Eternally Regressing Knight

“Really, anytime, anytime at all, just come by—no, you’re welcome anytime. No, I insist. Have you married? Oh, that’s fine too, perfect. Yes, anytime, anytime you’d like. You’re welcome to settle down here. My daughter’s quite pretty; living together, hmm, that sounds good. Don’t you think?”

The village chief, thoroughly drunk, repeated what sounded like the same line for the 19th time, and his equally intoxicated neighbor nodded in agreement without hesitation.

With each bob of his head, food crumbs tumbled out of the man’s thick, unkempt beard.

“Yes, yes, of course, absolutely,” the neighbor said, voice slurred and agreeable.

Anyone could tell they were both thoroughly drunk.

The chief seemed to lose his composure completely when tipsy.

Enkrid had once caught a brief glimpse of the chief’s daughter. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen. A child.

While early marriages were a tradition in the west, they weren’t common in the central regions. It was clear this was drunken nonsense.

“Hahaha!”

The chief and his bearded companion, laden with food, staggered away with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders.

Enkrid silently watched them fade into the crowd.

Whenever a village overcame a crisis, it inevitably celebrated with a festival.

Whether or not the Border Guard’s blacksmith was a sorcerer, when Enkrid had killed the cultist, Ruagarne had shaken her head.

Was there any reason to let him live?

When he had cast her a questioning glance, she replied simply, “He’s already dead. It’s stopped.”

The cultist’s end had come from cardiac arrest.

The beasts, upon regaining their senses, scattered in retreat.

The few remaining ones attacked but didn’t require Enkrid’s intervention.

A quick whistle of an arrow through the air saw to the rest, landing squarely in the skull of the nearest beast.

“We’ve won!”

“We’ve protected our home!”

Cheers and shouts of joy echoed through the air, mixed with the triumphant cries of the survivors.

And somewhere among them, his name rang out.

“Enkrid!”

It seemed every villager now knew his name, calling it out with gratitude and celebration. The voices of those saved, of those who had seen his back in the heat of battle.

It wasn’t a bad feeling.

Enkrid sheathed his sword, turned away from the sound of cheers, and began walking.

Through the crowd.

Through the swelling excitement of a village beginning to breathe again.

“Long live Enkrid’s Wall!”

An odd chant drifted to his ears.

Apparently, the name was unanimously decided by a stubborn construction worker, endorsed with a nod by the chief, and even considered appropriate by Deutsch Pulman, the captain of the guard and an aspiring future powerbroker of the city.

“Naming a wall, huh.”

It wasn’t bad, to be honest. He figured it was probably half a joke anyway.

And so went the night when they defeated the beasts and monsters.

The village chief brought out all the remaining food in the village, and everyone ate and drank together.

Enkrid joined in, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivity.

“Another drink?”

He accepted the cup of alcohol handed to him by Finn and took a sip. It was good.

The apple cider had a pleasant balance of sweetness and tartness that blended harmoniously with the distinct flavor of the alcohol, filling his mouth with rich taste.

“Good, isn’t it?”

The man who spoke had a scruffy beard that looked as though a rat had chewed on it.

Though his face and name were unfamiliar, the man grinned broadly and asked again, eager for an answer. Enkrid nodded.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“That’s my pride and joy.”

The scruffy-bearded man puffed up his chest. He was evidently the cider maker.

“This one’s been saved for a special occasion, but I’ll give it to you.”

Though his speech was rough, the emotion behind it wasn’t. He offered the cider with gratitude.

“Because of you.”

It was his shortened way of saying, “Because of you, we’re alive.” The cider he presented was different from what the others were drinking, something special.

With a pop, the bottle was opened. Enkrid took a sip.

Hmm.

It was different.

The flavor, the taste, the aroma—everything was different. The scent of apples lingered at his nose, while a savory richness deepened with each sip. A sweet, velvety taste wrapped around his tongue, compelling him to drink more.

It was the first time Enkrid had ever tasted alcohol like this.

“This seems like a rare drink.”

“It was meant for when my daughter got married.”

The cider had a bit of history behind it.

When he asked if it was really okay to share something so special, the man replied,

“There’s still one bottle left.”

He laughed brightly as he spoke. Despite his rat-like beard, his laughter was pure and genuine, radiating simple joy.

“Come here, greet him too.”

The cider maker soon brought his wife over to meet Enkrid. She was beautiful.

They say talented people marry beauties, and it seemed the saying was true.

“Enjoy it.”

After a brief introduction, Enkrid continued savoring the cider.

Throughout the night, the village chief, Deutsch Pulman, and many others stopped by Enkrid’s side, sitting down for a moment before moving on.

The villagers had laid out a large platform in the village square, turning the celebration into an impromptu festival.

