A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 660-661

Chapter 660

“Some people refer to me as the Ragged Saint. My apologies for the delay; I was occupied with the youngster.”
While he described it as “playing,” the reality was that he had been instructing Seiki on the management of celestial power. This divine energy had surfaced within Seiki’s frame spontaneously, lacking any structured guidance. Without immediate lessons in containment, the force threatened to inflict physical trauma upon her.
Concerned for her well-being, Audin had requested the help of his foster father—the man known as the Ragged Saint. This obligation was the sole reason for his late arrival. In his view, ensuring the safety of the young Seiki took precedence over all else.
Positioned beside the self-titled holy man, Seiki lifted her gaze and remarked,
“You look even more like a monstrous entity than before.”
Since their initial encounter, Seiki had displayed an extraordinary intuition. The root of her gift was a razor-sharp sense of perception, and once again, she had identified the metamorphosis within Enkrid.
Even without her innate talent, the transformation would have been obvious given the constant chatter surrounding him.
“Word is the delusional squad leader shattered the hearts of countless maidens and reached a new state because of it.”
“I heard the spirits of the forest collected blood for him to consume.”
“Is it actually possible for a human to change that much through nothing but brutal training?”
Absurd rumors were circulating everywhere, but Seiki, despite her innocence, was no fool. She possessed the discernment to filter through the nonsense.
“Suggesting I become a divine guardian… that was merely a prank, right?”
The man—Audin’s guardian and the supposed saint—spoke once more. His delivery was straightforward, his grin modest and lacking pretense. He gave Audin’s powerful shoulder a friendly nudge, a movement that spoke of deep, effortless bond.
Audin offered nothing but his characteristic soft smile in return, his expression warming.
To Enkrid, Seiki’s prowess felt evolved, yet his focus remained primarily on the saint’s appearance. For a man labeled “Ragged,” his wardrobe was strikingly opulent.
Clink.
As the man offered his hand, a heavy gold band rattled on his wrist. His fingers were weighted down by rings featuring vibrant gems—rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. A pendant hung from his neck, boasting four distinct jewels set in a frame that shimmered with the luster of silver.
He was draped in fabrics as smooth as silk—luxuries that even established nobles would consider a distant dream.
‘That is an ensemble a struggling aristocrat couldn’t afford if they saved for a lifetime.’
Andrew, despite his noble birth, still wore rough, utilitarian clothes. That was certainly the case when Enkrid last saw him.
He had purchased a single formal suit for an event requiring a tailcoat, intending for it to be his only luxury.
“If I forgo fine food or expensive threads, that is one more portion of meat for the commoners of my lands. There is no place for vanity here,”
—that was Andrew’s constant refrain. It was a logical stance for someone rebuilding the Gardner legacy. The true challenge was actually sticking to such a spartan lifestyle.
Naturally, Andrew had modeled his discipline after Enkrid’s own and was making steady progress toward his ambitions.
The Ragged Saint flickered his clouded eyes. The lack of focus made it painfully evident that he was nearly blind—a fact that required no verbal confirmation.
“One must maintain a connection to the Creator, even if one avoids the path of a holy knight. Conviction is of the utmost importance.”
The atmosphere was pleasant—a luminous, clear day in spring. As the winter chill faded, the scarred trees—battered during sparring sessions with Rem—stood as silent witnesses while new, vibrant growth pushed through the soil.
Enkrid could feel the attention of Rem and Ragna from across the quiet grounds.
They had glanced over to investigate the commotion, identified the Ragged Saint, and promptly returned to their own business.
Jaxon had departed at dawn citing personal matters, and Esther remained in her leopard form for the day.
Enkrid had intended to visit the lower city early on, but after his morning drills, the holy figure had obstructed his path.
“That girl, and you as well—do neither of you harbor faith in the Divine?”
He followed up with the question.
“Not particularly.”
