A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 702

Chapter 702

The individual who looked like Odinkar had arrived at this location following his deity’s instructions.
The command had been simple:
“Go. End them.”
He didn’t bother asking for a reason. His superior was a god, and for a devout servant, total submission was the standard.
Besides, what did it matter if he had to eliminate one little girl? It was a minor chore. He had begun the journey with a carefree attitude.
His true purpose would be revealed once this was over. This task was no different from snatching a street urchin before they lost their limbs to the criminal underworld or were maimed to beg—no different from training a child to be a common thief.
Simple. Irrelevant.
In truth, sending a low-level subordinate would have sufficed to grab a human subject.
Even so, a faint flicker of annoyance stirred within him.
Was he not destined for greater glory? Why was he relegated to this?
‘Sacrilege.’
He rebuked his own mind. He was a disciple, and his primary duty was loyalty.
Even if the motive remained hidden, his master surely moved with a divine vision. That was the nature of gods.
They pushed faith to the limit—taking your gold, slaughtering your kin, or rotting your skin with disease—just to see if you would still kneel. Others might label it malice. To him, it was holy service.
Returning to the triviality at hand—if the street rat fought back, it wouldn’t change the outcome.
He was backed by a pack of twisted beasts and specialized toxins.
A single knight blocked the path—but that shouldn’t have posed a real threat.
“There is no way they can resist my venom so easily—”
He shook his head, preparing to mock the child standing before him—but the words died in his throat.
CRASH!
An explosive boom tore through the deluge, drowning out the thunder.
It was the sound of steel splitting the atmosphere.
A massive blade had just bifurcated a beast—a creature with hide as thick as plate armor, an equal to the disciple himself.
The beast had lunged for the girl. The man with the greatsword had twisted mid-stride and delivered a casual, lethal blow—all while the poison was in his system.
‘How is he still standing?’
Knights were freaks of nature. He was aware of that. It was precisely why he employed toxins designed to liquefy bone and char muscle.
SHHHAAAH!
The roar of the downpour filled the silence left by the strike. The corridor became a river as water cascaded in. The floor was a treacherous mirror.
Yet Ragna charged through the current without a slip, adjusted his grip, and swung the heavy steel with both hands.
THUD, CRACK! TEAR!
Two pouncing owlbears and a dark-scaled Scaler were butchered and sent crashing to the tiles.
The Scaler’s dark, glassy eyes rolled in its sundered skull, twitching one last time.
The knight—the titan with the heavy sword—calmly rotated his free arm as if loosening up.
“What exactly was in that medicine?”
The warrior with the greatsword questioned the girl at his side.
“Nothing complex. It seemed like a basic nerve agent, so I gave you an old mixture I had on hand. It’s a paralytic variety, likely derived from serpents. If you milk venom from snakes and dose goats or camels slowly, their blood creates a counter-agent. I formulated it based on that. Not that you’d follow the science.”
The girl—his target—spoke without an ounce of ego. Her crimson eyes remained steady and cold.
“That’s impossible!”
The disciple screamed.
He had only finished refining this specific paralytic blend last month. How could she possibly possess a cure?
“Why is it impossible?”
She countered.
“You cannot synthesize an antidote without identifying the base poison!”
The disciple snarled.
The girl answered as if she were talking about weeding a garden.
“What is so difficult about a primitive toxin created through methods any novice knows?”
To grasp her meaning, he had to face a devastating reality:
That the research he had spent decades perfecting—his magnum opus—was nothing more than an introductory lesson to her. Just one of many elementary concepts.
If that were the case, she was the real anomaly.
Far more dangerous than the man with the sword—she was the true monster.
“Perish.”
The disciple’s eyes seethed with envy. He couldn’t explain it, but a desperate need to kill her consumed him.
He produced a fresh toxin—one that induced vivid hallucinations and a lethal euphoria before stopping the heart.
In the open air, it might have dissipated. But the environment favored him.
He pulverized the powder between his palms, letting the fine mist drift through the room.
“Still acting arrogant? What’s with that expression? Did you have work done?”
Anne whispered, reaching into her triple-layered, treated leather satchel—custom-made by a veteran military seamstress. She swallowed one tablet and pressed another into Ragna’s mouth.
The titan with the sword chewed it without complaint, his guard never wavering.
The disciple loathed that sight. The urge to kill intensified.
