A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 661

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.