A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Rem still wasn’t great at explaining things, but he had improved, and Owl and Juul were impressed by it.

“So you picked up a gift for speech somewhere. I hope you’re not using it to charm other women.”

“What, did you attend some kind of public speaking academy on the continent?”

Enkrid understood why they were impressed, but still found it off-putting.

Rem, no matter how you looked at it, was not a good speaker.

Judging by the way he talked, if this bastard had ever tried being a bard, he would’ve left half his audience suffering from stress-induced ailments.

“So, what the Path of Grime is—there was this person, Grime. And it’s the path he walked. And that path, well, it’s basically the story of his life, you follow me so far?”

Of course, if the listener was skilled, it didn’t really matter. Enkrid, as always, was a good listener. He paid attention and responded appropriately.

That motivated Rem to keep going with even more effort.

Filtering out the repetition and unnecessary questions—summarizing the content cleanly—was Enkrid’s specialty.

And so he did.

There had been a man named Grime, one of the old Western heroes, who went on something like a pilgrimage.

If a pilgrimage meant visiting sacred places in a religious context, then what Grime did should probably be called a “hunting path.”

He visited only places where there were things worth killing—or things that needed to be killed.

He walked that path, traveling through the West, slaughtering every visible monster, beast, and creature he could find.

It was the tale of a hero obsessed with the hunt, one who used sorcery to control shadows.

A story that fell somewhere between myth and legend.

He burned a man-eating tree beast alive using a sorcery spell.

He found the weak point of a multi-tentacled monster that lived in a lake and killed it with a single stab.

There was even a tale of him killing a thief who wore an invisible hood.

Some of the stories, as expected of oral tradition, didn’t really make sense and had been embellished over time.

Connected to this was an old coming-of-age rite in the West, once called the Path of Grime.

It wasn’t anything complicated. They’d just retrace parts of the journey he took.

“To walk the real Path of Grime, is what I’m saying.”

Though it was called a coming-of-age ritual, if you actually walked the exact path the hero Grime did, it’d be a death sentence, not a rite of passage.

Sending a fifteen-year-old alone down a monster-infested road? That made no sense.

So the real version involved a milder route and a softened schedule—but what Rem was talking about now was the actual Path of Grime.

That is, the path the hero himself had truly walked.

Not that they’d be following the whole thing.

That would take years.

What Rem was referring to was the final stretch of Grime’s path. And from the sound of it, this wasn’t some grand homage to a hero.

“There’s just a bunch of cool stuff to see along the way.”

It was a simple motivation. From Enkrid’s perspective, it seemed Rem also wanted to show him a few things.

A heavy pack was strapped to Rem’s back. Juul and Owl were also carrying large packs.

“You should’ve told me to pack.”

“Pack what? We did all the prep. I’m telling you, we’re going on a picnic.”

Owl said it bluntly.

Can you even call the Path of Grime a picnic?

The Westerners listening blinked.

It sounded half insane—but if it were these people, then yeah, maybe it really was a picnic.

It wasn’t like the mythic era where absurd monsters waited around every corner.

And so, the journey began.

“Let’s go.”

“Yeah.”

There was nothing to debate. Enkrid just grabbed a change of clothes and a few gifts, then got moving.

“A month? Sounds good.”

The beastfolk, who had always grumbled about only bathing once every three days, welcomed the journey the most.

Now no one could nag him to wash often.

Frokk, who always stuck to Enkrid like a shadow, followed from behind.

Enkrid, Rem, Dunbakel, Lua Gharne, Owl, and Juul. The six of them set out together.

“I’d like to come with you, but I need to recover—and I’ve got to deal with that fortune-teller tribe and the leftover cannibals. Don’t be sad that I’m not going.”

Gennarae said as they were leaving.

It was a Western-style joke.

“Yeah, real shame.”

Enkrid replied flatly and dryly, and Gennarae let out a faint laugh.

He was someone who made joking with him worthwhile.

After saying their goodbyes, Enkrid strapped on some basic gear and headed out.

“What about the First Shaman?”

Enkrid asked as they walked, and Rem replied casually.

“Groaning and wheezing. Said he’s recovering and making preparations. A month would be fast, honestly. Oh, and he said to tell you thanks.”

“It was nothing.”

Enkrid replied with the same casual tone.

Rem, looking at him, couldn’t help but think—what a strange human.

His skill and willpower were both far beyond ordinary.

What is “extraordinary”? It means surpassing the average.

