A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“My mother tried to cut off my dick. Said if she’d had a daughter, she would’ve tried hooking her up with an honorary warrior.”

That was the bold declaration of a Westerner whose face was marked with leaf-shaped patterns.

The woman who had joked about giving her daughter away right after waking from a curse—it turned out she was his mother.

Now he joked that since she didn’t have a daughter, she tried to get rid of her son’s manhood. Everyone burst into laughter.

Enkrid let out a small chuckle at the unexpected timing of the joke.

The man hadn’t said it to be funny, but he kept going.

“Lucky Fish gives off a unique smell. There’s a species of Bellopter that really likes it. Sometimes if someone goes missing, we use the scent to track them down. It’s used for that too.”

The dried fish he had just given Enkrid was called a Lucky Fish.

It could be eaten, sure, but it was more of an emergency ration—something you wouldn’t eat unless it was your very last option. Basically, it was like a lucky charm. Similar to how some people carry around weird-shaped stones and call them lucky rocks. But there was actually a story behind why they called it a “Lucky Fish” in the West.

“Back in the day, a lot of people went missing while hunting. When that happened, the bodies were hard to find. And if they weren’t properly buried, they couldn’t go to the Sky God, so finding the body became a mission.”

And back then, they used the scent of this Lucky Fish to track down corpses.

These days, disappearances were pretty rare.

Because people used to live scattered, but it got hard, so some gathered together. They fell in love, had children, built families, and those families became tribes.

That was the beginning of the Western people.

Not in a mythological sense—but in terms of anthropology, that was the start.

“It’s a gift.”

He said it, then smiled again, beaming.

There was no shadow behind that smile.

It was a smile full of joy at being able to give something, happiness at being able to offer a gift.

Enkrid received the cloth pouch.

Dunbakel took a piece beside him and nodded. Said it was tasty.

“Even suits the taste of beastfolk?”

The man said it and then burst into loud laughter.

There was no shadow, no darkness in that laugh.

And it wasn’t just this man. The shadows had vanished from everyone’s laughter.

The dark soot Enkrid had seen when he first arrived—he couldn’t see it anymore.

Back then, everyone except the children had a shadow behind their smiles. That wasn’t the case now.

And for Enkrid, that alone was enough. It made him think of the city of Oara.

He thought of the words written about it.

A city where children laugh. A place where life could feel like sunlight after storm clouds clear.

And then he looked around again.

People, children, laughter, gifts—a happy moment.

As his eyes took in the present, the past played through his mind.

“Why do you pick up the sword?”

“Why go that far?”

“That’s stupid.”

“Never seen anyone like you.”

Those who criticized, those who worried, those who tried to dissuade him, those who mocked him.

There had been so many people.

The old boatman had been right. He’d always been surrounded by people.

And that had been a good thing.

If someone were to ask him now why he hadn’t lost his dream all this time, Enkrid would answer like this:

“Because I like seeing people smile.”

Right now, he couldn’t think of any other answer.

The clouds gently veiled the sunlight, spreading a soft glow. They shaded the sun.

It was bright and warm, but not blinding.

A rare sight only seen in the West, where it rarely rains and wide clouds drift across the sky.

Under the sunlight that warmly embraced everything, Enkrid gazed quietly.

At all he had protected with his sword.

***

Those learning the training methods.

Those who challenged him to spar.

Between them, he trained himself and taught others until evening came.

They had a hearty stew made of well-boiled beef and thick chunks of radish for dinner, and it was delicious. As time passed like that, Rem came by in the evening.

“They say we gotta stay over a month.”

Enkrid had just finished washing and was drying off, slipping into the thin clothes Ziba’s mother had given him.

It was a leather outfit with a rough texture, but not scratchy.

They had metalworkers in the West too, but metal was rare for them.

That was because they had very few blacksmiths and artisans.

There weren’t even any mountains for mining ore, so they had to go outside the West to get it.

Instead, they had incredible skill with leather and fur. Their tanning methods were fascinating.

