A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The chair carved from bone glowed faintly blue in the darkness. It was a sinister light, clearly distinct from sunlight or moonlight.

Shinar's golden hair, as she sat atop it, looked dull under that ominous glow.

"Welcome. Let me introduce you. My consort."

As Shinar spoke, she extended her hand behind her.

Before anything could be seen, the smell hit first. It was as if everything capable of producing stench had been gathered—rotting meat, bodily fluids, excrement.

No ordinary person could endure it without pinching their nose. Enkrid chose to shut off his sense of smell.

The more sensitively one trained their senses, the more they also learned to dull them at will.

With his olfaction suppressed, he craned his neck and looked at what she was showing with her outstretched palm. Behind her, Brisa lifted the glowing stone a bit higher.

As the light source rose, the visible range widened. Though it still didn't illuminate everything, it was enough.

A troll, an ogre, and a ghoul. The troll was riding atop a two-headed dog-faced beast. They neither roared nor drooled. They simply waited. It was undeniable—they looked like they were awaiting Shinar's command.

"The consort thing was a joke."

Shinar said. Her voice rang out like a tuned keyboard.

"Instead, I've chosen to become their queen."

That was a lie.

Fairies do not know the concept of lies. Only after wandering the continent and being worn down by the world's hardships do they learn to lie. Shinar had learned to lie that way.

In other words, it was a clumsy lie.

What would Kraiss, a natural-born liar who delighted in weaving falsehoods with his brilliant mind, think if he saw Shinar now?

Would he say something like,

"What do you normally take me for?"

It wasn't even a moment to laugh, yet the thought made one chuckle.

Yes, it was like that. Facing such an unskilled lie, laughter came unbidden. But he couldn't laugh.

Why?

It was probably because of the fairy known for her emotional restraint.

Enkrid had unconsciously absorbed some of their habits—the tendency to soak up everything around them. It was likely something that happened in the realm of the subconscious.

This wasn't because he was angry.

"Now, will you fight my children?"

The unique specimens—troll, ogre, and ghoul—stepped out in front of the bone throne.

"......Whose children are you claiming they are?"

Arcoiris, who had been listening from the back, stepped forward. The fairy who adored Shinar couldn't hide his emotions—they showed on his face.

The slight movement of his facial muscles conveyed his current state of mind. The wrinkles near his eyes, his furrowed brow, his trembling lips—all expressed one emotion: agony. Though, not in the contorted way a human might show it.

"This isn't necessary."

Arcoiris murmured. His voice was quiet, but in this place, no one present was dull enough not to hear it.

"I can't leave you as the bride of a demon."

He said again. His resolve was clear. The difference from the last time he said those words was this—there was a certain light in his eyes.

A light called hope.

And there [N O V E L I G H T] was no doubt who had given him that light.

From within the darkness, the owner of the glowing blue eyes drew his weapon.

Chiring.

The true silver sword absorbed the light of the glowing stone and radiated a pale glow like moonlight. Some called true silver the metal of the moon.

It was a mystical light.

Anyone who saw the light spilling from Enkrid's blade now would nod in agreement.

"You shouldn't have come here."

Shinar spoke. Enkrid lifted his sword with indifference. He brought the blade between his eyes. Focus heightened. He confirmed the approaching monsters. His thoughts accelerated, the eye of insight opened, and the future became visible.

"Take the ghoul. Pell."

From behind the monster's body, something like soot flickered. An evil spirit had embedded itself, enhancing its natural power—but of course, Enkrid and the others couldn't know that.

Even if they had known, it wouldn't have mattered much.

With his accelerated thoughts, Enkrid traced a path. A direct route to Shinar.

Grrr...

A boiling sound came from the maws of the three monsters.

Thud!

The dog-faced beast lunged forward with its hind legs. Naturally, the troll riding atop it came along. The troll extended its claws to strike.

It was fast. But linear, making it easy to predict.

Its speed and power weren't sharper than the fairy knight's sword Enkrid had faced earlier.

Enkrid stepped his left foot outward and simultaneously poured an intense level of Will into his sword.

The blade of the true silver sword let out a sharp ting. It felt as if the sword were speaking through his palm.

It warned him—his body might burst.

Then Enkrid slashed diagonally, pouring all his Will into the strike.

In terms of swordsmanship, it was a simple diagonal cut. In heavy sword theory, it would be considered a mid-weight downward cleave.

But that strike contained all the Will Enkrid possessed.

In everyone's eyes—including Shinar's—the blade Enkrid swung vanished for a moment.

A blade that surpassed a certain speed tore the air apart.

BOOM!

A thunderous sound erupted from where the blade had passed. And before that sound reached their ears, Enkrid's sword had already cleaved through both the troll and the dog-faced beast.

Centered around Enkrid, the troll and beast were split vertically and flung aside. A thud echoed midway. Black blood from the dead monsters soaked the floor.

The floor of this level hadn't been wet—but now, Enkrid had made it damp like the previous floors. With the blood of monsters.

Enkrid exhaled briefly and spun his blade again.

Drawing a semicircle through the air, the blade rose and locked into a high guard.

The ogre, weaponless, raised its forearms like shields and charged. Between its arms, it glared with one exposed eye.

It looked absurd, charging with arms raised like that.

Enkrid felt a surge of fresh will, replacing the Will he had just used.

Yes. At this moment, more than at any other time in the labyrinth, power surged through him.

