A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 636

Chapter 636

The throne fashioned from skeletal remains emitted a soft, azure radiance within the pitch-black chamber. It was a ghastly luminescence, fundamentally different from the warmth of the sun or the silver of the moon. Sitting upon it, Shinar’s golden tresses appeared tarnished under that malevolent light.

“Greetings. Allow me to present him to you. My spouse.”

As she made the introduction, Shinar gestured with her hand toward the shadows behind her. Before a single shape became visible, the stench arrived. It was a concentrated essence of everything foul—decaying flesh, waste, and stagnant fluids. A normal man would have been forced to cover his face, but Enkrid simply chose to sever his connection to his sense of smell. The more one masters the sensitivity of their perceptions, the more one learns the art of dulling them when necessary.

With his nose effectively deadened, he tilted his head to observe whatever she was displaying. Behind the girl, Brisa raised the luminous crystal slightly higher. As the glow ascended, the perimeter of the visible world expanded. It didn’t unveil the entire hall, but it revealed enough.

A troll, an ogre, and a ghoul stood there. The troll sat mounted upon a beast with two heads and a canine face. They did not growl; they did not slaver. They simply lingered in the gloom. It was undeniable—they were poised, awaiting Shinar’s signal.

“The comment about the spouse was merely a jest,” Shinar remarked. her voice resonated with the precision of a perfectly tuned instrument. “Instead, I have decided to reign as their sovereign.”

That was a falsehood. Fairies are born without the capacity for deceit. It is only through wandering across the continent and being ground down by the world’s cruelties that they acquire the skill of lying. Shinar had learned it that way, which meant the lie was clumsy and transparent.

What would Kraiss think? That natural architect of deception, who took such pleasure in spinning intricate webs of falsehood with his sharp intellect—what would he say to Shinar now? He would likely offer a sarcastic quip: “Is that really all you think of me?”

The situation was far from humorous, yet the absurdity of the lie made a chuckle bubble up in the mind. It was exactly like that. Confronted with such an unpolished fabrication, one couldn’t help but find it ridiculous. Yet, Enkrid did not laugh.

Why? It was likely due to the influence of the fairies, known for their strict emotional control. Enkrid had unintentionally begun to mirror their traits—a byproduct of his habit of absorbing the essence of his surroundings. This was a process happening in the silent depths of his psyche. He wasn’t acting out of malice or anger.

“So, do you intend to clash with my offspring?”

The twisted specimens—the troll, the ogre, and the ghoul—shuffled forward, positioning themselves in front of the bone chair.

“…Whose children are you claiming them to be?”

Arcoiris, who had been observing from the rear, moved to the front. The fairy, who held Shinar in such high regard, was incapable of masking his distress; it was written plainly across his features. The minute twitching of his muscles betrayed his inner turmoil. The creases around his eyes, his tensed brow, and the slight tremor of his mouth all spoke of a singular emotion: deep suffering. However, it lacked the chaotic distortion usually seen in humans.

“This is entirely unnecessary,” Arcoiris whispered. His tone was soft, yet in the stillness of the cave, no one was too dull to catch the words. “I cannot permit you to remain as the consort of a fiend.”

He repeated the sentiment, his determination hardening. The difference between now and the last time he spoke those words was the spark currently residing in his gaze. It was the light of hope, and there was no mystery as to who had ignited it.

From the shadows, the man with the glowing blue eyes unsheathed his steel.

*Chiring.*

The true silver sword drank in the radiance of the glowing crystal, emitting a ghostly, pale shimmer reminiscent of moonlight. Some referred to true silver as the lunar metal. It was a supernatural glow. Anyone witnessing the light cascading from Enkrid’s edge would have understood the name.

“You should have turned back,” Shinar said.

Enkrid raised his weapon with a cold lack of emotion. He aligned the flat of the blade between his eyes. His concentration sharpened to a razor edge. He mapped the trajectory of the oncoming monsters. His cognition accelerated, his eye of insight dilated, and the immediate future laid itself bare.

