A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 465

WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

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A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 465: Walking With the City at His Back

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"Why aren't you part of the knight order?"

Romen's question was a fair one.

Whoosh.

The word came with action. He swept the greatsword resting on his shoulder straight down in a vertical arc.

The blunt blade stopped just in front of Enkrid's nose. Enkrid did not flinch. He felt no killing intent whatsoever, so he simply watched.

"Either everyone in the capital has gone blind, or there's something else you want for yourself."

Aoara's end had been what she desired. Romen knew that.

He also knew that the one who had made that end possible was not himself, but this man.

No hesitation.

The greatsword he had swung to block Enkrid's path had settled his resolve. He flipped the blade and drove it point-down into the earth. The thud carried through the ground and resonated in the chest.

With everyone watching, under the harsh glare of the sun, Romen spoke.

"My name is Romen. I will not forget this debt. When you call, even if it is in the heart of the Cursed Ground, I will plant my sword at your side. This is separate from the knight order's position, and mine alone to keep."

There was Will in Romen's words. What he said now was a vow he would carry even after becoming a knight.

The Will behind the words was remarkable enough, but the content was more remarkable still. It was the same as saying he would entrust his life.

A covenant to fight and die for Enkrid, at least once.

"What are you basing that on?"

Enkrid asked, a little stunned.

If he harbored even a shred of ill intent, Romen would be a dead man.

That vow could become a shackle, one that prevented Romen from ever standing against him.

"It is simply the courtesy owed to the second hero who saved this city. If it does not suit you, forget it and move on."

Romen said it in the way only Romen could.

A gift that was already too much, and then he was told to forget it.

There was a crazy bastard here too.

"Here."

Next was the short-haired blond junior knight. She stepped forward and held out three daggers.

All three were meant for throwing, and Rem's eyes narrowed at the sight of them.

"You, those are..."

"I know. I'm giving them knowing that."

The blond cut Rem off.

Three daggers were placed in Enkrid's hands. When he picked them up and felt their weight, something brushed faintly against his sixth sense.

The kind of thing he would never have noticed if that sense hadn't been open.

"Treasure those. Don't throw them carelessly."

Rem said from the side, as if adding his endorsement.

"I hope they serve you well on your path."

The blond added.

Shouldn't she at least explain how to use them if she was handing over something like this?

"They will become your strength in the form you need, at the moment you need it."

That was the answer to the questioning look.

Dark circles sat under the blond's eyes. She looked exhausted. And these two were not all.

"There is no one in this city who doesn't know what you did."

It was Millio. He ran a hand over his own closely cropped hair.

He looked ready to take monastic vows, it was that short.

"If you're thinking of entering a monastery, want me to write a recommendation?"

Enkrid said it as a joke when he noticed, and Millio stopped mid-sentence and gave a small laugh. He raised his left hand.

"What, did you think I'd spend my whole life alone with Lady Left Hand while pining for Knight Aoara? No chance. I'm going to find a woman ten times prettier and a better fighter than her."

Millio said it with a coarse laugh and a bold ambition to match.

No such woman existed. Aoara had been someone special, and to Millio more than most.

Even in death, she had left this much behind.

Enkrid knew it and respected the dream anyway.

"Keep at it. Don't give up no matter what anyone says."

It was the same advice he had given when Millio said he wanted to be Aoara's partner.

"I will."

The Millio who used to ask whether he seemed hopeless was gone now.

Millio nodded. The quiet smile on his face was good to see.

He would join the knight order as a Squire and press forward without wavering.

The will to live that way poured from every part of him. Resolve, conviction, call it what you will. Something like the manifestation of a will that had no physical form.

To Enkrid, Millio's resolve looked almost tangible.

A wall, solid and unyielding. That was the kind of man Millio would become.

"Demon Creatures sometimes leave behind something special in certain parts."

Enkrid was watching quietly when Millio spoke again.

Humans differed from person to person. Dwarves and elves were no different.

Would Giants be any different?

He had never seen a Dragonkin, but they would be the same.

Frog was a species where individual differences were plain to see.

