A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Crunch.

Enkrid raised Acker and drove it straight down into the oncoming spider’s head. The blade pierced through, embedding a handspan deep into the ground.

He stepped on the spider’s back and yanked his sword free. Black blood trickled down the blade.

“Too many.”

Spiders filled the distance ahead, pouring out relentlessly. But for now, there weren’t many right nearby.

This battlefield favored counterattacks over charging forward. His instincts told him that—so it was safe to take his eyes off the front for a moment.

Enkrid’s gaze turned toward the swarm gathering in front of Oara.

The spider spun its eight bladed limbs.

Whoooooosh!

With a howl of slicing wind, the rotation of its blades formed a circular barrier in front of Oara.

It looked like a disc spun by Rem’s sling.

Rather than charging, the spider advanced one step at a time. It moved at a walking pace, and the shield of whirling blades crept forward with it.

Watching it, Enkrid thought:

“What would I have done?”

This was a different kind of fight from before.

Try thrusting a sword through it? No. He couldn’t. No—that wasn’t the right question.

“There’s no opening.”

Stabbing blind was just surrender, not a tactic.

And the spider wasn’t the only threat.

The owlbear started moving. Strangely, there was no sound—its presence seemed to fade.

Even under the crimson glow of the Twin Moons, visibility wasn’t a problem.

And yet, the owlbear’s massive frame blended into the darkness, like it was becoming one with the night.

It was like watching Jaxon disappear before your eyes.

A hidden strike, waiting for an opening.

Just like Lethal Thrust.

The ghoul strolled out from behind the spider and circled to the side.

Its arms dangled low, claws grown long enough that even a brush with them would be fatal.

“This is fucked.”

That was his honest reaction.

Enkrid imagined himself in Oara’s place.

He’d die. That was a wall.

Even so, if he stood where she stood—what would he do?

He saw Oara’s back. Her red cloak fluttered in the wind, and her sword pointed diagonally skyward. She gripped it with both hands.

“This is fun.”

Her murmur reached his ears.

He could only see her from behind, yet he felt like he could picture the expression on her face.

She had to be smiling.

Smiling brighter than anything the ghoul had stolen. A radiant, unshakable smile.

Smiling Oara.

How are a knight’s titles earned?

They’re earned by proving yourself.

Through action, through conviction—a name is forged.

“Watch closely, everyone. I’ll show you what it means to fight as a knight.”

Oara’s voice rang out, not too loud, but firm.

Preparations to kill a knight. Traps. Special monsters.

Everything here was a threat. It was a crisis by any measure.

“Even I couldn’t handle that.”

Rem muttered.

He meant right now. No need to talk about strength he didn’t have yet.

The rest he kept to himself.

Oara spoke with her back and her sword.

From now on, they could just chew jerky and watch.

So that’s what Enkrid did—except instead of jerky, he swung his blade.

Two more spiders approached and were split open as their heads caught on his sword.

As he drew the blade back in a slicing motion, Oara moved.

Enkrid lost sight of her for a moment.

When you become a knight, reflexes and movement hit another level entirely.

They strike at impossible angles.

They move at incomprehensible speed.

You can try to see—but you won’t keep up.

Enkrid knew this from experience.

He’d fought against knight-level power before.

“Don’t try to follow the dots. Look at the flow.”

Lua Gharne’s words came to mind. So Enkrid didn’t focus on each move—he followed the rhythm.

And then he could faintly see it. A glimpse of the battle.

Oara’s sword descended on the spider’s barrier.

A clean, precise strike met the swirling wall of blades.

Tadadadadadang!

In the midst of the dark, beneath the faint light of the red moons, golden sparks burst outward, pushing back both night and moonlight.

“My sword’s name is Smile.”

She’d said that once during training. Knights wield engraved weapons.

An engraved weapon bears a knight’s Will.

It requires a master craftsman, rare metals, and the knight’s unwavering Will.

Only then can a weapon like that exist.

Engraved with Will—hence the name.

“My sword never breaks as long as I’m smiling.”

Exactly what Enkrid had heard.

A weapon that becomes part of the body—infused with purpose.

That’s what her sword was.

Amidst the golden sparks, fine white powder scattered.

Her sword tore through the spider’s blade-arm wall and returned. And naturally, Smile was unscathed.

“Let’s see how long you can keep blocking!”

Oara’s shout rang out. The white powder was shattered fragments of the spider’s bladed limbs.

Her smile began slicing those arms down.

Then the owlbear burst from behind.

Enkrid, watching from afar, caught it. But up close?

It would’ve felt like fighting Jaxon.

A sudden rising strike—that was his specialty.

The owlbear didn’t use a blade—it swung its fist.

Feathered fists slammed toward Oara’s back.

No—at the moment it seemed it would hit, Oara’s body folded smoothly. She drifted sideways like fabric in the wind.

Reflexes beyond belief.

To Enkrid, it looked like a choreographed movement.

