A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"Damn."

Bran spoke with a voice like the rustling of dry leaves.

"That was impressive."

His rough tone, repeating himself, now carried a sliver of emotion.

As Enkrid withdrew the sword he had just thrust, Lua Gharne handed him a square cloth. He used it to wipe the manticore's blood from the blade of his True Silver Sword, then sheathed it.

Ching—the soft chime of steel sliding against its scabbard broke the silence that had settled over the group.

Everyone had fallen silent after watching the manticore be cleaved in one stroke.

The eyes that had looked upon Enkrid with reverence now shimmered with awe and disbelief.

"He did that with a single swing?"

"Incredible."

"No way I can consider him a rival."

A few of the fairies muttered to themselves.

Enkrid didn't think of fairies as fools.

Evidence? Even without him, it wasn't as though three fairies would have died just to kill the manticore, as Lua Gharne had guessed.

If four archers supported the eight fairy swordsmen and they added in the power of spirits and life energy—

'At worst, maybe one casualty?'

With a bit of luck, they could probably have won without any deaths at all. And maybe not even luck, if there were other abilities he hadn't accounted for.

'With pure skill alone, they could have brought it down without losing a single one.'

Not that they could have killed it in one blow like he did.

From an outside perspective, it did seem like Lua Gharne's prediction—three dead to bring down the beast—wasn't far off.

But if just one person had resolved to sacrifice themselves? These were people ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) with that kind of determination. It was visible in the grim light in their eyes.

He could tell just by looking at the eyes of the fairy he passed after the kill.

Some were simply fired up with noble resolve, but a few had accepted death.

The difference between those prepared to die and those who weren't—

Soldiers.

It was the difference between a soldier and a civilian. Enkrid had always possessed strong situational awareness and insight, but once you added sensory skill, environmental reading, and the knight's gift known as "Future Sight," he could now grasp the core of a situation at a glance.

'Fairy society has soldiers, too.'

That was what formed the core of this fairy group. The rest were civilians mixed in.

The eight fairies who had drawn their swords were clearly trained.

By Border Guard standards, at least four of them would've passed basic training.

If he actually put them through training, even the typically composed fairies would probably grind their teeth—but they were clearly hardened by previous discipline.

As for the archers, there was a clear difference between those who did it for a living and those who did it as a hobby.

Some fairies who held bows could channel spirits and life force. But many couldn't.

Which was why—

"Only a select few should enter the cave."

Enkrid said flatly. Denying reality would only increase the number of dead.

"I said the same."

Ermen spoke as if watching a man-faced dog bark across a river.

"Fairies are stubborn," Bran added. "They were going in, even knowing they didn't have enough."

"Even knowing they'd die?"

Enkrid asked, and Bran answered.

"Some are just out of touch with reality. Some can't accept that everything's been dumped on Shinar. And then—"

"And then?"

The kindly tree giant gave a faint smile—his bark lips curling upward ever so slightly.

"There are four male warriors who're in love with Shinar. Even if they die, they can't let her remain the demon's bride."

As Bran spoke, three fairies stepped forward from beside the large one. All male, and all visibly trained. Soldiers. Warriors. That was how they looked.

Their expressions were calm yet intense. Their brows furrowed slightly, as if in deep thought.

The smallest among them took a quiet, deep breath before speaking.

"I'm fine being the second husband. What do you think?"

It was an absurd thing to say, but Enkrid understood it for what it was.

He wanted to be Shinar's second husband.

So who was the first?

Me, Enkrid thought—and suddenly felt lightheaded.

"...Is that how fairy society works?"

He barely managed to say.

Among nobles, keeping concubines or multiple wives wasn't unheard of—though not universal. So it wasn't entirely impossible that some cultures had women with multiple husbands.

Where there is emptiness, something may be filled. Rather than be surprised, Enkrid chose to respect their culture.

Then the other two fairies spoke up.

"Enough with the jokes."

"I'd even be fine being the third—ah, never mind."

The third had begun a joke but closed his mouth. Ermen was watching him with a steady gaze—if translated into human terms, it would be a stern one.

Lua Gharne, listening from the back, nodded.

"So it was a joke."

Was that... a relief?

Or should they admire these fairies' nerves for making such jokes at a time like this?

After that, Ermen began sorting out who would go into the cave and who would stay behind.

Everyone explained their reasons, but all of them glanced at Enkrid.

They had realized it by now.

It wasn't hard to know who actually had the power to save Shinar.

The demon slayer.

'So that's why they look at me that way.'

The looks of admiration made sense—if they already knew who he was.

'A sword that can kill the demon.'

That had to be what the fairies most desperately wanted right now.

Not for politics. Not for profit.

Just to save Shinar.

They hadn't contacted him separately because they thought he had refused her offer. But that didn't mean they lacked desperation.

As he was thinking, he heard Ermen's voice.

"Bran, I trust I can count on you?"

"Who else could fill the role?"

"Brisa."

"Yes."

"Arcoiris."

"Ready."

He called a few names. The fairies not selected calmly explained their reasons for wanting to go.

Some cited how dearly they had cherished Shinar.

One even said that was why he had called her a "cursed child"—out of love, not hatred.

It was hard to tell whether that was a fairy-style joke or not.

So Enkrid chose not to try. Let them sort it out.

While they spoke behind him, Enkrid looked at the cave.

"It's not a normal place."

Lua Gharne stood beside him and nodded.

"It's a Demon Realm."

At Enkrid's words, Pell spoke up too.

"Doesn't matter what it is—if we cut it all down, it'll be fine, right?"