Enkrid provided a blunt response. His tone wasn’t meant to be insulting; he was simply providing a direct answer to the query.
The old man’s speech and demeanor weren’t exactly irritating, but they weren’t particularly pleasant to endure either.
His voice was gravelly, and his skin was marked with age spots. Yet, looking at him—
‘If he stepped into a cathedral dressed like that, wouldn’t they take him for a corrupt high priest living off the tithes of the poor?’
As Enkrid contemplated this, the saint addressed his ward.
“Audin.”
“Yes.”
“If I commanded you to slay this man this instant, how would you respond?”
The Ragged Saint posed the question with that same unchanging smile. Enkrid didn’t intervene. This wasn’t a test of whether Audin would actually obey.
‘Kraiss.’
The saint possessed that specific type of temperament. Similar to Kraiss, Abnaier, or Ermen.
Individuals of that ilk imbued every syllable with hidden layers. Every sentence held a web of competing motives.
The saint was so adept at masking his true thoughts that Enkrid couldn’t find a single thread of clear intent.
‘He might be even more convoluted than Kraiss.’
He appeared to be concealing even more than Ermen. Regardless, Audin maintained his grin and answered.
“Have you finally lost your mind to old age?”
The saint let out a sudden burst of laughter at the remark.
“Not quite yet.”
“If you are feeling unwell, there is a practitioner of divine healing nearby. Or perhaps a chemist with a stock of tonics,” Enkrid suggested.
The saint chuckled again, dismissing the idea with a shake of his head.
“I assure you, I am perfectly fine.”
“This elder is more proficient with celestial energy than I am,” Seiki noted from the side.
Audin waved off the saint’s provocations with ease.
“He has always had a fondness for riddles and nonsense. I suppose it was a joke in the divine style, brother.”
First there were the jokes of the fae, and now divine humor?
Enkrid ignored the comment, but then the Ragged Saint stepped closer and inquired,
“You are bound for the metalworks, I assume? Would you mind my company? Seiki, you must practice the exercises I showed you every day, morning and night.”
“Reciting prayers? That’s tedious.”
Seiki gave a dissatisfied pout.
“You have to master that tedium. It is the only way to wield the power with precision.”
The Ragged Saint rested a hand on Seiki’s shoulder, offering a comforting pat.
Moments ago, he had the air of a greedy prelate. Now, he projected the image of a profound mentor. The gems decorating his person even seemed to catch the light like a spiritual aura.
“I shall be going then, Audin.”
“I don’t recall giving you my leave to join me,” Enkrid noted, remaining unmoved by the man’s aura.
The old man’s words began to flow with rapid-fire intensity.
“If you refused, I simply intended to trail behind you in the shadows. Would you truly be so heartless to a sightless old traveler? Have I miscalculated your character? Or is it simply the fashion of the youth to bully the elderly these days?”
He had shifted from a sage back to a cantankerous old man having a fit.
“You certainly have a gift for words,” Enkrid remarked.
“How do you think a penniless wanderer like myself managed to stay alive all these years?”
“Through divine sorcery?”
“Aha, you caught me there. You aren’t wrong—I certainly leaned on that quite a bit.”
He spoke with a confidence that suggested he hadn’t been flustered in the slightest.
“I was told you only feign your blindness?”
“Audin, you really can’t keep a secret, can you?” The Ragged Saint teased the younger man.
“Was that meant to be confidential?”
“Not especially.”
The back-and-forth was beginning to feel like a performance, and it was stalling for time. Enkrid saw no harm in the company—and he was curious to study this saint further. He finally relented.
“Come along then.”
“Please be patient with him. He can be quite useful if you find yourself in a bind, brother.”
Audin offered a small bow of appreciation.
From across the way, Rem yelled out,
“Are you heading to see that fellow Aitri to get a shield? Ensure it’s a tough one!”
“I’ll see to it.”
Enkrid gave a short reply and started walking.
“And if you spot any assassins aiming for my head, be sure to take care of them as well,” the Ragged Saint added.