If someone asked Rem who the most exceptional and remarkable person he’d ever met was, his answer would be immediate.

“Let’s go.”

Rem slung an arm around Enkrid’s shoulder.

“Uncomfortable?”

“You’ve grown, huh?”

Enkrid had always been taller.

It was just that the smaller guy now had a backpack on and was reaching up—so it looked like a struggle.

Enkrid looked down. Rem looked up.

“Let’s have a spar later.”

Now that was something worth hearing.

On the way, Juul explained that for various reasons, this year the tribe would be living as a mobile group.

Letting a small tribe that had lost its warriors fend for itself was basically a death sentence.

So they were taking responsibility and protecting their people.

They were used to a life without abundance, but thanks to some bastard apostle from the continent’s Holy Land of Demon Territory, they might go even hungrier this year.

That was going to be a problem.

So before leaving, Enkrid asked a few quick-footed Westerners to pass on letters through incoming merchants.

Still, it wasn’t anything special.

One letter to the king. One to Border Guard.

He wrote that, due to various events, he had ended up in the West, and asked if they had any spare bread to send.

If they really sent bread, it’d probably rot before it arrived, but both Crang and Kraiss were smart enough to handle it properly.

The rainy season would soon hit the continent. In about two weeks, it would be raining even at the Border Guard.

A cool breeze blew, stirring his hair and brushing against his cheek.

Owl walked beside him, and Enkrid asked offhandedly,

“Rem said you’re not coming.”

“I know.”

“You’re really staying?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He had asked because he wondered if she’d follow Rem. But both Rem and Owl reacted the same.

Their expressions were like, Why are you even asking something so obvious?

“You’re staying here?”

“Of course.”

Owl tapped the ground with the long staff she held and added,

“I’m pregnant.”

She said it as if it were nothing. Even Enkrid was briefly speechless before he managed to ask again.

“What?”

Then all sorts of questions rushed in—but the first dumb thought that came to him was:

Okay, fine, she’s pregnant—but how the hell does she already know?

“People who work with sorcery can sense when a new life starts growing inside them.”

In the West, among shamans, that was how it worked.

So now, in such a short time, Rem had achieved yet another feat.

In the West, there wasn’t a concept of needing to rest just because someone was pregnant.

You just did your work like normal, and when your body got heavier, you took more breaks. That was it.

Owl would do the same.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

She spoke with a radiant smile. It was the bright, cheerful grin so typical of the West.

“I will work for the tribe, protect them, and raise my child. I love this land—I don’t want to leave it.”

Owl placed her hand over her belly. No matter what happened, she would protect her child. She was that strong of a woman.

Her face seemed to radiate with a soft light. At that moment, she looked especially beautiful.

Not in a romantic sense—just in the simple thought that she was a beautiful person.

“Is it really okay ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) without Rem?”

“It hurts a bit, but it’s fine. It’s not like he’s leaving forever. That guy has to do what he wants. I don’t need some man sticking around whining with nothing but a hollow shell of himself.”

And it did seem that way.

Most men wouldn’t have forearms thicker than hers.

If it came down to physical vitality, she outclassed even Teresa or Dunbakel—she was a beauty brimming with raw health.

She was broad-minded and deeply understanding.

It was no mystery why Rem had fallen for her.

Rem, who’d been listening in from earlier, interjected with a question.

“That’s how it is. But why’d you think I’d be staying here?”

In matters like this, Enkrid figured Rem’s sense was on the same level as Dunbakel’s.

“You’ve got a kid, a wife, the West—that’s plenty of reason to stay, isn’t it?”

Enkrid gently tried to reason with him, but Owl had heard it all too.

“You crazy husband. So you’re saying leaving is the normal thing?”

She let him go without hesitation, but there was affection even in her cursing.

The journey kicked off loud and lively.

That wasn’t a bad thing.

Watching it unfold, Juul chuckled and waved over the bellopters. Six bellopters for the six travelers would accompany them on their journey.

Enkrid’s mount was one with reddish scales that shimmered like flames above its head, and a general brownish tint all over.

Looking at it, he was reminded of One-Eye.

Riding on One-Eye’s back had always brought a sense of thrill.

Would there ever be a chance to charge into battle on this one?

With all those thoughts swirling, he mounted the bellopter. There wasn’t anything particularly difficult about the act of setting out.

“Help me.”

When a mimic beast appeared in the middle of the road—

“I’ll handle it and be right back.”

Juul stepped forward and chased it off with a few stones.

