A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The smile on Crang’s face, after his bold gamble, soon vanished. The Rihinstetten army had withdrawn. Four knights were dead, and the Gryphon Riders had vanished like mosquitoes struck by the cold.

Was there anything bad in that? There was not. Even so, Crang’s complexion was gloomy. He looked like a housewife worried about a summer night storm.

As if, though he had made preparations, he feared the ruthlessness of the storm because he could not measure its strength.

That expression was something only Enkrid saw. Until he turned and smiled before stepping into the small tent, Crang had kept a confident air.

Only once he entered the tent did he reveal his unease. Was this really a time that called for guesswork?

He could crack endless jokes over pointless matters, but for something truly important, that sort of prank was unnecessary. Enkrid chose the fastest path. He looked at his friend and asked:

“Why?”

Without any long explanation, that short, thick question contained everything.

Why does your face look like that, what is the cause of your unease, why can’t you celebrate victory—things like that.

The first answer came not from Crang but from Cypress.

“The number of troops, including knights, is far too small. And the number of knights is all the more lacking. For what we’ve seen, we have to say it’s too few to be the main force.”

In numbers, Rihinstetten’s troops were superior to Naurillia’s. The number of knights alone was at least three times greater. That was what was known.

There were three knight orders by number.

Of them, he had given four from the Amethyst Order a chance to leave this life and greet a new one, yet Cypress judged this was too little as a force left behind to stop him. Even with Gryphon Riders, this was nothing more or less than a delaying action.

“Rihinstetten split its forces. Their remaining strength is so great you can’t even properly call this a detached force.”

Crang picked up the thread. The worst he had imagined had come to pass. He was now certain of it only after having driven back the enemy.

However, what the king had just said was largely mistaken. If you looked only at the fighting strength of the units, this side was actually the detached force, and the hidden one was the main army.

In other words, the main strength of their own side had been tied up by this detached force.

“They’ve landed a blow on us.”

The king spoke again.

Enkrid’s helmet rack spun hard, to prove it could be used for more than just brawling.

‘Crang brought only the Royal Guard and part of his forces here. For a king’s personal expedition, the headcount is small.’

Then where are the rest? They would have stayed where Crang had originally been. The royal palace, the capital, or the road leading to the capital.

‘Crang came with few men yet even raised banners noisily on the way. Now that he’s won, he’s told the enemy exactly where he is. Unless I’m mistaken, simply letting a force of that size roam free is the sort of deed that earns you a line in the history books.’

Naturally, if he won, it would be written up gloriously, and if he lost, he’d be recorded as the stupidest fool of a king in the world.

‘The word that a king of a nation has taken the field in person will spread widely. Not as some half-baked rumor, but as an established fact.’

Was there only one pair of eyes watching? There had been hundreds. How many among them were commanders whose words carried authority?

He had killed the knights, but spared the unit. As many commanders returned alive, they would speak of the appearance of the blond man with blue eyes and a cream-colored cloak, whom they had seen with their own eyes, and pass on the things they had heard with their own ears.

What Crang had done was no different from throwing down a dueling ground, saying the king was here and there was no need for a long war—settle it here.

‘If he actually mimed throwing a leather glove at someone’s face, it would be perfect.’

Crang had cast his winning move.

Rihinstetten had crossed Naurillia’s border from the very start. As soon as he recognized that, Crang had searched for and walked the best path he could take.

He hoped to minimize the sacrifice of those within the fence called the nation. He was willing to put himself forward as bait to achieve that.

“If it goes well, I become a wise king. If it fails, I become a fool. I know that too, Enki.”

In between, Crang had hinted at his intentions a few times, and now he added further explanation.

It had been a short conversation, but Enkrid’s understanding was complete. Crang nodded, seeing his friend had grasped his intent.

“An army consumes supplies merely by moving. If they’ve already moved, they won’t just clap their hands and cheerfully turn back. Since they’ve come this far, of course they’ll capture at least one city, plunder its supplies, and return.”

“Do you wish to send Lien and Ingis, Your Majesty?”

Cypress asked. The knight with the graying, light-brown hair remained as plain as ever—neither savage in aura nor particularly dizzying in any regard. He was unchanged. No different from when Enkrid had first seen him. Only, the implications contained in his words were bare as a blade.