“What exactly did you do to merit assassins?”
“Well, my movements have become public knowledge recently. Officially, I was supposed to have perished in Legion. But now the world knows I’m very much alive. Naturally, there are several parties who would prefer me silenced.”
“It sounds like you’ve accumulated a fair share of enemies.”
“Not many. Perhaps ten or so.”
“You consider that a small number?”
“In the grand scheme of things, yes.”
Since everyone’s perspective is relative, Enkrid didn’t press the issue.
Audin watched the pair walk away. He understood the nature of his foster father’s soul. He wasn’t a man of malice. There was no risk in letting the two of them depart together.
The most the old man would do is play a few harmless games.
Audin thought back to the first time his father had come to find him at the Border Guard.
“I’ve broken the seals, released your divine potential once more. I’ve found you a home. Do you feel more at ease now?”
“I am recovering, bit by bit.”
“Do the apparitions still haunt you?”
“They visit for a conversation on occasion.”
Audin had already admitted to the sightings of Pildin—the youth who had been brought there and martyred as a “Holy Child.”
Hearing Audin’s reply, his father smiled and squeezed his arm. The question he had posed earlier to Enkrid was in line with everything he had told Audin.
He never truly intended for Audin to strike down Enkrid. He merely wanted to send a message to the commander:
That his loyalty was no longer bound to the Temple, but to the Mad Knights.
‘He perceives the truth even without it being spoken.’
There was no need to spell it out for Enkrid.

—

“I am aware that Audin’s path is now tied to the Mad Knights.”
Enkrid spoke as they cleared the military grounds, returning the salute of the guard at the gate.
“Just making things clear.”
The saint acknowledged that Enkrid had seen through the subtext of the question he’d asked Audin. He had acted with full awareness.
The saint’s cane tapped rhythmically as they progressed, and Enkrid was struck by a memory of two individuals from his past.
One was the sightless elder who claimed the title of apostle. The clothing was different, but they shared the same cunning—the same habit of masking their internal world.
‘But they are fundamentally distinct.’
Their presence felt entirely different. That self-proclaimed apostle had dripped with a sense of peril, whereas this old man did not.
If he were truly harboring that level of darkness, he would be a greater threat than Jaxon—but Enkrid’s gut told him otherwise.
And the second individual?
‘Why am I thinking of him?’
For reasons he couldn’t explain, the elder brought to mind King Anu of the East. Despite their vastly different lives and stations, there was a shared quality.
“Go on, attend to your affairs.”
The saint said.
It was unnecessary to say—Enkrid had every intention of doing exactly that.
They moved through the marketplace at a relaxed pace, arriving eventually at Aitri’s workshop.
Clang! Whoosh, whoosh!
The ringing of iron on iron filled the air, paired with the intense waves of heat from the forge that hit their skin.
“I’ve arrived.”
Aitri was standing nearby while his apprentice handled the current task at the hearth.
“I assume you have news for me,” Aitri noted.
He hadn’t touched a hammer in several days, opting instead to wait for Enkrid’s arrival.
“I was fortunate. That stroke of luck is the reason I’m still breathing.”
That specific luck had diverted the path of the projectile launched by the demon at the final second. Because of that, Shinar had lived.
Had Shinar perished then—what would his reaction have been? Would he have ended his own life to reset the clock? No. Enkrid would not have taken that path.
Even if his heart had been torn asunder, even if he had been consumed by tears, he would have kept moving toward the following day.
That was the destiny Enkrid had embraced.
He would not live today twice. Regardless of the cost, he would push forward into the future.
So, while Shinar could have died, and he believed the odds were in her favor, the risk was real.
The demon had attempted to seduce him with the vision of an entire lifetime. It was likely trying to force him to give in to corruption and transform into something unrecognizable.
If Shinar had been lost to that fantasy, Enkrid would have struck her to wake her up, or restrained her by force—he would have done whatever was required to save her.
