A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 637

Chapter 637

When a child encounters something truly captivating, they become completely absorbed in it. This is especially true if it aligns with a lifelong passion.

From her earliest days, Shinar had found peace in observing refined iron. To be more precise, she was mesmerized by the metamorphosis of the metal during the refining process. The violent, beautiful intersection of flame and steel never failed to ignite her wonder. As a young girl, Shinar would stare into the heat, seemingly intoxicated by the flickering light.

“What is the appeal of that?” her sister would ask. “Come see the blossoms with me, or let’s go visit Bran.”

Her sister followed a more traditional path for their kind. She delighted in the vibrant colors of the flora and would lounge in the fields until the perfume of the earth was woven into her skin. For fairies, absorbing the essence of the meadows was a fundamental rite of passage. Their childhood was meant to be spent nestled among the blades of grass, inhaling the sweetness of flowers, and tracking the rhythmic flight of nectar-gathering insects. In those quiet hours, they would bond with mentors who served as both companions and scholars, absorbing ancient wisdom through osmosis.

Fairy culture avoided harsh, structured training. They favored a slow awakening, believing that purpose and responsibility should bloom naturally through a life of play and contentment. Given their vast lifespans compared to the fleeting years of humans, this leisurely pace was their natural state. Adulthood only arrived once they mastered the art of emotional discipline.

“Do you honestly find that interesting?” her sister pressed, her lip curling. Being young, her voice still carried the raw, unrefined edges of her feelings.

“If you stay long enough, you realize it has the potential to become anything,” Shinar answered.

Just as the words left her mouth, the rhythmic labor began.

*Daa-ang.*

The weight of a hammer met the glowing metal. Within the fairy capital, specific lineages were entrusted with metallurgy. These were the Naidels, the renowned smiths of the Spring Blades. Before earning the title of master, an initiate had to endure a grueling apprenticeship, forging simple blades and mundane tools. Shinar was currently focused on one such student in the heat of his practice.

“Move back, or the embers will catch you,” the apprentice cautioned.

His name was Aden, and he was Shinar’s first experience with love. Looking back through the lens of time, she wasn’t certain if her heart belonged to Aden himself or to the fire he commanded. But as a child, she was convinced it was him. It was an era of her life before she learned the mask of stoicism.

“Then simply ensure they don’t fly toward me,” she countered.

“Fire is not a beast that obeys my whims.”

“Which is exactly why you haven’t graduated from your apprenticeship.”

“That is quite the sharp tongue you have,” Aden remarked.

Aden and Shinar were roughly the same age, though she technically held the seniority of years. However, unlike human societies, fairies did not use small gaps in age to establish hierarchies like ‘brother’ or ‘sister.’ Even so, Aden possessed a gravity that surpassed her own. She wondered if the fire had tempered his soul or if he was simply born with such maturity, though she never cared enough to ask.

Shinar was a member of the royal bloodline, but in their world, a monarch was a guardian and a figurehead rather than a tyrant. The role carried heavy burdens and solemn duties without the luxury of self-indulgence. It was a position of service, lacking the vanity of human power structures. Nevertheless, her heritage was recognized by all.

“Lady Kirheis,” Aden teased, “shouldn’t you be out seeking the consent of the flowers to weave a crown and soaking in the meadow’s scent?”

Shinar responded with a dismissive snort. For a young fairy, tumbling through the grass was as instinctive and refreshing as a human bathing in warm water—though fairies experienced a far deeper sensory euphoria. In this regard, Shinar was an anomaly. Even Aden, whose life revolved around the forge, spent his idle hours watching the bees drift through the gardens. Shinar, however, would trade the meadows for the furnace any day.

“I don’t see the point,” her sister muttered.

It was a time of innocence. Her sister eventually wandered off to find her own amusements, leaving Shinar to her obsession. In fairy society, there was no pressure to conform; they trusted that every soul would eventually find its rhythm and meaning. Shinar gave a distracted wave and turned her attention back to Aden.

“Do you know the meaning of *Igniculus*?” she asked.