Come now, decide. Your Majesty.

Those you left behind have gone out to block the storm with nothing but a thin plank.

Are they enough on their own? Will you accept their sacrifice? Or, even if late, will you send a means to stop the storm?

Such words were hidden in that proposal.

Enkrid judged this a harsh moment, but since Crang was king, he left him to handle it as he saw fit. And as for himself, as the king’s knight, he simply had to find what he himself should do.

Enkrid asked for the name of the person who, holding something that might be reckless bravado or courage, had stood and endured, blocking the road to the capital from behind.

“Who stayed behind?”

Crang answered readily.

“Marquis Baisar volunteered.”

A man who liked tea, outwardly favored impiety, yet inwardly respected his father. Once upon a time, he had been Enkrid’s battalion commander.

Crang smiled, but it tasted bitter. It was a dry, astringent smile. With that bitter smile, Crang continued:

“I know it’s a gamble. I have no intention of making excuses or offering pretexts. Marcus might die.”

Yet the one speaking did not seem to believe that, given how much strength was in his eyes.

He would lead part of the forces and block an enemy army that included knightly strength. He did not need to defeat them. It was enough to buy time. The king, symbol of Naurillia, was here, and the two pillars supporting the royal house were also here.

In the end, this was a battle that would only end once the knight orders were swept away and the king killed or captured. Therefore, while Marcus stalled for time, Crang, by announcing his own name here, would draw the whole enemy army toward this place.

That was the shape of the strategy. Perhaps it ought to be named something like Antlion Pit.

‘If he had either lost or hurriedly shouted that the king was here, the enemy would have realized his intent, or it would have amounted to exposing the weakness of their own side.’

Instead of rushing out immediately, Crang had waited for his side’s victory. He did not cry out that he was here and that they were not to lay hands on the kingdom’s people. He did not beg.

‘Because he could not reveal his weak point.’

Even if his heart burned and his guts felt like they were tearing, this was a time when he had to endure. And that was what he had done.

It was why he had taken the risk of standing at the front of the battlefield after watching what Pell was doing. It was why he needed a provocation that, without seeming frantic, instead showed a kind of arrogance.

Pell might have no idea what he had done, but by coincidence piled atop coincidence, he had helped Crang achieve what he wanted.

And what was all this for? For time.

‘Short and sharp.’

Instead of burning long and slow like a candle, to strike like a lightning bolt—that was the core of this war.

In the meantime, they needed people who would pin the enemy’s feet and accumulate damage so the enemy could not waste strength in pointless places.

They needed soldiers who would die dragging out time instead of letting the enemy simply take cities.

They needed a hero who would show bravado, refusing to simply suffer the enemy’s blows.

They needed a great man who, even as he died to a knight’s blade, would gauge the enemy’s military power and pass it on.

That was the result of that need.

“Why? Do you think that without a knight order we’ll simply stand here and take it? I’ll show you how I fight. That’s what Marcus asked me to pass on.”

Marcus’s bravado was passed through the king’s mouth.

This time, instead of a bitter smile, a true smile accompanied it. In that smile were mixed trust, faith, loyalty—and also unease, tension, sadness.

With an expression that only a human burdened with anguish could make, Crang conveyed Marcus Baisar’s words.

“I feel the same. Everyone is fighting in their place for what they want.”

The king’s intent had not changed. For the sake of a short and sharp war, he had wagered many things. His own life, the lives of vassals like friends—everything.

If they lost here, Crang would die as well. He had demanded a war on those terms.

For that, they would spare their knightly strength. They had to gather it in one place. For here, they had to strike the cheek of the High Pontiff who led Rihinstetten.

It was the best way to fight and win with fewer numbers than the southern side.

Cypress had decided not to send the Red Cloak Order of Knights. Lien and Ingis could move out, but if they went now, they might end up doing no more than carve Marcus’s name into a gravestone and come back.

They might not even have time for that, and instead toss a few shovelfuls of dirt over Marcus’s corpse before immediately returning.

There were a few fast horses in the knight order that, while lacking wings, had conserved their stamina, yet no mount could surpass physical limits.

