A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

A squire giving a name to their Will and training it stems from the same reason.

Once that stage is surpassed, one can be called intermediate. And intermediate knights develop refined techniques and a sense of individuality.

"Rearvart didn't have it, but Sir Jamal of Azpen did."

Both were impressive opponents.

That's why they remain unforgettable, no matter how often the memory is revisited.

The difference between them, as extracted from the Library of Experience, was clear.

A distinct individuality.

Their fighting styles were similar.

They both focused on endurance battles, but Jamal had the individuality of "plundering."

"That's the mark of the intermediate level."

Individuality—a distinct difference in technique.

Through experience, one builds the groundwork of knowledge.

That foundation becomes theory.

In other words, it becomes a system.

Enkrid was in the process of constructing that system.

"The advanced level is not being bound by techniques."

Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin were like that.

Even though they named their techniques, they were not obsessed with them.

"They even tried to mold me into a fixed form while teaching me."

Like the Giant Grapple that Rem taught him, and everything from Audin, Ragna, and Jaxon.

And through that, they progressed one step further.

Enkrid knew—he'd watched it from up close.

"That's why having a solid theory and system is necessary."

A path walked solely by instinct cannot be trusted.

Sometimes, one must look back to move forward.

"No, even if one walks without ever wavering, looking back can still be helpful."

Even Ragna, called a genius, only advanced further after looking back.

Swordsmanship requires meaning, methods of execution, and training discipline.

In a similar fashion, Enkrid devised a training system for becoming a knight.

Once again, he had been lucky in many ways.

If just a few experiences had been missing from his past, he wouldn't have come this far.

But then again, life was always a flower blooming between coincidences and miracles.

Just as imagining the paths not taken serves no purpose, there's no reason to feel relief over the ones already walked.

What matters is that one's attitude toward life remains unchanged.

Whether before becoming a knight or now, Enkrid had not changed.

That constancy might be what brought him here.

Anyway, he could be called lucky again in the sense that nothing here interfered with his progress.

He sank deeper into himself.

The standards Enkrid envisioned could well be called the standards of a knight.

Of course, this alone couldn't categorize a knight's combat power.

More precisely, it couldn't determine victory or defeat.

Fights where lives are on the line are influenced by many factors.

He himself took down Jamal with Urke.

"Back then, I was closer to a beginner."

According to the standard he now defined.

Even if the system is perfected, that alone doesn't encompass everything.

At the time, Jamal was a fully ripened intermediate.

The outcome came from the difference in their Will.

"The scale of Will."

Not only individuality, but Will, divine power, and sorcery all influence combat.

But not all of that can be included in a system.

Distinguishing between what's possible and what's not—Enkrid had done so even when becoming a knight, never succumbing to a sense of omnipotence.

Even now, it was the same.

He differentiated, categorized, and structured things to build a system.

"Whatever it is, it can't be perfect."

But it could be completed.

Completion and progress mattered more.

It's because he gazed not upon a perfect today, but upon an imperfect tomorrow, that completion was possible.

So that's what he did.

The difference between beginner, intermediate, and advanced.

"Now it lies in how one handles Will."

The difference in combat power includes physical conditioning, compatibility, and more.

So victory or defeat in battle should be treated separately.

However, in order to standardize training and cultivation methods, a structure like this is necessary.

Establishing a theory leads to a system.

Enkrid opened his eyes.

It had been a week of going back and forth between the Fairy Spring and minimal training.

In the end, he hadn't left the spring for two whole days.

"I thought you drowned in there."

That was the voice he heard upon opening his eyes.

Lua Gharne, cheeks half-puffed, said it.

Though not enough to suggest she was really upset.

Enkrid blinked several times.

The moisture gathered around his eyes dripped down like sweat, some running along the grain of his face.

His skin felt several times smoother than before.

"At least the fairies aren't lined up waiting like before."

Enkrid, feeling the passage of time in his body, spoke.

He hadn't fainted, but had instead entered a deep state of internal focus.

He had some vague awareness of time passing.

"That's a premature conclusion."

Pell was also there, speaking with a lopsided stance.

Still basking in the exhilaration of having opened a new world, Enkrid joked.

"Servant, report what happened while I was gone."

"Who are you calling servant?"

Pell snapped back, though he didn't deny it all that strongly.

Perhaps he acknowledged it deep down.

He might even willingly accept the role if it came from Enkrid rather than Rophod.

When Enkrid stood and wiped his body, it was all shriveled.

His fingers had swelled up like Frokk's from soaking in water.

No surprise—he'd spent the last two days submerged.

"Envious of my finger shape, were you?"

Lua Gharne said.

Enkrid gave a small laugh, dried off, and dressed.

Not in his usual clothes, but in a fairy outfit that had been placed there at some point.

A shirt and pants woven from green thread.

Even underwear had been prepared, and his gear and armor were laid neatly to one side.

Enkrid only put on the clothes.

They looked scratchy but wrapped his body softly, giving a cozy feeling.

Like being draped in sun-kissed leaves.

He wasn't particularly thirsty.

Nor very hungry.

"The fairy crowd started to grow bit by bit, and today they're swarming."

Lua Gharne said, and Enkrid, stepping out from the spring, walked the fairies' treasured path—the one that, for Ragna, would clearly be a maze corridor.

Just as Lua Gharne said, hundreds of fairies were gathered ahead, waiting for something.

Why?