“We’ll commemorate this day every year—how about calling it Enkrid’s Day?”

Did they have to name everything?

“What’s in a name, anyway?”

Someone countered, and others nodded in agreement.

They decided to commemorate this day, marking the start of summer every year.

Would they actually go through with it? Enkrid sipped his cider, watching them idly.

The village chief, drunk, kept repeating himself.

Meanwhile, the chief’s wife boasted that in two years, their daughter would grow into a beauty that could charm the entire city.

“Doesn’t seem likely.”

The chief’s daughter was just an ordinary child. She was so shy that she couldn’t even approach Enkrid to talk to him.

Instead, a brazen little rascal came up to him and boldly demanded to serve under his command.

“Take down five of Deutsch Pulman’s militia members and come back,” Enkrid replied.

The kid looked determined.

“Consider it done!”

And then promptly went to pick a fight with a drunken militia member, only to get a flick on the forehead that sent him running away in tears.

Trying to act grown-up, but still the kind of kid who might wet his bed at night.

Still, there was something endearing about his bravado. In a tough world, even such dreams felt admirable, and Enkrid quietly cheered for him.

“Thanks to you are in order.”

Deutsch Pulman seemed to have a strong tolerance for alcohol. He didn’t seem to get drunk easily.

Though his nose was slightly red, his words were clear, and his tongue wasn’t slurring. He silently tipped back his glass a few times before grumbling,

“He said I couldn’t have anything like this.”

Cursing the cider maker, he then added,

“If you ever need a glaive, just call for me. I’ll dance on the edge of a blade and swear it.”

It was a mercenary’s vow—a solemn promise to answer the call, no matter what.

Dancing on the edge of a blade—poetic and resolute.

“To dancing on the blade’s edge.”

For the first time in a long while, Enkrid exchanged the mercenary’s greeting.

“Until next time.”

With that simple farewell, Deutsch got up and left.

Enkrid took another sip of the cider.

Even after a few drinks, his head wasn’t foggy.

Nor did he feel like picking up his sword and swinging it wildly again.

The battles had already been replayed in his mind enough times.

“Resting is important, brother.”

For some reason, Audin’s words came to mind.

Enkrid agreed. Rest was always important.

And if today could be that one rare day in the year to truly rest, it would be a good thing.

With that thought, he ate and drank.

One of the militia members, who was an excellent hunter, had caught a deer somewhere. They roasted it whole, and the one who prepared it did an excellent job.

The meat was tender, with barely any gamey smell.

The seasoning was perfect—not too much, not too little.

“Phew, if I go back and tell them about this, will anyone believe me?”

Finn, who was moderately drunk, approached and said.

“What?”

“The massacre of beasts, the madman’s dance with twin swords.”

When drunk, Finn showed the makings of a bard.

Chuckling to herself, Finn wandered off to another part of the celebration.

Then Krais appeared, his face flushed from drinking, and jabbed Enkrid in the side.

Enkrid had known Krais was approaching and had felt the jab coming but decided to let it slide.

“Let’s go treasure hunting,” Krais said.

“Sure.”

“No, I mean it! Do you think I’d keep it all for myself? No way! Seriously, you don’t trust me?”

“Sure, let’s go.”

“It’s just half a day away from here, I’m telling you! I’ve got the whole entry plan worked out. Traps? No problem!”

“Sounds great.”

“Don’t you think now’s the time to decide?”

Krais’s eyes burned with enthusiasm. Who’d given this guy so much to drink?

As Enkrid sipped his cider and looked up at the moon, Kraiss blinked his large eyes a few times and asked,

“But what did you just say earlier?”

“Ask tomorrow’s you when you’re sober.”

“Sorry?”

“I said, get lost.”

At first, the crowd was clustered around Enkrid, but as time passed, people drifted away to mingle among themselves.

Watching this, Enkrid thought it was a pleasant sight.

The moonlight bathed everything in a soft glow.

The temperature was comfortable—not too hot.

It wasn’t the season for swarms of insects yet, and northern regions of the continent weren’t known for being bug-infested anyway.

With cider in hand, venison barbecue, and all sorts of special treats brought out from people’s homes—cheeses, smoked meats, and other delicacies—it felt like a feast.

It might seem wasteful to some to use up so much food, but for an occasion like this, what was the harm?

They had eliminated the threat of the colony.

The corpse of the cultist and the remains of the beasts were all laid out outside the village.

The weapons the gnolls had used were purchased by the village at fair prices and paid for in krona.

From tomorrow onward, though, the villagers would be busier than ever.

There would be bodies to dispose of, damaged barricades to repair, stones to haul in from the quarry, and laborers to recruit as the village expanded.

Would they end up absorbing nearby smaller settlements?

It was the usual way.

That’s how frontier villages grew into towns and eventually into cities.