There was a gap between the ogre's arms. He could strike through that gap if necessary. But there was no need. He could simply cut it in half.

Enkrid felt the air grow heavy, as if stepping into a swamp made of crushed rock. It pressed on his shoulders and dragged at his ankles.

'Heavy.'

The weight crushed his limbs and blood vessels, as if about to burst them. But it was bearable.

Hadn't he just endured something similar? A fraction of his subconscious Will surged through him, as if shielding his entire body.

He overcame it and swung his blade again—and once more, a thunderous boom rang out.

BOOM!

Enkrid completed his second slash.

Splurt!

The blade tore through the ogre's head and body.

Cut from the head down to the left chest, the ogre gushed brain matter, entrails, and black blood before staggering and collapsing. The crash echoed loudly.

Meanwhile, Pell had also killed the ghoul. Seeing one of its arms burned to a crisp suggested Lua Gharne hadn't just stood by and watched.

After a brief silence, Shinar offered her appraisal. It was unexpected.

"You've dulled, Enki."

But it wasn't about the cutting itself. That last strike was more refined than anything he'd shown before.

It was thanks to his deepening understanding of swordsmanship and Will, aided by the sword forms Shinar had once demonstrated.

"You've dulled."

And yet, Shinar insisted.

"You became a knight. And if you intended to move forward, you should have looked away. You are dull. So dull that you can't cut anything."

Enkrid flicked the blood off his sword and brushed his hair back with his left hand.

Blood from the slain monsters had splashed onto his hands. It was sticky.

Do fairies have bathhouses? Or do they bathe in clean lake water?

The monster blood stank, and the texture was awful. He just wanted to finish and get washed.

"Shinar Kirheis."

Enkrid called her.

Everyone focused on what would come next.

Was it a response to her calling him dull?

Or was he going to ask what she thought she was doing?

As always, Enkrid defied expectations. Even Bran and the watching fairies hadn't expected what he said.

"Why did you leave?"

He had come to ask that, and so he did.

"......"

Shinar's voice—usually like a flowing instrument—halted.

Darkness and silence are fitting companions. Silence seeped into the cave.

Fairy Brisa raised the glowing stone a bit higher. The light widened its reach.

There was no change in Shinar's expression. But Enkrid saw that she was slightly startled. She finally spoke again.

"It seems you didn't hear a word I said earlier."

"I came to ask why you left, since you didn't write it in the letter."

A hint of a smile appeared on Shinar's face. Then came unexpected praise.

"...You crazy bastard."

"You're smiling?"

Arcoiris, shocked by Shinar's smile, spoke. He wasn't the only one surprised. Even Bran was stunned.

"So you do know how to smile. You don't have to act anymore. Shinar, let's go back."

Bran said.

Shinar erased her faint smile and shook her head.

"I'm cursed."

If Esther, who had once squirmed in Enkrid's arms trying to break a curse, heard that, she'd probably snort.

"So go back. Enki. This isn't a place for you."

Enkrid looked into Shinar's eyes. They were dim. As if someone had dumped a bucket of despair-colored paint into them.

"Please. Go back."

It looked like the paint would drip down, but it remained inside her eyes.

"Then tell me why. I came to hear the reason."

Another unexpected comment from Enkrid. Pell, hearing it, wondered who could ever win against that kind of stubbornness.

Lua Gharne simply thought, 'That's the usual Enkrid.'

Shinar looked at the man standing before her. Blue eyes, black hair, a body scarred by countless battlefields.

Thanks to his natural features, one wouldn't guess his life unless they looked closely at those scars.

She had thought that once when she saw Enkrid bathing—those scars and gouged flesh told his life story.

To become a knight.

"A foolish dream."

Surely, he had been mocked.

To protect those standing behind him.

"Worry about your own life first."

People must have laughed at him.

And yet, the flower that bloomed in scorn now looked at her. Shinar didn't want that flower to wilt because of her.

She wanted to spill everything—to explain, to persuade. To list all the reasons.

Why she had come this far.

Her long, agonizing journey—she wanted to bare it all, hiding nothing.

She hadn't intended to. Everyone has things they don't want to show.

But now, she wanted—no, needed—to send him back.

"I have to become the demon's bride. I must."

She spoke again, but the man standing before her was a stubborn fool who rose to knighthood with meager talent.

That's right. Enkrid had no intention of listening.

"Reason."

He repeated the same word once more.

"If we're wed, you'll become the price. So you can't stay here."

Her voice lost its strength.

On the surface, Enkrid's attitude seemed indifferent.

"Was your dream to become the demon's bride?"

Is this really what you want?

Shinar instinctively understood. This man wouldn't turn back unless he saw it through.

Had she ended things poorly?

Or deep down... had she hoped for this?

Even though she said she wanted him to abandon her, had she actually waited for him to come?

Had her weak soul pushed things to turn out this way?

'Then is it time to curse my own soul?'

Shinar's eyes closed. She felt an overwhelming pressure—dragging her into the depths of her soul.

Memories she didn't want to recall surged from the abyss.

***

Thump—

Just as everyone has a childhood, Shinar had one too.

Thump—

Her first memory after gaining awareness was the sound of a hammer.

And then.

"Shinar."

Though her parents seemed emotionless from their restraint, they were deeply affectionate.

"And here you are again? I said let's make a flower crown."

A sister who adored her.

Yes, she had times like that once.