Even without the ability to repeat the day, he wouldn’t have surrendered.
That was his philosophy.
Thus, he felt simple gratitude. That blade—“Luck”—had served as a barrier against a multitude of tragic outcomes.
“It truly was a matter of fortune.”
“I’m pleased it served you well. I also received the items you forwarded.”
Enkrid had delivered all the gear and armaments recovered from the zealots to Aitri’s care.
He had only just arrived now, having spent his time honing his martial skills. Aitri also required a window of time to study and test the new materials.
The delay had been beneficial for both parties.
“Well, let’s sit.”
Aitri spoke, setting out a small table and a pair of cups.
Taking a drink of tea, Enkrid glanced toward the exterior of the forge. There was no door—only a wide opening—where the Ragged Saint could be seen wandering back and forth.
Across the path, the trees were beginning to show their first blossoms.
A spring wind drifted in, only to be pushed back by the radiating heat of the furnace.
Looking out, Enkrid offered a brief summary of what he knew. The events felt like an epic in his mind, but in the telling, they were quite concise.
Once he had heard the full account, Aitri went silent in thought before replying,
“Return in one month’s time.”
“Understood.”
There was no need for further elaboration.
Even the detail regarding the shattered silver platter didn’t cause Aitri to flinch. His apprentice never missed a beat with the hammer throughout their entire talk.
Enkrid appreciated that focus. The apprentice, it seemed, was also dedicated to his own journey.
“Where is Frokk?”
“He is away. Seeking out specific components.”
“I see.”
He would simply look for him during the next visit.
As Enkrid emerged from the shop, the Ragged Saint spoke up.
“Are you not famished? I’ve been told there is a spot nearby with exceptional seasoned dried meat.”
“There is.”
“Treat me to some.”
“Very well.”
The two immediately made their way toward the district where the jerky vendors were concentrated.
Under Kraiss’s direction, the city had been zoned so that lodging and food were on one street, while smiths and craftsmen occupied another.
At the heart of the city sat four major hostels where the public coaches made their stops.
A few krona would buy a seat on one of those. Strong donkeys were used to pull the carriages instead of horses.
The carriages were open-topped and could hold roughly ten passengers. But neither of them felt the need for a ride.
The Ragged Saint moved with surprising agility, and Enkrid—naturally—had no trouble keeping pace.
“Are you eager to see what the artisan produces?”
The saint asked during their walk, referring to Aitri.
“Yes, quite eager.”
That was the extent of their brief conversation.
Moving at a brisk clip, they soon reached the shop where the jerky was being prepared. A shop specializing in fruit preserves sat just next door.
“The scent alone is enough to stir the appetite.”
They enjoyed a hearty meal and followed it with drinks at the establishment next door.
As they moved through the city streets, several residents recognized Enkrid and greeted him.
And all the while, the saint watched everything in silence.

Chapter 661

“Eh?”
“Am I to address you as your grace or the governor…?”
It all began with a man selling fruit.
“Greyham is the governor. I am simply the knight commander,” Enkrid answered the shopkeeper with an easy tone.
He appeared entirely accustomed to such interactions.
“In that case, Commander, please take these.”
With a knowing grin, the fruit merchant offered him a pair of plums.
Enkrid tossed one into his mouth and handed the second to the Ragged Saint walking beside him.
The saint, whose vision was obscured by milky cataracts, blinked as he took the fruit and sank his teeth into it.
*Snap—*
The skin gave way with a crisp, wet sound.
A sharp acidity initially hit his tongue before melting into a deep, hidden sugary flavor that coated his palate.
The aroma drifted up to his nostrils.
It was a remarkably high-quality plum.
“It is sweet,” Enkrid remarked.
“It truly is,” the Ragged Saint murmured in agreement.
Such produce was a luxury made possible by the expansive new orchard planted within Greenperl.
