right now?

Enkrid was someone whose presence alone stirred that desire.

He inspired others through his attitude, his actions, his life.

He ignited motivation in everyone around him.

“Come to think of it, I’ve been training pretty hard too.”

Rem thought that to himself.

Sure, he’d trained more than ever before—not just to bash in the skulls of those around him, but because watching Enkrid grind day by day made his own hands itch to move.

And that feeling wasn’t unique to him.

It was a compounding effect.

The idea behind founding a knight order wasn’t so different:

People looked up to knights, used them as signposts, and moved forward.

Though knights could also become symbols of despair, bundled up in raw talent.

But even among them, there weren’t any as crazed about swordsmanship as this guy.

“Anyway, it’s good to have you back.”

Kraiss smiled again.

“Let’s eat.”

Enkrid said. After so much movement, it was time to refill their energy.

As everyone packed up the training field and scattered, they made their way into the mess hall next to the barracks.

A wide dining table, a private room, and staff busily carrying in plates of food.

Sliced-up roast pork, grilled perfectly and garnished with lime, was brought out.

Rem and Jaxon kept fighting over their food with their forks, so Enkrid sat down between them.

He and Lua Gharne were used to their savage behavior, and Shinar didn’t care to begin with.

But Kraiss’s escort squad, seated at the next table, was visibly tense. Enkrid noticed the strain in their shoulders and legs.

“Who are those guys?”

He finally asked.

One of the escorts, sitting nearby, shot to his feet.

“Sir! I’m Ilan Beitz, from the Lua-bang region!”

Not a name format Enkrid was familiar with.

His skin had originally been fair, but it looked a bit tanned from being outdoors.

Ilan Beitz beamed as he looked at Enkrid.

“I respect you.”

Half the escort squad was like him—people drawn in by Enkrid’s growing legend.

The rest seemed like hired swords who just wanted to work, but even they all showed proper respect.

“How do you always end up with guys like that following you?”

Rem asked.

Kraiss, chewing his barbecue, swallowed and replied.

“I had no choice. Some people kept picking fights.”

“Who?”

Despite his looks, Rem’s mind was sharp.

Judging by the size of the city and the king’s support, there shouldn’t be anyone dumb enough to mess with Kraiss.

This guy had even brought the city’s criminal guild under his control. Had someone taken it from him?

“It’s a petty thing. A few nobles got annoyed that the king favored the Border Guard’s domain too much.”

Governance was about rule—and rule meant managing people’s egos.

If you exiled or beat down everyone who annoyed you, you became a tyrant.

During the civil war, Crang had overthrown Count Molsen.

Some nobles had fallen, others had risen, and a few had even recovered from ruin. But more had simply died.

It didn’t mean governance had failed.

Crang had worked hard to keep things in order, but idiots kept showing up regardless.

There was no way Enkrid wouldn’t pick up on what Rem had already pieced together.

He quickly grasped the situation.

“Just another moron stirring up trouble.”

A moron, sure—but one who knew the city's core resources well.

Targeting °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° Kraiss proved that much.

And if not Kraiss, then maybe they’d tried to get at Graham and failed.

That’s probably it, Enkrid thought.

As he chewed, the meat burst with juices that danced across his tongue.

Kraiss had tried using noble factions and the king’s name to create rivalries and distract attention from the Border Guard—but he’d failed.

Clever, yes. Perfect? No.

Even the smartest people make mistakes.

Especially when expanding the city made it impossible not to stand out.

Of course, Enkrid hadn’t figured out all of Kraiss’s missteps.

He’d simply noted there was a troublemaker—and knew enough:

That the guy was a cousin to some great noble and which city he operated in.

That was plenty.

It wasn’t a matter of Kraiss’s competence or failure.

It was that the bastard picking the fight… was just weird.

“The city’s gotten bigger.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

When Enkrid opened with that, Kraiss picked it up right away.

“Do you think it’s just gotten bigger? The substance has changed too—the guts, Enkrid, the guts.”

Kraiss dipped his finger into a cup of water, then drew a line across the tablecloth, avoiding crumbs and food stains.

“From here to here—we’re building a road. This is Border Guard, this is somewhere near the capital, and down here, it leads to Martai and a few other cities.”

A road stretching out from what Kraiss called Border Guard. While Enkrid was away, Kraiss had deliberately expanded the city.

And with that, he’d also been nurturing his dream.

“It’d be a waste to end it as just a city of pleasure.”

If there was only one salon in one city, wealthy clients from afar would find it hard to reach.

There was a better way—and Kraiss, with his clever mind, had found it.

“I’ll build large-scale salons in every city.”

Connect the cities by roads, set up checkpoints along the way, and ensure safety. Within those secured cities, build salons.

Depending on the size of each city, the salons could be scaled accordingly.

He’d even come up with a name:

“Kraiss’s Happy Bathhouse?”

Using proper plumbing systems, people could bathe, eat, play, and sleep all in one place.

“When the safety road is complete, the trade caravans will swarm in like moths to flame. Then we’ll start collecting tolls along the main routes. Paid roads.”

The concept was fresh. Enkrid nodded in agreement.

Midway through the discussion, Rem and Jaxon stormed outside for a round.

Lua Gharne and Shinar had also slipped out at some point.

Before he knew it, only Kraiss and Enkrid were left at the table.

