A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 858

Chapter 858 - One Who Did Not Forget a Kindness"Sister, we must step away for a moment."

Audin said, surveying their surroundings.

There were many places that gave off a foul stench.

Meeting the king and the defenders of this place was a matter for his commander.

He had found a more urgent task.

Audin was a cleric who had not forgotten his duty.

'He told us not to turn away from the sick and the suffering.'

He was also one who followed the words of his master and father.

"Yes."

Theresa nodded.

She, too, followed the teachings of the holy scripture.

While many called the War Apostles battle-crazed fanatics, at their core, they were also believers who followed God's word.

"Brother," Audin called to Enkrid.

Ingis's gaze also followed the bear-like man.

Enkrid nodded.

To his eyes as well, the atmosphere was alarming.

All the ominousness he had felt on the way here had gathered and stagnated in this place.

The falling rain flowed along the drainage ditches, but the malevolence it brought had filled the camp, turning it into a lake.

A lake filled with malevolence, ominousness, and ash-gray.

"Do as you please."

Enkrid knew the divinity those two possessed.

He, too, smelled the stench.

Dunbakel had already been pinching her nose for some time.

"At thif rate, my thense of fmell will be paralyfed."

Because she was speaking while holding her nose, the meaning was poorly conveyed.

"She said, 'At this rate, my sense of smell will be paralyzed,'"

the Dragonkin translated.

"Anyone could understand that much," Luagarne said.

"I see," the Dragonkin replied.

He asked if this, too, counted towards his friendship fee, and Luagarne answered that it did not.

Ingis glanced back for a moment, steadying his wavering heart once more.

'How can you expect your arms not to waver when your center is unsteady?'

It was a fundamental of swordsmanship.

That is what he had learned.

A straight sword comes from a straight heart.

Only without wavering can one swing the sword accurately.

His mind, which had been briefly shaken by the nonsensical chatter, became upright once more.

Ingis observed The Madmen Knights.

'They're different.'

He had the illusion that the gloomy atmosphere did not linger around them.

To put it more simply:

'Their aura is different.'

It was light.

Even if they didn't know the specifics of what had happened, a knight should be able to tell how serious a situation is by the atmosphere alone.

But Enkrid was unfazed.

And it wasn't just him; it was all of them.

"Why can't you smell the stench coming from your own body?"

Enkrid chided the beastkin.

His tone was not serious.

"Even wild animals don't really notice their own smell. That's why hunters smear themselves with the creature's excrement when they hunt," said Rem, an experienced hunter.

"Are you saying you want to smear my droppings on yourself?"

Dunbakel asked, releasing her nose.

She, too, was a knight.

She knew how to control her senses.

It was just that a beastkin's sense of smell was so sensitive that she needed a moment.

"No, I'm saying I'll split your head open and smear that blood on myself."

Rem fiercely retorted to Dunbakel's nonsense.

"Ah, seriously. He pulls this crap at the drop of a hat. For real."

Dunbakel shot back.

"Shut up, you noisy bastards."

Then Ragna would jump in.

"Fuck it, let's all just die."

Rem would reply with a twisted smile, and as usual, everything would descend into chaos.

"We bet on the ghoul count? Let's settle it here. The loser has to stay behind with the Crimson Cloak Knights."

Fel ran his mouth beside them.

"Staying with this knightly order is a great honor in itself, you country bumpkin," Ropord retorted.

"Then stay, you half-wit."

"So be it, let's just make it so that only one of us comes back alive today."

Ingis's pupils trembled finely again.

'Is staying with the Crimson Cloak Knights a punishment?'

A curse, something he had used less than three times in his entire life almost escaped his lips.

He didn't know it, but to Enkrid, this was not a crisis.

And the knights, influenced by such a commander, did not waver in the slightest.

Enkrid's crises did not take this form.

An ominous air?

An army filled with gloom?

It was grim.

It was dreary, stifling, and felt like fighting a battle whose end was already in sight.

It felt like a great magical beast had opened its mouth and was about to chew his head off and swallow him whole.

Even so, his allies had weapons in their hands and the strength to resist.

Did he have to watch a child die because he lacked strength?

No.

Did he have to stand by and watch those behind him die because he lacked the ability to kill even a single monster?

That, also, was not the case.

The days of failing to protect because he was lacking had piled up to bring him to this point.

His resonance was lacking, but the inscribed weapon known as Dawn was at his hip, and the Madmen were with him.

If there were things he could do and he had the strength for them.

If there was still room to advance without giving up.

There was no way his heart would break over something like this.

"You cannot fight here," Ingis said, trying to stop the knights.

The sound of a sword being drawn rang clearly through the air.

Whether the rain lowered the surrounding temperature or not, The Madmen Knights were always hot.

No one listened to Ingis.