Indeed, even the aristocrats residing near the capital of Naurillia maintained private groves just to experience such flavors—so labeling this a luxury was no overstatement.
As they strolled past a line of traveling sellers, a merchant at a roadside booth called out to them.
“I’ve joined the Lockfried Caravan now.”
This was no typical trader.
A massive figure, identifying himself as a wandering peddler, made the announcement.
Enkrid raised his arm, gesturing to the fabric tied around it.
“This material is quite durable.”
He wore a cloth bracer, reinforced with interior leather padding to maintain its form—crafted from the very textiles he had previously purchased from the giant.
“Naturally. I don’t deal in inferior goods,” the giant answered, recognizing his handiwork.
Curiously, his tone was more booming than usual.
The Ragged Saint, having no reason to interfere, stood quietly and observed the exchange.
“What do you have for sale today?” Enkrid inquired.
“A variety of things.”
The giant displayed an assortment of wares on his table—among them were various talismans and sinister-looking bands.
“They claim this one is hexed—it brings terrors every night, but it offers protection against a single stroke of fatal luck.”
The giant’s thunderous voice drew the gazes of everyone walking by.
Enkrid inspected the objects the giant presented.
He sensed a faint vibration now—a sensation that had been invisible to him before.
‘This must be the result of my sessions with Esther.’
That training, paired with the mental strain of slicing through Walking Fire incantations, had clearly sharpened his intuition.
Just as the merchant claimed, the ring held a distinct energy.
A thin, dark haze swirled around the metal—visible only to Enkrid’s eyes.
When traveling across the lands, one occasionally finds remote outposts far smaller than a proper municipality.
Some are lucky to exist in regions free of beasts, but others survive only by constantly repelling minor monster raids.
Among those settlements are the few that engage in trade with local sorcerers or hags.
This trinket was undoubtedly a product of such a place.
It was a simple deduction.
True to form, the giant provided a brief but specific history of the item’s creation, though he seemed uncharacteristically chatty.
He hadn’t been this transparent in their past meetings.
The way he carried himself felt strangely welcoming.
‘Has he always been this descriptive?’
“I don’t believe I have a use for it,” Enkrid stated flatly.
Had he required such an item, he would have simply consulted Esther.
“I suspected as much.”
“Then why the long explanation?”
Even seated on the ground, the giant’s head was nearly level with Enkrid’s.
He leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“So that everyone else would overhear.”
His intimidating size and heritage made most commoners hesitant to approach, making sales a struggle.
Seeing Enkrid gave him a chance to create a spectacle and attract a crowd.
That explained the exaggerated volume.
‘He has turned into quite the businessman.’
Of course, the giant remained a man of integrity who wouldn’t violate his own moral code.
That was simply his nature.
“You’ve grown quite cunning,” Enkrid said with a soft laugh.
The giant gave a firm nod.
“You may move along now.”
“Right. I’m going.”
As they continued, Enkrid bumped into several more people who seemed to know him well.
In the eyes of the Ragged Saint, the commander even appeared to be on friendly terms with an innkeeper near the town center.
“What brings you out this way? If your stomach is empty, have a serving before you head off.”
It was Allen, the owner of the inn.
His ambition was to one day concoct a soup that surpassed Vanessa’s famous pumpkin broth.
Lately, he had been serving a poultry-based soup—a recipe his grandmother prepared whenever he was ill—and was marketing it with that sentimental tale on his board.
Because of that narrative, his trade was flourishing.
Naturally, it didn’t quite match the popularity of Vanessa’s legendary pumpkin soup, pumpkin tarts, or pumpkin cider.
But Allen was content with his progress.
Thanks to the Safe Road project and the emergence of Lockfried’s commercial hub, resources had become plentiful in Border Guard.
Allen was reaping the rewards.
‘And they are even cultivating the land in Greenperl now.’
The Ragged Saint had heard the rumors.
Despite his failing eyes, being in such close proximity to the life of the city allowed him to perceive things with clarity.