*Daa-ang! Daa-ang!*

The hammer fell several more times, Aden’s brow glistening in the heat of the forge, before he finally spoke.

“Is there any fairy who doesn’t?”

Moonlight alone was insufficient for the shaping of metal. To build their civilization, they required the heat of the forge, and that heat required sustenance. The Woodguards provided the fuel—sap and timber harvested from the tree-folk that could sustain a fire for months on end. It was a marvel of their unique alchemy.

And then there was *Igniculus*.

It was a term deeply rooted in the lore of the smithing families. In the common tongue of the continent, it translated to a spark or a sudden flash. Fairies typically lived lives that resembled a soft, unwavering melody, devoid of sharp crescendos or sudden drops. *Igniculus*, in its literal sense, described a phase of intense, white-hot burning. For some, it was the fire of a grand passion. For others, it was the relentless pursuit of a singular ambition.

Fairies were defined by their tranquility, but during this specific window, they would blaze with an all-consuming intensity. It was through this burning that they evolved. Some likened it to the moment a hammer strikes raw iron, forcing it into a new shape. Before she had learned to lock her heart away, Shinar had loved that concept.

*Igniculus*—the spark.

This was why, when the time came to name her own weapon, she chose Needle instead of Naidel. She wanted a blade that embodied the spark.

That was how her life had been.

Then came the day everything changed. A presence approached the girl who worshipped the flame, whispering that it would be her secret companion. It began as nothing more than a gentle warmth. Because it was so subtle, no one sensed the danger. Because there was no warning, there was no defense.

*Fwoosh.*

“Do you wish to play?” the fire whispered.

An orange glow danced in the air, taking a shape that resembled a fire spirit. Given that some fairies were capable of speaking with the ethereal or the ghostly, and Shinar’s known affinity for heat, no one found this alarming. They assumed she had simply found a familiar.

“It is quite remarkable,” her sister remarked. By then, her sister had mastered emotional restraint, and her voice was a calm pool of water. Shinar had reached a similar state.

“Yes, I believe so too,” Shinar agreed.

When she first revealed the flame to her family, they accepted it as a friend. But that warmth was a lie; it was merely the embers of a brewing catastrophe. The ‘friend’ soon expanded into a monstrous, unyielding inferno. It consumed everything in its path—her kin, her comrades, and the very foundation of her home.

*Grahhhhh—!*

The Woodguards were overtaken by the blaze, and the thick, pungent odor of their passing filled the air. It was a scent that would haunt Shinar for eternity. To a fairy, the smell of burning Dryads was indistinguishable from the smell of charred flesh; it was the scent of burning life. The gates of a nightmare had been flung wide in the heart of their city.

“Aden!” she cried out.

“I will handle this,” he vowed.

Aden had finally become a master of his craft. He charged into the heat, brandishing a blade he had forged himself. But the entity draped in fire was no mere spirit; it was a demon. Aden was cut down instantly. Before the heat could even blister his skin, the intensity of the demon’s aura turned his body to ash. A fairy’s end usually carried the sweet scent of the forest; his death was a cacophony of burning nature.

“*Custos Akitos Responsum*!”

A master of spirit-calling stepped forward, attempting to drown the horror. Torrents of water fell like a monsoon, yet the fire refused to die. A shroud of misery and hopelessness fell over the capital. Shinar watched, paralyzed, as her world turned to charcoal.

Five Woodguards were reduced to cinders. Bran was scorched nearly to the point of death but clung to a fragile existence. From the ruins, a colossus of living flame rose. It towered over the fairies, five times their stature, looking down at the survivors with predatory interest.

“Since you played with me so well, I shall stay,” the demon declared, its voice mockingly tender. “I will make this my residence. Children of the woods, let us dwell together in this heat forever. I am what your stories call a demon.”

The creature settled into the city like a nesting bird, and there was no ambiguity about which fairy had invited it in.

“A curse,” they whispered.

