A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 851

Cypress looked up at the sky and stroked his rough, overgrown beard.“This is unfair.”

He was deeply dissatisfied with the situation.

The screech of a monster tore from the sky down to the earth. The wind rustled his crimson cloak and his light brown hair, which was now streaked with gray. He had thought things would get a little easier with Ingis recently becoming a knight, but the South had deployed something unbelievable.

Gryphon Riders.

The riders atop the gryphons were dropping modified magic scrolls and throwing stones from a height that arrows could not reach.

These were not weapons that threatened individual knights. No knight, not even a squire, was foolish enough to get their head split open by something as simple as falling hail. However, for the Southern Garrison—the ordinary soldiers—it was fatal. To block the aerial bombardment, the entire Knight Order had been sacrificing their sleep to intercept the attacks with thrown spears and bows.

‘We need greatbows that won’t break under a knight’s strength, and at least three months to train.’

Those were the conditions required to properly intercept the monsters flying above their heads—creatures with the upper body of an eagle and the lower body of a lion. Cypress coolly assessed the situation. Without the equipment and time he had just imagined, the Southern Front would be pushed back. There were already holes in the defense line, and some monster groups had crossed the border. These were monsters that the Southern bastards were deliberately opening a path for.

‘We don’t have the capacity to block them, too.’

As had happened before, the people in each territory would have to fend for themselves. Still, it was a losing battle. Gryphon Riders—truly an unexpected card.

“Ingis.”

“Yes, Master.”

If it weren’t for Ingis, who had recently risen to knighthood, and another knight known as the 'Fighting Knight' defending this battlefield...

‘We would have been overrun long ago.’

The underlying strength of the Southern Front was greater than he had anticipated. But should they retreat? If they were the kind to retreat, they wouldn't have fought this long in the first place.

“We will have to find a way to get up into the sky.”

“...Yes.”

Ingis’s reply was a beat late. Cypress was a hero who turned the impossible into the possible. His moniker was the knight who ‘Can Do Anything.’ That didn't mean he could actually fly, but a countermeasure of that magnitude was needed.

‘If we can’t, we lose.’

Ingis could see the Southern Commander’s intention. In fact, since most commanders desired similar outcomes, it was not difficult to read his thoughts.

‘To win easily while minimizing their own casualties.’

To adhere to this premise, a commander establishes various strategies. It is a simple proposition, but difficult to execute. The South continuously sent out the Gryphon Riders. Dawn, morning, noon, afternoon, evening, night—without a break. To block them, the knights were forced to intercept the scroll bundles in mid-air and threaten the gryphons with javelins. It was a height that ordinary soldiers could never reach. Thanks to that, the Knight Order had no time to rest.

‘If this continues for just two weeks, we will have to face the Southern Knights while sleep-deprived.’

Looking at the situation coolly, it was like fighting with one arm tied behind their back before the battle even started.

‘The army’s morale has hit rock bottom just from the Gryphons.’

The knights couldn't rest. If they had to face the in this state? The were the knights of the southern nation, Lihin-Stetten. They called themselves the protectors of the nation, but they were also madmen who believed everything would always go their way.

The Gryphon Riders were a variable no one had expected. It was known that the South had monster tamers, but who could have predicted they had tamed high-level monsters like gryphons? And to put riders on them to rain fire from above?

‘Do we just have to make it work somehow?’

His Master was a knight who had lived his entire life by that creed. Whatever the case, this was the greatest crisis the Southern Front had faced in Ingis’s memory.

“There’s no need for me to go. Just take the beasts who are in heat because they haven’t been able to fight for a few days.”

Only Jaxen from the Knight Order spoke thus and stayed behind. Naturally, a fight broke out immediately.

“Who are you calling a beast? The only beast here is that fucking Bear-Beastkin.”

“Hoho, brother. Are you referring to me?”

“Are you using ‘beastkin’ as an insult? You want to fight?”

Rem, Audin, and Dunbakel reacted to Jaxen’s taunts instantly.

“If we’re setting out, I will take the lead,” Ragna spouted his usual nonsense.

