A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 471

The first thing that caught the eye was three girls and one boy playing with a rope made of twisted tree bark.

The girls were playing together, and the boy was deliberately getting in the way.

The boy lightly tripped one of the girls with his foot and ran off.

“Stop that!”

The girl’s eyes flared sharply.

She looked genuinely angry. It was a similar expression to when that woman, Owl, had swung her axe at Rem.

The boy hurriedly kicked up his heels.

He dove between two large tents. Quick feet. He’d clearly been running around since he was little.

His skinny frame made him look even faster.

“That runt’s not even worth chasing for tag.”

The girl who was holding the rope glared. Unlike the adults who usually had some kind of symbol painted on their faces, the kids’ faces were clean.

It made their skin look even clearer.

Probably also because they were young and their skin still fresh.

Against her tanned skin, her dark brown irises gleamed fiercely.

She’d been interrupted during play.

If the boy got caught in the wrong mood, it wouldn’t just end with a scolding.

To Enkrid’s eyes, the boy had just wanted to join in.

Like most kids that age, he was trying to get attention with a bit of mischief.

A man working leather looked over and laughed as he watched.

“Keep that up and you’ll break something.”

“Don’t run, kid. Stand your ground. Just take the hit.”

“If he does, he’ll get hit more~”

The one called Neurindle muttered.

It was funny, but to Enkrid, it sounded like a laugh tinged with something else.

The boy peeked his head out between two big tents and shouted back.

“As long as I don’t get caught!”

The adults pressed him, saying he couldn’t run away forever.

The boy acted like he didn’t hear them.

As Enkrid watched, a growling sound came from behind—an animal’s cry.

Naturally, Enkrid had already sensed something approaching at the same time.

“Hiyaah.”

One of the children came riding in on a Beltolter. Enkrid turned around.

Their eyes met—he was about the same height as the child.

The child spoke, and Enkrid calmly stepped aside.

A large ox, nearly the same height as the child, passed by, pulling a cart.

“Whoa, let’s move aside for that.”

The child tapped the Beltolter near its neck to steer it clear of the ox.

The Beltolter sidestepped.

It was a fully grown ox—big enough to crush a man with a single charge—but its bright, gentle eyes didn’t look like they’d ever show anger.

The man leading the ox paused for a moment too.

A wide variety of people caught Enkrid’s eye.

A woman with a basket made of woven wood on her back, probably filled with herbs.

A man laying out grass to dry.

An old man tying long poles into bundles of firewood.

A one-armed person trembling slightly as they stitched with intense focus, using their mouth to steady their work.

“How peaceful.”

Enkrid murmured as he looked around.

There was no sense of oppression. The place pulsed with quiet life.

“Told you it’s a good place.”

Rem replied beside him.

And she had said that.

Not prosperous, but peaceful.

To Enkrid’s eyes, that’s exactly what it was. A pastoral scene. It had a modest warmth and comforting scent.

Meeeeeh.

A goat bleated.

Mooooo.

A cow lowed.

There were also a few horses, but all of them had short legs and rounded bodies. They were clearly bred more for carrying loads than speed.

Was it because horseback riding wasn’t needed here, that only these types survived?

It wasn’t that the West lacked wild horses, but apparently people didn’t bother to tame and ride them.

The region was full of mountains, but there were also plenty of open spaces. A bit of both.

Ten or so Beltolters, resting on their short forelegs, were feeding with their heads stuck in troughs.

These were the mounts of the Westerners.

One long, vertically slit eye curiously stared at Enkrid.

It made a growling sound and twitched its lips.

They were cold-blooded creatures—drop the temperature too low, and they’d just die. You could only see Beltolters in places like this.

The West was a land where even snow was unknown—it stayed truly warm. No, hot.

Even now, there was a kind of warmth like sun-baked stone on his back. But in the shade, with a breeze, it could chill you to the bone.

One person passed by in a coat patched with thick outer fabric—she was a woman.

The one-armed person was just finishing wrapping up a chicken. Their eyes met briefly as the woman walked by.

She had gray eyes and dark gray hair, a different shade from Rem’s proud mane.

She walked with a world-weary expression, basket in her arms.

Three children stood in her path. They had unintentionally blocked her way.

“Move.”

She said quietly and trudged forward. She stared off into the distance, as if only the far horizon existed for her.

She almost looked like she was out of her mind.

Gray smoke could be seen rising in the direction she headed.

The three kids who had been in the way stepped aside, then went back to playing with bright laughter.

