A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 684

Chapter 684

“Hmm?”
Ragna shifted his focus, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. A ground-level haze suddenly surged upward, swallowing the landscape in a heartbeat. The heavy vapor completely obstructed their vision.
He had encountered this phenomenon once before in the heat of battle: the Mist of Annihilation, a product of dark sorcery.
“Stay sharp.”
Enkrid pulled Anne toward his right flank for protection. Ragna moved to flank her other side immediately.
The moment had arrived. The trap was sprung.
He wondered what form the threat would take this time.
Would it be an unforeseen beast? Or perhaps another incantation?
The cloud became so thick that Anne, despite being inches away, vanished into the white wall. Yet, the sounds of the world still reached his ears.
There were no banners in sight—it seemed this magic functioned differently from the standard tactics of the Dukedom of Azpen.
“Coming from the front.”
It was Grida who spoke. Somehow, she had pinpointed the threat before Enkrid.
In the blindness of the fog, his tactile senses became hyper-aware. The tiny hairs on his arms bristled as he felt a rhythmic pulse in the air.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
There was no audible noise, only the physical sensation of impact, as if something were striking his skin directly.
Enkrid didn’t commit to a full swing with Penna; instead, he executed four precise, minimal movements, shifting the angle of his steel to shut down specific lanes.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Four strikes. Four projectiles were batted away in midair, one right after the other.
Had the attacker refrained from striking, their position might have stayed a secret. But choosing to throw those? That was a lapse in judgment. The Mist of Annihilation couldn’t mask a presence entirely once it became active.
Still, a sense of unease lingered.
“Is that the best they can do? All that buildup for a few throwing needles?”
He knew there had to be more. His gut was screaming.
Enkrid returned to a defensive stance. Ragna, mirroring Enkrid’s protective formation around Anne, gripped his hilt.
“I’m moving out.”
“Understood.”
With that brief exchange of intent, Ragna lunged forward, raising his massive blade.
He coiled his muscles and erupted from his position.
The initial movement was basic, but the result was anything but.
His form tore through the haze like a bolt of lightning.
Whoosh.
The sheer weight of his momentum seemed to compress the air.
Then—
Crack!
The atmosphere buckled as his steel ripped through the vapor. Ragna’s strike carried such immense force that the surrounding mist was literally blown away.
Dispelling a magical shroud with a physical blade?
It was a feat beyond most warriors—but it was exactly what a knight was capable of.
In the fleeting moment of clarity, a decapitated head was visible, suspended for a second in the air.
Kiiiikrrrk!
It possessed a hideous, elongated muzzle. The glimpse was short, but the silhouette told the story.
“Scalers.”
Grida’s voice rang out from Anne’s right, a few paces away. She identified the creature—a reptilian beast often found prowling the borders of the demonic domains.
That subtle, cloying sweetness returned. Magic. A second spell was being woven.
Enkrid braced himself as a light ignited in the sky above.
Fwoosh.
It wasn’t just a flicker; it was a sphere of flame.
It plummeted from the heavens.
Once again, the target was Anne.
Enkrid tracked its path, predicting the underlying logic of the attack.
“Wizards like to chain their effects together. Like layering frost until the target is completely encased in a tomb of ice.”
Esther had used that exact method to finish a dark sorcerer during the hunt for the Living Flame. Enkrid had taken that lesson to heart.
His mental processing shifted into high gear.
The fireball seemed to hang in the air, its fall slowed to a crawl in his hyper-focused perception.
“If I were the one casting this, I wouldn’t settle for a basic projectile.”
The adversary had witnessed him taking down the winged fiends earlier. Was this flame actually more dangerous?
No. It moved slower than the beasts, lacked any spark of intellect, and descended with a mindless trajectory.
“They’re baiting me into a strike.”
Thought and action merged. He swapped Penna for the Tri-Iron Sword in a blur of motion.
Shing! Click!
In one fluid motion, one weapon was away and the other was bared.
His draw-and-stow speed was a legend even among the ranks of the mad knights.
Gripping Tri-Iron with both hands, he adjusted his hold. The section forged from star-metal rose to meet the fire.
Enkrid swung upward with a violent snap.
Boom!
The sphere shattered upon impact, disintegrating into dozens of fiery streaks. They sprayed out in a chaotic web, momentarily illuminating the grey void.
“To fight magic, you have to throw out your logic.”
Esther’s wisdom held true. No one would expect a fireball to act like shrapnel.
But that was the nature of magic—erratic, bizarre, and the most alien power on the continent.
Did the hidden caster flinch at the sight of that explosion?
No second wave followed. A few stray embers drifted down, and then silence.
Then the odor hit.
A putrid, decaying stench that burned the nostrils. The fog began to roll back in, but its cover was failing.
Thwack!
A heavy, wet sound echoed. The haze finally started to lift.
Enkrid saw a reptilian, humanoid shape with scaly skin hit the dirt.
It was larger than a man. Surrounding Ragna were several four-legged lizard beasts—monsters big enough to swallow a person whole.
Predictably, they were already corpses, butchered by the greatsword of the directionless one.
Grida had been spot on.
Scalers—beasts armored in lizard-like hides.
Enkrid noticed the magical aura of the area collapse as a Scaler expired.
“So the enchantment was anchored to a living creature?”
That meant the opposition consisted of both a hidden mage and a practitioner of witchcraft.
As the visibility improved, he saw the scale of the threat.
Scalers. Dozens of them. The fog had merely been a curtain for their advance.
“They’re pack hunters. They hit the backline and retreat.”
Magrun chimed in. Grida unsheathed her weapon and scanned the perimeter. A quick look suggested at least a hundred of the lizard-heads were circling.
