A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Krais clutched the rolled-up parchment to his chest and spoke.

It was a rough path. A sloping, rocky path with steep inclines, making it hard to catch their breath.

But it wasn’t enough to keep him from speaking.

“Rem… Rem, you say.”

He exhaled, pushing his foot into a crevice in the rock. Just as he felt a bit dizzy, a hand appeared. It was Encrid’s outstretched hand.

Krais grasped the hand and pulled himself up.

Behind them, a large rock served as a natural shield, providing cover on the rocky mountain.

They had chosen a difficult path, perhaps because it added some meaning to their journey.

At least it seemed effective, as there were no arrows flying at them yet.

“Except for his personality, he’s quite a good soldier.” Krais remarked.

Encrid, leaning against a rock and looking back at Krais, responded, “If we’re only judging by skill.”

He opened his mouth but then closed it, thinking that if they were only considering skill, Rem would be more than capable.

What if Rem had a more relaxed personality?

Krais asked Encrid again, “He’ll be okay, right?”

Even though Krais had planned the operation, he still felt uneasy, probably because of his nature.

He was the type to secretly hide his belongings near the camp, just in case something happened.

It wouldn’t be surprising if he had hidden various things around the city as well.

“We might get ambushed by the enemy unexpectedly. If I die hiding this, I’d feel so wronged my spirit would linger.” he often said, despite there being no signs of danger.

He was always nervous, always saying, “It’s because I’m anxious. It’s because I’m anxious.”

People are different, after all.

Compared to Krais, Encrid thought of himself as more relaxed.

Encrid, who had been staring at Krais, finally spoke, “If he said he’d do it, he’ll handle it.”

Rem was that kind of guy. Once he committed to something, he’d see it through.

“Are you willing to learn?”

He had said the same thing when teaching the Heart of the Beast.

Who would so easily share their skills?

“Watch closely. You’ll be learning it next.”

It was the same when he demonstrated the Heart of the Beast.

He had claimed he’d kill a Giant and did so.

Thinking back, ‘He’s an extraordinary guy.’

So, he would do as he said.

What did he say before leaving?

Something about the difference between a hunter and a sniper, and he added another remark.

“I’ll make sure to put this arrow right between the bird’s eyes.” he’d said, placing an arrow in his waist.

So, he’d take care of it.

“From here on, it’ll be hard to hide.” Finn said ahead of them. Up until now, they had been moving between rocks.

They needed to find a path that offered cover from projectile weapons, requiring them to gain a higher vantage point.

It was a moment that reminded them of Finn’s exceptional skills as a ranger.

Thanks to him, they’d avoided detection so far.

But now, the ranger’s skill no longer provided the necessary cover.

Encrid mentally gauged the time. It seemed about time for Rem to act.

They had been moving alongside the rocky mountain. If they continued left, they would rejoin the main force and return.

“We should wait.” he suggested.

Encrid spoke, and Finn remained silent, sensing a certain bond between the members. There was a palpable sense of trust that Rem, who had gone off alone into the brush, would handle things on his own, something evident in Encrid’s tone.

What about the other team members?

Aside from Andrew and Mac, the others seemed quite at ease.

“By the Lord’s grace, you have sent believers among us. Let those without faith repent, rebuke their sins, and grant them forgiveness.” Audin prayed.

Jaxon, meanwhile, was examining the blade of a stiletto, his face expressionless yet oddly appearing as if he were intoxicated.

Intoxicated by the blade? Even Finn thought the weapon seemed unusual.

It didn’t seem like the kind of dagger one would cherish so dearly, and yet, there was an unusual liveliness on his face.

The lazy one had sprawled out, somehow managing to squeeze himself between the rocks, holding two swords close and closing his eyes.

“Not enough sleep.” he muttered to himself, clearly not in the best state of mind.

‘Should I just leave this alone?’

Probably.

In Finn’s judgment, it was time to move. There was a master archer somewhere far off, a significant threat, and their lives could be on the line.

“It’ll be fine.” Krais said, the soldier with big eyes beside them.

Despite constantly expressing unease, he finally declared everything would be okay. Then he added something even more peculiar.

“I think we’ve eliminated most variables.”

What variables?

He didn’t elaborate.

Finn deliberately exposed herself to check behind them, aiming to provoke a reaction and identify the enemy’s position, but no arrows came their way.

* * *

‘This brings back memories.’

There were days when he used the plains as his bed and the sky as his blanket.

Times when he played on mountain ridges.

Back then, what kind of person was he?

