A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 734

Chapter 734

“Hold them back! Don’t let them through!”
The shout rang out just as Enkrid came upon the settlement. His keen ears caught the frantic vibration of human speech.
He found it impossible to simply walk away.
It was partly driven by a sense of wonder, but mostly because a feeling deep within him began to churn.
After all, wasn’t this precisely the sort of scene that mirrored the places of his youth?
Deciding against carving a path through the dense thicket, he judged it more efficient to scale the timber and navigate the canopy.
Despite the weight of his supplies and the pair of blades at his hip, the climb was a trivial task.
Enkrid drove his fingers into the bark of a massive tree, hauling his frame upward with explosive force.
He ascended with the grace of a forest creature, using only his extremities to pull himself higher.
For a man of his standing, such a feat was basic.
Using the sturdy limbs as springboards, he leaped toward the origin of the commotion.
The gap vanished in seconds.
With every bound Enkrid took, the canopy shivered, sending panicked birds scattering into the sky.
“If the line breaks, we’re finished! Stand your ground!”
The scream was thick with terror.
Enkrid located the center of the conflict and halted his momentum.
His right boot balanced on a slender branch while he anchored himself by sinking two fingers into the wood of the trunk, his left foot providing a light counterweight.
Though he had climbed for speed, the height granted him an unobstructed view of the clearing below.
More than a dozen figures stood beneath him, gripping crude polearms—jagged shards of metal lashed to wooden shafts.
Behind this front line were people with slings, and further back, archers with arrows notched.
“A poor display.”
Spears, slings, then bows—it was a military arrangement in theory only.
In reality, they were merely a frightened huddle.
The gaps between the spearmen were dangerously wide.
At this pace, the predators would pierce the line instantly, leaving the ranged fighters to be slaughtered.
Simply put, these were not soldiers.
The total defense consisted of barely fifty souls.
Opposing them was a pack of wild dog beastmen of roughly equal size, stalking in a wide, predatory sweep.
“Pathetic.”
He wasn’t just commenting on their numbers; their fighting spirit seemed equally brittle.
Even if a skirmish began, the humans held a slight edge and wouldn’t be completely wiped out.
“But lives will be lost.”
If the situation turned sour, half of them would likely perish.
He could see the defenders grinding their teeth in silent horror.
The terror was most visible in the shaking hands of those holding the front-line spears.
Enkrid finished his assessment.
There was no reason to wait.
He stepped off his perch and plummeted toward the earth.
A common man would have shattered his legs from such a height, but he was far from common.
Just before impact, Enkrid gripped the Three-Iron Sword, drawing it and plunging the blade into the trunk beside him.
Screeeech—
The steel carved a deep furrow down the wood, slowing his descent until he touched the grass softly.
His abrupt arrival drew every eye in the clearing.
Both the terrified villagers and the predatory beasts shifted their attention toward the newcomer.
Enkrid ignored the weight of their stares and broke into a sprint.
The charge of a knight was usually too swift for the untrained eye to track, even when they weren’t trying.
Enkrid, however, operated on a level far above his peers.
Strong Horn—the synthesis of his physical power and concentrated Will—accelerated his movement to a lethal degree.
To those watching, he simply evaporated.
BOOM!
A shockwave echoed as he burst forward, leaving no trail for the eye to follow.
Yet, for Enkrid, the world felt slow.
He had the clarity to note the bulging shoulder muscles and yellowed fangs of the canine creatures as he closed in.
He even had the mental space for stray thoughts.
This was a genuine battle.
There was no need for the restraint of a practice hall.
The wild dog beastmen and Enkrid were existing in two different flows of time.
Lacking a proper scabbard for the Three-Iron Sword, he had secured it in a loose sheath using leather ties.
He unsheathed it with a violent upward arc.
Snap—
The sound of the leather breaking was audible only to him.
Tear—Splatter—
The rhythm of parting skin and bursting organs followed.
He split a beast from its sternum to its skull in a single motion, then transitioned into a series of rhythmic, flowing strikes.
Thump—Crack—Snap—
The sound of the impacts trailed behind the speed of the edge.
Enkrid’s steel shattered the skulls of the creatures before the noise of the first hit could even travel.
He worked like a practiced woodcutter splitting logs—though with far more finesse and lethal intent.
Dark ichor, bone fragments, and grey matter—unlikely to have ever held a complex thought—erupted like a dark fountain.
The spectacle was incomprehensible to the onlookers.
A man had dropped from the sky, vanished, and now the monsters were simply bursting into pieces.
Some defenders lost their grip, their spears hitting the dirt.
Others froze in place, paralyzed by the sight.
Twang!
A woman, overcome by nerves, fired an arrow far too early.
“Ah.”
A soft breath escaped someone’s lips. The scene defied explanation.
Enkrid executed a wide sweep, clearing the fat and gore from his blade.
Splat-splat.
Chunks of carrion tumbled into the grass.
Typically, beasts possessed superior instincts and sight compared to men.
Infused with monster blood, their quickness was even greater.
Still, they were nothing compared to a knight.
However, there was a hierarchy among monsters.
Just as men varied in strength, some creatures were far more lethal than standard beasts.
He thought of Odd-Eye—the stallion that had mastered its own monster blood through sheer tenacity.
Among this pack, one creature stood out—bolder and faster than its kin.
It watched its pack mates die and launched itself forward, coiled muscles snapping it into the air.
The human was occupied with the others.
It lunged at his blind spot.
Its movement was calculated, unlike the others.