Their thin, chemically treated leather clothing was one of the reasons merchants from the continent came to the West.

Because of that, they also made good bone knives and obsidian spears.

“So?”

Enkrid asked again, wearing the rare leather clothes of the West. He’d heard even the crafting method was different.

“I said we have to wait.”

Rem repeated himself.

Enkrid shook the water out of his hair and replied.

“Yeah, and?”

“We’re going together.”

“Where?”

Rem blinked. This guy sometimes said insane things even though he never got drunk. Times like this called for a verbal slap back to reality.

“Where do you think?”

Rem jerked his chin.

From the way he said it, it was clear he meant the way back.

“Why?”

Enkrid blinked.

Weren’t they supposed to stay here?

He thought he’d be rolling around with Owl every night, sweet and cozy. Where were they even going? According to Gennarae, they were supposed to catch up on everything they hadn’t done, all at once.

“I gotta beat that directionless bastard’s ass, don’t I?”

Oh, hearing that made everything click immediately.

He couldn’t live with taking a hit, so he was going to return the favor.

Although they’d said something about finding the curse, could that even work? Ragna had become a knight, hadn’t he?

“Your eyes are full of doubt.”

“No, they’re not.”

“They totally are.”

“You’re clinging to words. You’ve gone soft. If you’ve got something to say, say it with an axe.”

“...Just go to sleep.”

Enkrid didn’t argue anymore—it looked like he had nothing else to say. So Rem shrugged and dropped it too.

It meant, “Cut the crap.”

Enkrid understood Rem’s intent well, so he didn’t bite back.

Honestly, the two were perfectly in sync.

“We’ve got time, so let’s go on a trip tomorrow.”

Coming to the West had been a trip for Enkrid, but not for Rem.

There were still plenty of things worth showing in the West.

Owl had already shown Enkrid around quite a bit, which felt a bit unfair, but there were still places left.

If she hadn’t been so busy plucking flowers and whatnot, she might’ve let him guide her everywhere too.

He wasn’t angry—just a little wistful.

Still, Rem was someone he’d brought here himself.

“Sure.”

Enkrid agreed immediately.

“See you tomorrow.”

Rem left, and everyone went to sleep. Enkrid slept deeply too.

It was a dreamless, restful sleep.

After waking up refreshed, he trained his body with the Isolation Technique, then pounded the twins who came asking for a spar first thing in the morning.

“Striking method...”

“Might make us a bit stronger?”

The twins spoke one after the other as they got beaten. They sometimes spoke like that, and it seemed to be an old habit.

Watching them, Enkrid gave a word of encouragement.

“Give it a try.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Some asked about techniques, others asked about training methods.

Among the Westerners, there were certainly those content with the present—but there were also those who surrendered themselves to a desire to improve.

Several of them possessed both talent and skill.

Enkrid taught generously.

Compared to Rem or anyone else, he could honestly be considered an excellent teacher.

And that made sense.

He had no natural talent, so he had to climb slowly, chewing through every step one by one.

He could teach the talented in a way that suited them.

And he could teach the untalented in a way that suited them, too.

Unless one climbs the mountain, they can’t see what’s beyond the peak.

And if you leap straight to the top, you’ll miss the scenery along the way.

Enkrid had done both.

He had climbed slowly, step by step, chewing through it all.

So of course he taught well.

However—

“You should start by building stamina. Run. From morning till night.”

“You swing the axe like this, pretending to strike, and try to hook your opponent’s foot. Focus on precise posture and basic training. Wake at dawn and drill until noon.”

He wasn’t a gentle teacher by any means. If you wanted something, effort was expected.

Enkrid made no compromises in that regard.

If you didn’t want to do it, you could quit.

And plenty of people did quit. But even then, no one blamed or resented Enkrid.

Even after quitting, some would hang around nearby—grilling meat, stirring stew, playing around.

Westerners played a game with twenty cards, made of leather backed with wooden boards. Each one had an image of an animal or flower.

“It’s called Bakto.”

They even gambled with krona on it.

