A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Rearvart, one of the squad leaders under the Royal Capital Defense Force, knew Enkrid. They had spent several months together back when Enkrid was still in the capital.

Naturally, he recognized his face.

How could anyone forget a face like that after seeing it once?

As Rearvart stood at the front, his gaze landed on Enkrid, and memories of their past conversations resurfaced.

"You want to become a knight?"

He had scoffed.

"You should find another path."

He had even given serious advice.

There had been no response. Enkrid had simply wielded his sword. He had always been there.

Whether in rain or snow.

"Teach me the sword."

He was a man who never stopped begging for guidance.

And strangely enough, he had looked dignified doing it.

The number of people mocking him had grown.

The number of people shunning him had grown as well.

Once, a newly recruited mercenary had joined their ranks.

The mercenary group often gathered at the same tavern, and Enkrid had been there too.

At first, the rookie swordsman had been hesitant. But he had improved quickly.

He had talent.

Soon enough, he had surpassed Enkrid and humiliated him in sparring.

"Seriously? After swinging your sword for so long, this is all you’ve got? I don’t get it. Maybe you should just quit?"

The sneering face of that man was still vivid in Rearvart's memory.

What was his name again?

He couldn't recall. But he did remember the look on Enkrid’s face.

Enkrid had not been angry. He had not been devastated. He had not seemed to care at all. He had simply remained calm and indifferent.

Had he truly felt nothing?

Had he not rotted inside, layer by layer, decomposing into nothingness?

Rearvart had watched. Not with any particular intention. He had just been curious.

And the next day, Enkrid had picked up his sword again.

The number of people looking down on him grew.

"Why do you keep hovering around that guy?"

Someone had asked Rearvart. He hadn't been defending Enkrid or anything.

"That’s none of your business."

It was just annoying to be surrounded by a bunch of irritating people.

Even after that, Enkrid had not changed.

Even when he was beaten to the brink of death.

Even when others surpassed him.

He kept swinging his sword. Again and again.

For what?

A knight?

How could that even be possible?