A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Enkrid gave a nod.

He hadn’t exactly prepared any of it as gifts, but somehow, it turned out Ragna was the only one who hadn’t received anything.

Kraiss considered the jeweled sheath and the trade company that would come ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ afterward to be gifts in themselves.

Esther, who sat off to one side like part of a painting, was holding one of the items Enkrid had handed out.

It looked like the fang of a beast.

“Received it,” she said.

No one had asked, but she spoke anyway—just as Shinar entered the tent.

“Can I consider that dagger you gave me an engagement present?”

She said it with a hint of that pixie-style humor.

Strictly speaking, Rophod and Bell hadn’t received anything either, so Ragna wasn’t especially upset.

“Come out, barbarian. I’ll take your damn head off.”

He just thought it was clear that some barbaric bastard had snuck something for himself in the middle of things.

Whether someone became a knight or not, feeling pissed was still feeling pissed.

Just because you were good with a blade didn’t make you a sage or a saint.

“Oh yeah? Bring it.”

Neither of them actually got up.

They were just arguing like usual.

“So, where did you go?”

Enkrid asked, partly to change the subject.

Ragna turned his gaze from Rem and replied, unfazed—because he really hadn’t felt left out.

“Just went out to get some air. Saw Odd-Eye lost on the way and brought him back.”

“Who’s bringing who, exactly?”

Rem sneered from the side. Lua Gharne nodded—Rem was right.

Jaxon said nothing, and Audin was still praying.

Kraiss, feeling drowsy, just kept yawning.

It was peaceful.

Rain poured down with a steady shaaaa as the seasonal storm continued, and Enkrid finally asked the question he’d been saving until everyone was gathered.

“If you were suddenly dropped in a desert, how would you get out?”

It wasn’t just a random question.

As knights, what would they do if their physical capabilities changed drastically?

Enkrid had escaped the desert, but he considered it luck.

So what if you removed luck from the equation—how would you survive?

It was something he’d wondered since waking up after escaping.

What would they do, if they were in his place?

Ragna answered first.

Finding the way was his specialty, after all.

“Look to the stars and follow them to find the path.”

The biggest lie in the world—but not entirely false.

“You’re sick, you bastard. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to see them. The sky’s blocked in that land.”

Rem added, and Enkrid nodded.

Ragna replied evenly.

“Then I’d rely on instinct.”

Insane talk.

Enkrid never had expectations for Ragna in the first place.

Rem muttered crazy, directionless bastard and shared her own idea.

“Pick a direction and keep walking. Wherever it is, there’s always an end.”

She probably said that because she understood the desert somewhat.

A desert isn’t a mythical maze—it’s just land.

So you endure and walk. That’s it.

And if things got too bad, she’d planned to go looking for Enkrid.

If the Bird of Desire pointed the way, she’d go that way.

“Someone like me can go a whole month without food or water, but I don’t even need to. I’ll just run.”

That was possible because of her shamanic power.

Her words carried that meaning.

If she summoned the Bellopter spirit through divine possession, she could run for days.

Audin was next.

“I would ask God, and He would answer.”

Audin had divinity, and that divinity could heal an ordinary person’s body.

For one blessed with divinity, miracles were part of everyday life.

So saying he would ask God and receive an answer might sound ridiculous to others—but to Audin, it was sincere.

If something like that happened, God would send him a revelation.

Enkrid listened and knew right away Audin was completely serious.

Jaxon responded not with an answer, but with a question.

“You said you couldn’t determine the direction. Was that truly the case, no matter what you tried?”

You can’t turn back time.

But by analyzing and reflecting, you can avoid repeating the same mistakes.

That’s why Enkrid had asked.

Though part of him was just curious about their thoughts.

And Jaxon had pinpointed that very aspect.

Was that really the best you could’ve done?

Jaxon sat with one leg crossed over the other and spoke.

The rain made the sky dark, but the fire blazing in the center of the tent gave enough light.

And at some point, everyone had gathered around it.

“Did you hear anything? The wind, for instance? What was the wind like in the West?”

Hearing that, Rem thought, What a sly alley cat.

There were guides for walking the desert in the West.

Rare, but they existed.

Not that they had any special talent for finding people in the desert.

If they truly moved through the sands like it was their own backyard, Rem would’ve used the Fist of Desire instead of the Bird to get what she wanted.

But that was impossible, so she let it go.

Desert guides had a saying: they walked along the paths of the wind.

It was something only those born with ultra-sensitive intuition or special senses could do.

“The direction of the wind, the scent, all of it becomes a clue. So you can’t get lost.”

Jaxon could even find paths through a labyrinth.

His senses weren’t easily affected by ordinary spells or enchantments.

His detection ability, drawn from Will, was one of the weapons that had earned him his place.

