A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Audin spoke to the empty air. Though it was a question, his tone and manner were akin to offering a prayer.

Rem picked his nose as he replied.

“Damn it, they’ll figure it out.”

As he answered, Rem thought about it. He had told the Platoon leader, who said his dream was to become a Knight, that it would never come true.

He told Vengeance there was no need to worry, and he believed that, but there was still a lingering sense of unease.

How would he feel if someone said something like that to him?

‘I wouldn’t know.’

It had never happened.

When he was in the West, there were few who could compare to his talent.

He was always the best among them.

So it was a meaningless speculation.

‘He’ll do fine.’

What good does worrying do?

What good does being uneasy do?

Instead of worry and unease, Rem decided to think about how to train the Heart of the Beast.

‘We’ll grind him when he comes back.’

With a renewed determination, he let go of his worries. That made him feel at ease.

Scrape, scrape.

Jaxon absentmindedly moved a dagger along the grain of the wood. It was carving. He was shaping something that jutted out sharply.

As he worked with his hands, Jaxon reflected on Audin’s question.

‘You’ll never be a Knight.’

The weight of the words would vary depending on who said them.

What if it was Frog, who was known to be a talent evaluator, who said it?

‘Would it be a shock?’

By general standards, it would be a shock. It could change one’s life.

What if someone told him that what he wanted now, what he had worked so hard for, was something he could never achieve?

‘I’d probably slit the throat of the person who said it.’

What about Encrid? The Platoon leader?

‘Would he be shaken?’

Scrape.

Jaxon continued carving, deep in thought.

What if the Platoon leader came back and said he was leaving?

‘It might be a relief.’

Then, he could just go his own way.

Scrape, Jaxon steadied himself through carving. It would be a relief, but perhaps a bit disappointing.

Could he really become a Knight?

He was curious to see the outcome. There was a slight curiosity about what the result of his efforts would be.

Lick.

Esther licked her front paw and groomed her fur, imagining someone telling her she couldn’t cast a spell tomorrow.

‘I’d probably set the mouth of the person who said it on fire.’

In her younger days, she would have done so without hesitation.

She lived through days where she occasionally heard people call her a witch.

Worry? Unease? She would recite another spell in that time.

It was a trivial concern.

Even if Encrid left everything and walked away, it wouldn’t matter much to Esther.

What she needed was the power to break the curse that emanated from Encrid, not his sword or combat skills.

She didn’t care about his dreams.

However,

‘It would be a bit of a shame.’

She had never seen someone live with such fervor before, so there was a slight regret. Not that she intended to influence his decision.

She had no intention of appearing in his dreams to persuade him or using her gathered magic to do anything.

‘Still…’

‘Tonight, I think I’ll manifest in his dream.’

She thought about singing the lullaby she had heard when she was very young.

Its melody was soothing to the heart.

The platoon member with a bear-like build, Audin, thought that there was a high probability of change happening to the Platoon leader.

‘Is this, indeed, a necessary event, Lord?’

Perhaps it would be better if he swung his sword without knowing anything.

Even those aspiring to be paladins faced similar trials, and Audin had witnessed it.

When one begins to understand something, when they can feel their own change, that is when the most frightening trial begins.

What does a person feel when they see talents surpassing them?

How would it feel to awaken to being called a late-blooming genius?

Some, filled with envy and jealousy, have left the Lord’s side.

‘Lord, you said you give trials to those who need them. Then, this must be a necessary trial, right? It must be.’

It was a prayer he recited silently.

A subtle silence hung in the quarters. There was no visible anxiety. It might have been better if someone like Vengeance had come in and said something.

Then they could at least argue that he doesn’t know the Platoon leader.

Ragna probably followed out of concern.

The spring sunlight streamed through the square window, and as time passed, the light dimmed. Amidst the dimming sunlight, they could see dust floating in the air.

If Krais had been there, he would have said something about needing to clean.

As the sunlight faded and the evening approached, they started feeling hungry, wondering if it was time for a meal.

