Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 523 - 523 - What Is Honor?
What is the meaning of honor?
Why do we wage war?
It would be a lie to claim that such questions had never crossed one's mind.
Why must we kill?
Why must we die?
"If you chose to live by the sword, isn't it natural to be ready to die by it? Thinking only of saving yourself—now that's what makes a person lack honor."
That's what a mercenary with a sense of camaraderie once said.
"If someone wishes to meet their god, I simply help them on their way."
So said a priest of the War God.
Everyone has their own perspective.
Some fight thoughtlessly, swinging their swords without purpose.
Others obey simply because it is an order.
"There's nothing I can do but swing a sword."
Such words could come from a monstrous talent.
On the other hand:
"I do it for the money. No need for pretenses."
Said one, shaping coins with their thumb and forefinger.
"To prove myself through slaughter. I don't need any other reason!"
Once, a giant shouted these words on the battlefield.
"There's a heat that rises in the heart of war. That heat is the only proof that I'm alive."
Who said that again? Ah, yes—it was a Frog. Frogs are a species known to chase after something, though it's unclear whether it's a desire or a goal. It suited such a saying. "They come at me, so I fight."
There was even a beastkin who faced battles with such passive reasoning.
Enkrid had encountered many people, fought by their sides, nearly died to them, and, thanks to the curse of repetition, truly died a few times—only to come back and kill others in turn, eventually arriving at the present.
So, why do we wage war?
He didn't know.
From a ruler's perspective, the purpose might seem obvious. Perhaps it's to expand their land, to gain more wealth.
The continent, shaped by the threat of monsters and beasts, became increasingly urbanized.
As populations grew, they faced ever greater challenges—lack of resources, shelter, and space to live.
Rulers had to find solutions.
They needed fertile lands, rich with water and suited for farming.
But when they stepped onto such lands, someone would say:
"Hey, that's my land."
And so, the ruler, in need of that land, had to ask:
"Since when?"
"Since my grandfather's grandfather's grandfather."
"Well, I never heard that."
"Not my problem—it's my land."
"Hmm. How many punches do you want to take before you back off? Or would you rather just back off quietly?"
"Oh, you want a fight?"
"Yeah."
"Bring it on, you bastard."
Though the exact words might differ, the essence of such exchanges was likely similar.
So, when war breaks out, is it the one cursing and shouting who dies?
The king or noble wielding power?
'Of course not.'
The ones who die are the soldiers—those under the command of the rulers.
Should they then resent the ones who initiated the war?
Enkrid didn't know.
What he did know and deeply understood was this: once you pick up a weapon, you must also prepare to die.
If you dislike that truth, you could always shave your head, become a monk, and spend your free days sneaking glances at women while hiding behind the temple, secretly sipping wine in disguise.
And if that didn't appeal, you could quietly take your place among the exploited.
'But wouldn't being exploited eventually make anyone want to fight back?'
Perhaps that was inevitable too.
In any case, understanding the reasons behind every event in the world was impossible.
That's why Enkrid held a sword.
Not knowing the answers, he could only dive into the fray.
When words failed, fists had to follow.
'A knight of the end.'
When the bard's song pierced his ears and settled in his heart, it became a dream.
And now, part of that dream had come true.
So, what did he want to do after realizing his dream?
Certainly not cheer on soldiers as they were driven to the frontlines to die en masse.
Then how should one fight?
Enkrid pondered ways to minimize sacrifice.
War and battle were inevitable, but he refused to be a pawn dragged around. It wasn't about avoiding death or hesitating to kill.
Even if he couldn't deliver a blow that would end all conflict in one stroke, wasn't it right to strive toward something close?
He still didn't know if this path was right or wrong.
Even after walking it for a long time and looking back, judging the righteousness of one's journey was no easy task.
That's the nature of life. Even the past doesn't always yield clear answers about right and wrong.
But since there was no chance to walk a different path, one could only press forward after choosing.
Enkrid, too, had to do so.
And he wanted to.
"Aspen won't advance so easily."