Krona was used here too. Though bartering was more common, people sometimes wagered fine leather or beast teeth instead of currency.

Some even made necklaces strung with those teeth.

On the continent, they were called savages—talk of needing civilization and reform. But these people had their own culture, and it deserved respect.

That was how Enkrid saw it.

Would that be uncomfortable? Maybe. Maybe not.

This wasn’t something that could be resolved with a sword.

A sword could protect people, slay monsters, lead in war—but not shape culture or politics.

They’d figure it out on their own.

It wasn’t something he needed to step into or interfere with.

He just wished them well.

While passing the time that way, morning light stretched over the land and Rem arrived.

“What are you doing?”

“Just watching.”

Owl and Juul were with him too.

“You bringing that Smell along with Lua Gharne?”

Rem asked from behind Enkrid.

Dunbakel, who had been dozing while using a small rock as a seat, raised his head.

Judging by how he immediately understood that “Smell” referred to him, it seemed Dunbakel only played dumb when it suited him.

“Where?”

“We’re heading out somewhere with the captain.”

“I’m coming too.”

Lua Gharne, listening nearby, jumped in to answer.

Sure, the Westerners were fun, and there were a lot of curious things—but what piqued her desire most?

Of course, it was the human named Enkrid.

She still found it unbelievable.

‘How does he block curses?’

No idea of the principle or reason. He hadn’t learned any kind of spell. Didn’t possess any magical tools.

If it was just a curse, fine. Maybe he blocked it on his own—no big deal.

But what about his improvement in swordsmanship? How could that be explained?

Even now, it was clearly at its limit. The limit of talent, the limit of skill. From here on, no more leaps. Sure, he could get a bit stronger, a bit sturdier, but those were minor gains. That was his limit. And even the first time she saw him, it was his limit.

And yet this man stood in the middle ground—not a knight, not a squire.

How?

No clue.

Sometimes people broke through their limits by sheer luck.

Cases even Frokk’s talent-sensing eye couldn’t analyze? They existed. Some called it a trick of the gods, others said the goddess of luck had kissed them.

‘But this isn’t luck.’

At least, Lua Gharne didn’t believe so.

What was luck?

Opportunity. And what was opportunity? A moment. A moment, at a certain time, in a certain place—how do you seize that?

Preparation.

Without preparation, luck meant nothing.

To Lua Gharne, Enkrid was always, every day, preparing.

So he wasn’t born with anything. Was that a problem?

“He’s going ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) to become a knight.”

That’s what Enkrid said, and he simply kept moving forward to make it happen. Without hesitation. Without doubt.

Brrr, Lua Gharne shivered with excitement again today. Lately, it happened daily.

Enkrid was the kind of person who made Frokk puff up his cheeks just by looking at him.

Where could she ever meet another person like this? Nowhere. So she’d chase him down to the ends of the earth.

Romantic partner? Sure, she’d had some sleazy intentions at first—but those had vanished completely now.

She just wanted to stay by his side.

To see what lay along his path, how he walked it, and how his steps changed the world.

‘I want to know.’

That was why every time she looked at Enkrid, her thirst for the unknown surged.

“All right.”

Smell—Dunbakel—nodded without much thought. Not like he had anything better to do if he stayed behind.

“Well then, let’s go. Should take about a month.”

Rem said.

A month? That’s kind of long.

Enkrid thought for a moment and asked,

“You’re not even gonna tell us where we’re going?”

“I didn’t say?”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, that’s because the captain was rambling nonsense yesterday.”

To be able to blame others like that with a straight face—now that was definitely Rem.

Owl nodded, as if that made sense.

It was the kind of nod that said, even if your man talks nonsense, so what?

There was an old Western saying, supposedly—when the husband sings, the wife hums along.

Watching Rem shift the blame and Owl nod in agreement—it was the perfect display of an annoyingly smug couple.

Enkrid simply waited quietly, expecting an actual explanation. Rem didn’t drag it out further and opened his mouth.

“There’s something called the Path of Grime.”

A tale handed down from the past—something that became a kind of tradition.