The platoon members and Esther kept silent, each engaged in their own tasks.

Rem threw and caught his axe.

Thud, thump.

The sound spread through the silence—the axe cutting through the air and the dull thud as he caught it.

Audin knelt, unmoving.

Jaxon continued carving, making scraping sounds, while Esther licked her front paw.

It was that kind of timing.

They said that eating was important, whether for training or anything else. It was also time for the Platoon leader to return.

Thump. Creak.

As the door opened, everyone’s attention turned forward.

The sound of the axe cutting through the air and the carving knife shaving wood ceased, bringing perfect silence.

“…What? Were you waiting for me?”

Finn, standing halfway inside the quarters, asked.

The atmosphere felt peculiar, and as he stood there, he said,

“Could you move out of the way?”

Encrid’s voice came from behind.

Finn stepped inside, making way.

Everyone’s gaze naturally turned to Encrid.

* * *

Sword, Knight, dream.

The things he had seen and experienced in Asia.

The fire of longing reignited in Encrid’s eyes.

That heat and desire were palpable to Ragna, just by looking at him.

‘Indeed.’

‘If they were the type to waver and give up, they wouldn’t be able to inspire motivation in me.’

“A sword that emits light and cuts down hundreds in a single stroke is something even a Knight can’t do. But for someone who has been granted the title of Knight or has attained a similar enlightenment, they can cut and stab hundreds in sequence, no matter what weapon they hold.”

Ragna was surprised at how smoothly the words flowed from his mouth.

It made sense, given that he had long thought he would one day have to say something like this since becoming a Knight was a dream. It was something he had prepared to say.

There was a time when he told someone to wait because it wasn’t time yet.

Was it right after seeing a Squire perform well on the battlefield?

Now was the time to keep his word from back then.

It was time to give an answer, or something like it, to those who were waiting.

“How is that possible?”

Ragna had once wondered this himself. Of course, he quickly resolved that question.

It was something that needed no hesitation.

A predetermined path, one just needed to walk it to reach the destination.

For him, something that was a straightforward task was, for others, a path they had to tread, shedding blood and sweat.

The gap between them, and the fervent desire it ignited in others because of that gap, always set a fire in Ragna’s heart.

“To become a Knight, out of ten thousand with talent, a thousand are selected, then from those thousand, a hundred are chosen. Out of those hundred, ten are further selected. There are many who are good with swords. Quite a few exceed their limits. But those who understand ‘Will’ are rare.”

This is why the number of Knights remains in the dozens.

“Wow, wouldn’t knowing that lead to more despair?”

Frog added from behind. Sitting on the floor, he rested his arms on his knees, seemingly watching the conversation unfold. Ragna ignored him, as did Encrid.

Encrid focused on Ragna’s words. He listened and absorbed them.

It was a moment where a new milestone was being set on his path.

“Will is the collective term for all the forces that allow a Knight to exhibit superhuman strength. Again, Will is willpower, and willpower is Will. The first step to realizing such Will is to reach the limits of human capacity.”

Gathering talent after talent, only a few, a minority, experience surpassing their limits.

After surpassing those limits, only a few among them realize Will.

That number could be one in ten thousand.

Sometimes, it couldn’t even be one in ten thousand.

Will, which some call willpower and others refer to as some kind of force, is an unknown something. Even if one said it was the power obtained by Knights after surpassing human limits, it was still correct.

The conclusion was simple: without Will, one could not become a Knight.

That was what Ragna’s words conveyed.

“What happens when you reach your limits?”

Greed and desire, entangled within him, moved Encrid’s mouth.

“That’s just the beginning. After that, realizing Will is, um…”

Ragna stopped mid-sentence. Was his method correct? He wasn’t sure. Should he explain everything he knew?

Ragna felt his understanding was limited.

Was this enough?

As doubts arose, his words stopped.

Surprisingly, Frog filled in the gaps left by Ragna’s hesitation.