The smell of rot was still overpowering, completely erasing the earlier sweetness of the magic.
“What is that god-awful stench?”
“Scalers usually don’t smell this bad…”
Grida and Magrun shared their confusion.
“It’s the Plague Bride.”
Anne spoke up, her eyes landing on several anomalous figures standing among the lizard-men.
“Their touch is infectious. Stay back.”
One of the figures bolted toward Ragna.
Its feet were bare, grey, and covered in sores. It was draped in what might have once been a gown. Its hair was a matted mess, and its face was a horror of empty sockets.
Vile green fluid leaked from its nose. It was revolting.
It was the kind of nightmare you hoped never to see in the dark—and was even worse in the light of day.
Screeech!
The Plague Bride gave a piercing cry as it lunged at Ragna, its tattered clothing fluttering.
Calling that rag a “dress” felt like a crime against fashion, but Anne’s assessment was correct—it was a summon from the dark arts.
However, Ragna didn’t care about its origins.
He stepped aside, crushed a Scaler’s head with the heavy pommel of his sword, and then sliced the Bride in half with a single motion.
Tear!
It came apart like rotting fabric, cut from sternum to hip.
But then the remains knitted back together. It rose once more.
“Physical strikes won’t work—here, use this!”
Anne lifted her leg for balance and launched an object with her right hand.
Whish! Ragna, holding his massive sword in his left hand, snatched the item out of the air.
It was a small glass container plugged with cork.
“If you’re in trouble, break it and coat your steel!”
As she braced herself again, Enkrid couldn’t help but comment.
“Where did you learn to throw like that? Is that a requirement for alchemy?”
“Hardly. It’s just how we played as kids.”
Children of the streets were quick studies. Survival often depended on dropping a bird with a well-aimed pebble.
“Take this.”
Anne passed a vial to Enkrid. A golden, amber liquid swirled inside.
“I may be a medic, but I’m an alchemist too. Things like that aren’t a threat to me.”
Holy power was the traditional foil for spirits—but alchemy was the more efficient killer.
That was an old proverb from the heart of the continent.
Enkrid drizzled the amber fluid over Tri-Iron.
It coated the metal, thickening like molten sugar until the blade radiated a soft, golden glow.
“I have my own,” Grida said, pulling a leather pouch from her belt. She tore the string with her teeth and dusted her blade with a shimmering, pearlescent powder.
Magrun took a vial of the amber liquid from Anne.
Ragna, his sword now properly treated, swung again to push back the Bride’s assault.
He delivered a clean, horizontal arc, cleaving the entity in two.
Thud.
A dull sound followed—and the fractured spirit was consumed by light.
These spirits, born of spite and dark energy, simply evaporated when faced with purification.
The Plague Bride dissolved into ash and vanished.
Hissssssss!
As the first one fell, the remaining Scalers let out a collective hiss that seemed to vibrate the air and cloud the mind.
“They use that sound to mask their movements from one another,” Grida noted, recalling her previous run-ins with these creatures near the demon lands.
She was well aware of how irritating they could be.
It was no mystery why that region was known as a graveyard for knights.
It was crawling with nuisances like these. They weren’t necessarily fatal on their own, but they were relentlessly persistent.
They always aimed for the blind spot and were intelligent enough to coordinate.
Hah!
Grida let out a sharp cry, cutting down three that were trying to creep up behind her.
Her sword moved in a jagged, rhythmic pattern, ending them before they could make their move.
“Looking for an opening?”
As she repositioned, Enkrid took a long look at the field.
“Assuming the witch is out of the picture…”
Was the sorcerer still lurking, hunting for a gap in their defense?
Or had they retreated to safety already?
The foul odor of the Plague Bride had completely drowned out the sugary scent of active magic.
“Do they know I track them by smell?”
No—that was reaching. That would be a ridiculous level of insight.
“Not even a master mage can know exactly how I sense the world.”
No incantation could peer into a mind. He was sure of that.
Esther had been very clear about the boundaries of sorcery.
“I’ll work on the assumption that the mage is still in play.”
Regardless, carving through this mob was a simple task.
Crack, slice, crunch!
Moving three paces, Enkrid struck.
Tri-Iron carved a perfect line, splitting a Scaler’s face down the middle.
Its forked tongue hung out, and its slitted eyes went dark.
He felt the blade sink into the bone—and he also knew the creature was playing dead.
“Devious little things,” Grida spat.
Enkrid flipped his grip and drove the point straight down.
The deceiver didn’t have a chance. Just as the life sparked back in its eyes, Tri-Iron pierced its brain.
He yanked the steel back, leaving a trail of dark ichor and grey matter.
“That’s terrifying,” Anne remarked.
It was a fair point. The surviving Scalers and another eight Brides were all staring directly at her.
“Don’t fret. Lady Tri-Iron, in her fine amber gown, will see you through.”
Enkrid spoke with a deliberate, lighthearted tone to settle her nerves.
“…Your sword is a lady?”
“For today, yes. She’s dressed for the occasion, isn’t she?”
“Does her gender just change whenever it suits you?”
“That’s the beauty of a weapon without a gender.”
He raised the amber-lit blade.
Dark blood was still sliding down its glowing surface.
“You’re out of your mind.”
Anne’s voice was barely a breath.
She spoke softly, but the words carried to everyone.
Enkrid decided to overlook her brief moment of sass.
She was obviously just frightened and speaking without thinking.
“Shall we have this dance, milady?” Enkrid prompted once more.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, just get on with the fighting!”
Anne had moved past her terror—and had finally stepped into her role as the group’s moral support.