Those with skills would be brought in, even if it meant spending from the village’s coffers.

And so, the village would turn into a fortress.

To build proper walls and possibly even an inner keep, how long would it take?

Without the aid of a mage and relying solely on the craftsmanship of a guild…

“It would still take years,” Enkrid thought.

Add in the construction of a manor and other considerations, and it might take even longer.

But with the mayor’s overflowing enthusiasm, they would find a way.

In a land dominated by beasts and monsters, trade routes were sparse, making external resources hard to come by.

“Everything would have to be done quickly and decisively,” he mused.

It could be done.

Enkrid snapped out of his scattered thoughts and raised his head.

The village square was alive with noise.

Some sang songs, while others strummed lutes.

“That one knows how to play,” he noted, listening keenly to the melodies.

He looked up at the stars scattered across the sky, their patterns resembling someone swinging a sword. His mind wandered with that image when a voice interrupted.

“Aren’t you curious how to gain a will?”

It was Ruagarne. The question came from the spot beside him where Frog had taken a seat.

Enkrid didn’t turn his head or respond.

Ruaagarne spoke again, this time more insistently.

“Why don’t you ask?”

Only then did Enkrid slowly part his lips to answer.

“I’ll know when the time comes.”

Was it complacency? No, it wasn’t that. The man Enkrid had shown himself to be thus far was far from complacent.

Ruagarne didn’t know why he felt this growing impatience but found himself compelled to share. It wasn’t the first time, either.

All this while, he had felt the same desire—to reveal something, to confide.

Unable to resist, she spoke, only to be met with such a calm reaction that it made her want to provoke Enkried even more.

“Do you think you can become a knight?”

“Who knows.”

Another lackluster reply.

A response that felt entirely out of place.

As Enkrid turned his gaze back to the moon, he added,

“A dream—it’s just a dream.”

Short but sharp, like a blade sinking straight into the chest.

Enkrid’s words were like that. Ruagarne placed a hand on the breastplate over his heart.

His left arm was still regenerating, leaving him a one-armed knight for now.

It felt as though the muscles of his heart were tightening.

“That’s how squire knights use will,” Frog said, breaking the comfortable silence. “They channel it into one or two specific movements, almost at random. Even that is no easy feat, but it’s the minimum threshold to surpass one’s limits and enter the realm of the extraordinary. The land beyond mastery.”

Why was Frog suddenly delving into such a topic?

Was it the moonlight? Or perhaps the apple cider?

“Do you get drunk, Frog?” Enkrid asked.

“Sometimes. But not now,” Frog replied, his honesty unwavering.

He continued, without hesitation.

“Right now, I think I’m intoxicated by a man.”

There was no need to ask who that man was. Frog didn’t seem to expect an answer either.

“Squire Aesia was captivated by the idea of a will that could generate momentum,” Frog mused.

A knight was someone who wielded will with mastery.

A squire knight was someone who could use it, even if only in part.

“Even among squires who have glimpsed the use of will, many never become full knights. Most don’t. Do you still wish to be one?”

Was this lengthy explanation just to ask that question?

Regardless, it was helpful.

Enkrid nodded silently, his gaze unwavering.

“You will. You’ll become a knight.”

Dreams once torn to shreds—Enkrid had patched and mended them. Now, they felt closer, almost within his grasp.

Froq gazed intently at Enkrid.

On the surface, there was no trace of burning passion, but having watched Enkrid for this long, Frog could tell.

“A relentless man,” Froq thought.

This was someone who carried a roaring flame deep within, hidden from the world.

And because of that, he was admirable. Beautiful, even.

“If you become a knight, I’ll let myself fall for you,” Frog said.

For Froq’s people, the concept of reproduction and love were entirely separate.

Thus, they could love humans too.

Frog’s love, however, was unlike the human concept. It wasn’t just different; it was an entirely distinct notion.

Their love knew no boundaries, nor did it involve physical attachment.

If the man they loved met another woman, that was fine.

They might even approach that woman, introduce themselves, and seek her understanding.

It was rare for humans to receive Frog’s love.

Such a thing was extraordinary, almost unheard of.

Enkrid, perplexed by Frog’s words, simply stared for a moment before nodding.

“Do as you please.”

His nonchalant response and composure revealed the breadth of his character. Frog found herself liking that about Enkrid even more.

With the moonlight painting the scene, the two shared their drinks.

Then, as if claiming a rightful place, a leopard sauntered into their midst.

It glared at them as if it, too, wanted to join in the revelry.

“Want some?” Enkrid asked.

The leopard opened its mouth wide. The rare apple cider flowed into the feline’s waiting maw.

It swallowed, let out a low rumble, and growled softly.

“Good, huh?” Enkrid asked.

The leopard responded by opening its mouth once more.