They stretched out the rope and started running around with it. There seemed to be some kind of rule to the game.

They were totally engrossed.

Tents, people, all kinds of daily work were everywhere.

Most people looked fairly similar.

Because of moderate labor and restricted meals, their bodies were lean and muscular in a uniform way.

Signs of scarcity were everywhere—torn tents, lack of supplies, things that were obvious even at a glance. Some faces held worry, but most people looked like they had found their own form of happiness.

“Surprising, huh?”

Rem said.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Enkrid remained silently deep in thought.

He couldn’t help but think of Oara.

She had wanted smiling children to run and play in her city of Oara.

This was what she had imagined.

People with little, yet satisfied.

And now, Enkrid understood why Rem had called these people boring.

‘Because they’re satisfied with their current lives.’

They were satisfied with the present.

That seemed to be their nature.

A clearly foreign group stood at one side of the road, but no one paid much attention to them.

Only a few passersby glanced for a moment.

A few kids were excitedly watching Frokk, though.

“It’s a frog!”

“It’s a frog man!”

It was clearly their first time seeing a Frokk.

Thankfully, Frokk didn’t see himself as a frog and wasn’t offended by such comments. Frokk usually didn’t cause problems unless it involved his purpose—or the word “heart.”

All these elements combined to create a strange atmosphere.

Not a life that pushes forward, but one that settles.

To be exact, a life of retreat. Or maybe it was better to call it drifting.

That was the feeling Enkrid got from this tent-city as a whole.

Not that it was unpleasant.

Rem insisted it could be broken through, but you can’t force your values or way of life onto others.

Whether it’s people who respect someone’s dreams or those who choose to settle, they deserve respect too.

Because that’s what life is.

Not everyone is the same, but they’re not entirely different either.

There was no reason not to accept the differences—be they comical or traditional—that came from the northern continent.

And this place wasn’t even that divided.

Take Rem, for instance.

There had to be at least one person here who wasn’t entirely complacent.

“Hey, who showed up?”

Now and then, someone would call out in recognition.

Of course, there were plenty of people who recognized Rem.

“Wait, is that Rem?”

“Is that the Rem, not just someone who looks like him?”

“I heard Rem died.”

“They said Owl died too… wait, or was it someone else?”

That last one stood out. The man who said it had light gray eyes, a shade similar to Rem’s.

Rem’s wife, Owl, nodded in response.

“He will die soon.”

She sounded so sincere, it was chilling.

“What the hell are you even saying,” Rem muttered.

Owl smiled for the first time—only one corner of her mouth curved upward.

The expression went beyond eerie—it radiated ominous intent.

It stirred everyone's survival instincts.

“So it was all Rem’s fault.”

Lua Gharne said. She was sharper than expected.

“Exactly.”

Dunbakel agreed.

“Rem, you need to apologize,”

Enkrid added without delay.

No matter how he looked at it, this woman Owl seemed to hold considerable influence here.

It wouldn’t be surprising if they walked away without a single bite to eat.

If she told them to leave now, they’d probably have no choice but to go.

No one seemed willing to listen to Rem’s opinion.

“……What are you all even talking about?”

Rem glanced around, clearly baffled.

No idea. But it was your fault. End of story.

Enkrid made his intentions known with a look.

“Unbelievable.”

Owl, surprisingly, seemed a little amused.

Her first impression of Rem had been terrible, but it looked like he’d slightly redeemed himself.

She even nodded, saying, “What’s the point of hurling curses and fighting? Everyone ends up the same.”

As the mood softened slightly, Enkrid spoke to Rem.

“Go apologize. Bow your head with every step you take.”

“Why don’t you shut up and just wait here instead?”

Rem snapped, clearly annoyed. So Enkrid didn’t push it further.

“I’m going to meet the chieftain. Stay here.”

Rem exhaled heavily.

He looked far more exhausted than when he’d faced Owl.

Meeting the chieftain itself didn’t seem to bother him.

It was the thought of confronting his wife that had clearly been weighing on him all this time.

“Fine.”

Enkrid nodded, and Juul stepped up to point out a place to rest. A quiet tent tucked in a corner.

The western culture leaned toward floor seating over chairs.

Inside the tent, a wide cloth had been laid out for sitting.

“Just rest here for now.”

Juul said, and Enkrid nodded.

The floor was thickly padded, and it felt soft to sit on.

Enkrid set down his heavy pack to one side.

It held a thick cloak, wooden dishes, and various supplies—enough to make it quite weighty.