“Some realize it after swinging their sword ten thousand times alone, others through repeated meditation, and some awaken their abilities the moment they encounter Will. So, how did it feel? The pressure from Asia?”

Frog explained and then asked. Encrid’s gaze shifted.

Toward Frog’s bulging eyes.

“I saw an illusion of blades raining down.”

What should he call it?

Putting it into words felt childish.

A storm of blades? A tidal wave of blades?

“Good instinct.”

Frog said, letting out a gurgling sound. It was laughter.

“No matter what you call it, my opinion is firm: you won’t make it.”

Frog spoke while resting his chin on his hand, still seated.

When it came to talent evaluation, was Frog ever wrong?

There were times. Nothing in the world is perfect.

Frog was no exception.

They weren’t perfect or complete. They weren’t gods.

But even so, they could see certain things.

Potential, even a glimmer of it, must be visible to be considered possible.

With Encrid, nothing was visible. Not even a hint. In fact, it was surprising that he had reached his current level of skill.

‘He must have faced death countless times.’

Frog’s sharp intuition told him that Encrid’s skill was likely honed through at least hundreds of life-threatening situations.

A skill built through narrow survival.

And yet.

The man before him, with black hair, blue eyes, and a distinctively handsome appearance, showed no hesitation in his gaze.

How could that be?

Gurgle.

Frog’s cheeks puffed up and then deflated. This time, it was a sign of admiration. Frog’s emotions often showed through his cheeks.

Of course, to humans, it was hard to discern whether it was anger, joy, admiration, or sadness.

Encrid suddenly recalled old memories.

All those who had told him he wouldn’t succeed.

It had always been that way.

People said the path he walked was wrong. The whole world said it wouldn’t work.

Yes, it had always been like that.

So, this time was no different.

“Is that so?”

A monotonous response, polite yet acknowledging the other’s status.

And that was it.

Regardless of Frog’s purpose, Encrid would follow his own path. It was his task, his journey toward an unforgettable dream.

He was a wanderer searching for a dream.

A man walking along a path, looking for a signpost along the way.

“Then, can I ask another question? How does one reach their limits?”

Encrid turned his gaze back to Ragna, speaking again.

Ragna admired his unchanging demeanor.

He admired him, knowing, and because he knew, he admired him.

“You refine all the skills you possess. Only you can know when you’ve reached your limit. So, you push yourself to the limits of human capability, and at that moment…”

Ragna started to stumble over his words. As usual. Encrid nodded, cutting him off.

“Ah, I understand.”

It meant to continue as he had been.

That’s how Encrid understood it. The explanation had been elaborate, but in the end, it boiled down to something simple.

Why make it so complicated?

“Hey, isn’t this the part where you kneel and lament, ‘Is my talent only this much?’”

Frog asked, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t have time for that.”

Encrid responded plainly and swung his sword.

Reflecting on what he had, reviewing it, and moving forward.

The same as always.

He did what he always did.

‘That guy is definitely crazy.’

Frog’s cheeks puffed up even more. The gurgling sound grew louder, this time expressing intense curiosity.

Ragna watched Encrid closely.

Frog observed the man who was the reason he stayed in this place. The man with black hair and blue eyes—his focus had never been Ragna, it had always been Encrid.

This wasn’t a matter of talent assessment but a gut feeling based on experience.

‘Types like him do tend to cause a stir.’

He couldn’t become a Knight. So, what would he become? That question piqued Frog’s curiosity.

‘I’ll watch a little longer.’

With that decision, Frog resolved to stay.

Encrid swung his sword.

As always, again, repeatedly.

Whether Frog or Ragna was watching, he honed his basic skills. A new milestone appeared.

His faded dream began to regain color.

While everyone else worried about despair and frustration, Encrid alone saw hope.

It was called Will.

Some called it willpower, but it was described as a certain mystery.

He just needed to master it.

Reach the limit and surpass it.

Was that such a big deal?

It was what he had always done, time and time again. That was all there was to it.

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