If it had lived, it might have grown into something worthy of a title.
Without shifting his gaze, Enkrid jerked his arm and rotated his torso.
Pivoting on a single heel, he unleashed a horizontal reaper’s stroke.
Whish—Thud.
The arc of the Three-Iron Sword took the creature’s head cleanly.
The head tumbled through the air, its jaws still snapping instinctively long after the spine was severed.
Enkrid’s edge was capable of felling the most nightmare-inducing horrors.
To him, this beast was a mere fledgling.
In the face of death, monsters usually choose between two paths: frantic retreat or suicidal frenzy.
These creatures did neither.
Despite Enkrid staying mostly stationary after his first dash, the pile of carcasses continued to grow.
A few of the predators broke away—not to flee the area, but to circle toward the humans.
They were attempting to flank the villagers.
In the middle of a swing, Enkrid snatched one of the throwing spears he’d taken from Lynox and whipped his arm down.
CLANG!
The metal tip sang as it left his hand.
He threw it with devastating force.
Whistle—BOOM!
The projectile obliterated the skull of the flanking beast and buried itself deep in the dirt.
Gore sprayed outward like a grisly celebration.
The pack’s next move was baffling.
A portion fled. The rest stayed behind.
A defensive line? A stalling tactic?
Even if he relied on gut feeling now, Enkrid had been schooled in the art of war.
He had studied strategy to ensure his own breath remained.
Now, some creatures retreated while others threw themselves into his blade.
Despite the mounting pile of their brothers, the darkness in their eyes showed no sign of panic.
Enkrid’s blade did not waver.
Cutting, thrusting, and slicing upward, he reduced the attackers to a heap of unidentifiable gristle.
Beast flesh was stringy and often tainted with venom—worthless as a meal.
As the survivors vanished into the woods, Enkrid stared into the far treeline.
His vision tightened, then expanded.
It was a reflex born of his Will—manipulating his sight to see across great distances.
A brindled hound? No, a leopard.
A creature three times the size of the pack stood watching from the shadows.
“Outside my immediate reach.”
A secondary group of predators waited in the distance—too far to intercept.
He had allowed the first group to retreat on purpose.
Had he pursued them, the villagers would have been defenseless against the remaining pack.
They likely wouldn’t have lasted a minute.
The humans were still dazed by his arrival, their reactions sluggish.
The monsters, conversely, had been perfectly coordinated.
It was all too strange.
The final group had fought as if they were merely buying seconds.
The ones who escaped did so in an organized withdrawal, not a route.
“A deliberate sacrifice?”
A squad left behind to hinder a pursuer is a classic rearguard.
Was it luck? No. His intuition rejected the idea.
Regardless, this wasn’t the moment for puzzles.
Enkrid wiped the remaining tallow and blood from his steel, then grabbed a clump of soil to scrub the surface.
He had used significant force; he’d need to apply oil soon.
He still had some premium flax oil from Zaun. That would serve.
“State your name.”
Finally, a voice broke the silence.
In this remote place, “Enkrid of the Border Guard” meant nothing.
“Just a traveler with a sword,” he answered.
“…Our thanks for your intervention.”
The man holding the spear stepped forward, his body rigid with suspicion.
It made sense.
If a knight suddenly appeared at a hidden settlement, it was right to be afraid.
In this era, the powerless lived in constant anxiety.
A single cruel thought from a powerful man could wipe them out.
No one in the crowd dared to look away.
They were transfixed by the warrior who had just dismantled a pack of monsters.
Enkrid returned the Three-Iron Sword to its rest and tied the ruined leather strap.
Normally, he would have continued his journey.
But a thought wouldn’t let him go.
To be perfectly honest…
He saw the faces of those he had failed in the past.
Among his failures was a village.
And this settlement felt hauntingly like the place where he had been raised.
“Consider this a brief stop.”
Given the circumstances, if he departed now, these people were marked for death.
That was the typical fate for those living in the shadows.
He’d heard stories of hidden cities beneath the ground.
But more often, these hamlets were erased—swallowed by the wild.
Some even claimed they were the cause of monster infestations, suggesting the beasts were drawn to their presence.
Whatever the truth, Enkrid couldn’t walk away.
“I’ve done you a favor; would you object to me resting here for a while?”
The silence stretched.
The man who had spoken kept his spear lowered but remained braced for a fight.
It was clear this community did not welcome strangers.
The man with the heavy brows hesitated, his jaw working before he finally gave a nod.
“…Follow me.”
It was an invitation born of difficult calculation.
Enkrid followed, keeping his pace slow and non-threatening.
There was no obvious path into the settlement.
These weren’t farmers clearing the land.
They were survivors huddled together.
Their dwellings reflected that desperation.
They lived in burrows dug into the dirt, camouflaged with brush.
The entrances were shielded with covers like primitive pit houses.
Crushed Nightmare Berries had been scattered around the perimeter—the same trick Enkrid had used earlier.
“A clever tactic.”
Nightmare Berries could rot the skin if handled poorly.
The mere scent was enough to cause hallucinations for a week.
They earned their name.
Predators and beasts were repelled by the odor.
But to use them effectively, one had to blend the pulp and skin with precision—just as these people had.
“Harkventyo.”
The guide offered his name. It sounded Southern.
“Enkrid.”
“A pleasure.”
His voice didn’t match the sentiment, but he gestured Enkrid toward a structure built halfway into the earth.
“A sunken shelter…?”
That seemed to be the most accurate description.