“Handle the ghoul, Pell.”

Behind the creature’s frame, something akin to black soot shimmered. A malevolent spirit had taken residence within it, bolstering its inherent strength—though Enkrid and his allies were unaware of that specific detail. Even if they had been, it wouldn’t have altered their course.

With his mind moving at high velocity, Enkrid charted a line. A straight path leading directly to Shinar.

*Grrr…*

A low, gurgling sound vibrated from the throats of the three beasts.

*Thud!*

The canine-faced predator propelled itself forward. The troll on its back moved as one with it, extending jagged claws for a lethal swipe. It was exceptionally quick, but the movement was linear and predictable. Its velocity and sheer power were not as refined as the strikes of the fairy knight Enkrid had dueled previously.

Enkrid shifted his left foot outward and simultaneously channeled a massive surge of Will into his steel. The true silver blade gave off a sharp ring, vibrating against his palm as if it were screaming a warning. It told him his physical form might shatter under the strain.

Then, Enkrid delivered a diagonal lash, dumping every ounce of his Will into the motion. In terms of basic form, it was a simple slanted cut. In the doctrines of heavy swordsmanship, it would be classified as a mid-weight descending cleave. But that single strike carried the totality of Enkrid’s spirit.

To those watching—Shinar included—the blade seemed to vanish for a heartbeat. An edge traveling beyond a certain velocity simply shears through the air itself.

*BOOM!*

A concussive roar erupted along the path of the swing. Before the sound could even register, Enkrid’s sword had already passed through both the troll and its mount. Split vertically down the center, the two creatures were flung to opposite sides. A heavy thud followed. Dark, thick blood began to pool across the stone. The floor of this chamber had been dry until now, but Enkrid had made it as slick and damp as the previous levels, using the lifeblood of monsters.

Enkrid let out a short breath and rotated his wrist. Drawing a half-circle through the air, he brought the blade back up into a high defensive stance.

The ogre, lacking a weapon, crossed its massive forearms like a shield and charged. From the gap between its limbs, it glared with a single, focused eye. It was a bizarre sight, a mountain of muscle barreling forward behind a wall of bone and meat.

Enkrid felt a fresh wave of resolve replace the Will he had just expended. In this moment, more than at any other point within the labyrinth, a terrifying power was coursing through him. There was a narrow opening between the ogre’s guard. He could have sniped through it, but there was no requirement for such precision. He could simply sever the entire mass.

The air around him grew heavy, as if he were wading into a bog of pulverized stone. It bore down on his frame and tethered his feet.

*‘Heavy.’*

The pressure was immense, threatening to rupture his veins and crush his bones. But he could endure it. Had he not just survived a similar sensation? A portion of his subconscious Will rose up, acting as a protective shroud for his body. He pushed through the weight and swung his blade a second time—and once more, the air detonated.

*BOOM!*

Enkrid completed the second arc.

*Splurt!*

The steel ripped through the ogre’s skull and torso. Cleaved from the crown of its head down through its chest, the beast erupted in a mess of brain matter, organs, and black fluid before collapsing with a thunderous crash. Meanwhile, Pell had neutralized the ghoul. The sight of its charred limb suggested that Lua Gharne had lent her assistance to the effort.

After a tense silence, Shinar offered her critique. It was not what anyone expected.

“You’ve grown blunt, Enki.”

She wasn’t referring to the lethality of the strike. That last blow was more sophisticated than anything he had displayed in the past, a result of his evolving mastery over Will and the sword forms Shinar herself had once shown him.

“You’ve grown blunt,” Shinar repeated. “You attained the rank of knight. If you intended to continue your journey, you should have averted your gaze. You are so dull now that you are incapable of cutting anything.”

Enkrid flicked the gore from his edge and ran his left hand through his hair. The blood of the beasts had sprayed onto his skin; it was tacky and unpleasant. Do fairies possess bathhouses? Or do they wash in the purity of hidden lakes? The monster blood was foul-smelling and the sensation was revolting. He simply wanted to finish this business and clean himself.

