A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 289: Duty and Responsibility (1)

To Kraiss, this was the most obvious conclusion.

Why throw your life away in a battle with no chance of victory?

Why fight here, fully prepared to die?

Maybe if reinforcements were coming, it’d be a different story.

But looking at the situation logically, the chances of that were slim.

Slim, but not nonexistent.

If they wanted to see even the faintest glimmer of those reinforcements, they had to let go of certain things.

Green Pearl. The Border Guard Fortress.

They had watchtowers, freshly dug trenches, and other defenses. But if they got attacked from both sides, none of it would matter.

What we have now is meaningless.

Looking toward the future was sometimes the wiser choice. ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) Endurance alone wasn’t always the answer.

Kraiss had already worked through these thoughts and reached his conclusion.

So he said it.

"Let’s run."

Enkrid looked at the wide-eyed man, considering him.

His eyes seem fine this time.

He didn’t look like he was paralyzed by fear.

Then was he asking without knowing what would happen if they fled?

Enkrid expanded his vision, scanning the room.

Everyone's eyes were on him.

Whatever decision he made, they would follow.

That’s how it looked.

Even One-Eyed, who was lurking outside the tent, seemed ready to follow.

Esther, of course, was beyond question.

And if Rem, who was off somewhere sleeping like a log, returned to find him missing—he’d hunt him down no matter what.

Ragna? Even if they split up, got lost again and again, he’d find his way back.

Why?

Who was he to them?

What had they seen in him to follow him like this?

He couldn't force his will on them.

He couldn’t impose his own convictions on them.

Enkrid simply couldn’t do that.

"You can go."

That was his answer.

Kraiss’ face brightened, but he waited for what came next.

"What about you?"

Jaxon asked bluntly.

That bastard always waited for the right moment to drop the honorifics.

"I’m not going."

"Why not? Haven’t we done enough?"

Even Kraiss dropped formal speech. Enkrid didn’t mind.

Instead, he spoke.

"If you sell your sword for gold, you’re a mercenary."

The others stared at him, waiting for the rest. They looked like they wanted to question him, but they held back.

That silence made Enkrid realize something.

He had learned from them, but they had also learned from him.

They were listening.

Their ears were open.

Even if they had ignored him, he would have said what he needed to.

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But if they were willing to listen—wasn’t that even better?

"And I will be a knight."

He swallowed.

The thoughts he had carried, the beliefs he had once only vaguely clung to, had been honed and sharpened.

They had become a pillar.

Enkrid sat up slightly. Pain surged through his right arm and shin.

It didn’t matter.

He could endure.

It was far better than dying, at least.

Constant pain was merely a reminder that he was alive, that he hadn’t wasted another day.

"You say that a lot."

Jaxon muttered, throwing in a comment.

Enkrid pulled his legs in, shifting to a more comfortable position.

"If you don’t sell your sword for gold, then you must sell it for duty and responsibility.

And this is my duty.

This is my responsibility."

What is a knight?

A protector.

What must he protect?

The legends, the myths, the ideals of the past—the knights who shone like the sun once said:

Protect the weak.

Uphold justice.

Keep your oath.

Which came first?

Enkrid had already found his answer.

Chivalry.

Dying for a lady—is that chivalry?

If he had sworn an oath, then yes.

If that was his chivalry, he would acknowledge it.

But he would not sell his sword for mere gold.

Nor would he become a butcher who killed for the pleasure of it.

An intangible value.

To protect what he believed in.

To swear an oath and uphold it.

People might call that foolish.

But that was Enkrid’s dream.

The path he had chosen.

He had died countless times, and yet he had never given up.

That was why he hadn’t settled for mere survival.

If he ran now, how many people in the Border Guard would die?

Children. Women. The elderly. The young.

A massacre of at least three digits.

Or maybe fewer.

Or maybe more.

The enemy included cultists.

A horde of lunatics.

Of course, even taking all that into account, retreating now would be the more efficient choice.

Giving up now, only to take back what was lost later—maybe that was the better plan.

But he wasn’t going to do that.

Enkrid’s emotions didn’t waver.

This wasn’t about feelings.

He had decided.

He would do as he had sworn.

Behind him stood the Border Guard.

And he had sworn to protect them.

He wasn’t a knight yet.

But ever since the day he had sworn to live that way, he had kept his oath.

He had lived that way.

That was what it meant to be Enkrid.

Kraiss’ face turned pale again. His shoulders slumped. He clearly didn’t like the answer.

"This is foolish."

"Agreed."

Enkrid answered him, recalling a day from the past.

***

Shhhhhh.

“The rain’s coming down nasty.”

The mercenary captain didn’t particularly hate rainy days, but slogging through this sticky swamp for a job was starting to piss him off.

At least they weren’t trekking straight through the swamp itself. Instead, they were cutting through a small forest running alongside it. That was something. But it didn’t make this any more pleasant.

The damp forest near the swamp had a way of gifting long, wriggling bugs between the gaps of their armor, and the mosquitoes had no fear, biting at the mercenaries' exposed hands as they walked.

“Fucking hell!”

Smack!

One of the mercenaries swatted at his hand, cursing.

It was pouring—where the hell were these mosquitoes even coming from?

“How much farther?!”

A rough-looking mercenary shouted.

The guide pushed back his rain-soaked black hair and answered.

“Almost there.”

“You’ve been saying that for ages!”

The captain approached. He was a hulking man with a brutal face, exuding raw intimidation. Yet, even as he stared him down, the guide’s blue eyes remained calm.

“The rain’s slowing us down.”

“Hah... fine, whatever. Let’s keep moving.”

Thwack.

The captain gave the guide a light smack on the back of the head, shaking his head.

Then, he turned back to his men.