“No, sir. We will be going on horseback. I would like to put Sir Ragna in a carriage, but that would be too noisy, so please ride the most docile horse,” Roford interjected, stopping Ragna.

“A war with the South? Excellent. The time has come to show the skills I’ve learned while playing around.” The hard-working Fel showed only anticipation.

The Dragonkin, the Frog, and the Elf were beings who did not react to such banter in the first place. The three of them just stuck close to Enkrid. And when Theresa added her humming to the mix...

“This is the Order of the Madmen Knights.”

It was as Krais had said. This was a group of madmen, crazy bastards. At their center, only Enkrid was composed. When they followed him one by one, he had simply nodded his head. And that nod had grown into this.

“Depart.”

Enkrid took the front. With Weird Eyes joining, the party was not small. Everyone except Esther and Jaxen had set out. And so, they left.

Rem idly played a grass flute and patted his horse’s head, while Ragna dozed off in the saddle. Enkrid, noticing that Weird Eyes' back was lumpy and bruised, stroked the horse's flank.

“You don't seem like the type to get beat up just anywhere.”

The horse, who understood human speech, shook its head. The meaning of the snort was, of course, .

“Then why is this here?”

Even with a gentle stroke, the muscles on its back twitched as if in pain. This time, it seemed to mean that it didn't know.

“You communicate with the horse. Do you possess the same talent as I?” the Dragonkin asked.

Just because he could read minds did not mean he could see through an opponent’s abilities.

“No.”

“Still, you can communicate.”

It was a conversation held with Shinar in between them. She answered the Dragonkin’s question.

“It’s like conversing with just a look, Dragonkin. Just as my fiancé and I promised our marriage with our eyes.”

The Dragonkin blinked his vertically slit eyes once. “I heard that Elves do not know how to lie. The world must have changed a lot.”

Shinar’s eyebrow twitched for a moment—so slightly that one wouldn't know unless they looked closely. Was it an expression of displeasure? That’s how Enkrid interpreted it.

“Where is the lie?”

An Elf does not tell a lie. They just distort the truth. To Shinar, the marriage was not a lie; it was simply something that would happen in the future, and the engagement was the same.

“The marriage and the fiancé,” the Dragonkin denied it outright.

“It is not a lie. You demon,” the Elf finally spat out her displeasure.

If there was a curse worse than a rotten potato sprout to her, it was being called a demon.

“I am a Dragonkin.”

“This is an expression. Not a lie.”

Luagarne gave up on understanding the conversation between the two. Enkrid had little interest in it either. The entire party was on horseback. It had been a difficult task to find a horse that could carry Audin, but the stable keeper of Green Pearl City had prepared one that had been raised in a wide field. It was an excellent breed with feathered hooves and a mixture of brown and gray fur. Of course, Theresa had also received a horse of the same breed.

“Your name is Piyob,” Audin named his horse.

Piyob was a name from a holy text—a man who had built a castle by carrying stones while enduring great pain.

“That horse is a female,” the stable keeper pointed out, but Audin did not change the name.

“The gender is not important, but the meaning contained in the name is. Brother, this horse’s name is Piyob.”

Looking at Audin’s build, his fists, and his harmonious smile, anyone would readily agree with his wishes. The stable keeper did, too.

“Yes, Piyob. From today, you are Piyob.”

The man quickly nodded as he tended to the horse’s shoes. And so, as Audin named his horse, everyone else followed suit.

“Pathfinder.” This was Ragna.

“Black Eye.” Rem named his horse after its pitch-black eyes.

The Frog, due to her slippery skin, had to ride wedged between the raised front and back of the saddle. She called it "Carriage." A name without much meaning.

Temarress read his horse’s mind and said, “This friend’s name is .”

“Do Dragonkin lie?” Rem asked.

When Temarress nodded, confirming the horse really thought that, Rem chuckled. “If necessary. It has not been necessary yet.” In a way, it sounded arrogant, but it also suited the moniker of a Lone Walker. Also, was what the horse recognized as its own identity.