Even fairies who have mastered their emotions are not immune to the rot of bitterness. Hearts that were once pure shattered, and the broken pieces were aimed at Shinar. They had lost their legacy, their partners, and their children. Shinar didn’t fight back. She didn’t even have the strength to defend herself. She was lost in a fog of incomprehension. Why had her fascination turned into a death sentence?

“This is not your burden to bear,” her father told her, his voice a shield.

“Indeed. This is our duty as your protectors,” her mother added.

But Shinar knew the truth. It was her intoxication with the flame that had fueled this disaster. For years, the guilt was a physical weight that stole her voice, leaving her in a world of silence.

*Kirheis.*

The name meant ‘Protector.’ Her parents were bound by their lineage to purge the city of the interloper. Her father took up his bow, and her mother gripped her sword. That year, her mother ascended to the rank of fairy knight, having mastered the elements.

“Daughter, do not blame yourself,” her mother said one last time before drawing her steel and heading into the smoke.

Where had the demon come from? The archives had no answers. But the intuition of the masses and Shinar’s own soul agreed on one thing: it had come for her.

“Cursed child.”

“Leave us.”

When a fairy’s spirit breaks, they become relentless in their spite. And the parents who went to slay the beast never returned from the flames.

“Shinar, you must let this go,” her sister pleaded. “You cannot carry this. It isn’t your fault.”

Her sister, Nyra Kirheis, urged her to flee the weight of their name. Then, Nyra herself took up the mantle, training until she could bend the elements to her will. In the midst of their ruined peace, a new spark emerged—the brilliant, fleeting flash of *Igniculus*. Nyra possessed a genius that burned bright. She became a knight and challenged the demon, only to fall as those before her had.

Shinar lacked the gift for spirit communication. She had nothing but the physical endurance of her body and an elemental affinity that was, at the time, pathetically weak.

“It happened because of you. All of it,” the survivors hissed. Their hatred was a brand that seared her very soul.

Her entire family was gone. The demon had transformed the city into a twisting labyrinth, and at the threshold of that maze, her sister’s sword stood plunged into the earth.

*Naidel.*

It was the Spring Blade Nyra had carried—a weapon for a woman who was the very essence of the blooming season. Shinar took the sword.

“You owe us nothing. Go and find a life elsewhere.”

“If you just disappear, the nightmare might end.”

“Don’t be a martyr, Shinar.”

“We are all bound by this duty now.”

“Accusations are useless. We must look to what remains.”

“The beast has made a demand.”

“Shinar?”

“It wants a bride.”

“That is madness.”

A thousand voices pulled her in different directions, but Shinar remained silent. she focused only on the obligation left to her. There was no room for her own heart in the shadow of the demon.

“Kill the creature,” was the only command that mattered.

The next to lead the charge was Arzilla. She gathered the remnants of their warriors and descended into the city. Shinar was among them. Deep within the labyrinth, she finally looked upon the demon again.

“So, you have returned,” the monster said. It was a creature of intellect, which made its cruelty all the more terrifying.

“If you attempt to flee, I will hunt down every last one of your kind. I will linger over their suffering, tearing them apart piece by piece, and I will send the remains to you as tokens of my affection. I will harvest their eyes and their skin, and I will find joy in the anticipation of finally catching you and presenting you with their corpses. If that doesn’t appeal to you, perhaps you can find another solution. Though I doubt you will.”

The demon’s words were a poison, dripping with malice.

“What I truly desire is for you to be my consort.”

Even if it was a trap, Shinar had no leverage. The demon shifted its form into a flicker of friendly warmth and whispered, “I have a proposal to save you. Find me a replacement. Bring me another mate to take your spot.”

It was a way to fulfill her duty—a way to buy time for her people. Shinar would have to find a soul to sacrifice to the flame. Otherwise, the only thing she could offer was her own life, which would only delay the inevitable for a few more years.

Shinar was no fool. She knew the demon wouldn’t honor a deal; it merely wanted to watch her moral decay. But there were no other paths. Despair was a cold coil around her heart. Within that darkness, she sought a loophole. She left the city under the guise of searching for a “mate.”