Demon Creatures were similar.

That was how Ghoul Jerix had come to be, and the spider that walked on two legs and wielded eight arms, and an Owlbear with the strength to kill a junior knight.

After killing all of them, byproducts remained. And among those byproducts, some were special.

What Millio handed over was something made by weaving those special pieces together. The bow was about arm's length.

"It's made from ghoul hide, thread drawn from the spider, and owlbear bone."

A composite bow. No ordinary labor of love.

Smoke had been rising without pause for days, and this was why. Even having every craftsman in Thousand Bricks who was considered a master converge on the work had not been enough, so they had spent nights awake in shifts, pouring everything they had into it.

"Please accept it."

Millio offered the bow with both hands. Enkrid took the unstrung bow.

It looked easy enough to carry by attaching a cord at the bottom and tying it to his back or waist.

This was not the end.

"A breastplate made from spider shell."

The blacksmiths who had said they were too busy to sell so much as a single dagger.

They came forward carrying a breastplate they had all put their hands to.

On the surface it looked like black leather, but fine black bristles covered it densely all over.

When he touched it, it felt less like bristles and more like steel cores packed into the material.

An ordinary sword or spear would not punch through it.

After the breastplate came shoulder guards and bracers as well.

All the same material. The craftsmen handing them over all had bright faces. Fatigue was clear on them, but they smiled with visible satisfaction.

"Thank you."

A female soldier bowed her head.

"I salute you for preserving our Master's pride."

Squire Oliver said.

"If anyone speaks ill of you, I will personally hunt them down and put my fist in their mouth."

The Squire known as a brawler said it with a hearty laugh. His eyes filled with tears as he spoke.

The friend who was always known as a brawler had been crying every day since Aoara died. Crying was not proof of a weak heart.

Being able to cry in front of others sometimes takes tremendous courage.

In terms of tears, this Squire could have brought down a Demon Lord.

"If I have a son, I'll name him Enkrid. If I have a daughter, I'll name her Aoara."

Squad leader Admore, Rowena's man, said it.

The people standing at the gate had quietly gathered around Enkrid's group.

"There's no need to go that far with the names."

Enkrid said it from the center of them without a trace of a smile, and Admore scratched his head.

Enkrid looked at him and said, "A wager. Stand at the front in the next Wave too. If you do, name them however you like."

The Cursed Ground was not as threatening as it once was. Aoara's sword had cut through it.

"Deal."

Admore dropped his hand and answered boldly.

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

Rowena gave him a light scolding from beside him. When her eyes met Enkrid's, she bowed her head.

"Thank you."

Rowena said it. Everyone said it.

"To the second hero who protected this city."

Enkrid had never said what he had done. But one thing was clear.

With his whole heart, with everything he had, he had fought not merely to repeat today, but to give a knight's pride a worthy end.

He had not fought for himself.

So there was nothing to claim credit for.

He had not wanted a today that meant nothing going into tomorrow. He had wanted a today where one knight could make a fine ending.

"Was that your best?"

the Boatman asked.

No answer was needed.

No one could make every single day their best.

But looking back on days already gone would not stop him either.

Here, now, the people before him were living the same way.

They too were walking toward tomorrow.

"Well then."

At Enkrid's brief farewell, the crowd parted.

And so he left the city.

"Enki!"

Someone called it out first.

"Enki!"

The cheer burst from behind, standing in for Aoara.

Enkrid looked back once, then set his direction west and walked.

The road west.

It was a fine day. The damp air had lifted, and the fog of the Cursed Ground melted softly in the sunlight.

And so Enkrid and his companions turned their backs on the city of Aoara, born from the death of Knight Aoara.

* * *

The hour of dawn, when the blue of early morning is pushed back by the first light. Or the orange world ruled by the setting sun.

The hour when you cannot tell a dog from a wolf.

That was Enkrid's favorite time in the world. Why?

Even if someone asked him plainly, he could not give a clear reason.

Because it is the moment a new day begins?

Or because realizations often came to him at that hour?

That might be it.

When that time came, his mood shifted, his drive surged, and a feeling of elation rose in him.