“We’re not building a tall wall facing Azpen,” Kraiss added.

“Why not?”

“Because if we start stacking up walls in front of Azpen, it’ll be like pointing a sword at his throat.”

Even a defensive action would look like a provocation to Azpen.

So instead, they were slowly expanding the border line without drawing attention.

Listening to all this, Enkrid realized Kraiss hadn’t exactly had an easy time.

But Kraiss himself didn’t consider it difficult.

He’d made money along the way and enjoyed it.

Sure, dragging an escort squad around was annoying—but he had to, because of all the idiots picking fights from city to city.

“As long as I keep them close, nobody dares cause trouble. That’s why.”

Most problems could be handled by Nurat alone.

But he didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary fights, so he brought a whole group instead.

Despite all the headaches, Kraiss had even gone so far as to establish a new military unit.

No matter how you looked at it, Kraiss was a genius.

The unit he’d created was a cavalry force—a reconnaissance and interception unit.

Training cavalry was extremely difficult.

Just raising proper warhorses was a monumental task.

Warhorses couldn’t just run fast.

They needed to be carefully raised and tamed.

Kraiss had somehow managed to bring in someone with talent for horse-breeding and got the process started.

But cavalry?

Cavalry had to treat the horse like an extension of their own body.

Creating a fully trained cavalry corps in a short time was absurd.

It wasn’t a matter of months.

So what, give up? Of course not. Kraiss changed the way he thought.

He pulled the best riders from every unit and gathered them.

Then he drilled them hard to build combat proficiency.

Some quit. Some were clearly bandits in disguise and got cut out.

In the end, the number wasn’t huge.

So instead of a traditional cavalry, he used them purely as interceptors.

That was the Greenperl Cavalry Recon Unit, currently led by Nurat.

Apparently, the name was a cover.

Hearing all this, Enkrid recalled Enri—someone he’d met in the West, a hunter-turned-merchant.

Enri was likely transporting valuable goods.

His path might’ve originally followed the Border Guard’s new secure roads, but some of those goods would probably end up here.

“Didn’t he have some obsidian spears from the West?”

They weren’t common on the continent.

Obsidian spearheads broke easily, making them decent for throwing but poor for melee due to lack of durability.

But the cavalry Kraiss had put together mainly used bows and thrown spears.

Were they overwhelming in raw power? Not really.

But facing them would still be a pain.

If they rode in, jabbing here and stabbing there…

“That’d be damn annoying.”

And that alone made the recon intercept unit worth it.

“Let’s call them the Black Lance Cavalry.”

“Huh?”

“The name.”

“Hmm… because the spears are blackened?”

Kraiss tried to guess the meaning behind the name.

Names carried power.

Some names inspired fear with just their sound, boosting morale before the first blow.

Azpen’s Grey Hounds had earned their nickname as “The Obsessed Lovers” because once they set their sights on someone, they wouldn’t stop until they killed them.

Black Lance Cavalry wasn’t a bad name.

As Kraiss muttered it to himself, Enkrid listed a few items that would be coming from the West.

“That’s a good one.”

Obsidian spearheads, cavalry that fought with thrown weapons—

it was the start of something new.

Resources from the West, horses bred on the Greenperl plains, Kraiss’s intellect, and soldiers who endured brutal training.

All of it came together in this unit.

Still, it was just a recon and interception unit.

“What about the rest of the scouts?”

“Finn leads them. Says she wants to turn them all into rangers.”

Specialized soldiers.

It was all part of the large-scale troop reorganization that Enkrid had approved.

They’d standardized equipment and broken units down by role—swordsmen, spearmen, archers, shield-bearers, cavalry, mounted archers.

Even when Enkrid wasn’t there, everything had been progressing smoothly.

As they chatted and left the mess hall, a horse snorted and whipped its head around.

A wild horse with mismatched eyes charged at Enkrid.

He caught it by the forehead, dispersing the force with his palm.

The odd-eyed beast, of course, was just playing.

Like a friend messing around after a long time apart.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

Enkrid welcomed the friend with beast blood.

Grabbing its mane and giving it a shake, the horse neighed and flared its lips happily.

To this beast, cities were too small—too stifling.

It roamed freely outside most days.

But it had followed someone that Enkrid traveled with and ended up here.

As Enkrid ruffled its mane, he saw a shadow blocking the sunlight.

A man stood there, resting a black sword over his shoulder.

Blond hair, red eyes, thin leather armor spattered with dried blood.

No armor underneath.

Had he gone out like that?

He looked ragged, but his swordsmanship was anything but shabby.

“When did you get here?”

He asked like he’d just seen Enkrid yesterday, and Enkrid smirked.

“A while ago.”

“I must’ve missed you during my little walk.”

The man mumbled.

Judging by the blood on his clothes, it wasn’t just a walk—he’d clearly been in a fight.

He hadn’t eaten or bathed in days, likely.

But that wasn’t anything new.

“Let’s fight. You sword-happy northern brute with no sense of direction.”

“…Why are you saying that to me instead of the barbarian?”

Ragna froze for a moment, then responded.

Being provoked like Rem threw him off a bit.

Even though he knew Enkrid was doing it on purpose, he couldn’t help reacting.

“You think you’re that good at fighting? Follow me to the training ground.”

Enkrid ignored the rest and simply said what needed to be said.

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