A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 638

Chapter 638

Enkrid gave a composed nod, behaving as if the entire situation were perfectly ordinary. Meanwhile, the assembly of fairies—now reduced to mere onlookers, Bran among them—stared in disbelief. They struggled to process the words he had just uttered.

“I had a simple desire to eat an apple while watching the clouds drift across a blue sky,” Shinar said. “I wanted to sneak something from Kraiss’s bag just to see his reaction. And I wanted to spend more time teaching Seiki.”

“I understand,” Enkrid replied. His tone was supportive, providing a steady anchor for her words without cutting her off.

Shinar added a few more thoughts. Her requirements for happiness were remarkably modest—so much so that anyone would have viewed them as humble aspirations. Yet, every single one of these desires was tied to the moments she had shared with Enkrid.

The things the monster had stripped away—her sense of security, her quietude, her laughter, and her optimism—had begun to return. As that internal emptiness was mended, Shinar finally grasped how to govern her elemental power. It was only natural, then, that her deepest longings were intertwined with the brief, flickering existence she led as an Igniculus. To a fairy, a spark represents a concentrated lifetime of experience, and she had lived the entirety of hers by this man’s side.

“Coming back was a mistake,” Bran interjected. The ancient tree giant, surrounded by the scent of smoking herbs, spoke with a heavy, stifled sorrow that was atypical for his kind. “You should have remained there. You had the chance to stay.”

Arcoiris chimed in with a similar sentiment. Brisa’s face clouded over, and the glowing stone in her hand dipped as she became completely absorbed in the exchange, losing track of her surroundings.

“So, is a sacrifice always the required price for a delay? Is that the rule everyone follows?” Zero asked, standing apart from the others in his perspective. Having witnessed those who had fallen to protect their city, his stance was grounded in a refusal to let her be a martyr.

*He is resilient,* Enkrid noted internally. He could sense Zero’s underlying resolve. The fairy didn’t want Shinar’s protection; if a demon had to be confronted, Zero was prepared to be the one to do it. He would fight until there was no other option left. It was a mindset perhaps foreign to traditional fairies, but fitting for one raised in an era of demonic predation—a child not of meadows, but of conflict.

Shinar, too, had lived for more than just her curse. She had risked everything for the safety of Kirheis, a fact known by every fairy present. They were all aware that they were effectively prisoners; if they fled, the demon would visit the consequences upon Shinar. This was a cycle that would persist as long as the demon drew breath. If she left, the creature would simply find a replacement, consume her essence, and present the remains to Shinar to torture her with guilt. They were bound to one another by invisible, bloody chains.

Enkrid relaxed his posture, standing tall and absorbing every syllable Shinar spoke with absolute focus. His very presence broadcasted his sincerity. As he listened, he began to decipher the hidden weight behind her simple statements.

“I want to stay with you. I want to spend what remains of my time just experiencing life within the knighthood,” she hinted.

Her true longing was nestled between her words. Some might dismiss such things as minor, but Enkrid believed no dream was small; they were only precious. If a knight couldn’t protect a child’s simple wish to bake bread, the sword they carried was meaningless. If one cannot safeguard those closest to them, then their oath of protection is hollow. If this elder fairy wanted to see her dream fulfilled, he was going to ensure she did. That was his entire purpose for being there. The question of why she had left was merely a pretext for his intervention.

He thought of Oara, the knight who had died defending her city in the Grey Forest. He had lost her once; he would not allow history to repeat itself with Shinar. The answer he had reached long ago remained firm: he would prevent this tragedy.

“Do you recognize the blue-nosed deer? That is what I am,” Shinar continued.

For a long time, the demon had been poisoning her mind, telling her she was a blight and that her life was his property. He had tried to coerce her into sacrificing others to save herself. Ever since she believed her kin had died because of her, those whispers had been her constant companions. Nightmares of her sister, Nyra, blaming her for their shared tragedy haunted her. Even though she knew logically that the demon had orchestrated everything, her heart carried the weight.

“Escape. You owe nothing here,” Bran urged.

