A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The brown-haired woman’s eyes sharpened.

“I agree,” said Lua Gharne from behind, clearly bewildered by the conversation taking place after going through the trouble of bringing Enkrid here.

Enkrid didn’t interrupt.

He knew from experience—this was one of those moments where adding a few words would only make things worse.

“Do you have a girlfriend? Or… are you with Aisia?”

“I have a spiritual partner, and a fiancée with a companion cat in the main unit.”

The brown-haired woman and Lua Gharne spoke across from one another, with Enkrid between them, not pausing for breath.

“That’s cruel, my lady. Saying that with me right here.”

A man next to them spoke up. His deep voice came out like a complaint, though it didn’t match him at all. To call it a talent—grumbling in such a gruff and expressionless way—it almost deserved praise.

The woman burst into laughter and slapped the man on the back.

To Enkrid, the whole thing looked awkward.

The man was broad-shouldered, not as big as Audin, but still impressive. The woman was barely half his size.

Her hands looked tiny, patting that massive back.

But of course, that wasn’t all Enkrid saw.

His gaze moved to her palm.

He silently observed.

Calluses. The kind you didn’t get unless you’d gripped a sword and swung it for years.

Then he studied the man.

A large frame, harsh features, a whiny tone, yet a body thoroughly trained, muscles sculpted like stone.

Finally, he looked at a woman with short blond hair and piercing eyes.

Their gazes met.

The brown-haired woman followed Enkrid’s line of sight and spoke.

“She your type? You like dangerous women? But damn, you really are good-looking. Just looking at you’s a treat. Man, the Border Guard folks must be lucky!”

She didn’t care what anyone else thought—just said whatever came to mind. She tapped her cup on the table with a thunk—not awkward, but like a well-placed beat.

“Enkrid of the Border Guard,” he said simply, introducing himself.

He’d long since given up on correcting any of Lua Gharne’s comments. No one here seemed likely to care what he said anyway.

And besides—that wasn’t important.

The brown-haired woman… if he’d seen her on the street, he’d have thought her appearance was unremarkable, just another face in the crowd.

Knight Oara leaned her chair back, lifted the front legs off the ground, and draped her right arm over the backrest.

“Oara of the Red Cloak Knights.”

Of course—she was a knight.

Not quite what Enkrid had imagined, but she hadn’t shown a single gap since they arrived, so she was clearly the real deal.

“A bold one, aren’t you,” said the short-blond woman, spinning a metal cup in her palm.