“Shut your damn mouths before I throw you into the swamp, you whiny bastards.”

With a grunt, the captain swung his thick sword, slicing through a vine blocking their path.

Snap!

The severed vine fell away, clearing the way forward.

His words were crude, but they kept the men from complaining further.

The guide—Enkrid—watched this and thought this was a decent mercenary company.

The captain looked like a brute, but he took care of his men. And the mercenaries, despite their rough edges, at least had a code.

They weren’t the kind to stab a comrade, a friend, or a client in the back during a job.

Without a keen sense for spotting people like this, a guide wouldn’t last long. They’d end up as nothing more than insect feed, or worse—fertilizer for the trees.

If you didn’t want to die a dog’s death on the road, you had to pick your company wisely.

Seemed like he’d chosen well this time.

“Why are we using him instead of a proper Pathfinder?”

Did that guy know Enkrid could hear him? Or was he saying it on purpose?

One of the mercenaries had sidled up behind the captain, muttering his question.

Shhhhhh. Pitter-patter.

Even through the sound of the rain, their voices carried. The trees above kept the worst of the downpour off of them.

“He’s cheap.”

“...What?”

“I said, he’s cheap. Not as skilled as a real Pathfinder, but he can fight.”

A half-guide, half-combatant.

For the price of a single guide, they got a soldier as well.

The captain had done the math and decided Enkrid was cost-effective.

Of course, the idiot mercenary didn’t get it.

“Doesn’t seem cheap to me. I’ve met plenty of Pathfinders that cost less.”

“Any of them actually good at finding their way?”

Another mercenary sneered.

“Want me to kill you? You little shit.”

After that, the conversation devolved into dumb banter.

Joking about killing each other.

The kind of talk you’d expect from rough mercenaries.

Their job was in a small village nestled in the forest.

There weren’t many monsters or beasts in the area, making it a relatively safe place.

A village surrounded by swamps should have had lizard colonies nearby.

But apparently, some wandering swordsman had wiped them all out over a decade ago.

Since then, whenever the lizards started showing up again, the village hired mercenaries to deal with them.

A few gold coins a year kept them safe.

Shhhhhh.

Rain poured down, blurring his vision.

His clothes and armor were soaked through.

At this point, the gambeson he was wearing was ruined—he’d have to toss it.

Good thing he’d worn a cheap one today.

Not that it mattered much. If the rain let up, the insects would swarm, and the humidity was unbearable.

Something about the trees here just trapped the damp air like a curse.

It was a standard job—clearing out lizards, reinforcing the village defenses.

Enkrid had been stationed in this region for over half a year now, training while taking on odd jobs as a guide to survive.

“We’ve arrived.”

The village finally came into view.

“Welcome.”

A middle-aged village chief greeted them.

After that, they got to work.

Clearing out lizards drawn by the scent of the swamp.

Hanging strips of bark soaked in repellent around the perimeter.

Driving stakes into the ground.

It all seemed pointless.

“This is wisdom passed down from our ancestors.”

The chief, however, believed in it with absolute certainty.

There was always plenty of work to go around.

Even if they’d driven the lizards away for now, a few stragglers would always creep back in. And when that happened, they’d need swords again.

There weren’t many in the village capable of fighting.

Most of them had never seen a real battle.

Since he had nothing better to do after guiding them here, Enkrid spent his usual time practicing his swordplay in an empty clearing.

“Hey, mister.”

A small voice called out.

A kid—big, bright eyes, pale skin.

Maybe twelve years old.

Enkrid didn’t underestimate people just because they were small—he’d once been beaten by someone about this size.

But this one didn’t seem like a fighter.

“Why do you train so hard?”

A familiar conversation followed.

A few pointless words.

A kid—specifically, a girl—who kept seeking him out.

That’s how Enkrid found himself befriending a little brat.

“I’m leaving the village in three years.”

“What, to die a dog’s death on the road?”

Calling that a dream? She had guts.

Where was a kid like her planning on going alone?

“No, you idiot! That’s not what I meant! You saw that herb that repels the lizards, right? You think this swamp is the only place with something like that? The plants that grow here are different.”

The village’s main source of income was herbs.

“So you are planning to get yourself killed.”

“Argh, shut up!”

What exactly did she think she was going to do?

“I’m going to find an amazing herb. And I won’t go alone! I’ll join up with a mercenary band when the time comes!”

She called it a dream.

Finding an unknown plant and making it into a miracle cure.

Enkrid didn’t mock other people’s dreams.

But he did worry.

“So, what? You are planning to die for it.”

“Ugh, shut up!”

They weren’t that close.

It was just a way to pass the time between training sessions.

Maybe she saw it the same way.

Among all the mercenaries passing through, most of them had rough faces. But there was one guy who just kept to himself, practicing in the corner.

She had talked to him, and it turned out he wasn’t the worst company.

That was it.

The mercenary job stretched on for over a month, and they kept having these meaningless little conversations.

“Is being a guide your dream?”

“No. A knight.”

“A knight? Like the Nightmare of the Battlefield?”

“Yeah.”

“...You know, you could just collect herbs with me instead. No one would stop you.”

“Let’s not talk.”

“No, really. I respect your dream. Totally. I mean it.”

“Look me in the eyes when you say that.”

“...Huh? What did you say?”

“Are you pretending not to hear me?”

She was a ridiculous kid.

And disaster always came without warning.

“Look, fighting here—what do either of us gain from that? I’ll be blunt. You got paid, right? Then leave. You weren’t hired for this.”

Enkrid had thought the mercenary captain was a decent man.

For a mercenary captain, anyway.

Then fifty bandits showed up.

Talking nonsense about some hidden treasure buried in the swamp.

The captain had a decision to make.

And the villagers had no choice but to despair.