“If you kill it here, the scent of blood’ll attract others.”

There was a clear reason not to kill, but to drive it away.

In other words, they had a skilled hunter with them.

“A ratman pack. I’ll be right back.”

When it was something they couldn’t avoid, Rem—or anyone else—would go out and clean it up.

Charging in, smashing a skull with an axe, then crushing the next monster’s head with a clean kick—it was almost pitiful to watch. For the monsters, that is.

“Today we should move along the water.”

Most of it was wasteland, but occasionally they’d pass small lakes, and near those lakes were patches of grassland.

The western travel route was mostly land that was neither pure grassland nor full desert.

The bellopters ate grass, drank water from the lakes, and even munched on dried fish.

They ate anything, but they especially liked fish.

Grrruk.

When given a snack, they would nuzzle up adorably, and even someone indifferent might start to feel attached.

Their blood was cold, so their scales felt cool—but not to the point of being startling.

Night fell, and they lit a campfire.

Dunbakel, with the beastfolk’s innate hunting instinct, caught a rabbit and a mole.

“Excellent.”

Juul, impressed, volunteered to cook. Hunting in the West wasn’t easy, but Dunbakel made it look effortless.

As Juul began preparing the meal, Owl stepped back a pace.

“She may be my wife, but don’t forget to stop her if she says she’ll cook.”

Rem whispered in a hushed voice. Owl herself seemed to know she wasn’t great in the kitchen, so she didn’t offer.

Juul was better at cooking than Rem. He found a water source, cleaned out the rabbit and mole—draining the blood, removing the guts, and preparing the meat—then tossed them straight into a stew.

The stew boiled and bubbled, its rich aroma reawakening their forgotten hunger.

And the taste? Nutty and clean. Especially the umami, brought out with a bit of salt and powdered herbs—Enkrid found himself raising a thumbs-up without realizing it.

“Not the best in the West, but I can hold my own in the kitchen.”

Apparently, Juul used to be the designated cook when living in a communal tribe.

But he was also good at fighting and hunting, which was why he often went on outings like this.

Juul said that what brought him joy in life was making food and watching others eat it.

“Then why’d you come along this time?”

“I couldn’t pass up the chance to cook for the hero who saved the tribe.”

That was his answer when asked.

A wonderfully cheerful response. After dinner, Juul even took the lead on cleaning the dishes.

“Everyone here’s a benefactor. I don’t want to dump chores on them.”

The journey was supposed to last about a month.

It seemed like Juul fully intended to handle all the chores until then.

After that satisfying meal, to help digestion, Enkrid stood with his sword in hand—and Rem stood opposite.

Whooosh.

Wind blew, kicking up crumbled sandstone and throwing dust into their eyes.

Both Enkrid and Rem narrowed their eyes—a natural reflex to protect them from the dust.

“Let’s spar.”

“Sure you wanna get hit in front of your wife?”

Rem chuckled.

The guy really did know how to talk.

“Well, I brought something to make this more interesting.”

This was the West. And Rem was a Westerner.

Though he had to go to the Holy Land to retrieve his inherited weapon and magic, there were still shortcuts.

And during his fight with the Immortal Madman on the continent, he had awakened to something new.

“Owl.”

He had even practiced it for a few days.

At first, Owl hesitated—but after trying it, she found no issues or side effects, and now she was thinking of studying it more seriously.

In the meantime, Rem had also passed down a modified version of the Heart of Might to the tribe.

An upgraded version, you could say.

Watching Enkrid use it had inspired his own interpretation.

Now, nearly every Westerner would be able to use it.

But for now, it was time for Owl’s magic to take hold of Rem’s body.

“Power of the Bear.”

Owl chanted. With those words, something formless settled into Rem.

Enkrid saw something flickering above Rem’s shoulder.

What the hell was that?

It resembled the aura that had overlapped with Owl’s body when she fought.

A glint of radiance sparkled in Rem’s gray eyes.

Enkrid gripped Acker more firmly.

An axe flew toward him.

It was nearly on the level of a knight’s strike.

Enkrid instinctively raised Acker horizontally, parallel to the ground. The axe blade fell onto it, and the two weapons collided.

CLANG!

A thunderous crash rang out.

The shock bounced back and pushed Enkrid’s body backward.

He let the force carry him, sliding back as his feet dug long grooves into the ground—sssshhkkk.

Rem, holding the axe in the follow-through stance, twisted his lips into a smile.

“Well?”

What more needed to be said?

Enkrid grinned too.