WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

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A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 637: Winter and Spring

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A child who sees something fascinating is easily drawn in.

All the more so when it connects to something they loved from the very beginning.

From childhood, Sinar had enjoyed watching refined iron. More precisely, she had loved watching iron transform as it was refined.

Every step of the process where fire met metal stirred her curiosity.

As a child, Sinar was drunk on fire the way someone might be drunk on wine, completely absorbed.

"What's so great about this? Come on, let's go look at the flowers or find Bran."

Her sister was more ordinary by comparison. Like other children, she wandered among flowers and lay in the grass until the scent of it soaked into her skin.

For elves, letting the smell of grass into your body was one of the most important things there was.

You lay among the grass, breathed in the flowers, and watched the wings of bees and butterflies carrying pollen. In the spaces between those quiet hours, you played with elves who were both friends and teachers and learned wisdom from them. That was what growing up meant for an elf.

Elf society preferred slow, patient understanding over rigid apprenticeship, even if it took longer.

You learned what needed to be done and practiced what had to be done inside a life of play and leisure.

Because their lifespans differed so vastly from humans, that approach had developed naturally.

After that came the learning of emotional restraint, and with that came adulthood.

"Is that actually fun?"

Her sister asked with a pout. She was still a young elf, too early in life for emotional restraint, and that rawness showed.

"When I stare at it long enough, it feels like it could become anything."

Sinar answered. The hammer moved almost before her words finished.

Tang.

The hammer struck the iron. In the elf city, there was a particular family dedicated to working metal.

They were the family that forged Naidhl, the leaf swords.

Before being recognized as a craftsman, there was a training process of making single-edged blades and various weapons and tools, and the one Sinar was watching was still in the middle of that training.

"If you stand too close, sparks will fly."

One of the apprentices said it.

His name was Aden.

Sinar's first love.

Looking back, she was never quite sure whether she had loved Aden or the fire he worked with, but the young Sinar had believed she loved him. It was a time when she had no idea how to hide what she felt.

"Then don't let them fly."

"Fire doesn't move the way I want it to."

"That's exactly why you're still an apprentice."

"That sounds like quite the challenge."

Aden was close to Sinar in age, though the one clear fact was that Sinar had been born first. Still, there was no culture among elves of counting years and sorting siblings the way humans did.

Aden's manner of speaking was twice as mature as Sinar's.

Was that maturity from handling fire? Or was it simply who he was?

She wasn't especially curious about the answer.

Sinar had been born into the royal family, but among elves a king was a representative or guardian who stood for all other elves, not someone who could do as they pleased.

In some ways the position carried obligation and responsibility without any particular benefit.

There were no rigid hierarchies defined by authority. Still, every elf knew she was of royal blood.

"Lady Kirhais. Why not go get permission from the flowers, weave their bodies into a crown, and enjoy the smell of the grass?"

That was why Aden made jokes like that. Sinar answered with a snort.

For a young elf, rolling around among flowers and grass was something like a human splashing around in warm water. The difference was only that elves enjoyed it far more.

In that sense, Sinar was a remarkably unusual elf.

Even Aden, whose entire livelihood was fire, spent his rest time watching swarms of bees move through flowers and grass, yet she had always preferred watching flames to rolling in the meadow.

"What's so interesting about that?"

Her sister muttered. It was a careless age. The sister drifted off to her own business, leaving without any pressure on Sinar to follow. As was common in elf society, everyone believed the moment would come when each person found the meaning of their own life.

After waving her sister off, Sinar asked Aden a question.

"Do you know what Igniculus is?"

Tang! Tang!

The loud ring of metal came a few times before Aden, dripping sweat in front of the brazier, answered.

"Is there an elf who wouldn't?"

Being an elf did not mean you could smelt iron by moonlight alone.

Of course they had braziers and had to work with fire and needed fuel to burn.

Woodguards provided the fuel, and the sap of the tree elves along with the firewood they made kept flames burning for months without going out, one of the mysteries of the forge's craft.