“Shinar Kirheis,” Enkrid called out.

The room held its breath for his next words. Was he going to defend his skill? Was he going to demand an explanation for her betrayal? As was his habit, Enkrid moved in a direction no one anticipated. Even Bran and the spectating fairies were caught off guard.

“Why did you depart?”

He had traveled all this way to ask that single question, and so he did.

“……”

Shinar’s voice, usually as fluid as a song, died in her throat. Darkness and silence are natural allies, and the quiet began to saturate the cave. Brisa held the glowing stone higher, widening the circle of light. Shinar’s face remained a mask, but Enkrid could see the flicker of shock in her eyes. Finally, she found her voice.

“It appears you haven’t processed a single word I’ve said.”

“I came to find out why you left, because you didn’t bother to put the reason in your letter.”

A ghost of a smile touched Shinar’s lips. Then came a strange compliment.

“…You absolute madman.”

“You’re actually smiling?” Arcoiris asked, visibly shaken. He wasn’t the only one; Bran looked equally stunned.

“So you still remember how to smile. You can stop this performance now. Shinar, let’s go home,” Bran urged.

Shinar let the smile fade and shook her head slowly.

“I am under a curse.”

If Esther, who had once struggled in Enkrid’s arms while trying to shatter a hex, had heard that, she would have scoffed.

“So leave this place, Enki. You don’t belong here.”

Enkrid stared into Shinar’s eyes. They were hollow, as if someone had poured a bucket of liquid despair into her pupils.

“Please. Just go back.”

It looked as though that despair might overflow and spill down her cheeks, yet it remained trapped within.

“Then give me the reason. I traveled here to hear the truth.”

Another unwavering demand from Enkrid. Pell, listening, wondered if anyone could ever break such a stubborn spirit. Lua Gharne merely thought to herself that this was simply Enkrid being Enkrid.

Shinar looked at the man before her. The blue eyes, the dark hair, the frame marked by the scars of a hundred battles. Because of his natural appearance, one wouldn’t realize the gravity of his life unless they saw those marks up close. She remembered seeing him bathe once—those deep gouges and scars narrated his entire history.

To rise as a knight.

“A pointless fantasy,” they must have said.

To shield those who stand behind him.

“Worry about your own neck first,” they must have laughed.

And yet, the very flower that had grown out of that mockery was now looking at her. Shinar did not want that flower to wither on her account. She felt the urge to pour everything out—to justify herself, to explain, to convince him. To list every single motivation. The long, torturous path she had walked—she wanted to show him every bit of it, leaving nothing hidden.

She hadn’t planned on it. Everyone has secrets they prefer to keep buried. But now, she desperately needed to drive him away.

“I must become the bride of the demon. There is no other way.”

She spoke the words again, but the man in front of her was the same stubborn fool who had clawed his way to knighthood with nothing but grit. Enkrid had no intention of accepting that answer.

“The reason,” he insisted once more.

“If we are joined, you will be the sacrifice. That is why you cannot stay.”

Her voice began to lose its edge. Enkrid’s outward demeanor remained stoic.

“Was it your lifelong ambition to marry a demon?”

Is this truly what you desire?

Shinar realized then that this man would never retreat until he had seen the end of the path. Had she handled their parting poorly? Or, in some dark corner of her heart, had she been praying for this? Even as she told him to forget her, had she been waiting for his arrival? Had her own frailty allowed things to reach this point?

*‘Is it time to loathe my own spirit?’*

Shinar’s eyes drifted shut. She felt a crushing weight pulling her down into the recesses of her own soul. Memories she had fought to bury began to rise from the dark.

—

*Thump—*

Just as everyone has a beginning, Shinar had one too.

*Thump—*

Her earliest memory, upon first gaining a sense of the world, was the rhythmic strike of a hammer.

And then.

“Shinar.”

Though her parents appeared stoic due to their natural restraint, they were filled with quiet love.

“Are you here again? I thought we were going to weave flower crowns.”

A sister who cherished her.

Yes, there was a time when her life was like that.