A Knight Who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 522

Chapter 522: Chapter 518

Because he became a Knight, something could change.

For those who knew Encrid, some things had already changed, and other things could still change.

However, separate from that, there were things that would never change.

There is a saying he heard so many times it was engraved in his ears since the first time he held a sword.

“A fool who can’t properly care for his weapon will one day wield a broken sword and die by the blade of someone lesser than him.”

It was something the mercenary who first taught him the sword had said, and though it was oddly detailed, the meaning was clear enough.

He had heard similar things countless times afterward.

“The sword is an extension of your hand. Do you neglect your hand when you care for it?”

Even a sword merchant had said that.

He was quite the smooth talker, and what he said became an excellent weapon for emptying the pockets of many sword-wielders trying to buy weapons.

Of course, Encrid wasn’t fooled by such nonsense, but he agreed with the merchant’s words.

Could you entrust a sword, something that carries your life, to just anyone?

Naturally, you couldn’t trust your weapon to someone with rotten eyes. To Encrid, this was a given.

“Are you doubting my skills?”

The dwarf spoke.

Was it the typical stubbornness of a craftsman? It didn’t seem that way.

In the dwarf’s cloudy, murky eyes, only greed was visible.

Did he say he was from Martai? Credit?

Where would he have quietly granted credit?

That was nonsense. He might not have killed anyone, but he surely had done something like skipping out on a debt.

“Could you go outside and call one of the passing soldiers?”

Encrid said to the apprentice instead of the dwarf.

“Pardon? Oh, yes.”

The atmosphere turned strange. The craftsman looked at Encrid and said,

“His skills surpass mine.”

“Not in my eyes.”

“You insolent brat!”

The dwarf erupted like a furnace, but it only took a simple gesture to cool his heat.

Encrid held the Gladius so quickly that no one present could even see it, and aimed its slightly dulled tip at the dwarf.

Though the joint was loose, there wasn’t even the sound of rattling. In the blink of an eye, the blade was pointed at the dwarf.

All the while, the craftsman thought he had done well to maintain the blade, applying oil regularly.

“If I’m not mistaken, I probably have the authority for a summary execution. Martai is a sister city to the Border Guard, and if you’ve caused a serious problem there, the local Commander could hold you accountable.”

Encrid calmly stated the facts as he turned his gaze back to the craftsman. The craftsman blinked several times.

For a moment, no one spoke. The dwarf nervously rolled his eyes. Then, the craftsman suddenly asked Encrid,

“Is there any particular reason you want me to handle this?”

Encrid answered immediately.

“Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

The craftsman asked again, and Encrid looked into his eyes.

“You claim your skills are lacking, but your attitude and your eyes don’t seem to say the same.”

Just as there were things obvious to Encrid, there were things obvious to the craftsman as well.

Saying your skills are lacking is simply acknowledging the present, the now, but that doesn’t mean it will always be that way.

That was what was obvious to the craftsman. He had no intention of stopping here.

He faced the flames every day to hone his skills, his fingers blackened, and his face tanned. His blackened forearms bore witness to that.

In contrast, the dwarf had a protruding belly, reeked of alcohol, and asked for a house.

To Encrid, this was trash.

If the dwarf had also asked for a woman along with the house, he would have already been beaten to within an inch of his life.

There were no small number of female soldiers in the Border Guard, and if left to them, they would trample him thoroughly.

Sure, he might have been born with natural talent in handling steel.

Skill is one thing. But what about the will contained within?

Encrid wasn’t saying this because he was a Knight who wielded Will.

Even without Will, Encrid would have treated him the same way.

Even if the dwarf could fight better than Encrid, the result would be no different.

If something changes, there are things that will never change.

The craftsman’s pupils trembled.

What does this guy know?

No, it doesn’t seem like he knows anything.

Encrid still held his sword in his left hand as he asked.

“Do you have a dream?”

The craftsman blinked. Slowly, three times.

Whatever change of heart he underwent in that brief moment, his eyes stopped trembling, and his mouth opened.

“Call me Eitri.”

He suddenly spoke his name and used an honorific.

“Encrid of the Border Guard.”

“Then I will call myself Eitri of the Border Guard as well.”

He outwardly remained calm, but for the first time in his life, Eitri was seeing someone who could speak of their dreams by looking into his eyes.

Looking into this man’s blue eyes, he felt like he could say anything.

Even those stories that would be ridiculed if spoken aloud, like his own dreams.

In this era, there were many who made their living by handling fire and steel.

There were those who possessed the spirit of craftsmanship, but once they reached a certain level of status, they inevitably returned to discussing reality and ceased striving to improve their skills.

People who spoke of dreams and struggled to achieve them?

There were some in the beginning. They boasted.

But as time passed, their hearts changed. It happened to everyone.

But not Eitri.

He had a dream. One he couldn’t easily tell anyone about.

That dream had led him to create the solid steel axes from Lewis Mountain, and the solid black gold greatsword as well.

This was someone who spoke of dreams.

Eitri, though his hair had turned white and thinned, though his arms had weakened, recalled something he had never forgotten and spoke.

“I want to create a personalized weapon.”

A personalized weapon referred to the kind of weapon wielded by Knights.

Normally, a Knight commissions only one personalized weapon in their lifetime, making it an unparalleled honor for the craftsman. But it required talent and luck, and without the proper qualifications, one couldn’t even hope to attempt it.

Currently, there were fewer than three craftsmen on the continent who could make personalized weapons.

Maybe more if one searched for hidden talents? It was possible.

There were no sages who knew everything in the world.

So what should one do if they wanted a personalized weapon right away?

At this moment, the most reasonable course would be to find the White Flame Guild, said to live near the Demon Realm.