The owlbear’s punch whiffed. Boom! The air shattered.

The force of the punch echoed like a thunderclap. A fist that tore sound itself.

And then—Oara’s face, her feet, her hand.

A gentle smile. A stepping foot. A twisting wrist. A curving blade.

Her sword swung toward the owlbear’s neck. A white flash struck its throat.

The owlbear hunched its shoulders, pulling its neck inward.

Feathers around its neck bristled and blocked the blade.

Kakakakak!

The blade looked like it would slice through, but only sheared feathers and grazed the skin, scattering dark blood.

Feathers tore apart like iron shards under her blade.

Then the spider stepped forward, dropping its barrier and swinging its eight bladed legs.

Two arms slashed down vertically. Two swept diagonally. Two stabbed at her thighs. Two jabbed at her feet.

All eight did their job.

Oara, mid-swing at the owlbear, drew her sword back—leaving eight afterimages behind.

Her blade [N O V E L I G H T] met each of the spider’s slashes.

Enkrid’s senses heightened to their sharpest point.

His ears picked out eight distinct sounds.

Pak. Phuk. Tchik. Pik. Jizik. Seokduk. Kwak!

A fight that required full concentration, total sensory control—just to observe.

Oara deflected five limbs, then cut, ripped, and shattered the other three.

Seeing it all was impossible. But the aftermath told the story. His mind raced.

“She twisted her wrist to slash, thrust, and strike…”

Could all that come from just a wrist?

Yes. That’s what made a knight.

By twisting, thrusting, and ripping, one spider limb dangled in tatters. A follow-up slash cleaved the next. The last was struck with the flat of the blade—bent in half.

The spider’s shattered arm dangled uselessly.

How could someone move like that?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t understand it.

But it was the place he wanted to reach. The path he wanted to walk.

Ragna. Shinar. The Mercenary King. Azpen’s knight.

If the four of them gave their all—what would it look like?

Right now, Oara was showing him.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

A mere sword-wielder speaking of omnipotence—that was what it meant to be a knight.

Ah…

A breath of awe. His eyes were stolen. It was inevitable.

“You nuts or something?”

Rem muttered beside him.

“There’s too many of them. Like… way too many.”

Lua Gharne said, sensing something deeply wrong.

If even dull Frokk said so—it was serious.

Dunbakel stood next to them, trembling.

But Enkrid couldn’t look away from smiling Oara. Every nerve, every thought—fixed on her.

“Oara!”

A soldier shouted the name.

Oara answered the call.

Just as the ghoul stabbed its arm toward her.

Speed and angle—Enkrid could tell at a glance.

A knight.

The monster fought like a knight. Oara struck the owlbear’s fist with her right hand, and blocked the ghoul’s claws with her left arm.

It was a feat.

She used her bracer to deflect the claws, twisting the angle away.

Kak.

Scratch marks formed on the bracer.

In that instant, one of the spider’s bladed arms struck Oara’s side.

Oara endured it.

Thud.

She twisted her body to deflect the blow. But she didn’t stop there.

The sword that had just blocked the owlbear’s punch was now buried in the spider’s head.

“Missed it.”

Enkrid hadn’t seen the strike at all.

The spider died. The owlbear melted back into the shadows, and the ghoul stabbed with alternating arms—

Head. Chest. Stomach. Thigh.

Its target was clear.

Just one hit—that’s all it needed.

Oara blocked every strike with her sword and bracer, alternating as needed.

Then the owlbear swung wide from behind.

Fwooosh!

Even though he wasn’t standing there, it felt like the wind from the strike brushed against his face.

A horizontal swing leveled with the ground. The strike zone was too wide.

Oara didn’t block it—instead, she leapt straight up from her spot and kicked off the owlbear’s swinging arm, launching herself into the sky.

Twisting her body midair, Oara brought her sword down from above. The curved blade split into three in his vision.

An overwhelming fusion of power and speed.

The ghoul moved both arms. A mirrored motion of how Oara had deflected it earlier with her bracer.

It was an exchange of offense and defense like they were possessed.

It didn’t matter who won—both sides fought like it was the end.

And then.

Crack. Thud.

Oara’s sword split the ghoul’s head. At the same time, the ghoul’s claw pierced Oara’s side.

“I won, you disgusting son of a bitch.”

Oara said, still wearing that same smile.

Her half-torn red cloak fluttered in the wind.

The owlbear, whose face had been half-split long ago, still had a strip of that cloak hanging from its claw.

The ghoul—Jericks—fell to the ground with a loud thump, his skull split vertically.

“Uwaaaaaaah!”

Roman roared. A cry of victory.

“There’s too many. Something’s spewing them out.”

Lua Gharne said. Spider monsters were still emerging.

“Looks like it.”

Even Aisia had gone inside, and yet nothing had changed.

Was it over now? At the very least, it felt like they had bought themselves a breath of time.

That was Enkrid’s assessment in the moment.

Dunbakel flinched, feeling all the muscles in her body contract.