He was a skilled and excellent hunter, someone who carried the expectations of others.

A time of balancing responsibilities and duties, of discussing power.

There were good moments and bad moments.

Moments he could never return to.

But what could he do?

He had to accept things and live on.

The West had now become a frontier.

Acceptance and acquiescence.

Rem learned this from observing Encrid.

In some ways, his Platoon leader seemed like someone who would never accept or agree to anything.

Yet, in another light, he was a person who could accept, agree, and acknowledge.

‘Acknowledging that talent.’

Deciding to become a Knight without giving up?

That was a form of self-destructive behavior, both mentally and physically.

But he kept moving forward. Watching him from behind stirred all sorts of thoughts.

How could a person be like that?

The thought arose: ‘Acknowledging a lack of talent.’

That was where Encrid started. Accepting, acknowledging, and agreeing.

After reflecting on what he possessed, what did he do?

He moved forward. He acquired the Heart of the Beast, a technique that seemed impossible to master without dying first.

Now, that heart also contained incredible strength.

He accepted, acknowledged, and agreed, then walked towards the future.

Whether at dawn or dusk, he was consistent.

Thinking of his Platoon leader always lifted his spirits.

Rem silently smiled.

Feeling good for no particular reason.

‘It’s been a while.’

He felt like swinging an axe energetically. The urge to return to the days when he immersed himself in the word ‘hunt’ arose.

Finding the trail of an archer was not difficult.

Rem was neither a pathfinder nor a ranger.

But he was a hunter.

What is a hunter?

A pathfinder is one who walks well.

A ranger is one who walks well and fights well.

Rangers are specialized members of the scout units. But are they hunters? Catching a few rabbits doesn’t make one a hunter.

So what is a hunter?

‘What else could it be?’

They are those who catch their target accurately.

Many of the continent’s people were in bad shape.

Wasn’t there someone named Enri? A plains hunter? No, such a person couldn’t be called a hunter.

In his tribe, Enri wouldn’t have been a hunter or even a guide.

He wouldn’t have even been half of one.

In his tribe, a hunter was someone who killed and captured game.

Someone who sustained the tribe’s livelihood.

‘There it is.’

At the end of his thoughts, Rem spotted his prey.

He had followed the scent, circling around to get behind it.

Erasing his tracks? That was no problem.

Rem could move as silently as a stealthy wildcat.

From his perspective, there were easy and hard prey.

Right now, it was the easiest kind of prey.

A fool completely engrossed in their target, there couldn’t be an easier target.

His movements were as graceful as the finest hunters of the western wilderness.

His breathing was long and slow, holding his breath to hide his presence, mimicking the round-headed predators known as the hunters of the western lakes.

Though there was a slight rustle of his clothes, he ignored it.

The target was too absorbed in what was ahead.

After grabbing the rear, Rem closed in tightly behind the last person in the group.

The enemy remained unaware of Rem’s presence up to that point.

The enemies were moving toward higher ground, walking in a line from below to above.

Rem reached out and touched the left shoulder of the person walking in front of him. The person flinched and quickly turned around.

‘Good reaction speed.’

As soon as Rem touched the left shoulder, he shifted to the right. His movements were ghostly fast and as quiet as a leopard.

From the enemy’s perspective, they felt a touch from behind on the left side, turned their gaze, and saw nothing.

Thwack!

What followed was an axe strike.

Rem swung his axe at the exposed neck as if splitting firewood.

With a splatter and a cracking sound, blood spurted out.

Blood splattered on Rem’s cheek as it poured out.

Instead of smiling, Rem observed the faces of those who turned around with his gray eyes.

All were terrified.

Wide-eyed with fear.

Those big, frightened eyes reminded him of herbivores, like deer.

One might say that seeing such faces was part of the thrill of the hunt.

“Ambush!”

“Damn it!”

“Stop him!”

Shouts and curses erupted, followed by frantic movements.

As Rem lowered his body, the enemy responded.

Specifically, three of them drew short swords with a swift motion.

Again, Rem thought, good reactions.

He shrugged his right shoulder and moved his left hand.

It was a simple trick.

Since he held the axe in his right hand, the enemy’s attention was naturally drawn to it.

As expected, their gazes focused on his right shoulder.

In that moment, a hand axe flew from Rem’s left hand, embedding itself in the forehead of the man holding a bow in the back.

The impact lifted the man off his feet and sent him flying backward.

“Spread out!”

One of them shouted. Again, good reactions.