And then there was Igniculus.

It seemed like a word bound to the brazier and the craftsman's family.

In the language of the continent, it meant spark or flash.

Elves lived long lives, and most of them moved like a quiet melody, without dramatic rises or falls, calm and steady.

Igniculus, literally translated, referred to a period that blazed like fire. For some elves that might be love, and for others it might be the drive to push toward a goal.

Elves who took everything slowly still burned alive in that moment. During that time, an elf could grow and change.

Like iron transformed inside a brazier under the hammer, some elves called it a time of change.

It was before the learning of emotional restraint. Sinar liked the word.

Igniculus. Spark.

So she decided that the sword she would one day receive would not be a Naidhl but a Needle Blade. A sword for wielding sparks.

Yes, that was how it had been.

Then came the day. Something approached the child drunk on fire, saying it wanted to be her secret friend.

It first came as warmth.

Nobody had known, so nobody had prepared.

Because nobody had prepared, nobody could react.

Whoosh.

"Want to play with me?"

The flame spoke.

An orange fire blazed in the air. Anyone would have taken it for a fire spirit.

Some among elves could commune with spirits, and Sinar had been drunk on fire since she was small. So perhaps this seemed like nothing unusual. That was what everyone thought.

"How odd."

After learning emotional restraint, her sister's tone had grown much quieter. The same was true for Sinar.

"Yes. I thought so too."

When Sinar told the others about the flame, her sister had said exactly that. The warmth became a friend. And one day that friend became a raging blaze.

The friend that had come as warmth transformed into the catastrophe of fire.

It burned everything. Her people, her friends, even the city where she had been born and raised.

Graaah!

The acrid smell of burning Woodguards rose and pierced her nose. Sinar would never forget that smell for the rest of her life. To elves, that smell was no different from the smell of burning flesh. When Dryads burned, a smell like scorched grass spread in all directions.

Hell's gates had opened in the elf city.

"Aden."

"I'll hold it."

Aden, who had by then become a craftsman who worked with fire, drew a sword and charged.

The demon wrapped in flame like a garment struck Aden down and killed him.

Fire that charred the entire body black before blisters even had a chance to form.

An elf's death carried the mingled smell of burning grass, flowers, and wood all at once.

"Custos Acitos Responsum."

An elf who wielded spirits stepped forward and tried to stop the flames, but it was useless.

Water was thrown like rain, but the fire would not die down. Tragedy and despair fell over the elf city.

Sinar watched the fire eat the city.

Five Woodguards burned. Bran's body was half-burned in that place as well, though he barely survived.

The giant made of fire lifted its head. Something five times the size of an ordinary elf looked over those standing before it.

"I will withdraw because I see you, who played with me. From now on I will build my dwelling here, so children of wood and flower, let us live together going forward. I am the being you call a demon."

The demon spoke, wearing the mask of warmth and affection. It did exactly as it said and made its nest in a corner of the city.

Which elf it had called its friend was obvious to everyone.

"It's a curse."

Restraining emotions and knowing no lies did not mean the heart was righteous and unbreakable. A few elves whose hearts had shattered blamed Sinar.

They were elves who had lost children, friends, and lovers. Sinar could not blame them. More precisely, at that time she could not even think to.

She could not understand most of what was happening.

Why? How had this come to be?

"It is not your fault."

Her father cut it off cleanly and said it was not.

"Yes, this is simply our responsibility."

Her mother said it. No. It had happened because of her own obsession with fire.

There was a time when self-blame tore her apart inside. There were years when she lost her voice and did not open her mouth.

Kirhais.

If you translated the name, it was said to mean protection.

Sinar's parents carried the responsibility of driving the demon from their city. Her father had wielded a bow and her mother a sword, and that year her mother became an elf knight through the technique of wielding vital energy.

"My daughter. It is not your fault."

Her mother repeated the same words she said every day, then drew her sword.

Where had the demon that burned everything come from? Unknown.

But the reason that demon had come seemed to be Sinar. Everyone said so, and Sinar herself felt it, so it seemed like the truth.

