A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
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Chapter 189 Table of contents

“It’s a fine sword.”

After collecting a sword from the blacksmith, Enkrid examined it closely.

“Take this too.”

The smith handed him a steel breastplate. It was a riveted design, secured at the sides, leaving the shoulders free. Comfortable, but it seemed like shoulder guards would be necessary to complete the set.

Enkrid’s eyes wandered to the pile of scrap metal in the corner of the forge.

The Border Guard had two other blacksmiths, but this one had the best craftsmanship. Since there was no personal blacksmith for the lord, all three forges were tasked with supplying weapons to the barracks.

Now that the battle had subsided and it was time to stockpile resources, the smiths would likely craft spears, swords, and maces from the leftover scrap.

In short, the blacksmith had taken precious time to repair Enkrid’s sword when there was no time to spare.

“Here.”

Clink.

Enkrid tossed a gold coin, then added a few more to the pile.

“That’s a lot.”

“Use the rest to buy flowers for your wife.”

The blacksmith stared at Enkrid with tired eyes. Just take the money, don’t look at me like that.

Recently, the abundance of krona had been almost embarrassing. Enkrid wasn’t one to pinch pennies, a trait that Kraiss often called his greatest flaw.

Yet within the platoon—no, the entire company—Kraiss was the only one sensitive about finances. Even the most frugal among them weren’t particularly concerned about money.

Esther? She’s a leopard; such matters don’t apply to her.

‘Though, should I really consider Esther part of the platoon?’

She had proven herself enough times. Even if she couldn’t officially be enlisted, she was undeniably a comrade.

Still, Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxon—they all spent krona liberally, didn’t they?

At least, it seemed that way.

Among them, however, Enkrid was the most extravagant. Whether it was treasure from a raid or prize money, he spent krona as quickly as it came.

The same held true as he left the forge.

Clink.

“Here.”

A rough hand snatched the coin mid-air. It belonged to John, the tanner.

John’s craftsmanship was renowned. Some merchants visited this city solely to seek him out. His expertise in leather was masterful, far beyond the level of a typical artisan.

This time, John had crafted leather bracers. They protected the forearms from the wrist to the elbow, soft yet firm, and fastened with leather cords of the same material. The meticulous care was evident in every detail.

“Three coats of oil on beast hide,” John noted.

One gold coin wouldn’t cover this.

Clink. Enkrid tossed another.

“That’s fair.”

John always charged an honest price—a rarity among artisans. It was why merchants flocked to him despite the remote location.

Beast hide was notoriously difficult to work with. Its tanning required special solutions and often ended in failure. In the capital, acquiring such material might be simple, but here in the borderlands? Unlikely.

‘Does anyone else have something like this?’

Probably not.

Satisfied, Enkrid admired the sword further. The cursed spirit that once inhabited it was gone, leaving only the blade—a tool of cold steel. The faint blue sheen, the tightly wrapped deer leather handle, and the solid, rounded pommel were all pleasing details.

“Had some spare time, so I took care of it,” the blacksmith had said.

Perhaps it was the market atmosphere, or maybe sheer luck, but even a cobbler approached Enkrid.

The boots he offered had thicker soles and reinforced toes, clearly not ordinary footwear.

“I made them casually and didn’t feel like selling,” the cobbler said, shrugging.

“What a funny excuse.”

“Father, just admit you wanted to give them to him,” his daughter said, laughing with a radiant smile.

Enkrid flicked a coin once more.

Clink!

The daughter caught it.

“That’s quite a lot.”

“If there’s any left, use it however you like.”

As Enkrid walked away, he received bags of spiced jerky, a couple of bottles of wine—decent in taste—and even charcoal.

“This is quality charcoal,” they said.

What would he do with it? A charcoal-grilled feast, perhaps?

The townsfolk, amusing as always, seemed brighter these days. Maybe it was the influence of the Gilpin Guild. The darker stains of the city had lightened, though some remained.

For example…

“Get lost, peasant.”

A nobleman with a guard entourage sneered at Enkrid as he passed. His smirk was sharp and condescending.

“Calling yourself a company commander? Ridiculous. Whatever scheme you pulled with Marcus, it was a mistake.”

If it were Rem, the noble wouldn’t have finished his sentence before an axe split his skull. Even a simple “get lost” would have earned him a punch to the face.

Please, Enkrid thought, don’t let him say that to Rem.

The noble’s face resembled that of a ghoul—narrowed eyes and thin lips, the visage of a man who’d lived a petty, conniving life. The rumors about him matched his appearance perfectly.

