A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 713

Chapter 713

The instant Lynox sensed the spectral pressure pinning his limbs, he clapped his twin blades together with a practiced motion.
He struck the steel in his right hand against the flat of the left, which he used as a steadying anchor.
Chink!
The sharp ring of metal bit through the gale like a whetted edge.
The faint chime was instantly swallowed by the tempest’s roar, but the audible sound was irrelevant. He wasn’t listening with his ears.
His talent lay in wave resonance. Both swords, saturated with his Will, emitted a microscopic ripple that only Lynox could perceive.
This pulse was his signature art—the foundation of his reputation as the premier scout of Zaun.
“I see how it is.”
Through his telekinetic sense, he pinpointed three Scalers. Each had their palms thrust toward him, and guarding them was a massive Scaler with a torso like a slab of iron.
They operated in pairs, moving with a synchronized grace that suggested intense drilling.
“Was this your handiwork, Heskal?”
Lynox pondered if such creatures could truly be disciplined or if they even possessed language, but he didn’t wait for a reply. A cold intuition told him he wouldn’t survive long enough to hear one.
He drove the blade in his right hand into the dirt like a pylon—thud!—burying half the steel.
Using the mud as a temporary holster, he set it at a precise angle, then unsheathed a third sword from his back and flung it forward with violent force.
Whirr—
The short blade, no longer than a man’s forearm, cut a straight path through the air. Despite the howling winds, the sheer momentum of a knight’s toss was undeniable.
Snap!
The titan Scaler caught the flying sword in mid-air. Its scales were not just armor; the creature possessed the uncanny reaction speed to snatch a high-velocity projectile.
“Absolute garbage.”
Lynox extended his palm and snapped his wrist back.
Tug.
The blade wrenched itself from the Scaler’s fist and zoomed back to its master. This was a weapon designed to return on command.
Spin—thwack.
The rotating steel settled perfectly into Lynox’s hand.
The psychic Scalers were already launching their next assault.
The binding pressure was substantial and incredibly irritating.
While it didn’t fully paralyze him—it wasn’t like being caught in a physical net—it was more than enough to disrupt his rhythm.
Lynox threw the blade once more, but he didn’t stop there.
Leaving the first sword firmly planted in the earth, he pulled another weapon from his right shoulder. It appeared to be a standard longsword, yet a second look showed it lacked any sharpened edge.
It was a blunt instrument, looking more like a wooden training tool than a war blade.
He held it low, letting the tip carve into the soil.
Skreeeeee!
As he sprinted, the dragging steel tore a deep furrow into the battlefield. The rain would wash it away shortly, but for the moment, it tracked his path.
The giant Scaler didn’t try to catch this one; it parried with the back of its hand. The metal bit in but failed to sever the limb. The beast was using its own arm as a buckler.
Intelligent.
Or perhaps it was merely an ancestral fighting reflex.
It used its left to parry and tried to trap the blade with its right, clearly anticipating Lynox would recall the weapon and intending to hold fast this time.
But Lynox didn’t pull back.
Instead, he charged.
Clash!
A signature Lynox maneuver: hurl the steel and follow the projectile with a physical strike.
Yet, there was a layer deeper to this gambit.
The first blade was named Prey. The one currently in his grip was named Hunter.
And Prey always flees when Hunter approaches.
The blunt longsword swung in a tight semicircle.
Clang! Boom!
Hunter wasn’t forged for cutting. Its purpose was to impact Prey and accelerate it.
Hunter slammed into the wide pommel of Prey from the rear, synchronizing waves of Will that exploded on contact, propelling Prey forward at double its velocity.
Crash!
A metallic bolt pierced the storm.
Prey, launched with terrifying speed, shattered the Scaler’s poorly shielded skull, vaporizing half its head into a mist of gore and rainwater.
Prey’s true mark had been the psychic user lurking behind the brute. After tearing through the giant’s hand, it maintained its trajectory and decimated the head of the monster further back.
The psychic Scaler’s reaching arms fell limp.
Prey will never return so long as Hunter is unsheathed. This technique was a manifestation of a knight’s oath, etched into the very steel. It was one of Lynox’s trump cards.