The confidence was good. Pell crumbled under pressure, unable to show even half his real skill. Enkrid had always made sure to boost his morale before a duel, just with a few words.

"Is the Shepherd of the Wastes beaten up by his own sheep?"

"You're worse than Rophod."

"You dare talk about talent with that skill?"

"What is that? A dance move?"

These lines were what roused Pell to draw out his full strength.

Tailoring the right words to the right person was Enkrid's specialty. He did the same now.

"Yeah. I'm expecting a lot from you."

Pell rolled his shoulders at that.

If a few words could lift morale, it was a bargain.

Even as he stared at the cave's entrance, Enkrid felt a faint unease.

It shook his heart, whispered to his ear like a ghost.

But he brushed it off without a second thought.

It was said that simply looking at a Demon Realm could plant a seed of crimson dread.

But that didn't work on Enkrid.

Nor did it on Lua Gharne.

For her, such unease was just another form of transformation.

And for Frokk, so full of doubt, it was a welcome stimulus.

Lua Gharne glanced at Enkrid and noticed the subtle flush of red on his face.

"How do you feel right now?"

She often asked how he felt. This was no different.

She wanted to know what this man saw, what he thought, how he accepted the present.

A question befitting a Frokk.

Enkrid thought back on his inner state and replied honestly.

"A little excited."

It was true. A demon, was it? He was curious what it would show him.

When training your sword to the limit, you started to crave real battle. This was like that.

Enkrid knew now—he had a yearning for enemies.

"I thought you might."

Lua Gharne nodded. She was beginning to get predictable answers. Observation and study bore fruit.

Her Frokk curiosity was a little more satisfied—and her anticipation grew for what he'd show next.

Enkrid had expectations, sure. But more than that, his main purpose was to see Shinar and ask her directly. He hadn't forgotten that.

The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at the cave—until Bran approached from behind, that familiar herb stick still in his mouth.

Ermen was still persuading some of his tribe.

Now and then, words in the fairy tongue filtered through.

"What's this Demon Realm called?"

Enkrid asked the familiar Woodguard. Bran puffed a perfect smoke ring before pinching out the end of his herb stick.

Ordinary flames couldn't burn Bran's bark skin, so a bit of glowing ash didn't even register.

Not that that explained why a tree giant would smoke in the first place.

Trees hate fire. That was a given. Which made Bran and his habits all the stranger.

Anyway, if a human did what Bran just did, it would've been like putting out a cigarette in your palm.

But you couldn't apply human logic to a different species.

"It doesn't have a name. We just call it the 'Labyrinth.' More precisely—we deliberately left it nameless. Though some have called the demon inside the 'Suitor Demon.'"

Suitor Demon. A strangely poetic name.

Listening to Bran, Enkrid began to understand why.

The more people say a demon's name, fear it, and revere it—the more power it gains.

Rem had said something similar, from a shamanic perspective.

"There's a method of deliberately not naming something—it's a last resort. But if you're that scared, it means you've already been shaken to your core. So much so you don't even dare call its name."

Slightly different reasoning. Same outcome.

"We're almost ready."

Bran turned.

He was right. Three more fairies approached. Ermen stood by them.

"With Bran, that makes four. We've narrowed it down."

Narrowed, indeed. A bold reduction.

"Four?" Lua Gharne asked. She was a Frokk. She didn't let questions slide, even if most of her attention was focused on Enkrid. This wasn't an exception.

"I'd just get in the way," Ermen replied.

He had been ready to go when they thought they'd all die—but now that there was hope, they were sending in a small, elite team.

What Lua Gharne didn't get was why so many capable ones were staying behind.

"Seems like none of the spirit or energy users are going in?"

"That can't be helped."

Enkrid looked from the group to the labyrinth again.

And recalled the techniques he'd seen the fairies use earlier.

'If they could take down a manticore with that power...'

That was serious firepower.

'They held off wave after wave of monsters before this.'

But the fairy knights who went inside had died.

What did all that add up to?

His mind accelerated and reached an answer.

"You can't use fairy energy inside, can you?"

Ermen's eyes widened slightly. He was clearly surprised.

But he quickly returned to normal and nodded.

"Yes. That's why we're only sending in those with trained bodies."

At this point, Enkrid's intuition was closer to foresight.

His thoughts aligned and settled again, drawing the same conclusion.

'Fairies who rely solely on energy never planned to enter in the first place.'

If they did, they'd only become corpses.

From the start, Ermen had intended to convince his people to only send in a few.

His arrival had merely accelerated the process.

A catalyst.

His presence made it easier to convince the others.

After all, energy was the foundation of a fairy's power. If they couldn't use it inside the cave, they were effectively powerless.

"We can't leave Lady Shinar as the demon's bride."

The fairy who had joked earlier said it. His voice was calm, but a hint of grim resolve clung to it. He was among those going in.

His name was Arcoiris.

Yes, he was right. She couldn't be left like that.

First, they had to meet—and ask her why.

Now that he understood everything, there was nothing more to question or argue.

"May the spirits of wood and flower protect you, and may the goddess of fortune lend her gaze."

Ermen offered his blessing.

Enkrid had finished his gear check. There was nothing more to prepare.

"Then let's go."

With a short farewell, he stepped forward.

The black scorch marks at the entrance were the threshold of the cave they called the labyrinth—the Demon Realm.

And as with any home, when an uninvited guest walks in, the host responds in kind.

Grrrrrrk!

As they entered, darkness swallowed them, though their senses weren't numbed.

Only their eyes needed time to adjust.

The smells, sounds, and textures were still present.

And most of all, the instincts that triggered at once.

As soon as he heard that growl, Enkrid drew his swords—one in each hand.