"Cursed elf."

"Get out."

Once an elf's heart broke, the accusations did not stop.

And her father and mother, who had left to kill the demon, never came back.

"Sinar, you don't have to live like this. Do you understand? Not one thing that happened here is your fault."

Her sister told her to set down the burden of duty, then picked up a sword and learned the technique of wielding vital energy.

In the middle of a calm and quiet life, a spark flies.

The moment that flashes like a flame: Igniculus.

Her sister's name was Naira Kirhais, and she had struck the spark of talent.

That was how her sister became an elf knight and left to kill the demon, and failed.

Sinar had no affinity for spirits. All that remained was training the body.

Even her technique of wielding vital energy was pitifully weak at that point.

"It's because of you. Everything is because of you."

The grievances of broken elves stabbed through her skin and branded themselves on her organs.

Her father, her mother, her sister were dead.

The demon had made the Labyrinth, and her sister's sword stood planted at its entrance.

Naidhl.

It had been Naira's spring sword. Her sister had been an elf who was truly like spring. Like the embodiment of flowers and the smell of grass. Sinar recovered Naira's sword.

"You have no duty here. Go out and live your own life."

"Once you leave, it's over."

"Don't do something foolish, Sinar."

"Let us place the shackles of duty."

"Blaming changes nothing. What matters is what comes next."

"The demon has demanded a bride."

"Sinar?"

"It said it wanted a different elf."

"Absolutely not."

Many words passed back and forth. Sinar had no words to answer with. She only reminded herself of her duty.

Inside all of that, there was no room for personal dreams, hopes, or wishes.

Kill the demon.

The next elf to become a knight was Arjila. She led what remained of the city's fighting strength into the Labyrinth to destroy the demon.

Sinar was among them. She went into the Labyrinth and saw the demon.

"So it's you."

Those were the demon's words upon seeing her. She understood firsthand how terrifying a monster that could reason truly was.

"If you run, I will hunt down whatever remains one by one, torture them to death, and send them to you as gifts. I will tear out their eyes, pull out their fingernails, flay their skin, kill them, and deliver them to you in a box. So run. The thought of the moment I finally track you down and hand you that gift box fills me with a thrilling ecstasy. Yes, if you find that unpleasant, you might seek another way, but what that would be, even I don't know."

A demon's whisper is cruel. Harsh and wicked and vicious.

"What I want is for you to become my companion."

Even if that whisper was full of lies, Sinar had no choice.

Then the demon shifted into flame and whispered like a friend.

"I have thought of a way to save you. Bring me a companion. Bring me someone to take your place."

A way to substitute for duty. A means to buy time.

Sinar had to find a new companion and hand them over to the demon.

If not that, then throwing away her own stubborn life was all she could do to give the remaining elves some reprieve.

Sinar was not a fool.

Even if she went to the Courtship Demon's side, there was no chance it would let the remaining elves live.

Which meant all she could offer was reprieve. Even so, she had no choice. Despair descended and wrapped around her shoulders, coiling around her.

Inside the tangle of despair, Sinar tried to find a way.

She left the city and began a journey to find a companion.

To be honest, she had no real intention of finding one. Pulling out her truest feelings and saying it plainly, she might have simply wanted a brief pleasure.

Going to the demon's side and dancing one last dance with it before the end, she may have wanted to leave behind at least one memory.

If she brought a companion, the demon would have enjoyed watching her grief. If she came back without one, drowning in despair, it would have enjoyed that too.

That was why it had given her the chance to go out.

During that time outside, within the reprieve the demon had granted, she was lucky enough to make memories.

"Who is the commander of Squad 444?"

She remembered the moment she first saw him.

His name was Enkrid.

At first, just a slightly unusual human.

A human worth watching.

A human whose ambitions made no sense at all.

Watching that human push forward had been a pleasure.

"Be careful around fire."

Because flames have a way of burning everything.

At those words Enkrid would tilt his head, then show the look of someone mildly put out by his own joke.