Every warrior had a secret move that wouldn’t be allowed in a civilized duel.
Lynox rotated another blade, lopping off the neck of the mangled Scaler.
Thwack, slice.
He hadn’t applied much force, yet the cut was effortless. Given the density of Scaler hides, the feat was remarkable.
Lynox’s steel possessed many times the shearing power of a standard sword.
The trade-off, naturally, was fragility; even with its inscriptions, the blade snapped frequently. He compensated for this with sheer finesse.
He had rebuilt his entire martial style to cater to these specialized weapons.
By using the extreme sharpness to deflect and erode his enemies’ gear, he had developed a defensive art unlike any other.
It was an unorthodox strategy, even by the standards of Zaun.
“Next.”
He muttered, sliding Hunter back into its scabbard and reaching out.
The pulse of his Will made Prey vibrate before it soared back into his palm.
Prey had only three roles: to be thrown, to return, and to be boosted by Hunter.
Because of this, its tip was forged from pure silver and coated in diamond. It was costly, fragile, and prone to breaking if it struck the wrong surface.
Lynox was indifferent. It was built to pierce and be cast away. That was its destiny.
Prey functioned more as a heavy bolt than a sword.
His combat style was unique—a set of skills entirely disconnected from traditional forms.
He employed the same tactic to dispatch the remaining two Scalers hindering him, then retrieved the blade he had left in the dirt. On his way back, he brought down a winged beast diving for the Lord’s back with a precise throw from Prey.
Nearby, Tempest Zaun was carving through three monsters simultaneously with raw power.
He slammed one with the flat of his greatsword, pulverizing its skull into the mire. An owlbear’s frame was crushed and shredded, its remains scattered by the downpour.
Lynox witnessed this and struck his blades together again.
Ring!
When focused into a beam rather than a broad wave, his resonance could reach much further. He directed the pulse toward Enkrid.
Sensing the battlefield through the ripple, Lynox whispered,
“I should have been over there.”
Seeing the snare Heskal had set, he realized the scheme. The enemy had specifically designed a trap to neutralize Lynox’s own tricks.
Border Guard Enkrid. A boy with potential. Did he possess the grit to shatter the cunning Heskal’s cage?
He couldn’t be certain.
Hssssssss…
The rain fell steadily, though the wind’s fury had ebbed slightly. The deluge was still punishing, but manageable.
“What stands before us is no small matter either.”
At Tempest’s remark, Lynox looked ahead—only to suddenly double over and heave acidic bile into the mud.
The rain couldn’t hide the dark streaks of blood in the vomit.
“I’m running out of time.”
He ground the bile into the dirt with his heel.
The tonics Anne provided had kept him standing, but their effect was fleeting. That was the reason he had ventured further into the fray than Alexandra or even Tempest.
By drawing the focus of the magic-wielding enemies, he eased the pressure on the others.
Even if he made it look simple, every beast was a struggle.
He had to remain hyper-aware of monsters masking their presence to strike from the shadows.
“This isn’t where you die, Lynox.”
Tempest shifted into a combat stance as four creatures closed in.
Crack-boom!
A flash of lightning tore through the dark. Even in the blackest night, the eyes of a knight could see.
The brilliance illuminated their opponents.
Four Scalers.
Their hides were a mottled mix of black and crimson. In his experience, a higher concentration of red signified greater psychic potential.
These four would be far more lethal than anything they had encountered tonight.
“Tempe. It’s time to honor that promise from when we were kids.”
Lynox wasn’t a seer, but he felt the weight of his own mortality.
“If I had half a year, I could mend you… but today…”
Those were the words Anne had spoken after her diagnosis and the administration of her draughts.
He was well aware.
His health had collapsed after taking a blow from Heskal.
Fever. A racing heart. Spitting up blood as if his organs were liquefying.
He had joked about it—“Looks like I’m a goner”—but deep down, he knew the truth.
What remained?
A great deal. But the only thought that lingered was a pact made in their youth.
If one of them had to fall—it would be him, never Tempest.
They had once fought over a woman. But they were also brothers who had survived a lifetime together.
“Go assist Alex.”
Tempest spoke with a heavy sincerity—he lacked the ability to show emotion, but his tone was honest.
