A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 721

Chapter 721

Ragna found the situation rather humorous.
By following Enkrid’s lead, he could conclude that his primary goal had been largely met.
‘As long as the spotlight remains on us, Anne is safe.’
That had been his logic for targeting the Medusa. With such a gargantuan horror collapsing after their frantic struggle, who would waste resources hunting down a lone girl quietly preparing medicine in the distance?
No one would even notice her. That was the plan.
Ultimately, this bizarre strategy was his way of keeping Anne out of harm’s way.
It was a line of thinking so twisted only a lunatic would find it sound—yet it was working.
In this moment, not a single foe was preoccupied with the girl.
The presence of just two warriors—a scene straight out of a heroic ballad—had caused the enemies’ expressions to turn predatory and dark.
Of course, their features were already quite grim, so the change might have been subtle to an ordinary observer.
‘If I choose to believe it, it’s a fact.’
Satisfied, Ragna pushed those thoughts aside.
What remained was the necessity of survival and the conclusion of the battle.
“Can you still move?” Ragna murmured.
Enkrid flexed his hand, testing his grip, before giving his answer.
“About as well as a peaceful Rem.”
It wasn’t an official signal, but it served as one. Ragna caught the meaning immediately.
A peaceful Rem was a myth; there was no such thing. Therefore, Enkrid was at his limit. He was likely operating at less than half of his potential.
Recalling how Enkrid had looked after decapitating the Medusa—briefly dazed and depleted—the assessment seemed accurate.
“That was a reckless move,” Ragna remarked.
“It was a move your mother taught,” Enkrid shot back.
“I meant it was recklessly courageous.”
Ragna wouldn’t dare insult his foster mother, even in jest.
He quickly rephrased his critique, gave a slight shrug, and positioned himself in front of Enkrid.
“When we return, I’ll be sure to recount how I shielded my battered commander.”
“Are you going to ignore the part where we killed the Medusa?”
“Isn’t it the narrator’s privilege to decide where the legend begins?”
Drmul watched the pair exchange quips, finding their attitude peculiar.
Were they truly devoid of fear, or had they simply resigned themselves to their fate?
If they had accepted the end, he felt the need to clarify their situation.
“You might be ready for death, but you won’t be allowed that mercy.”
His tone was level, though emerging from a rotting corpse, it carried a natural chill. However, if his audience refused to be intimidated, the effect was wasted.
“I agree. I have no intention of perishing here,” Enkrid replied instantly.
“That wasn’t my point…”
“We aren’t here for a social gathering, so why the chatter? Honestly.”
He cut Drmul off without hesitation. With a tongue that sharp, he truly earned his reputation as a master of verbal sparring.
His delivery and arrogance were perfectly synchronized. Ragna couldn’t help but be impressed.
Anyone capable of understanding words would be driven to a frenzy by this man’s attitude.
And indeed—
“Eliminate them,” Drmul hissed.
His decaying eyelids twitched, and the blackened, tumorous flesh of his brow throbbed with visible irritation.
Following the order, his subordinate lifted his right hand. The dark energy seen previously had clearly been his work.
This was the individual with the third eye embedded in his forehead.
Ragna had learned the basics of dealing with sorcerers from Enkrid—just enough to be dangerous.
The rule was simple: strike down the mage before the spell is finished. It was time to apply the lesson.
He braced his feet against the mud, hoisted his massive blade, and brought it down with force.
While not his absolute fastest strike, by the standards of a knight, it was a blur—and to an ancient man with three eyes, it should have been impossible to dodge.
He lunged forward with the swing, his intuition guiding the reach of his steel.
The timing and path were flawless; the blade was set to split the old man’s skull and reveal whatever filth lay within.
However, as he committed to the strike, a massive force collided with his chest.
*Thud!*
Ragna was lifted off his feet and sent flying backward. He wasn’t thrown far, but the momentum was interrupted. He twisted his body mid-air, absorbing the shock to land on his feet.