He hadn’t gotten his nickname “Master of Geor Dagger” and “Owner of Dawn’s Dew” from card games.

“Interesting topic.”

Shinar chimed in.

She knew the desert.

It was a world opposite to the forest.

But that didn’t mean it lacked spiritual energy.

To manipulate spiritual energy meant to perceive spirits.

Shinar had a natural gift for sensing those blessings.

Spirits must exist even in the desert—or at least traces of energy.

“Just because it’s a desert doesn’t mean there’s no spiritual energy. I’d walk along its flow.”

“But do we really need to get lost in the desert? Couldn’t we just avoid that kind of situation altogether?”

“Don’t be stupid. The whole question assumes you’re already in the desert.”

The moment Shinar finished, Rophod interjected, and Bell objected to his remark.

Rophod smiled—but it seemed a little stiff.

“Which is why I’m saying, don’t get into that situation in the first place.”

“So your premise is the problem. A shepherd never gets lost. I’ll find my way out, no matter what. And I always carry a few days of food on me.”

“So don’t go in to begin with.”

Rophod said it again, this time without smiling.

“Stupid talk.”

Bell said with his arms crossed.

“You wanna get decked?”

“Idol-slaying doesn’t discriminate. You know that, right?”

“So as long as we don’t touch, I’m good? That’s easy.”

When had it started?

Maybe ever since the crack formed in Bell.

Rophod and Bell hadn’t gotten along.

It was reminiscent of Mad Squad’s early days.

Maybe because their ideals didn’t align.

Rophod placed great value on calculated numbers.

Bell thought moment-to-moment judgment was what mattered.

Their differing views on swordsmanship meant skill itself would become the deciding factor.

On top of that, Bell the Shepherd didn’t know how to pick his words, and Rophod, being from the knight order, didn’t know how to deal with someone so lacking in decorum.

Because of all that, their relationship had gone to hell.

Enkrid looked at the two in silence, then spoke.

“Enough.”

One word was all it took.

The two immediately cooled down.

They didn’t even glare at each other.

In that sense, they were similar.

They didn’t waste energy on pointless things.

Bell swallowed the boiling heat in his chest.

Even if his heart cracked and collapsed—he still wanted to bash that smug little knight’s head in.

There was no reason he couldn’t.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

That lucky bastard had only pulled ahead by a single step. He could catch up.

Rophod felt the same.

That guy had no manners. Didn’t know how to show respect.

He needed an education.

If he wanted to win, he’d just have to live like Enkrid every day.

And now that Ragna was back, he’d have more chances to train.

Rophod, at some point, had completely forgotten about returning to the knight order.

Enkrid, watching the two of them, thought it’d be nice if Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxon listened this well.

“Not a chance.”

He had asked a question and received their answers. Enkrid understood now that everyone had a different way of thinking.

Some would charge straight through, and others used what strengths they had.

“Could I have smelled the wind?”

Jaxon had said that if you couldn’t hear, then at least try to smell.

Enkrid couldn’t see spiritual energy or spirits like Shinar, but was there truly not a single thing his sixth sense could have picked up on?

He didn’t know. Maybe there had been something.

“If I had studied beforehand and known, it would’ve helped.”

Lua Gharne’s comment in the middle was valid too. Knowledge was strength.

Enkrid sorted through his thoughts.

Everything they had said helped him.

And then he recalled the soldier who had charged him the moment he returned to camp.

The nameless soldier—Marco.

“He used Will.”

But how, exactly?

He had bolstered his spirit by refusing to back down.

He had steeled his will by warning his opponent. And with his first strike—the one he believed in most—he had tried to establish psychological superiority.

Even if that thrust didn’t win the fight, it would leave an impression of how sharp his spear was.

That first strike was always the strongest and fiercest.

The warning, the thrust, the posture, and the presence—

All of it had been a tactic.

Everyone had their own tactics, and Enkrid had something to learn from each of them.

“There’s more than one way.”

Enkrid murmured to himself.

“If your Will is overflowing, even your stamina will change.”

Ragna’s words had also been correct.

After that final step in the desert, every step he had taken had been fueled by Will.

Enkrid gathered and etched every insight he’d gained.

Anu, the mercenary king of the East, had said to experience as much as possible.

Why?

Because Enkrid had seen differences in everything he experienced.

Not just differences—he saw similarities too.

The things he realized coming out of the desert, what he had just learned, and what he had gained through asking questions—

It all felt like moonlight to him.

He could see it, but couldn’t quite grasp it.

Which meant there were still pieces missing.

It wouldn’t all come together just by pondering it now.

So there was no need to rush.

“While we’re gathered,” Shinar said, pulling one knee up onto her chair, “why don’t you tell us a story, fiancé?”

Enkrid lifted his head at her words.

“What exactly did you do that got you called the savior of the city and the pioneer of the West?”