The cloud expanded—but neither showed any sign of distress. No flushed skin, no clouded eyes, not even a sneeze.
It failed.
Hysterical, the man threw a glass container next—a notorious corrosive capable of eating through monster hide and bone. It would dissolve human meat on contact.
He flung it high—and with his other hand, launched a short spear tipped with venom.
His magically altered muscles provided strength comparable to a knight. But trying to beat a knight through raw power was a fool’s errand.
He knew that—which is why he relied on the poisoned tip.
Three spears remained in his harness. He had used two—one for the window, one just now.
The titan parried the spear with his blade as if it were a toothpick and stepped away from the falling glass while keeping Anne tucked in his arm.
“Aaaagh!”
The disciple roared in fury. His pulse hammered in his ears and his sight turned crimson. They had to die—especially the small one.
Enhanced Scalers with leathery wings swooped from the rafters and the dark corners.
‘The small one is the threat. I can deal with the swordsman eventually.’
That was his logic.
And it was a fatal error.
The greatsword moved with a speed that defied perception.
THOOM! SNAP!
Beasts were shredded in mid-air. Four were slaughtered in heartbeats.
The disciple, reaching for his final spear, went numb.
“…What kind of nightmare beings are you?”
It was a strange sentiment coming from a man who had mangled his own frame and carved a new face—but it made sense to him.
He had discarded his humanity and embraced the monstrous to become something greater.
In his heart, he wanted to outshine those cursed geniuses and finally feel superior.
But now, two actual monsters stood before him. Those who had kept their humanity—and yet, they surpassed him through sheer, unearned talent.
The realization shattered him.
‘Why? Why? I gave up everything to be this—so why am I less?’
Even with beasts that would challenge most high-ranking knights, and even with his poisons—it was all for nothing.
‘It’s over.’
The man with the greatsword finished them all—effortlessly, while keeping the girl safe—and now he was moving in.
The disciple never got a clear look at Anne again. The swordsman ensured that.
Including the very end.
He lunged, bit with his steel, then pivoted back—shielding the girl.
His retreat was faster than his attack.
The follower had nothing left in his arsenal. Even if he did, it wouldn’t have mattered. The man never gave him an opening.
“Ghk…”
His skull cracked under the heavy edge, and the chemicals within his own system finally spiraled out of control, eroding his internal organs.
Ultimately, the toxins would claim him before the wound did.
As his consciousness faded, he finally understood why he had felt that frantic need to kill the small girl.
‘She is a hazard to the master.’
That level of brilliance was terrifying.
She looked like the kind of person who could dismantle everything his master had built.
That final realization vanished into the dark with him.
“Are you hurt?”
Ragna cleaned his blade with a quick motion, moving away from the remains. The steel was noticeably chipped—strained from cutting through creatures saturated in corrosive fluids.
One of them had blood identical to the acid thrown earlier.
It wasn’t just about the medicine—anything that touched the blood was immediately compromised.
But Ragna had dodged every spray—simply by calculating the trajectory of the splatter.
A few droplets had scorched his tunic.
However, his jacket, reinforced with premium beast-hide, remained intact.
A few small holes had appeared, and the sword was slightly nicked—but that was the extent of the damage.
“Other than my stomach feeling a bit light, I’m alright.”
Anne answered, sealing the triple-layered flap of her specialized bag.
SHHHAAAH.
Despite the deluge, nothing inside would be damaged. It was designed to remain dry even if dropped in a lake.
“We need to find the captain,” she stated.
There was likely chaos outside, but the storm muffled everything. Even Ragna couldn’t distinguish specific noises in this weather.
BOOM!
Thunder crashed once more. Ragna moved at a measured pace, keeping Anne at his back—scanning for dangers he hadn’t yet identified.
“Are you… looking out for me?”
Anne asked.
Ragna replied simply, with no hidden meaning.
“You aren’t going down as long as I’m standing.”
Anne’s face turned a faint shade of pink.
Was that… a declaration?

—

Enkrid stood facing the patriarch of the Zaun lineage, and positioned behind him was the swiftest warrior he had ever encountered—Alexandra.
Caught between the two was an unpredictable factor: Schmidt.
A servant of the Empire, a man of quick blades and the lingering scent of forbidden magic.
“What in the world is happening here?”