In truth, she had no intention of finding a victim. If she were honest, she just wanted a moment of freedom—a brief spark of happiness before the darkness took her. She wanted to gather a few memories before her final confrontation. The demon had granted her this leave because it enjoyed the prospect of her eventual failure and the flavor of her ultimate hopelessness.

During this borrowed time, she stumbled upon something she hadn’t expected.

“Who is the leader of the 444th unit?”

She vividly remembered her first encounter with him. Enkrid. At the start, he was just a peculiar human. A man with absurd goals, yet someone she couldn’t stop watching. Observing his relentless forward momentum… it was refreshing.

“Be wary of the fire,” she had told him once. Fire leaves nothing behind.

Enkrid had only looked confused by her warning, appearing slightly flustered by what he thought was a joke.

The years passed, and the demon’s deadline loomed. Shinar was out of options.

“Do you truly have no interest in marrying me?” she asked him.

She knew his answer would be a ‘no,’ and even if he had said ‘yes,’ she would have protected him from that fate. She couldn’t let him be the sacrifice. This meant she had no more lies to tell the demon. She would have to accept the demon’s hand. She might have twenty years, or perhaps only five, before he grew bored and consumed her. Until then, she would endure.

Her heart had to be as unyielding as a blade of Will. A blade that does not shatter. She would hold her ground until the moment came to strike. But whenever regret threatened to break her, the ghosts of her past would scream her guilt.

As a fairy trained in composure, she should have been unshakable. Yet, standing before Enkrid, her heart felt like a small boat caught in a hurricane. Any wave could tip her over.

“Just because you have lived a long time doesn’t make today any less significant than any other day,” Enkrid’s voice broke through her spiral.

“You are right,” she admitted.

The way fairies lived wasn’t flawed, but when a storm is coming, you have to move. Is it noble to stand still while an arrow is aimed at your heart? Is it strength to remain calm while the world burns? No. If you see the arrow, you must deflect it. When the demon first appeared, they should have fought with the fury of the sun.

“We were too comfortable,” she mused.

The fairy city had been insulated from the horrors of the Demon Realm for too long. Their peaceful, unburdened existence had dulled their instincts for survival.

“We should have been different.”

They should have lived with intensity. Like a blaze. They should have been the *Igniculus*—the sparks that fought back. It was only through Enkrid’s perspective that she could see this clearly. In a life that felt like she was drowning in a sea of fire, he gave her the air she needed to finally see the truth.

“Because of that realization, I am here.”

She would be the spark. She would draw the sword of Will. But every fire needs a catalyst. Some call it destiny; others call it Will. If you trust in destiny, you wait. If you trust in Will, you create the moment yourself. Shinar, possessed by a fierce Will, found Enkrid by destiny, and her inner fire finally caught. During their journey, she had truly lived. She had found her elemental power. She had intended to keep that spark hidden, waiting for the right moment.

“I could have just kept running,” she thought.

She had convinced herself she had no desires left. But now, she was facing a man who saw through every shadow.

“Did you truly not value our time together?” Enkrid asked.

“You are a stubborn man,” Shinar whispered, a smile finally touching her lips.

The memories rushed back. Her friends in the ash. Her fallen family. But over those dark images, Enkrid’s world was layered. Rem’s nonsense. Ragna’s lack of direction. Audin’s faith. Kraiss’s cynicism. Teresa’s melodies. Rophod and Pell’s bickering. Lua Gharne standing by Enkrid as Frokk watched with those wide eyes.

These memories were her sanctuary, a roof against the storm. Watching Enkrid earn his knighthood had brought her genuine peace. The mundane moments—the tea, the meals, the training—they were her treasures.

*You were the spring,* she thought. *The only spring in my endless winter.*

And that spring was demanding an answer.

“What is it you truly want?”

It was a challenge. She could see what the demon had done here—it was no longer a living thing, just a shell designed to create monsters and death. They were outmatched. The logical choice was to tell them to flee.

“I want to duel with you,” she said, her body betraying her logic. When the heart’s cry is too loud, the mouth simply follows.

“I want to sit around a fire and trade foolish stories.”

The truth of her soul had finally escaped.