‘Lua Gharne would be horrified by that face,’ Enkrid mused, recalling how Frokk species valued human aesthetics.

“Humph.”

The noble, followed by his guard, headed toward the city gates, likely for some business at the market. Enkrid, familiar with his disdain, barely gave him a thought.

Instead, a fruit vendor muttered nearby.

“What a cursed bastard. He’ll drop dead from spite someday.”

Creative insult.

Not that Enkrid cared to remember the noble’s name. As long as the man didn’t encounter Rem, it didn’t matter.

“Wonder what that officer-beater is up to,” Enkrid mused aloud as he returned to the camp.

There, Rem greeted him with an unusual request.

“Think we can find someone like Andrew?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been missing that feeling lately.”

This was dangerous—a clear signal of Rem’s restlessness.

“A spar?”

It was time to extinguish the brewing fire. The sparring match was brutal, with Rem unleashing the full force of the Heart of Might.

“Nice bracers,” Rem remarked, noting the new gear with keen eyes. “And that sword—doesn’t look ordinary.”

“Picked it up along the way.”

After the sparring session, evening fell, leaving Enkrid sore all over. It had been a while since he exerted himself so much during training.

At least Rem’s restlessness had subsided.

“Tonight, I’ll sleep well,” Rem said, finally looking at peace.

“Good. Sleep tight.”

Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Audin approached Enkrid after his usual prayers.

“Brother Commander.”

“What is it?”

“How about going on a night patrol tonight?”
Audin suggested, his large frame accompanied by a soft, almost innocent smile. Despite his size, that smile made him seem gentle. Looking at him now, Enkrid thought Audin might do surprisingly well as a charmer if he tried.

Perhaps that’s why Kraiss always wanted to recruit him for his salon.

“Why not become a priest who roams the night?”
Kraiss often teased him with such remarks, but Audin would only respond with a laugh, refusing to engage further.

Still, it seemed Audin had something to say tonight. Or perhaps he truly just wanted a companion for a stroll under the moonlight.

“Fine.”

Enkrid agreed. After all, as the commander of an independent company, he’d been excluded from regular duties, leaving him to feel the stares of the soldiers in the barracks. This patrol would serve as both a convenient excuse for Audin and a chance for Enkrid to contribute.

As they walked, Audin began to speak.

“There’s a teaching in the scriptures: ‘A day built steadily is better than one of overexertion.’ It means—”

And so began another one of Audin’s sermons. He was known to be excessively talkative, particularly when it came to topics of faith and the sacred.

Enkrid couldn’t help but wonder: How does Finn put up with this?

“How are things with Finn?” he asked, aiming for the heart of the matter.

“I’m working to convert her,” Audin replied, his tone casual.

So you’re trying to instill religious beliefs in someone you’re pursuing romantically? Somehow, it suited Audin. But from a woman’s perspective, that might be quite insulting.

Still, Finn always seemed cheerful whenever Enkrid saw her.

“In essence, Commander, it’s better to operate within one’s limits rather than pushing recklessly beyond them.”

Audin’s ability to remember Enkrid’s new rank and address him accordingly was impressive.

Enkrid nodded in agreement. It made sense. Lately, he had indeed been pushing himself, training as though he was chasing something elusive.

“Feels like I’m close to catching it, but just can’t quite grasp it.”

The thought lingered in his mind. Swinging his sword, tapping into the Heart of Might—he’d developed an anxious need to push further, to achieve the next breakthrough.

Even if despair and frustration were unfamiliar emotions to him, he couldn’t entirely suppress the urgency in his heart. While he hadn’t completely worn himself out, his mindset had clearly influenced his actions, which in turn shaped his perspective on the world.

It was a good lesson.

“I see,” Enkrid said simply.

“Yes, you do,” Audin replied.

This was one of Enkrid’s greatest strengths: his willingness to recognize wisdom in a few words and immediately acknowledge it.

Though, in this case…

Your conscience must be dead, Audin, for you to bring that up, Enkrid thought. After all, wasn’t Audin the one who constantly tested his own limits under the guise of mastering the Isolation Technique?

“When I do it under my watchful eye, it’s not overexertion—it’s just right,” Audin said, clearly reading Enkrid’s unspoken criticism.

“Lately, I’ve been wondering if my thoughts are too easy to read,” Enkrid muttered.

“Well, you make it easy to see,” Audin replied, grinning.

Enkrid chuckled softly, and Audin joined in.

As they continued their patrol along the gallery, a few soldiers they passed saluted.