“I don’t need help!”
Alexandra bellowed from a dozen yards away. Before her, an oily black smoke gathered, and from a heap of monster remains, a hand clad in scorched steel clawed upward.
A Death Knight.
The crowning achievement of necromancy, resurrected from the remains of a fallen knight.
Even basic undead were a terror to common men. A Death Knight was a walking apocalypse.
“I’m going first. You’re the Lord.”
Lynox insisted. Tempest stole a quick glance at his wife.
She answered his look.
“Have faith in me, Tempe. I am Blitzkring—the Lightning Blade.”
There had indeed been a time when he wouldn’t have dared to cross blades with her.
“Back Lynox up. I’ll say it once more—this is not your grave.”
They had to hold the line. That conviction was paramount.
The Lord believed every conflict had a pulse. Success was found by waiting for the rhythm to shift. Now was the time for endurance.
The four Scalers confronted Tempest and Lynox. Two carried heavy clubs. The other two held katars—short, punching daggers with H-shaped grips.
Their gear revealed their intent. These four were veterans of many kills.
Their weapons were compact, their bodies lean and corded with muscle. Rain slid off their scales.
Their strikes would likely match the speed of a knight.
And their blades were undoubtedly coated in venom.
“Phew.”
Tempest regulated his breathing.
Just as she trusted him, he had to provide her with a reason for that faith.
“Just watch my back, Lynox.”
In the distance, Medusa watched the field. A fragment of Tempest’s Will was still trapped by her stare.
He kept his gaze low—just enough to avoid her eyes while tracking the movement of the enemy’s feet.
Since his youth, he had struggled with complex forms.
But he had always possessed the raw power to swing a massive blade. That had never wavered.
Tempest Zaun’s greatsword rose into position—ready.
Lynox moved to cover his blind spot.
From between the four Scalers, a familiar voice echoed.
It was Heskal’s voice—projected through some dark sorcery.
“Tempe, those four are unique. Chimeras of chimeras, bred specifically to hunt knights. A master of alchemy and a relic of the previous age spent seven decades refining them.”
An uninvited, mocking lecture.
“They will pin you here while I go slaughter your child. I don’t know where you’ve stashed Odinkar, but I will hunt him down as well.”
Heskal had peered into the Lord’s heart—and now he aimed to shatter it.
Lynox felt a pang of dread. He looked at the Lord—but the man’s expression remained stone.
No trace of feeling escaped.
It was his curse—but in this moment, it was his greatest defense.
As the voice faded, the four Scalers lunged forward.
Thud!
Lynox narrowed his eyes, turning away to keep clear of Medusa’s vision.
From this point on, his duty was to protect his friend.
Even if his stomach curdled and the urge to vomit returned—he would suppress it.
Because if he faltered, he would lose his life.

—

“You were always chasing the horizon.”
Andante had once been Alexandra’s closest companion.
That same woman had now spurned the grave, rising with black ichor in her veins and madness in her soul.
Empty of logic, she was now a creature of pure lethality.
Andante—once a cherished friend—had discarded the path of love and family.
All she ever desired was the next peak, the next level of power.
“What’s next? I can go further.”
A dream that had rotted into a fixation. Yet, if any soul could harbor such an ambition, it was a knight of Zaun.
Now, seeing what she had become—it was clear she had failed her quest.
“I’ll beat you one day, Alex.”
It was Alexandra who had been her anchor.
Nowhere—on no continent or within any kingdom—would a natural-born killer with a thirst for blood be accepted.
Andante needed the sight of red blood every month. She needed to take a life every season.
The hunger for murder was constant.
“Now you can kill until your heart is content, Andante.”
Alexandra whispered.
Hssssssss…
The Death Knight raised from a beast’s carcass remained silent.
Only a dark vapor leaked from its charred helmet.
The storm couldn’t wash the smoke away. It cut through the rain and swirled around the visor.
It wasn’t a grand spectacle—it was a vision of pure, soul-chilling dread.
A knight perishes, intoxicated by their own power. A wizard cheats that death. The result is a Death Knight.
Such a monster wielded strength far beyond what it possessed in life.
This was the weapon Heskal had forged specifically for Alexandra.