She asked again, her expression more relaxed than usual.

At least, that’s how it looked to Enkrid.

He didn’t know it himself, but the things he had done had earned him all sorts of nicknames.

And since there was no reason not to tell them, Enkrid began to speak.

How he went from demon slayer to city savior to pioneer of the West.

He told the story well.

Everyone found themselves swallowing and focusing deeply.

“Why didn’t you become a bard instead of a knight?”

Kraiss commented suddenly.

“Not bad,” Lua Gharne said with puffed cheeks.

She’d experienced much of it firsthand, but hearing it from Enkrid’s mouth made it even more entertaining.

Still, he wasn’t exactly the continent’s greatest bard.

Everyone except Kraiss had poor storytelling skills.

Thanks to Kraiss’s timely interjections, the tale became even more vivid.

Of course, what shocked everyone most was the story about Rem’s wife and child.

“Trash,” Kraiss muttered—a perfect comment.

Many children had been abandoned by their parents.

Kraiss was one of them.

He despised parents who abandoned their children.

“Want to die?”

“To leave your wife and child like that…”

“Ayul is a strong woman. And she has her own desires too.”

In truth, Ayul had pushed Rem to leave.

She was a wonderful woman who knew how to support someone with big dreams.

“Marriage? Did she threaten you into it?”

Ragna asked.

Rem responded by swinging her axe.

Jaxon dug in his ears a few times, thinking he’d misheard something.

He almost got hit by the axe too—but dodged it with ease.

Audin offered a prayer of blessing.

“Even a bat with only one wing shall find its mate, so the gods shall surely bless this union.”

It was supposed to be a blessing, but it sounded half like a personal opinion.

“The hell kind of blessing is that?!”

That’s why Rem lost it halfway through.

They kept talking until dawn.

Even Shinar, surprisingly, shared a story about wandering through the Forest of Spirits.

Though in the end, it led to a labyrinth created by a demon.

“If you fall in there, you die. Every single one of them died.”

It had started out as a cozy tale about the forest, but…

It turned out Shinar was a terrible storyteller.

Audin shared how Teresa had given herself to the god of war.

Teresa said she couldn’t forget her past, but she had learned to look toward tomorrow instead of yesterday.

She said that while looking at Enkrid.

Her gaze was full of heat—not romantic affection, but a mix of gratitude toward her teacher and a bit of competitive spirit.

“If you see a cultist, just kill them,” Lua Gharne added.

Even Rophod and Bell ended up talking a bit.

Bell spoke about shepherding.

Rophod said that even if you join the knight order, you might never see a real knight—and glanced around.

Before they knew it, only three people here actually fought at a knight’s level.

Jaxon told a chilling story about the Carmen Collection—even though the weather was still warm, his tale made everyone’s spine tingle.

It was a tale of one man’s desperate revenge.

Surprisingly, Jaxon spoke with more clarity and structure than expected.

Normally he didn’t talk much, but when he did, he could do it well.

“I went for a stroll and came across a few kids who could handle a blade.”

That’s how Ragna glossed over his wandering story in one line.

Other than that, all he did was train, sleep, and loaf around, so there wasn’t much to say.

The reason he’d even gone out in the first place was because Enkrid wasn’t around.

His motivation had started to fade, and he’d forced himself to go out in search of a spark.

“Crazy bastard.”

Rem muttered as a comment—this time, Ragna punched her instead of swinging an axe.

Naturally, Rem didn’t get hit.

She twisted her head to dodge and started punching back from where she sat.

Audin, who happened to be seated between them, stopped them with his hands—without even standing up.

Knight-level or not, close-quarters specialists were definitely on another level.

As they laughed and talked, a few soldiers came in carrying bottles of alcohol and trays of food.

Kraiss had ordered it.

Everyone ate and drank.

An unexpected banquet.

Enkrid, for the first time, truly felt like he’d returned.

Stupid jokes, personal stories, random banter—

They filled the night with chatter.

Even the jabs and teasing eventually stopped.

Now they were just having real conversations.

“Balrog, huh… a tricky one.”

Ragna said at one point, after hearing Oara’s story.

The implication was clear—Enkrid was going to kill Balrog.

No one told him not to.

No one said it was too dangerous.

If there was something that needed to be done—they would do it.

That was what everyone here believed.

“Not yet,” Enkrid said in reply.

Kraiss sighed in the middle of it.

“You should at least try to stop him. Balrog? Really?”

It was a monster most people would never hear about their entire lives.

What? A flaming whip and a sword of fire?

A hidden god of the Nol, within the Demon Realm?

Talks of the cult, childhood memories, Ziba and her mother in the West, the man who loved her—

Bits and pieces of what Oara had left behind.

Those were the kinds of things shared that night.

A deep night, with rain falling.

The liquor flowed, and the flames crackled, drying the air just enough.