A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Rem had seen Enkrid’s desperate efforts, but didn’t bother stepping in.

He rarely involved himself in the swordsmanship ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) discussions that came up between sparring matches.

“If it hurts, take a break.”

Even Enkrid had told him that once, and still, Rem never truly engaged.

“Mind your business.”

Even then, Rem only drew a line subtle enough not to seem sensitive.

After Lua Gharne began actively participating, Rem no longer sparred with Enkrid as intensely as before.

He would exchange blows with him now and then—just barely.

“You wanna fight? Come on, then.”

At those times, he would still offer instruction.

It was still a kind of teaching that prioritized fists over words.

To Rem’s eyes, Enkrid hadn’t changed much. His progress was slow enough to be frustrating. But at least he wasn’t regressing.

He was moving forward.

That was enough for Rem. He chose to just observe.

There were plenty of others who could train with Enkrid.

He didn’t need to jump in for sparring anymore.

He’d help out here and there, adjusting his breathing to sync with Enkrid’s rhythm.

But even that faded once Enkrid found his footing.

So these days, Rem spent most of his time either swinging an axe alone or occasionally pestering Dunbakel.

Sometimes he’d take trips into the Pen-Hanil mountain range. A sort of walk, whenever he felt his body getting stiff.

Granted, when Rem went on one of those “walks,” the monsters of the Pen-Hanil range would end up bleeding into the dirt by the time he came back.

He was heading out for one of those strolls again.

“If you’re going anyway, would you mind taking care of that pack of dog-faced beasts?”

Kraiss approached the casually striding Rem. He was wearing a feathered hat—where he’d gotten it, no one knew—but somehow, what would’ve looked ridiculous on anyone else suited Kraiss perfectly.