A commotion arose within the southern camp.

Because of the talk of the joining forces trying to kill each other, some of the surrounding soldiers mistakenly thought people were being possessed by evil spirits, and the commotion grew slightly larger.

Those possessed by spirits often spouted incoherent nonsense.

For instance, a soldier might suddenly declare himself the savior who will protect this land, demand everyone follow him, then draw his sword and attempt to kill himself.

Very rarely, people like this, possessed by evil spirits, would appear.

"As boisterous as ever."

It wasn't the largest tent, but it was the cleanest.

In front of the entrance, which was tilted to block the rain, a blond-haired friend looked at Enkrid and spoke.

A long pole propped up the tent entrance, and rainwater trickled down from the sloped canvas.

"Wouldn't it be stranger if we were quiet?" Enkrid replied, roughly breaking up his knights' fight.

Krang smiled and said,

"Welcome, Enki."

***

Audin looked at the scales set atop a pole.

It was the symbol of the goddess who cradled the balance.

"Are there no priests on this front?"

Audin asked a passing soldier.

The soldier was carrying a dented helmet at his side.

He turned with a fierce glare, but then answered meekly.

No matter how angry one was, seeing Audin's build and fists made one polite.

Unless possessed by a spirit, it couldn't be helped.

"Who are you?"

The soldier performed his duty.

Being inside the camp, he was clearly an ally, but it was a face he'd never seen before.

Audin did not identify himself with the tiered pattern on his cloak.

The soldier was not one to recognize the name of The Madmen Knights.

"I am a servant of the God of War."

"Ah, a martial priest."

He certainly had the build for it.

The woman behind him, Theresa, did as well.

The soldier saw them as reinforcements sent from the kingdom.

However, that raised a question.

Was a martial priest what they needed at this moment?

Wouldn't a divine priest be more necessary?

The soldier thought for a moment, then answered.

"If you're looking for priests who handle divinity, they're all bedridden."

Audin and the soldier were conversing in front of a holy relic on a pole.

"And," the soldier mumbled, moving his mouth a few times.

He was choosing his words.

Audin waited quietly for him to speak.

He was reminded of his days hearing confession.

Those who had actually sinned, those who believed they had sinned, those with a burden on their hearts, those with a stone on their chests, and those whose hands trembled after throwing a stone at another.

He had seen so many people.

He was reminded of one he had seen back then.

To be precise, a servant of the Lord who hid his desperation.

"At best, they have a month to live."

Contrary to the cynical-sounding words, his face was crumpled in anguish.

"Is there something you wish to say?"

"No. Nothing."

Theresa quietly watched what Audin was doing.

"Send them back. These are not people who should die here."

The soldier turned away.

Carrying the dented helmet, he walked away with heavy steps.

His name was Rapild.

Private Rapild thought of the group of priests, now sick in their beds.

"If our hands are needed here, then we must remain," one had said.

They were a nameless order of priests.

Five had awakened to divinity; the other five were just ordinary people.

They were people who had cared for the sick and injured.

"Is your younger sister ill? Fortunately, I know an herbalist in that area. Use my name and get some medicine."

Rapild had left a sick sister at home.

His family had all died long ago, and she was his only remaining blood relative.

He had volunteered for the Southern Front and sent half his salary to his sister.

He wished for only one thing: for his sister to live.

Even if she couldn't be cured, even if she groaned in pain, for her to ultimately live.

"Is there anything to eat?" his sister had often asked.

The city Rapild had lived in was destitute.

The slums were large, and the lord was not a good person.

It was a small city south of the Jaltenbuck territory, right in front of a forest where magical beasts frequently appeared.

A dead beast was good material.

Most of the people gathered in the city were hunters.

To be precise, they were called magical beast hunters.

That was Rapild's hometown.

He had taken care of his sister there.

It was an environment where it was difficult to expect help from others.

Because of this, he had become harsh, deep wrinkles had formed between his brows, he found it difficult to trust others, and he was clumsy at praying for someone else.

'O, Lord.'

He raised the hand holding the helmet and brought it to his chest.

Rapild stood in a secluded spot next to a tent and prayed.

'Take me instead.'

O, Goddess of the Scales.

Please, place my life on the other side of the balance.

Please, take me instead of the priest who saved my sister.

He was one of the men in the order of priests who had come here.

That man had paid for his sister's medicine.

Was that priest wealthy?

His tattered cassock and worn-out boots spoke for what he owned.

Rapild smelled a scent similar to that of his own childhood.

The scent of poverty.

He recalled the laughter of the priest, who, one day, had gotten a hole in his foot because of the thin sole of his boot after stepping on a sharp rock.

He didn't know any herbalist.

He had simply given away the fortune he had saved while wandering battlefields, serving, and living.

"Why did you do it?" Rapild had asked.