Roford, Fel, and Theresa named their horses Cream, Spot, and Pania, respectively. Cream and Spot were named for their coats, and Pania was the name of a pilgrim in a holy text. Dunbakel just called hers "Horse."

The total number of the Madmen Knight Order was thirteen—or fourteen, if you included Weird Eyes. Their journey to the Southern battlefield had a somewhat picnic-like atmosphere. The sky had few clouds, the sunlight was warm, and a cool breeze blew from time to time.

‘It’s a good day.’

Enkrid enjoyed the weather. As they left the Border Guard and moved up the safe passage, they received military salutes from the guard posts. Weird Eyes' back was lumpy, but there was no issue riding him. They trotted across the plains, slowing to a walk when the horses tired. No matter how sturdy the horses carrying Audin and Theresa were, they weren't warhorses, and they were laden with gear. It was impossible to go faster than a trot. They had prioritized endurance over speed.

After passing a couple of forests, a plain appeared. The day was so clear that the view was wide open.

‘Edin Molsan.’

Enkrid was not contemplating swordsmanship, but thinking of the person he had left behind.

‘On the battlefield, Edin is a burden.’

His true value lay in the city, in administration. Was Edin the only one? Farmers, artisans, artists, poets, musicians, painters, craftsmen. Until now, the place for them to stand had been very narrow.

‘The continent is ruled by military power.’

The knight, represented by a small elite, was the symbol of that power. Why had that small country beyond the West, which Edin had reported seeing, survived until now? It was thanks to a single old knight who had dedicated his life to protecting it. Even if a knight’s prime is extended, it is rare for one to be active until eighty or ninety.

‘Still, thanks to him, that country endured.’

The trade cities endured by using a delicate balance of power, but fundamentally, their backbone was a mercenary band that had reached the level of semi-knights. Though they were said to sell their loyalty for gold, no one belittled them; they were not the type to break a contract for a few extra coins.

‘A world where one can achieve their wishes even without military power.’

It was a thought that had firmly taken root in Enkrid's mind, going beyond simply ending a war. To protect what is behind him means to protect such people. Then, were there no such people in the South, where he was now going to fight? It was a thought that occurred to him suddenly.

Weird Eyes stopped walking. Enkrid’s gaze turned forward. His pupils momentarily narrowed, locking onto a target in the distance. A knight’s eyes can see much farther than an ordinary person’s. Enkrid saw a dot approaching from far away. The dot quickly closed the distance. It was a wide-open plain where the horizon was visible. The plan was to travel down this way to Viscount Harrison’s territory, rest, and then move on. The approaching dot came from the south, near the Viscount’s lands.

The dot, running across the open plain, approached rapidly. It was so far away that it was difficult to observe visually, but it was fast. If seen from up close, it would pass in the blink of an eye. When the distance closed, an arrow flew in, drawing a parabola. It was a bone arrow that had turned gray.

Without a word, everyone reacted. Everyone except Enkrid protected their horses and swung their weapons. Weird Eyes dodged on his own.

Only a chaotic noise echoed. Deflected arrows scattered across the ground.

‘It’s sour.’

Enkrid, while deflecting an arrow, smelled a strange scent. Sour and fishy.

“It’s poison,” Rem said.

Ragna, who had been dozing, slid off his horse. In a short-distance sprint, a knight is faster than a horse. His judgment was fast, and his actions were even faster. That was Ragna’s strength. However, the opponent’s reaction was quicker.

“Look at these bastards,” Fel muttered.

They shoot and run. And at a speed that one wouldn't dare to follow.

The figures that had been pounding the ground and running in the distance had fled just like that.

“Unpleasant people.” Roford expressed the ominous feeling that touched his sixth sense. He didn't feel a threat to his life, but it was annoying.

A few startled horses raised their heads, but they didn't make a fuss. Weird Eyes was already a leader among them; just by walking among them, the other horses calmed down.

It was a knock that broke the peace.

“Centaurs,” Enkrid said.

They were monsters he had fought before, back when they had grown to a colony level. However, this time, their nature seemed a little different. Three days later, their strategy became clear.

“These things are waiting for us to get tired,” Rem, a born hunter, said.