Before departing, Krais laid out all his plans, explaining every detail. It was strategy—though Krais himself called it mere trickery to deceive the enemy.
"How?"
Enkrid asked.
A lamp, its oil nearly spent, emitted smoky fumes.
It was evening, in an office seldom used.
"What if, while walking through an open field, a wall suddenly appeared in your path?"
"I'd jump over it, break it, or go around it."
Krais fell silent for a moment.
Right—this was who his commander was.
A lunatic who would always find a way, no matter the obstacle.
"Normally, people stop. Especially if the wall is thick and solid, and if they know it can punch them when approached."
"And if they know that?"
"They'll stop in their tracks. They'll either glare at it or pretend to, all while thinking hard."
Did Krais really need to explain something so obvious?
No, he didn't think that.
Enkrid wasn't oblivious or pretending not to understand.
This was just a form of engagement—a way to keep the conversation going.
Krais, aware of this, continued without hesitation.
"Once they stop, we buy time."
"And then?"
"The main force flanks them."
A map lay spread across the office desk.
It detailed the Pen-Hanil Mountains and several key cities and strongholds.
Krais traced a line across the map with his finger. The lamp's glow stretched his shadowy outline.
"To circle around and attack their rear?"
Most would think so.
But Krais knew otherwise.
Beyond Green Pearl lay a foe as cunning as any trickster.
Based on the intelligence gathered, Aspen's reactions, and the current circumstances, Krais had pieced everything together in his mind, kneading it like dough.
The freshly baked loaf of insight told him:
"Aspen has someone who employs similar tactics. That much is certain. While we haven't formally agreed to stall for time, an unspoken rule seems to have formed between us."
When asked if they'd strike the rear, Krais' response left Enkrid staring at him, bewildered.
The large eyes reflected in the lamplight carried a sense of unease. Krais was always like this. Even when relief was in sight, he never allowed himself to relax fully.
For him, unease was like an extra finger or toe—something ever-present and intrinsic.
Fear and anxiety loomed, replaying the worst-case scenarios automatically in his mind.
This time was no different.
What if I'm wrong?
What if the enemy doesn't act as expected?
What if everything falls apart?
Even if they follow the plan, what if we lose?
What then?
Could we flee?
Though he'd prepared means of escape just in case,
"Do you think it's cowardly?"
When digging several burrows like a rabbit on a night from a few days ago, Krais asked Nurat that question, thinking it was fine to receive criticism.
"Not at all."
"Why not?"
"Because when it truly matters, you're not someone who will run away."
"I'm telling you, I'll run."
"Sure, prepare for it. It puts your mind at ease, right?"
He was planning to run.
But Nurat didn't even acknowledge those words.
Krais, momentarily recalling past events, erased them from his mind and spoke again.
"Interception."
"Interception?"
"This is the unspoken rule. While we talk about fighting, we avoid full-scale war. Instead, we pit our main forces against each other. Whoever wins is the victor, plain and simple."
Though his eyes betrayed unease, a peculiar intensity emanated from Krais as he spoke.
His anxiety was just a mask.
Beneath it lay a certain conviction born from eliminating as many variables as possible.
It wasn't about winning or losing but a prediction of how events would unfold.
Well, it might turn out wrong, but Enkrid fundamentally trusted Krais' predictions or foresight. So, he asked:
"Do we just need to win?"
Interception meant meeting and fighting the approaching enemy.
"Yes. But if—if—if—if you think it's too disadvantageous or feel endangered, retreat into the mountains."
"And into the Pen-Hanil Mountains, not knowing what monsters might be lurking?"
The path Krais had drawn on the map circled around the Pen-Hanil Mountains—a treacherous, top-tier danger zone no ordinary commander would enter. Although he had marked an outer path, he even suggested retreating deeper if necessary.
"Finn and the ranger unit have secured several relatively safe routes. Of course, it's not an absolute guarantee of safety, but—"
"But?"
"In the worst case, survival comes first."
Krais had always been like this.