The priest had smiled and answered.

"It was God's consideration. The Lord's care. It was thanks to the blessing the Goddess of the Scales placed on the other side of the balance."

Everything was coincidence.

The priest meeting Rapild, Rapild happening to speak of his sister.

And by coincidence, the priest knew of an herb that could cure the sister's illness and happened to have the means to help.

So he did it.

That was all.

"Does a person need a reason to help another person?"

Rapild felt something hot surge up from his chest.

He fell to his knees and wept, shedding hot, racking tears.

"The Lord will watch over you."

His sister lived.

Her illness was cured.

As time passed, from the moment the priest fell ill until now, Rapild had deliberately volunteered for reconnaissance patrols to wander in search of medicinal herbs.

"You crazy bastard, stop it. The number of monsters has increased. If you go too far, you'll run into them. Doing that alone is insane," his comrades would say.

But he couldn't just stand by and watch.

He had just returned from thoroughly searching the grasses around the Demon Realm.

The support from the capital was not enough.

In truth, finding herbs might not even help.

This was just a desperate struggle.

A struggle born from the inability to do nothing and just let things be.

'When I wake up,' Let's go out again.

He would not let his benefactor die.

If necessary, he would throw his own life away to prevent it.

The Demon Realm's rain awakens the malice in humans.

That is why everyone becomes irritable, and the entire world turns a gloomy ash-gray.

The Demon Realm's rain poured down, and Drowned Ones were born within the camp.

It was the influence of the ash-gray.

But even in a moment like this, the flame of humanity was not entirely extinguished.

The flame lit by the nameless order of priests still remained.

***

'How many days has it been?'

The rain fell ceaselessly.

'Let's count the days.'

The soldier counted the numbers, feeling a splitting headache.

One week.

It had only been one week of drizzling rain.

'It feels like we've endured this for years.'

It felt like someone was holding a chisel to his head and striking it with a hammer.

If he could, he wanted to split his own skull open and carve out the painful part.

Many complained of headaches.

Another soldier had nightmares every day.

It wasn't the work of a succubus.

If it were, the knights would have noticed.

Many also felt that all of this—the headaches and nightmares—were meaningless.

They fell into a state of lethargy, dozing off during guard duty or just standing with vacant eyes.

And yet, the unit endured.

"Sir Cypress."

Some of the soldiers repeated the name of the man who protected this place.

The name of the fortress wall and dike that, though rusted and worn, did not collapse.

"Protect the priests."

Another soldier recalled the kindness he had received.

Because those who had been shown grace did not forget it, they still endured.

***

If a fight is wanted, then a fight there must be.

For a soldier and a warrior, that is the natural course.

But before that, what about the people who live in that country?

He had never met the king of Lihin-Stetten.

And yet, if he met him now, he wanted to punch the bastard in the face.

Sincerely.

In the distant future, when time has passed and the scars of war have healed, he would not make a decision that he would look back on and regret.

Enkrid listened to Krang's speech.

What an incredible human being.

The size of his vessel was not just large; it was torn open and widened.

There was no point in trying to measure it.

That was why he served this man as his friend and his king.

Those who go to the battlefield fight with their lives on the line.

They kill and are killed.

It is a matter of course.

Krang did not accept that matter of course as a matter of course.

He did not simply dream of a world after the war.

He explained why the fight had to be ended as quickly as possible, with the minimum amount of damage.

"Yes, let's do that."

Enkrid is a knight, the king's sword.

He would ably become Krang's sword.

"This is all I have to say."

Krang knew he was not a strategist.

What he had to do was set a direction and establish a purpose.

The king did so.

Outside, the Royal Guard that Krang had brought with him dealt with the Drowned Ones as soon as they were born.

They thrust their spears, swung their swords, and raised their shields.

Hadn't Sir Cypress said he would rather go out and slay one more Drowned One than rest idly?

Some of the knights were resting because they desperately needed it.

They had stayed up all night for a week straight because of the griffon riders.

"Rem."

"Speak."

"Take Dunbakel with you. Clean the area around the camp."

They had encountered no small number of monsters on their way here.

Now that they had arrived at the camp, he understood why.

There were even more monsters here.

It was time for Dunbakel's sense of smell and Rem's experience as a hunter to be put to use.

"Got it."

Rem stood up lightly.

If Sir Cypress and his knights needed rest, they would handle that first.

Right now, they couldn't rest even if they wanted to, because of the threat of nearby monsters.

Later, after sending Rem out, Enkrid went to look around and met an unexpected person.

"Enkrid?"

The other person recognized him first.

A face like Enkrid's was not easily forgotten.

It was only natural.

A handsome man with black hair and blue eyes was not common.

The man who spoke furrowed his brow and continued.

"I thought it couldn't be."

It was a connection from the past.