He often described himself as a man who focused on the small twigs rather than the thick trunk.
In other words, he prioritized the daily lives of the citizens over the grand politics of the realm.
‘Highly prosperous. Remarkably so.’
That was the saint’s conclusion.
The cessation of hostilities with Azpen was a primary factor.
Now, the local farmers could utilize the wide plains for crops without the threat of monster incursions.
The consistent patrols through the Pen-Hanil mountains had helped significantly as well.
And the growth toward the west via the Stone Road.
Every factor played a role in the city’s current abundance.
Yet, where there is light, a shadow must fall.
The Ragged Saint understood this fundamental law of existence better than most.
And now, that shadow was beginning to move.
Frokk were a race capable of mending their own skin perfectly.
Therefore, seeing one with a permanent mark was highly unusual.
Now, a particularly intimidating Frokk with a pale scar across his throat was walking toward them.
Was he seeking a confrontation?
Or was he looking at the saint’s decorated robes with a thief’s greed?
Perhaps he was a mercenary chasing a prize.
‘Or could he be an assassin dispatched by the Holy Nation?’
He was none of those things.
“It’s been a while.”
The Frokk offered a casual greeting.
Enkrid observed him for a moment before saying, “…Melon?”
“It is Meelun. Have you already lost track of my name?”
“Ah, of course. Meelun.”
Even though Enkrid had botched the name, Meelun showed no sign of irritation.
The Ragged Saint found this lack of ego surprising.
But for Meelun, this was the natural order.
If he attempted a real fight, he would perish in a single blade stroke.
A forgotten name was a triviality.
Meelun was a Frokk, and his kind lived by primal drives.
He only required a small taste of triumph or a feeling of utility to be content.
Thus, he was satisfied with his current existence.
Following behind him, a hairless man stepped forward—the sort who clearly exerted authority in the dark corners of the city.
He walked out from a cramped, dim passage between the tightly built rows of houses.
The sun reflected brightly off his scalp.
“Commander.”
He stepped up and acknowledged Enkrid.
“Gilpin,” Enkrid replied without a second’s delay.
“Why is it you remember his name?” Meelun grumbled.
No one paid the complaint any mind.
“Are you searching for something?” Gilpin asked.
“No. Just taking a stroll.”
Only then did the bald man look toward the Ragged Saint.
The saint’s attire was ornate enough to entice any thief, yet there was no spark of avarice in the man’s gaze.
The Ragged Saint’s eyes were failing, but his ears were sharp.
It wasn’t quite a bat’s sonar, but it was refined enough to catch muffled whispers from a distance.
That heightened sense also allowed him to interpret people through pure instinct.
While watching Enkrid, he also evaluated Gilpin.
There wasn’t a trace of cruelty or desire within him.
At first glance, he looked like a high-ranking member of a criminal syndicate—or something very similar.
The Ragged Saint’s decades of travel told him that much was true.
But Gilpin showed zero interest in the saint’s riches.
“Is everything peaceful?”
“With Commander Venzance overseeing the guard? What trouble could possibly arise?”
Despite the flattery, Gilpin held significant weight on his shoulders.
The spy network Kraiss had established was under his management, and he was responsible for the city’s internal order.
Because of that burden, he had visibly thinned—his face looked hollow.
That was the typical result of serving under Kraiss.
The toll was heavy, but Gilpin was pleased with his station.
The Ragged Saint couldn’t entirely fathom it.
This made the entire environment feel even more surreal to him.
‘Odd. Very odd.’
After wandering the streets for some time, Enkrid eventually made his way toward a cluster of military tents.
The Ragged Saint trailed behind in silence, studying his back.
Finally, he spoke directly.
“I care for the children left behind by war. Would it be permitted to build a sanctuary in this city for them?”
It might have been a heavy request to make.
But for Enkrid—who had just managed the resettlement of the fairy folk—it wasn’t a burden at all.