They were known as a group of craftsmen who handled white flames, and they had experience making personalized weapons.

Of course, finding them and commissioning them would not be easy, but it was undoubtedly the best option.

Still, making a personalized weapon—that was the dream of this elderly craftsman, who worked with fire and steel.

“You can’t even handle enchanted weapons.”

“I’m studying and researching. Will you let me make your weapon later?”

His tone was exceedingly polite. His apprentice hadn’t even moved, too shocked to breathe properly.

He had never heard his master speak like this before.

Though he had made weapons for the Mad Company, he had never shown this kind of attitude.

He had never shown it to anyone before.

Was it because his client was Demon Slayer?

His master wasn’t one to change his speech or bow his head to someone’s rank.

That was why he respected him.

“I’ll wait.”

“I’m asking if you’ll let me do it when you become a Knight.”

“I said I’ll wait.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re talking about Knighthood by rank, you’ll have to go to the Royal Palace. But isn’t that what you meant?”

Blink.

Eitri blinked, confused by what he was hearing.

Then, realizing what Encrid meant, his eyes widened before he quickly returned to his expressionless face.

It wasn’t a secret that Encrid had the skills to be called a Knight, but only a few people knew it.

Yet he said it so casually that both Eitri and his apprentice were startled, and even the dwarf was surprised.

The dwarf, who had been discreetly stepping back, hoping to sneak away, gave up on fleeing when the Demon Slayer shifted the tip of his sword in his direction without even glancing at him.

The dwarf thought he was in for a dirty situation. He had expected someone of high status to bow to him, but…

Normally, someone who handled weapons would kneel at his skills once they saw them. Was it because he hadn’t shown his skills yet?

No way, the outcome was clear. If he acted up, he’d be crushed. Even if he made an extraordinary sword on the spot, that man wouldn’t use it.

“Still here?”

Encrid said indifferently, and the apprentice quickly sprang into action.

Eitri held out his hand again. Encrid handed him the Gladius.

The dwarf, half-crouching, glanced around nervously.

“If you try to run, I’ll break your legs. If that’s necessary, just say the word.”

Encrid said, watching Eitri work.

“I’ll behave.”

The dwarf’s voice was significantly quieter than before, and no one paid attention to him.

Eitri picked up a hammer and chisel, gently tapping the part that connected the Gladius to the blade, dismantling it.

He then held the blade up to his eye level to check its balance and condition.

“I’ll heat it up and sharpen the edge again. Do you use your weapons harshly?”

“I face many tough opponents.”

Encrid replied plainly, without arrogance. Eitri immersed himself in his work.

Whoosh.

With a step on the bellows, flames flared up. The heat surged, filling the forge.

The air became so hot it pressed down on their lungs, making it hard to breathe.

If Encrid himself felt uncomfortable, Eitri and Frog sitting nearby must have been suffering, but they remained unbothered.

Encrid, seated in a chair, watched Eitri. After observing him for a moment, he casually pulled out some leather he had bought on his way here.

“I’ll repair that as well.”

Eitri glanced over and replied. When Encrid mentioned his whistle Daggers, Eitri said he could make a few of those too.

“That Frog doesn’t seem like a customer.”

The Frog, whom Encrid had glanced at earlier, had returned to his original position, sitting on a chair higher than Encrid’s and resting his arms on a desk, fully absorbed in his task.

“He’s a friend here to learn how to make trinkets.”

Eitri said.

Encrid was more surprised than when he had seen a Giant become a merchant.

“Frog?”

It was a question that came out naturally. Frogs were born with naturally slick skin.

Depending on their emotions, oil would flow over their entire bodies, and they would use ringed weapons in battle, hanging them from their fingers to fight.

It wasn’t for no reason that they made things like loop swords or loop axes.

Frog’s slick skin gave him a huge advantage in battle.

Most blades would simply slide off it.

Unless someone had mastered Will, it required a truly skilled fighter to face a Frog. It was a big advantage.

But holding things with such slippery hands, and crafting fine trinkets, was a different matter. It was something difficult to do, even without anyone saying so.

For Frogs, holding a profession in crafting was impossible.

“Why? Am I not allowed to?”

Frog said.

Encrid looked at him quietly. He noticed the sharp spikes on Frog’s hands. Nails had been driven into them.

To make up for his slippery hands, he had attached tools to aid him.

Embedding nails into his own flesh and using his regenerative ability to secure them?

“Just because he’s a Frog, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel pain.”

Even if it wasn’t something Luagarne had said, a Frog would feel pain like anyone else.

Embedding those spikes in his hands meant enduring the pain. The nails, fused with his flesh, must have felt like an extension of his hands.

“Why? Do you want to stop me?”

Frog asked again.

Encrid looked into his frog-like eyes.

Though he had spent a long time with Luagarne, he still couldn’t fully distinguish the features of a Frog’s face.

But he could definitely tell the look in their eyes.

That burning look he sometimes saw in Luagarne’s eyes.

A look even hotter than hers.

“I won’t set my own limits either.”

That was something Luagarne had said once.

It wasn’t just Luagarne from whom Encrid had seen such eyes.

He had seen them earlier, too.

Those shining eyes, the eyes of someone striving toward something.

“No.”

Encrid opened his mouth.

As always, he supported dreams. So this time was no different.

“I’ll inform the city administrator. Let me know if you need anything.”

Encrid said.

“Nothing.”

Frog replied and returned to his work, gripping a carving knife without saying a word, preparing to carve the wood.

“I’m making the necessary tools for him.”

Eitri said from behind.

One with a dream was helping another with a dream. They were always striving, always walking, never stopping.

Encrid could see that clearly.

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