Putting it down lightened his shoulders, both physically and mentally.

So much that he instinctively felt like moving.

There’d been a lot on his mind during the trip here.

He got to his feet, picked up his sword, and stepped outside the ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) tent.

Dunbakel called from behind.

“Where are you going?”

“To loosen up.”

“Later, ask them what that smell is. What kind of grass are they burning that stinks so much?”

A beastwoman’s nose didn’t miss much.

Enkrid nodded, then asked back,

“Doesn’t the smell coming off you bother you?”

“That scent’s kind of… addictive.”

Enkrid almost reached for his sword without thinking.

His right hand twitched, while his left had already touched the Gladius strapped inside the soft field.

He forced himself to stop.

Discipline—true discipline—was the ability to hold back.

His self-control shone through once again.

He nearly lost his temper, but it wasn’t entirely his fault.

Dunbakel’s stone-headed words had a way of dissolving all higher reasoning from a person’s brain.

What made it worse was that she never meant it maliciously.

“Forget it. If a beating could fix her, it would’ve worked a long time ago,”

Lua Gharne muttered insightfully, true to her Frokk nature.

She hadn’t folded under Rem’s fists, so in some ways, Dunbakel had unshakable resolve.

“I know,”

Enkrid replied, and Lua Gharne followed him outside.

Standing in front of the tent, Enkrid rolled his head to gather his thoughts.

Swoosh, whoosh. Swoosh, whoosh.

One slow. One fast. And repeat.

He’d trained with just the right amount of intensity.

There wasn’t much else to see, thanks to the tents blocking his view.

The curious stares from earlier had also faded.

The kids were focused on their own things again.

Everyone had glanced at them at least once, but no one seemed particularly interested anymore.

Enkrid swung his sword several times, sinking into focus.

He revisited things he’d learned by watching Oara.

Lessons from his fights with the giants.

Moments worth remembering, worth repeating.

“If all you do is fight for real, you end up with unbalanced stances and bad form. That’s why you’ve got to keep up training even when there’s no battle.”

That was something a mercenary dedicated to training had said.

Most of the instructors Enkrid had met at the training halls would’ve agreed.

“Of course. Because refined form only comes from habitual training,”

Lua Gharne nodded in agreement.

From Rigna to the others, the message had always been the same—though it hadn’t always been helpful.

Some had insulted the word “training” itself, saying you only had to swing a few times to get by.

Others claimed that if you just simulated the battle in your head, your body would follow, dismissing anyone else as a fool.

Rem had always said, “Just swing it. It'll work out,” making the difference in talent painfully obvious.

Audin had been the one to emphasize training.

The Martial technique taught by Audin he’d taught was built on daily drills.

It wasn’t that Enkrid lacked talent.

He just couldn’t afford to neglect his body.

As the training and Clie techniques came back to him, he felt a rush of emotion.

Back in the beginning, he’d had to do the routine three times a day—morning, noon, and night.

‘Didn’t they call that the “three-times-a-day method”?’

Back then, it had been hell. His body felt like it was dying.

He could barely move a single finger.

Not that anyone blamed Audin for it. Enkrid wouldn’t either.

Those grueling days were the foundation that let him still swing a sword like this today.

“You came here with Rem, right?”

A voice broke through his focus, snapping Enkrid out of his trance.

It wasn’t like he’d gone deep-sea diving in his thoughts.

But like a weed trembling underfoot, one little thought had led him into a deeper current of memory.

He hadn’t even noticed the woman who’d walked up to him.

He’d just left his sword in its sheath, forgotten.

Enkrid’s eyes focused on one side.

It was a middle-aged woman.

She held a long stick, and as she lifted it to her mouth and exhaled, smoke drifted up.

It was tobacco. The smoke was sharp and spicy.

“Who’s burning stuff over there?”

Dunbakel poked her head out of the tent, sniffing the air.

Instead of answering, Enkrid looked past the woman to the two Westerners standing behind her.

Same brown hair, same features. Twins.

“If you want a duel, then let’s go. Rem said to come.”

Smoke drifted across her face again, sharp and pungent.

But Enkrid caught a faint, oddly sweet scent underneath.

Maybe it was real, maybe it was imagined.

Either way, he smelled it.

The opponents had arrived.

They were probably renowned fighters in the West.

They didn’t look like amateurs.

Just looking at them made that strange sweetness more vivid somehow.

“But do you really want to duel?”

The middle-aged woman asked.

Enkrid nodded.

It wasn’t a question that needed an answer.