That was why he preferred clear days to rainy ones.

Sunlight, dawn, wind, flowers. Useless things like those gave him a lift, and he had always enjoyed that feeling.

In that sense, some rainy days had their own appeal.

Either way, enjoying the brightness and letting it stoke his will, all of those accumulated experiences had probably made him love this moment, this particular hour.

Orange filled the world.

They had moved southwest along the gray forest of the Cursed Ground, passed through a bog breathing out poison, headed further south, then turned west.

The open land they found after all of that.

The horizon was visible in the distance. As the sun tucked itself below the line, the world turned orange.

Even now, Enkrid had found a new understanding.

Rem is human too.

Someone like Rem had things he feared. He hid it, but it had shown briefly. And Rem was not the type to let any crack show.

Rem was a man of reckless courage who never backed down against any Demon Creature.

"Have I mastered Heart of the Beast? No need. This body has carried beast blood since the day I was born."

The memory came back, of him baring his fangs and boasting.

Very different from how he had looked just now.

"You're really coming with me?"

Everything about his tone, his eyes, all of it said Enkrid did not have to come along.

That he did not need to follow, did not need to tag along, that he would be better off heading back.

"Absolutely."

Enkrid took the same posture of resolve he had seen in Romen.

Dragonkin were said to use word-bonds?

He wanted to use one now.

Absolutely. Without fail. No matter what.

He put all of that into his gaze. Rem's pupils wavered.

"I'm coming."

"Me too."

"And I."

Enkrid spoke, Dunbakel followed, and Ruagarne put the period on it.

Rem met each of the three in turn with his eyes.

The wavering in his pupils vanished, and his sharp eyes seemed to carry killing intent, but Enkrid read the fear buried deep inside them.

What on earth are you afraid of?

"It won't be fun. Might be unpleasant too."

Rem said at last.

"I'm not going for fun. The west piques my curiosity, so I'm going."

Enkrid said as he walked.

"Sure it is."

Rem was no fool. He read what Enkrid was actually thinking. He figured Enkrid saw it as a chance to tease him.

"I warned you."

"Warning received."

Dunbakel cut in and got the axe handle across the head for it.

Rem had extended his left foot and swung his right hand to draw her attention, then swung the axe in his left hand without a care. Not especially fast, but clever.

The hand raised over his head traced a gentle arc, and Dunbakel had only watched his right hand, so she took the hit square on the crown of her skull.

Thwack!

"Ow!"

A gentle arc did not mean any lack of force behind it.

More than enough to sting.

He sometimes felt like Rem was stronger than himself, Enkrid thought.

Anyway, if Dunbakel could work out what was woven into the move Rem had just shown and block it or dodge it, she would have grown another step.

That was beyond her right now, though.

It was the crown-strike, similar to Jaxon's bloodless thrust.

A method a bit too refined to waste on hitting an annoying Beastfolk.

Enkrid noticed anew that the shape of that technique was visible to his eye, and that he could break apart what Rem had just woven into it and examine each piece.

Another realization.

That was why.

He had not followed along to the west for no reason.

One of those reasons was Rem's reaction, but there were other purposes too.

"There's something in Sorcery where you pray and wish for something and accept cutting your own lifespan to make it. Those daggers are that kind of thing. She didn't literally give up her lifespan, it seems more like she put in the karma she had built up over time. She may never be able to use Sorcery again after this, which could matter just as much as a lifespan, are you listening?"

Rem had been in the middle of explaining. It was about the daggers the short blond had given.

Enkrid had asked about them a moment ago but was now clearly not listening, and Rem's brow furrowed.

"Crazy bastard, I swear."

He muttered it.

Fighting spirit bloomed thick from Enkrid's whole body.

The will to fight had taken form as Pressure, pressing down on everything around him.

Rem smiled at it showing itself, even though Enkrid was not yet a knight.

The crazy captain's body had fully healed.

His own as well.

Both of them were whole again.

The Lewes Iron axe had shattered past use, so he had brought two ordinary hand-axes in its place.

Weapons were a little lacking, but it would not matter.