Why? She didn’t know.

Fear sometimes pushes instinct beyond its normal limits. That was what happened to Dunbakel.

She sensed it and spoke.

“Something’s coming.”

Her eyes turned toward one direction as she opened her mouth.

Oara’s gaze followed.

Enkrid was slower to turn.

Smash!

It was right in front of Oara, who had just slain three monsters. A new creature cloaked in crimson muscle appeared. Two legs, two arms, wings stretched wide like a bat’s membrane, and a broken horn protruding from its forehead.

Among monsters, there were special ones. Across the continent, such beings were called “Demonkin.”

The kind that only appear in places called the Grand Demon Zones.

Dunbakel smelled sulfur.

The monster, like it had risen straight from hell, sprinted in a long blur the moment it appeared and slammed into Oara. It crushed her—who had spent her last bit of strength.

Barely managing to block the attack, Oara caught the blade with her left hand and held her sword’s grip in her right, stopping the monster’s edge.

“...Everyone, run.”

Oara said.

“Shit, run.”

Rem echoed.

“Balrog? No... a fragment of one, maybe.”

Lua Gharne recognized the enemy.

The moment it appeared, it dominated everything. The presence it exuded overwhelmed the entire battlefield.

As if to say, this is what real pressure feels like.

The feet of every soldier froze.

Crack.

Some soldiers were still dying to spider limbs during all this.

Others just stood, mouth agape, without a word.

Dunbakel was steeped in fear. Her beastkin eyes allowed her to see the situation more clearly than anyone else.

She saw Oara’s trembling arms. She felt her heart shrink under the creature’s suffocating pressure.

She should’ve turned and run without looking back.

But fear scrambled her brain.

Without even realizing it, Dunbakel charged forward and swung her curved blade at the newly arrived monster.

The monster didn’t even move the hand pressing down on Oara—it simply kicked up with one leg and struck Dunbakel’s head.

Boom!

Her skull shattered, and blood gushed out.

“Dunbakel!”

Enkrid shouted. The Will of Rejection activated. His body moved.

“I said run.”

Oara muttered as she moved, forcing the hand pinning her down off with both of hers.

Several exchanges followed, but the results weren’t good.

Crack.

Oara’s neck snapped from a blow to the head.

Was it because of the wound from the ghoul?

No—even without that, she had already spent everything.

She was poisoned, deeply and terribly. Her body wasn’t fit for prolonged battle.

That’s why the monster waited until now, when she couldn’t fight properly, and pounced.

It was a vile thing.

A monster beyond reason.

Enkrid stepped forward with his sword, knowing this would be a pointless death.

But his body didn’t listen.

He wasn’t the only one.

It was the moment he saw Oara die.

“Let’s die smiling!”

Roman shouted.

“Let’s die smiling!”

“Oara!”

“Oara!”

“Oara” was their rallying cry, named after her.

This was Oara’s city.

The city protected by Knight Oara.

Elation surged.

In the past, people would call you insane for rushing in knowing you’d die.

But this place was full of such lunatics.

That thing—whatever it was, a fragment of a Balrog or worse—was on par with a knight.

“The three monsters before were weaker.”

The difference in power was clear.

The spiders still charged in endlessly. And above their heads, thread-made arrows continued to rain down.

The same arrows that had killed Millio.

Enkrid exchanged five blows with the Balrog fragment.

Even those were close to miraculous in their sharpness and agility, but in the end, a kick landed in his side and sent him flying.

And then he saw Roman—dead.

He heard Rem, collapsed and coughing blood beside him, muttering:

“Should’ve just gone earlier…”

Starting with Dunbakel, they all died. It was a massacre.

The city Oara wanted to protect was falling.

Enkrid took it all in. As breathing grew harder, the world around him began to darken.

He’d died enough times to know.

“Bad hit.”

Even the armor wrapped like bandages couldn’t absorb the blow. The impact tore through him—broken ribs had pierced and ripped through his organs.

“Kuh…”

He coughed. Blood poured out.

He would die soon. Just before his eyes closed, Enkrid saw the Balrog fragment slaughtering soldiers.

Each swing of its club killed two, sometimes three.

It held Roman’s weapon—the one it took after killing him.

Boom! Smash!

Everything burst, shattered, flew apart.

“Ughaaagh!”

“Let’s die smiling!”

A soldier screamed those words just before death. Enkrid didn’t know his name, but he knew the face.

Everything Oara had fought to protect was crumbling.

Enkrid shut his eyes. A short, yet endless tunnel of darkness passed.

Splash.

The raft rocked with the motion of waves. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a violet lamp.

“You’re going to like this next wall,”

said the ferryman with glee. Enkrid had no time to reply. He closed his eyes—and opened them again.

KIIIIAAAACK!

That scream—he now knew it was from a Screaming Spider.

He’d awakened before midnight, but the day hadn’t started with morning.

The day began the moment he woke from sleep.

So this time, today was especially short.