His compulsive need to prepare for the worst was a fundamental part of him.
"Alright."
Enkrid's response was light, carrying no particular weight, no different than commenting on the marmalade he ate the other day.
That calm demeanor was both unsettling and somewhat reassuring.
A man who wouldn't run in critical moments—Krais knew it wasn't himself but the man before him.
Enkrid wasn't the type to flee or avoid danger.
Honestly, it was a miracle he was still alive.
Even when their skills weren't far apart, Enkrid had likely risked his life to protect the front.
Krais, unconsciously inspired by this, had begun to act similarly.
Nurat noticed because she was closer to him, but others failed to see this change.
"The enemy strategist's name—was it Abnaier? It seems he's back in play."
Krais, realizing the limits of what he could achieve solely by strategizing from the safety of a desk, had ventured into the Pen-Hanil Mountains himself.
"Shinar, I need your help!"
He mobilized the fairy company commander, Shinar, to lead the ranger unit with Finn.
"Do you know which forge the commander frequents? What's been his recent interest?"
Even for someone who prioritized swordsmanship and training above all, there were always subtler areas of interest.
"Interesting."
Shinar easily nodded. Thus, Krais baited the "big fish" Shinar with the "lure" that was Enkrid. Together, they secured paths and analyzed terrain within the Pen-Hanil Mountains, ensuring safety despite the dangers.
Krais even went as far as Greenpearl, envisioning a new fortress city. Initially planning for three cities, the strategy had shifted.
Now, Greenpearl would become a great city, protected by three fortresses. Over time, it might even be called "Greenpearl, guarded by three swords." The concept aligned with Naurilia's symbolic traditions, leaving not only practical strength but also a profound impression on its people.
Three swords guarding the royal family. Three cities protecting Greenpearl. It had a certain resonance, didn't it?
When Krais mentioned inscribing protective spells at the three fortresses, Esther had told him something: magic and spells gain power through collective belief.
Her words alone sparked the idea of restructuring the city layout.
But all of this was for later. For now, stopping Aspen's attack came first.
"The enemy's elite must be eliminated. They're likely knights."
Krais' eyes were still filled with unease as he spoke.
His anxiety couldn't be dispelled with words, nor would he expect them to.
His compulsions were not so easily erased, Enkrid thought.
"Understood."
He grasped the reasoning for killing knights and intercepting.
Despite bluster about full-scale war, small elite forces were being sent to fight discreet battles.
There would be no spectators, no songs sung by bards, yet that didn't make it dishonorable.
Pushing aside his conversation with Krais, Enkrid issued marching orders and now stood at the edge of the Pen-Hanil Mountains.
Looking at the mountains, Enkrid contemplated the path ahead.
"What is honor?"
It is defined by one's convictions.
If sacrifices could be minimized for this cause, that alone would be honorable.
Moreover, Krais' strategy—focused on reducing losses—resonated with him.
Krais guided the enemy's thoughts in a specific direction, subtly leaking information into their territory.
"See? I've figured out your intentions. Come and face me."
Krais spoke of information manipulation, and Abnaier, of course, caught wind of it. Should he twist the situation further and consider another path?
No chance. The route passed through the Pen-Hanil Mountains, cleared of monsters to make the journey easier for the enemy. Then, what should they do?
Originally, the plan was to outmaneuver their opponent's strategy. But if the plan had been deciphered? Anger wouldn't change the situation; they'd need to adapt to the new circumstances.
"The enemy seems to be coming out to meet us."
Abnaier calmly relayed to the beastkin general and added: "Please, win."
Words carry power. Some words possess magic. Abnaier's words carried trust and confidence, contrasting Krais' anxious demeanor.
One side showed unease, the other belief. Who would be right? Naturally, the victor would decide.
"Yes, this feels right."
The beastkin general smiled instead.
He was curious about the so-called demon slayer—or the mad noble killer.
If he had to choose, he was more eager to meet the lunatic who crossed the border and killed two squire knights.
What kind of face would such a man have? He was eager to find out.

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