A rough guess told him they had gathered out of concern after he hadn't emerged from the spring for two days.

Still, it didn't seem like something to form a crowd over.

In fact, they seemed more heated and enthusiastic than when heading out to solve the maze known as the demonic realm.

Even so, fairy enthusiasm rarely shows on the surface.

"There he is."

A dryad with captivating green eyes covered her mouth with a leaf as she spoke.

Some dryads who were shy even around their own kind habitually covered their faces when speaking.

Fairies like these usually avoided contact altogether unless absolutely necessary.

So for them to be here meant they'd come just to check on Enkrid's condition.

A fairy who left her home no more than five times a year had waited here for Enkrid for two days.

"Shouldn't a healer check your body?"

"Shall I?"

"Wouldn't I be enough?"

"I came from the spring. There's nothing wrong with my body."

Fairies don't make a fuss.

They regulate emotions and maintain rational, logical behavior.

Even now, it wasn't exactly noisy.

Just vaguely resembled a marketplace.

Most were clustered in loose groups.

One short-haired fairy stepped forward.

With Ermen and Shinar absent and no one stopping her, she was likely a designated or authorized figure.

"If there's nothing wrong with your body, may I ask you to come with me?"

She was the only one with an actual task.

The others had gathered purely out of worry.

Enkrid could feel it now—intuitively.

"If I so much as chipped a nail, there'd be hundreds offering to fix it for me."

Lua Gharne's words were slightly exaggerated, but not inaccurate.

Enkrid was the savior of the fairies.

That meant something very specific.

He had become the idol of the entire fairy race.

"This is excessive."

Enkrid muttered.

There's nothing wrong with receiving goodwill and recognition for what he'd done, but...

Excess is still excess.

Even now, the moment he opened his mouth, hundreds of fairies fell silent, staring at him with glass-like eyes.

The sound vanished, leaving only gazes.

At this point, it felt like the stare of Argos, the demon who dwelled in the demonic realm said to be the origin of Evil Eyes.

Argos was a monster hailed as one of the demon gods, with a massive body embedded with a hundred eyes.

"Where to?"

Enkrid asked, ignoring all those eyes.

The fairy before him was tall, with short reddish hair and soft amber-orange eyes.

Her hands were covered in scars.

And she smelled different from the other fairies.

Instead of grass and flowers, she smelled of ash and flame.

The same scent Aitri had.

With just that glimpse, Enkrid could guess her role.

Having developed the Wavebreaker Sword technique and just recently established the stages of knighthood, his insight had sharpened.

"I heard there's a fairy tribe that handles fire."

"Yes, our family forges Naidels and fairy weapons.

I glimpsed you before.

I am Lephratio."

The head of a family bears the family's name.

Like Ermen.

This fairy standing before Enkrid was, simply put, the greatest blacksmith among the fairies.

"Fairies create bonded weapons.

These can function similarly to engraved weapons."

Fairies speak only truth.

They have no reason to lie or bend their words.

"I would like to forge a weapon for you, Sir Demon Slayer."

In other words, she wished to craft him an engraved weapon.

Instead of showing delight or gratitude, Enkrid scratched his chin, looking conflicted.

"That's unfortunate."

He spoke openly, hiding nothing.

"There's already someone who promised to make me one."

Engraved weapons can't usually be duplicated.

Since they're created by inscribing one's Will into the weapon, they're inherently singular.

"Then at least allow me to give you a gift."

Lephratio said without a trace of embarrassment.

Enkrid nodded.

There was no reason to refuse a gift.

He'd already received so much, but...

A gift from a fairy blacksmith?

That was something else entirely.

Weapons and armor—Enkrid had a bit of greed when it came to such things.

He never denied the saying that a fine weapon equals greater skill.

It may sound like a mercenary's sentiment, but the essence remained unchanged.

A knight wielding a fine sword.

If that knight fought a barehanded one—who had the advantage?

If he could gain a favorable edge, he would take it.

Enkrid hadn't changed.

No matter the realizations, his core remained the same.

His stance toward life had never wavered.

So he brushed past the gathered crowd of fairies and headed toward her forge.

TANG!

It was once the forge that Shinar had become ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) obsessed with—fire and steel.

A corner of the fairy city, and opposite from the Woodguard's domain, who avoided fire.

There, fairies hammered iron by large hearths, each immersed in their work.

In a clearing, black furnaces and bellows carved into tree stumps using some unknown technique were visible.

Fairies didn't forge weapons out of moonlight or leaves.

To shape metal, one needed fire.

That was an unchanging truth and axiom.

They were all sweating to create what they desired.

Naturally, Aitri came to mind.

The one who was to forge his engraved weapon must be waiting for him.

"Will he be disappointed I broke the True Silver Sword?"

No, he wouldn't.

That sword had been given to be broken.

Even if Aitri hadn't said it aloud, Enkrid understood.

And thanks to that sword, he had escaped a near-death moment.

When he met him again, he wanted to say, "Your 'luck' truly brought me luck."

So here, Enkrid would not be forging an engraved weapon.

"It's called Penna."

But then—

"Hmph."

Enkrid smacked his lips.

His sharpened insight now extended to recognizing weapons.

He could tell without even touching it.

It was a gift brought by Lephratio.

A sword worthy of being called a masterpiece—on par with an engraved weapon.

So much so that Enkrid now wondered whether Aitri could truly craft something greater.