Schmidt stood there like a drowned rat. His sodden hair was plastered to his forehead, but he didn’t even bother to brush it away, too bewildered to do anything but stare.
‘If this is a performance…’
Then Schmidt was the finest actor on the planet.
But no—Enkrid, using more than just his training, could tell the man was genuinely lost.
He looked toward the patriarch and asked:
“Why was Millestia killed?”
He demanded the motive. Even if he lacked the full picture, he could tell it was a calculated move.
That was the weight behind his query.
The patriarch caught the meaning immediately and replied:
“To trigger this exact scenario.”
Then he shifted his gaze toward Enkrid.
SHHHAAAH.
The rain fell like iron rods. Thunder continued to shake the ground, making everyone carrying steel feel vulnerable.
A single mistake could lead to a lightning strike. That was why, in this season in Zaun, battling with metallic weapons was traditionally avoided.
Because Zaun’s geography—situated in a basin—paired with lightning’s attraction to metal, created a lethal environment.
“May I ask a favor of you?”
The patriarch asked.
Grida had been wary of the family head. She suspected he was betraying the house and weaving a conspiracy.
“Speak,” Enkrid answered shortly.
“If I should fall… handle the consequences. My chosen successor is…”
He stepped in, leaning close to Enkrid’s ear to whisper the final name.
Enkrid gave a firm nod.
“Understood.”
“My thanks.”
“It is no trouble.”
“Ragna arriving with you at this exact moment… might be the only luck we have left.”
As the patriarch and Enkrid exchanged low words, Alexandra offered her input while observing the standoff.
Her eyes weren’t filled with grief—they were burning with cold determination.
“Even if it isn’t luck, we play the hand we’re dealt.”
Enkrid concurred. Especially with that last sentiment—some things were simply unavoidable.
‘The patriarch likely isn’t the antagonist.’
Grida had her suspicions, but Enkrid didn’t share them. Often, a perspective from the outside made the truth more apparent.
‘The patriarch already possesses the most power here. He wouldn’t need to skulk around.’
And if his intent was the ruin of Zaun, he could have picked people off one by one in the shadows.
Even Odinkar’s absence likely traced back to the patriarch.
Not a disappearance, but a tactical retreat—either by suggestion or command.
Odinkar had joined the Border Guard because of the patriarch’s order. If he didn’t leave by choice, there was only one other logical conclusion.
Many details remained murky, but Enkrid had connected this many dots from the evidence.
‘Then there’s the theory that the patriarch joined some secret society…’
But could someone of his rank—someone who mastered Will—be manipulated so easily?
‘The probability is negligible.’
Of course, it was possible everyone around him was the enemy. Enkrid wasn’t certain.
But it didn’t change his approach. That was why he had come alone.
At that moment, the man who had been yelling so boisterously before stepped forward.
His name was Lynox—the most vocal critic of the patriarch’s recent choices. And yet, he had remained loyal to the house.
His earlier shouting had a simple goal: to prevent a bloodbath.
He had barely managed to keep the two splintered groups from tearing each other apart.
“Blast it all. If anyone here draws steel against their own, I’ll crack your head open. I’m serious. No fighting. You hear me? No warnings. I’m not playing.”
He likely didn’t even realize how erratic he sounded. His speech was a jumble—but the intent was clear. The two groups, for the moment, stayed their hands.
Having lowered the temperature of the room, Lynox walked over and said:
“Heskal turned on Grida.”
Through the curtains of rain, Enkrid noted that Lynox had wrapped his six blades in heavy fabric—likely a precaution against the lightning.
He must have been training in his room when the chaos erupted—and then faced an ambush himself.
Cuts lined his face and shoulder. Dark blood stained the injuries.
The patriarch answered his report.
“I see.”
“Don’t give me that calm routine. Andante is gone. I was targeted. Some people still think Heskal is innocent, but he slaughtered Jerry, Iven, Roist, Pale—hell, and the others followed him. So what’s the move, Tempe?”
The patriarch’s name was Tempest Zaun. “Tempe” was a familiar name—reserved for his inner circle.
Lynox was part of that circle. They were lifelong companions.
Tempest Zaun weighed the variables. Between the expected and the unexpected, he chose his path.
“We locate the threat.”
“And then?”
Lynox pushed.
“We engage.”
The first move had been made. Now, only the reaction remained.
Enkrid nodded. That was the only path forward.