Staying together meant death. Did they recognize the skill difference at a glance?

Or was it just an instinctive command?

Either way, it was timely.

Despite the order to spread out, the three with swords charged at Rem.

It was a coordinated action.

Then, the remaining five fled. They quickly scattered left and right, descending the rocky mountain, while one even began climbing higher.

Out of the original ten, two were dead.

Rem started swinging his axe, thinking.

Naturally, they were no match for him.

As they charged, he cut and sliced through them. His simple movements were like the scythe of the Grim Reaper to the enemies.

Amidst the blood and the fallen, the gray-haired hunter, covered in blood, twitched his nose.

The scent of humans spread through the stench of blood.

The hunter, trained by his tribe, moved again.

Rem had no intention of letting any of them escape.

* * *

‘What is this…’

The Hawk Eyed archer felt the sensation of being hunted intensely.

It was utterly bewildering.

Born in a mountain village of Aspen, he had a natural talent for archery from a young age.

Becoming the village’s best hunter by fifteen was inevitable, at least to him.

He hit his targets every time and knew precisely where to aim to kill.

After leaving the village to become a mercenary, he gained fame, which eventually caught the attention of a noble.

Subsequently, he served in the military.

It was the beginning of a new life, promising status and wealth.

“How about becoming a member of the principality?”

He was on the verge of being adopted by the noble he had saved.

Even though his adoptive father was not even ten years older than him, it didn’t matter.

Status was what counted.

Once he completed this mission and returned, that future was within reach.

“I’ll grant you a new estate.”

Those were his adoptive father’s words.

The Hawk could envision it—a future as a landowner, transcending his current status.

Perhaps he could even marry his half-sister.

Whiz. Thud!

“Gah!”

Something struck the back of his thigh. The Hawk rolled forward in excruciating pain.

He hit his head on a rock with a thud. His vision blurred, spinning wildly.

He had to catch his breath before he could see clearly.

“Cough.”

As his vision cleared, he felt his stomach churn. He coughed involuntarily, stifling a gag, and looked ahead.

“You’re quite the runner, aren’t you?”

Death stood before him, the Grim Reaper with gray hair.

“How…?”

The Hawk Eyed archer asked, his voice filled with questions. How had he been followed? How had he not noticed the approach?

Rem didn’t converse with his prey.

Thump.

An arrow, the same one he had shot, was now lodged in the Hawk’s neck. The arrowhead pierced through his soft throat and out the back of his neck.

Blood bubbled and ran down his neck, staining the gray rocks red.

“Hmm.”

Rem briefly admired the sight, then shook his hands clean.

It had been a long time since he hunted, and the prey was disappointingly weak.

Though it was unfortunate, it was already in the past.

Acceptance and acknowledgment, agreement.

The same thoughts persisted. Throughout the hunt, Rem had thought of his Platoon leader.

What would happen if he lived his life that way?

It was a question that had been occupying his mind lately.

* * *

Marcus led his troops in an advance toward the Cross Guard.

In just two days, at a normal marching pace.

No, it was even slower than normal.

They took their time, resting as needed.

‘Will this work?’

If it doesn’t? What should they do then?

Should they ask Encrid, the one who proposed the plan?

No, their lieutenants weren’t that foolish.

“If it doesn’t work, we just retreat. Whether the enemy is deceived or not, they will have to be aware of us.”

“Attacking the city outright would be a poor strategy, but this plan… who suggested it?”

The platoon member who relayed the message through the Fairy Company Commander, more precisely, through Encrid.

Was his name Krais?

It seemed there were no normal ones in that platoon.

Even if it was a cunning plan, it was a good one.

Pretend to attack the city, while actually flanking with the troops.

Link up with the main force’s rear, blocking the enemy’s escape route.

If the enemy diverted their forces to defend the city or cover the flank?

That would be a success.

If they didn’t react at all? That would also be a success.

That was why the so-called ‘Madmen Platoon’ was sent out.

Even if they couldn’t strike the enemy’s rear, they could at least flick them and then retreat.

Marcus thought that ‘flick’ might be quite powerful.

‘Perhaps the strongest flick on the continent?’

Puh-haha.

The thought made him chuckle.

In any case, they followed the plan for two days, then assessed the situation for three to four days.

After advancing for more than four days, they changed direction. They were returning.

Marcus didn’t rush the return journey either.

He wanted to see them, after all.

His wish was fulfilled.

“The Madmen Platoon, seven men excluding the Platoon leader, has returned.”

The team that went on the guerilla operation had come back.

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