“Just an informal patrol,” Enkrid said. “No need to pay attention to me.”

The city was calm. It was safe. No matter what transpired beyond its walls, these fortifications would stand strong to protect its people.

“Love your city,” someone had once said.

Enkrid stood atop the gallery, gazing down at the city cloaked in shadows, the moonlight behind him. The hum of summer insects filled the air, tickling his ears.

Love it? he mused. Maybe not.

At the very least, he wouldn’t stand by and watch as its people perished before his eyes.

Protect the weak.

It was the foundational tenet of knighthood, the phrase often spoken first in any discourse on chivalry.

Some dismissed it as an excuse for knights to justify wielding their power.

But to have power and not use it properly? That’s just being a brute.

Enkrid’s dream was not to become a brute. The moonlight warmed him as he reflected on his path. He didn’t believe he could become a true knight overnight.

There was still a long road ahead.

There was still Will. And still so much to learn.

Before advancing further, though, he needed time to master what he already possessed. While he never neglected his earlier teachings, the recent acquisition of new techniques demanded refinement.

There’s room for improvement, he decided.

Lost in the moonlit reverie, his ears suddenly perked up.

“There’s something out there,” Audin said, his tone sharp and alert.

Moments later, the air filled with a pungent stench. Something large leapt onto the wall, landing with a thud.

“Graaaaahhh!”

A deafening roar echoed, a mix of beastly and monstrous tones. The sound carried a palpable force that rattled the nerves of anyone who heard it.

“Ah… ah!”

A soldier standing closest to the source froze, paralyzed by the beast’s cry.

Before Enkrid could react, a figure dashed through the moonlight—a bear, nimble and quick.

It was Audin.

“Krrah!”

Their opponent: a manticore.

A high-tier beast, the manticore was a monster with the body of a lion, the tail of a scorpion, and the head of a feral predator. Its roar alone was enough to bind its prey in terror.

A mere graze from its venomous tail would spell certain death. Even a well-trained company was advised not to engage such a creature recklessly.

Manticores were nothing like the lower-tier hyena beasts; they were a different class of monstrosity altogether. To an ordinary soldier, such a creature was a living nightmare.

“Hey, kitty, if you keep making noise like that at night, you’re going to wake everyone up,” Audin said with a calm, almost soothing tone.

The absurdity of his words contrasted with the beast before him, as if the manticore had been reduced to nothing more than a house cat in his presence.

The manticore visibly lowered its posture upon seeing Audin, its ferocity seemingly muted.

Audin raised his hands in a relaxed stance, palms partially open, thumbs pointing toward himself. His demeanor was tranquil, almost inviting.

Meanwhile, Enkrid grabbed the frozen soldier by the collar and pulled him back.

“Take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Move your fingers first, one at a time,” he instructed.

“Yes, sir!” the soldier stammered, managing to regain some control.

Manticores possessed an innate ability to paralyze their prey with their cries. Enkrid calmly recited the steps to break free from its grip.

On the gallery above, another soldier clutched a whistle, preparing to blow it.

“Wait,” Enkrid said, stopping him with a firm glance.

Sounding the alarm would only draw the manticore’s attention, potentially turning the soldier into its target. Even in his terrified state, the soldier obeyed, refraining from blowing the whistle.

“Fall back,” Enkrid ordered, moving the soldiers away from the manticore’s range.

The manticore sprang forward, slicing through the moonlight with its claws. It was fast—remarkably so.

Its movements left faint afterimages as its powerful limbs propelled it forward. Enkrid’s eyes tracked every motion.

Audin, its target, narrowly dodged the manticore’s swiping claws and retaliated with a precise left hook.

Ah…

Enkrid couldn’t help but marvel at the perfect counter. The movement mirrored the principles of a technique he had recently learned:

“Step back to draw your opponent into your space. Twist your body to create an opening, then strike. Predict their attack, and the counter becomes effortless.”

The teachings of Lua Gharne overlapped with Audin’s flawless execution.

Audin’s fist connected squarely with the manticore’s face.

Boom!

The sound echoed like a drumbeat, reverberating through the air. The manticore stumbled back, its body sliding across the ground.

“Graaaahhh!”

It let out a pained howl, a cry of frustration and agony.

Audin, unbothered, tilted his head.

“You’ve been naughty. Time for a lesson.”

And with that, the bear-like man transformed into a patient teacher scolding a wayward child.

The child, of course, happened to be a high-tier beast capable of tearing apart an entire company.

The incongruity was almost laughable, but for Audin, it was just another day of training—and discipline.

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