“My vision perceives the fundamental laws of nature. Did you believe a common swordsman could bypass my sight?” the three-eyed elder boasted.
Enkrid watched with silent appreciation.
‘There he goes again with “common swordsman.”’
One would think the elder would be more careful after being insulted, but his ego remained intact.
Regardless, the elder’s casting speed was formidable. There were no incantations, making it impossible to predict the strike.
“You are both painfully ignorant. You rush in with blades like children, unaware of the hierarchy of magic.”
Drmul couldn’t pass up an opportunity to gloat.
Enkrid imagined this was exactly how the man behaved during his alchemy lectures—completely insufferable.
While Drmul spoke, Ragna lunged again, stabbing forward with his greatsword.
The target was unarmored; a direct hit would be fatal.
But the result was the same.
*Whoosh!*
A wall of obsidian mist flared up in front of Ragna.
The smoke coalesced into a flurry of limbs and ghostly armaments—swords, spears, and mauls—all rising to intercept him.
Ragna shifted his thrust into a wide, sweeping arc.
His steel moved with such velocity that the falling rain followed the wake of his blade. He was creating a localized gale with every swing.
The smoke-born weapons shattered as if they were solid glass, broken by the intensity of his technique.
*Boom! Clang! Crack!*
In the chaos, Ragna felt a crushing weight aimed at his leg and parried it with his sword.
*Kkkkrrrrrk!*
The invisible strike was only detectable by the distortion in the rain—a blade of high-pressure air.
A jagged scar appeared on his greatsword, and the armor protecting his knee was shredded.
Without his leg guards, he would have been crippled. Instead, Ragna simply adjusted his footing and prepared for the next exchange.
“Stubborn insect!” the three-eyed elder roared.
Sparking white energy danced between his fingers before he thrust his hand forward. Bolts of lightning, jagged as roots, tore through the air.
Ragna tossed his greatsword upward to catch the brunt of the strike and dove out of the way.
*KA-BOOM!*
The lightning slammed into the metal, sent the sword spinning into the distance.
Seeing Ragna disarmed, Drmul continued his lecture.
“The initial rank is the Watcher—those who have merely glimpsed the veil. Following that is the Speaker—those who call upon external powers and recite their spells.”
He was determined to show them that their struggle was meaningless.
With a flick of his withered hand, a putrid scent filled the area.
Enkrid instinctively covered his face.
It seemed the stench wasn’t emanating from Drmul’s rot, but was a manifestation of the elder’s power.
Drmul continued his haughty explanation to the two warriors. Enkrid wasn’t sure if the man was trying to distract them or if he just loved the sound of his own voice.
Perhaps he traveled the world teaching alchemy solely for the ego boost, rather than any sense of duty.
Enkrid felt he was getting a very clear picture of Drmul’s personality.
“And do you know what follows the Speaker?” Drmul asked.
Meanwhile, Ragna had charged in with his bare hands, only to be intercepted by a construct of black stone, forcing him to retreat.
The golem was yet another creation of the elder.
Ragna ignored the talk, but Enkrid played along to buy time.
“Unlike my companion here, I’m a dedicated student. Please, go on, Master Drmul, the Great Alchemist.”
He injected a layer of false reverence into his voice.
The Lua Gharne style of combat was versatile, but acting was also a useful tool when one needed to recover from injuries.
With the Medusa dead, Enkrid tilted his head back, mimicking the stance of an attentive pupil.
Drmul likely knew he was being mocked, but his vanity won out.
“Then comes the Possessor—those who have established their own internal domain.”
*Thud!*
A loud impact echoed nearby as Ragna engaged the golem.
In terms of pure physical agility, Rem was superior—but in terms of sheer combat instinct, no one in the Mad Platoon could rival Audin.
Though, if it came down to a raw brawl, Enkrid was fairly sure he could still take Ragna.
That didn’t mean Ragna was failing.
He took a few glancing blows to find a weakness, then shattered the construct’s skull. He blocked a series of heavy punches before leaping up to drive a knee into the creature’s head.