But Shinar wanted to protect those who had shielded her from the demon’s influence. She had convinced herself that her own happiness was a luxury she didn’t deserve. She felt the blue-nosed deer had no place among the herd.

Enkrid analyzed the situation. While he didn’t have every detail, he understood her core intent. Like the other fairies, she was prepared to die alongside the demon to end the suffering. She wasn’t just planning to perish; she was trying to buy time, choosing a crown of thorns over a crown of flowers. She was waiting for an opening or had a hidden plan of her own. Enkrid saw this but kept his expression neutral.

“I don’t care about any of that,” he stated with iron-clad resolve.

Lua Gharne struck her palm in agreement. “Of course he doesn’t,” she said.

“You knew he wouldn’t change his mind,” Pell added.

The internal storm within Shinar seemed to break at those words. She knew she might regret the path ahead, but she could no longer hold back. The metaphorical boat she had been steering shattered, but Enkrid’s life had taught her that when the boat sinks, you swim. When you can’t swim, you crawl.

“If you rescue me, the responsibility for all my people becomes yours. That is my marriage gift to you,” Shinar said, her voice steady.

Enkrid, usually polite, turned blunt. “I won’t accept that.”

“You won’t?”

“Only if it’s labeled as a dowry,” he clarified.

In the suffocating darkness of the labyrinth, Enkrid seemed to radiate his own light. Shinar couldn’t tell if it was his spirit or his words, but he felt like a beacon.

“Then, Enki, will you save me?” she asked once more.

“I will,” he confirmed.

No one had noticed that Enkrid’s hand had never left his weapon. His focus shifted past Shinar to the space behind the throne of bone. A heavy, rhythmic treading announced an arrival. The demon that had stalked Shinar’s life stepped out of the shadows. It had abandoned speech, evolving into something specialized for destruction.

“That is the demon, Onekiller,” Shinar identified.

The creature of fire was gone, replaced by a being that had forged itself into two parts: one for creation and one for slaughter. Onekiller was the latter. Enkrid felt an aura from it that wasn’t chaotic, but terrifyingly pure—the purity of absolute murderous intent. It was as if a person had converted their entire soul into the desire to kill.

The entity had no face, only hollow sockets glowing with a dim orange light. Its metallic skin was covered in luminous runes. It stood like a man but had long blades integrated into its limbs. The light it cast was strangely warm, illuminating the area without being harsh. Enkrid recognized the foe immediately: a demon, the fundamental enemy of all living things.

*It looks like a Heartless,* Enkrid thought, recalling the monsters who traded their hearts for power and could only be stopped by taking their heads. He watched Onekiller’s movements, noting the way it shifted its weight like a master combatant.

With a sudden burst of speed, the demon struck. Enkrid parried the descending blade with his silver sword. He knew he couldn’t put everything into this first block, or he’d be open for the follow-up. He calculated the physics in an instant, using only half his strength to deflect the blow upward.

The collision sounded like a thunderclap. Despite its lean frame, the demon possessed power that rivaled Enkrid’s own, and he could tell it was holding back. Both combatants retreated three steps to reset. Onekiller raised its left blade into a vertical guard, waiting.

“Stay back!” Enkrid commanded Pell and Lua Gharne. “This opponent is mine.”

The demon couldn’t smile, yet Enkrid felt a sense of grim satisfaction coming from it—or perhaps he was seeing his own excitement reflected back. He had faced fragments and servants before, but this was a true demon.

*If I win this, I’ll truly be a demon slayer,* he realized.

The creature’s glowing eyes locked onto him, its killing intent so sharp it felt physical. Enkrid activated his Phantom Slash technique, recognizing the demon as the most dangerous adversary he had ever encountered.

“This is madness,” he whispered, dismissing the demon’s psychological pressure with his Will of Rejection. The observers held their breath as his voice carried through the silence. “This is incredibly fun.”

The onlookers were stunned. Facing a demon was a nightmare, yet he spoke of enjoyment.

“He’s completely lost it,” Bran muttered.

Enkrid, however, remained convinced that he was the only rational person in the room.