Time passed. The moment approached when the reprieve the demon had given was running out. Sinar had no choice.

"Are you really sure you don't want to marry me?"

She already knew Enkrid's answer. Refusal. And truthfully, even if he had been willing, she would have refused him.

I cannot get this man killed.

Which meant she had nothing to offer the demon to draw its gaze away. All that remained was accepting the demon's proposal.

Twenty years at most, five years at least.

She would become the demon's bride. When it tired of her, it would chew through her to the bone.

Wait for that moment.

A hard, settled resolve was like Will. The blade of determination does not break. The only fight left was enduring until the day that blade was needed.

Something like regret would come, and with it the murmur of an evil spirit, and waves of sorrow would follow.

Emotional restraint meant her heart should not be swayed so easily, but the moment she faced the man standing before her, her heart lurched like a small boat caught in a storm. A small boat meeting waves could capsize at any moment and no one would find it strange.

Then Enkrid's voice cut cleanly through her thoughts.

"The fact that you've lived long doesn't make today any different from any other day."

"Yes. You're right."

Sinar agreed.

The way of life elves had pursued was not wrong.

But if a crisis was approaching, you had to move to meet it.

You knew an arrow was coming, and you stood still and waited to be hit? You'd lived with ease all this time, so even seeing the arrow, you should do the same?

That was wrong.

If you knew, you had to dodge or block immediately.

When the demon's existence was recognized, they should have thrown everything into fighting it right then and there.

I fell into habit.

The elf city had lived a life that had nothing to do with the Cursed Ground. They had lived quietly and comfortably with only the minimum of constraints. And that kind of life had stripped the elves of any sense of urgency.

That should not have been how it was.

They should have lived like fire. Like flames.

They should have fought as Igniculus, as sparks.

The clear-headed process of looking back at all of it was something she had only been able to do after meeting Enkrid.

Drowning and burning alive at the same moment in a lake made of flame, that had been her life. When she finally found room to breathe, understanding expanded on its own.

That's how I got here.

She would fight as a spark. She raised the blade of her Will.

But for a spark to burn, something has to set it off.

You could call it fate, or you could call it Will. That kind of catalyst.

If you believed in fate, you would wait for that moment to arrive.

If you believed in Will, you would pull that moment toward you yourself.

Sinar had steadied her will, then met Enkrid as if by fate, and struck her spark.

In the time she spent with him, she burned and awakened her vital energy.

Now she had been about to hold her breath and wait, carrying that spark within her.

I could have put it all off.

She had deceived herself rather well, telling herself she wanted nothing in particular.

But here was someone against whom none of that deception worked at all.

"Was being together not enjoyable?"

Enkrid asked again.

Persistent man.

Without meaning to, Sinar found herself smiling. Rising memories filled her mind.

Friends burned to death in fire. The city. Her father, her mother, her sister, all of whom had died for her sake.

On top of that darkness, Enkrid cut in. Rem said something absurd, Ragna got lost, Audin prayed.

Krais grumbled, Teresa sang.

On one side Ropord and Fell argued, and Ruagarne stood beside Enkrid, rolling those bulging Frog eyes so particular to her kind.

Memories like a roof keeping out a dark rain.

Yes. Watching you become a knight had been a joy.

The pointless jokes, drinking tea, eating together, sparring, training, all of it had been a joy.

Sinar said it to herself inside.

You were spring. The only spring in my life, which had been nothing but winter.

That spring spoke.

"What you want to do."

A demand. A kind of tyranny. Say something, anything.

Sinar had come here and seen what the demon had prepared.

It had no vocal organs left now. All that remained was a body capable of cutting apart enemies and shaping Demon Creatures.

So she knew. She could not win. The right thing to do was tell him to go back.

"I want to spar."

But sometimes the body refuses to listen. Sometimes the mouth opens on its own because the longing is too great. Sinar's mouth opened that way.

"I want to sit by a campfire and make pointless jokes."

The wishes she had kept in her heart came out through her lips.

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