By sheer luck or instinct, he hit the core, and the golem collapsed.
Ragna hit the mud and rolled instantly.
*BOOM!*
A fireball erupted where he had been a second before, the flames struggling against the downpour.
“Huff, huff…”
Ragna’s breathing was heavy; he was nearing his limit.
“A bug. A simple, persistent bug,” the elder sneered, emphasizing his disdain. Drmul’s voice grew smoother, clearly enjoying himself.
“The Possessor eventually becomes consumed by the thrill of their power, entering the state of Immoderantia. Past that is the Vilith—the Realizer. They can pull their internal world into reality. And beyond that, do you know the final peak?”
He paused for dramatic effect. The man had the flair of a performer.
Not that his audience was enjoying the show, given the circumstances.
“The Tacitus—the Silent One. A rank where one exists above the natural order. Such a master has no need for words or chants.”
Enkrid realized that despite his many flaws, Drmul had likely been an excellent professor.
He was arrogant, but his explanations were thorough and structured.
He was building the concepts step by step, which was actually quite helpful.
Many instructors in the military could learn from his method.
“Most teachers just tell you to swing and hope for the best.”
“My apprentice has reached the height of the Silent One,” Drmul concluded.
So, the three-eyed sorcerer was a master who could cast at the speed of thought.
Ragna, retreating toward Enkrid, called out.
“Still feeling peaceful?”
Explosions continued to crater the mud behind him.
“I’m starting to get annoyed, but I can still go,” Enkrid replied.
He knew he only had a few meaningful strikes left in his body. He had to make them count.
Could he actually kill that monster? There was only one way to find out.
“Finish them.”
At Drmul’s command, the elder raised his hand again.
A woman standing nearby suddenly transformed. Horns tore through her skin, scales coated her limbs, and her face elongated into a snout.
“Witness! When I ascend to godhood, this will be the master race of this world!”
She was a horrific fusion of human and reptile.
*Screeeeech.*
She let out a piercing cry, then slumped forward, her arms swaying.
*Huff. Huff. Huff.*
Her breathing was deep and rhythmic, each exhale radiating a suffocating pressure—a true chimera.
She shifted, her eyes locking onto them with a heavy, downward gaze.
It was telekinetic force.
“It feels as though a hundred men are holding you down,” the elder noted.
If this was just her presence, her direct attack would be devastating.
Ragna reached out his hand.
“If we don’t play this perfectly, we’re both dead.”
“Then who’s going to tell the story about protecting the captain?” Enkrid asked.
“You’ll have to do it.”
Enkrid handed him Penna once again.
“If I go back alone, Anne will probably poison my dinner.”
“…I suppose I can’t have that.”
The humor was a mask for the gravity of the situation.
Could he be reckless because he was stuck in a loop?
No—Enkrid refused to succumb to that mindset.
If he were the type to live carelessly, he wouldn’t have survived this long.
The words of the ferryman came back to him—luck is a finite resource.
‘If it seems impossible, make it possible.’
Steeling himself, Enkrid forced the remaining Will from his shattered muscles.
If this was the end, he would perform one last dance of steel.
Ragna gripped Penna, his breathing becoming calm and steady.
How many times had he fought with someone’s life on the line behind him?
Now, the person he had to protect was standing right there.
He stared down the monster and the sorcerer.
“No one behind me is dying today.”
He was going to master the art of the defensive vanguard. He would take what he had learned from Enkrid and perfect it.
Ragna was a natural talent. He had observed Enkrid’s movements. He understood the essence of his foster mother’s style.
He had successfully mimicked them against the golem.
Now, he would evolve.
If he failed, death was certain. But was death the real fear?
No—the fear was failing to achieve his will.
And right now, Ragna’s will was to protect his comrades.
Was it a fool’s errand?
If so, he would embrace it.
“Interesting,” he remarked.
He had stolen Enkrid’s favorite phrase.
“Hey, that’s my line,” Enkrid grumbled.