“Right or wrong—that’s for historians, tomorrow and in distant days, to argue. For now, I agree with ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) Your Majesty’s choice.”

Cypress was a man who knew how to console. He spoke to Crang.

Crang, in turn, eased the anxiety, tension, and sadness in his expression a little and gave more weight to trust and faith as he spoke.

“Even if the scales controlled by the Goddess of the Scales tilt, I do not think the things placed upon them become incapable of doing anything. Their deaths are not a foregone conclusion.”

The Goddess of the Scales enjoyed hard problems. On a tipped scale, what can you do?

The goddess asked, and humans merely answered.

If you did nothing, you would fall from the tilted scale and die. If you struggled and clung, you might live a little longer by hanging on to the scale.

If you entered the Great Cathedral in the capital, Nauril, you would see on the left wall a painting symbolizing the goddess’s hard question.

A person clinging to the scale and enduring, and something black, painted dark, pressing down with all its might on the other side.

Cypress looked into the king’s eyes. The will held in those eyes shone.

“In war, the victor gains the right to rewrite history from their side.”

If they lost, Marcus’s sacrifice might become meaningless. So they would win here and remember the resolve he had shown.

Enkrid learned one of Cypress’s habits. He made his speech complicated. Perhaps it was a habit that came with age. He was an old man past seventy.

“Don’t you ever hear people say your eyes look impertinent sometimes?”

Cypress suddenly asked Enkrid.

“This is the first time I’ve heard that.”

Enkrid was no fairy, so he could speak lies as needed. Crang snorted a laugh. Cypress, with a faint smile, went outside.

“Marcus is not the sort to meekly let himself be beaten.”

Enkrid continued, asking. He had fought alongside him more than a few times. He knew Marcus as a battalion commander, and he knew he often drank liquor poured into his tea as an eccentric habit. A man who would use his own nickname, conceal his strength, and do anything to win.

You could not exactly say he possessed excellent strategy and tactics.

‘But he’s no fool either.’

Crang nodded.

“Sharp, Enki.”

Enkrid heard the strategy Marcus had prepared. It was an amusing story.

“Indeed.”

Perhaps you should call him Marcus the War Maniac.

Hadn’t he often done things befitting his nickname in the past?

“War Maniac” was a nickname Marcus had given himself. Originally he would push forward the fearsome reputation that he enjoyed war, and then exploit the openings of his opponents. This time was similar.

‘But knights are different.’

Could he stop them? He could not. It was something you knew without even needing to rack your brain.

“I could just go over there for a bit.”

Enkrid’s tone was light, as if saying he would just walk over and bring back a drink of water.

“It’s already too late. This is a calculated battle.”

Crang answered. He had considered splitting the knight orders in response to the enemy’s movements, but then the size of the bait on this front would shrink. The current situation was the result of the agonizing calculations of dozens of strategists in the royal palace.

Well, and if things did not go as planned, he was even prepared to send out all the knight orders, cross the southern border, and wage a war of annihilation that called ruin down on both sides, saying they might as well die together.

In the past, hadn’t such kingdom battles been called wars of annihilation?

So this was both a dueling ground and a threat aimed at the enemy.

If we leave these forces here and you spread out to fight, we’ll simply march and burn down your southern royal palace.

Something like that, as a threat.

For that reason, there was not enough time to go and strike the southern army, who were using a broad expanse of land. The distance was far, and the terrain was rough.

Enkrid still spoke as if it were nothing important.

“It’s not too late. If I ride, I’ll be there in no time.”

He answered and stepped out of the tent, where a still-excited friend was waiting for him.

“There are a lot of mouths, so rumors will spread fast. Hm?”

The moment he opened the tent flap, Rem’s face was there. Who knew when he had arrived.

“You’re saying you’ll ride Rem and go? Is that really faster than just running?”

Crang asked. For a joke, it was a nasty one. Cypress, who had gone out ahead, couldn’t help but let out a brief laugh.

A madman riding a barbarian—what a ridiculous sight that would be.

“No, get out. Why are you even here?”

Enkrid shoved Rem.

“Can’t I even come here now?”

Rem replied gruffly, and Enkrid pointed toward another comrade still roaming the skies in the distance.