A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

It was an arm wrestling match.

“Reuben! Reuben! You bastard, Reuben, you son of a bitch!”

The man named Reuben lost. His wrist slammed down with a loud thud.

Some of the crowd who’d bet on him shouted his name like they were coughing up blood.

The match was happening outside. A few tables had been dragged out in front of the tavern, and the owner, red-nosed and drunk, was shouting.

“James wins!”

Someone else shouted in the rising commotion.

“Hey, let me join!”

Oara barged into the crowd without hesitation. Enkrid, standing idly by, turned his head to glance at Aisia.

“She’s always like that. You’ll get used to it.”

With that, Aisia started walking toward the group too.

Didn’t seem like she minded being part of it.

Enkrid stepped forward toward the tavern.

Whether the tavern owner was selling booze or drinking it himself was unclear—he was thoroughly drunk. But even then, he recognized her.

“No way! That’s cheating. Oara!”

Knights were respected by all, but they didn’t force that respect onto their friends.

It’s not like knights didn’t have friends.

The tavern owner seemed like one—Oara’s friend, acquaintance, someone who knew her.

He huffed out through his nose and protested, and Oara pushed back.

“Come on, why not!”

With her playful tone, she looked like some mercenary with a bit of sword skill, but everyone here knew—she could kill the lot of them in a few slashes.

“Oh, come on, how would that be fair? It ruins the bet.”

The winner, James, chimed in. He wiped his flushed head, looking like an angry octopus. There was no clear line between his forehead and his scalp.

“Look at these dainty wrists—how can you say that?”

Oara kicked the chair out from under James and hopped up onto it.

The man who got kicked rolled to the ground but quickly got back up.

“Why’d you kick me?”

“You’re annoying!”

That curt reply made him nod.

Did he seriously accept that?

Enkrid wondered silently and kept watching.

Now that the drinking ban was lifted, the tavern had a completely different energy from before.

Not quite a festival, but people were letting loose, having fun.

“I mean it! Look at these wrists! No one wants to challenge me, huh?”

“No, ma’am! Not at all!”

“Oara, you’re a knight. Did you forget that?”

The tavern owner jumped in again. Oara turned her gaze, scanning the crowd like a hunter looking for someone to say what she wanted to hear.

And there he was—the same soldier from before, the one who’d been delivering drinks. The guy who’d been groveling without a krona to his name. Looked like he’d been working at the inn, now doing a shift here too.

“Hey, what about you? What do you think?”

Oara pointed him out. The soldier rolled his eyes a few times, then answered.

“I think we should respect Dame Oara’s wishes.”

Slick.