“Go ahead,” Enkrid replied without a hint of doubt.
“It will require significant funding.”
“Weren’t you intending to trade all those trinkets you’re wearing?”
“How about you provide the coin instead?”
“Fine, very well. You know Kraiss, don’t you? Large eyes, gets irritable if you ask for currency. Go speak with him.”
“What if I were the type of man who trafficked children for a few gold pieces?”
“Then you wouldn’t be looking to build a monastery. You would simply auction them off to the highest bidder. Particularly with those fanatical sects trying to manufacture child saints and martyrs.”
‘What is this young man?’ The Ragged Saint blinked his clouded eyes.
This one possessed a biting wit—and he knew how to analyze a person.
“Those villains have caused immense suffering.”
“Then perhaps it is time someone took action.”
“That is beyond my capabilities.”
“Fine. Build your sanctuary.”
The dialogue shifted rapidly, but every word carried weight.
The Ragged Saint found the interaction strangely fulfilling.
Within that brief, direct conversation, their hearts had been laid bare.
What was this sensation?
The Ragged Saint had come to inspect the home Audin had selected.
He knew the young man he viewed as a son would walk a difficult road.
He also knew the boy would not be easily persuaded to change course.
And he knew Audin carried deep internal scars.
To claim he wasn’t proud of a son who had endured all that and found his footing would be a lie.
Yet, one question still bothered him:
Why hadn’t Audin returned to the temple?
Why remain in this place?
‘Enkrid.’
This was the solution to the puzzle.
He had heard many accounts during his stay.
From Seiki, he heard of the man who rescued her.
From others, he heard of a man who never wasted a second of his life.
From many more, he heard of a knight who demanded an end to bloodshed and struck down shadows.
The Ragged Saint didn’t know where Enkrid had come from—only who he was now.
From what he could see, this man was pursuing a monumental destiny.
And yet… meeting him face-to-face was a different experience.
He was unlike anyone the saint had ever encountered.
‘What makes him different?’
His perspective. His resolve. Even his stride.
“What is it you truly desire?”
All of his wonderings merged into a single question.
Enkrid didn’t hesitate for a moment.
“For now, I wish to wield my style as naturally as moving water.”
“What?”
The Ragged Saint blinked, utterly lost.
“I have constructed a system, and I finally have a focus. But I want to push further. I can see the path ahead, but I lack innate talent—so I must proceed one inch at a time. Right now, yes, I want to move my blade like a flowing stream. Hmm, vocalizing it makes it clearer. After the Wave-Blocking Blade, there must be the Flowing Blade. Not ‘Flowing Blade’ like a stagnant pond, but a current that never halts.”
The Ragged Saint didn’t grasp a single syllable.
In his youth, he had studied a bit of combat, but nothing approaching this level of abstraction.
The concepts sailed right over him.
“Eh?”
“That was helpful. Audin mentioned I shouldn’t treat you poorly—that you would be a source of help if I were stuck. And he was correct.”
Enkrid continued talking as if he were drunk on a new realization.
“Eh?”
“I suppose there was a reason I ended up instructing Seiki after all.”
“Ugh…”
They had reached the camp.
Enkrid immediately began practicing his forms.
By that point, there was no sense in trying to talk to him—he was entirely lost in his own mental world.
The man the world called the Ragged Saint, draped in charms intended to be sold for the sake of orphans, simply stood there and watched Enkrid work.
A moment later, Audin walked up and asked, “Did you enjoy your walk through town?”
The Ragged Saint went silent for a beat, then asked, “What is wrong with that boy?”
“Did something occur?”
“He suddenly began rambling about a river or something and then started swinging his weapon.”
“Oh, that is quite normal.”
“Normal?”
“Yes. Absolutely normal.”
As a man who had roamed the world, influenced by others and influencing them in turn, the Ragged Saint finally understood a simple truth.
A fanatic.
Now he understood why the unit carried that particular name.