A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 737

Chapter 737

The pair of dappled panther creatures leaped in opposite directions, one darting left and the other swinging right.
Their massive thigh muscles bunched, crimson sinews bulging as they propelled themselves off the ground with enough velocity to leave blurs in their wake.
Even so, it was a pace Enkrid was capable of matching.
He could just barely keep them in his sights. Tensing his reinforced limbs, Enkrid centered his Will. He discarded concealment in favor of raw momentum.
Heightened perception slowed the passing seconds into fragments.
Snap—shatter—crunch.
The stone under his boots disintegrated and flew outward. Branches broke and were driven deep into the mud.
His right foot sank into the dirt until it was buried to the ankle. The earth, crushed and compressed, turned solid under the immense pressure he exerted.
With his right leg already dug in and his left ready to fire—toes gripped tight and set to spring.
If he pursued and lunged now, the fight would conclude. Even if the situation shifted, he would at least be able to lop off one of their tails.
The cold metal luster of those appendages glittered under the moon’s glow. Sharpened like blades—they were clearly meant for combat.
Severing those alone would be equivalent to a partial triumph.
They weren’t merely for striking, though.
They served as stabilizers as well.
This meant that losing them would ruin their equilibrium and make their strides clumsy. After that, seizing or slaying them would be a simple task.
He understood it already, by gut feeling. Those tails weren’t the true hazard. Even if there had been a dozen panther creatures instead of two, they wouldn’t pose a legitimate threat.
He felt certain he could arrange ambushes to slaughter them. And if the tide turned, he could always retreat.
A knight was a catastrophe not just for mankind, after all.
A knight was a ruinous force for anything—beasts, horrors, or foes—that stood before their edge.
In this instance, their talons, teeth, or wits would be no match for the blade of Enkrid.
And yet—a sensation of wrongness lingered. His intuition tugged at his heels.
That growing sense of dread made his movements feel heavy.
Snap.
The muscle in his calf flexed and then went slack.
He allowed his arms to drop to his sides and shifted his gaze upward—
The two panthers had come to a halt and spun around. Their eyes shimmered with a red light from the darkness.
The moment he had let up his intensity, they had stopped instantly.
Had they detected the change in killing intent through their senses? Or was it nothing more than primal reflex?
Regardless—these were no typical predators.
They were anomalies.
Enkrid pivoted his frame. He had made his choice—there was no point in wavering now.
Seconds once spent could never be bought back. Even with countless trails ahead, you can only tread upon one.
And once the step is taken, there is no use for regret.
Though, if someone pressed him for a reason, the only reply would be, “Something didn’t feel right.”
Enkrid turned his back on the creatures. No other horrors emerged from the brush to strike.
He rotated and began the trek back toward the settlement.
Upon arriving, he found Harkvent standing as if carved from stone, clutching a polearm, his voice failing him.
“If nobody tidies this up, the stench will become unbearable.”
Enkrid gave the carcass of the bear creature a soft nudge with the tip of his boot.
Harkvent observed him with eyes filled with deep agitation.
The realization hit him—the man standing there was every bit as terrifying as the predators themselves.
Enkrid met his gaze.
His mind is racing.
Enkrid couldn’t decipher every detail of Harkvent’s internal monologue, but he could make an educated guess.
Not that there was any statement he could offer to soothe that anxiety.
No amount of talk would wash away the man’s terror.
The most effective thing Enkrid could do—
Was to slaughter the remaining monsters and depart as quickly as possible.
But if that had been his intent, he should have hunted down and slain those panther creatures moments ago.
He hadn’t done it.
“Is there any water available for cleaning up?”
“Y-yes, of course.”
Harkvent had hauled water from the spring located below the village and kept it in reserve.
Even though it was intended for nourishment, he allowed Enkrid to use more than half of the supply for washing without a word of protest.
Whatever his true feelings, this man had rescued the community. Providing this much was the bare minimum of gratitude.
And he was terrified. What if he claimed they were out of water—and the man flew into a rage?
The worry made his gut churn. The survival of the village depended entirely on this man’s temperament.
It might be better if he simply left. It was better to gamble on fighting monsters than to live under this crushing weight.
“Very well.”
Enkrid rinsed himself off swiftly, maintained a neutral face toward Harkvent, and laid down to sleep.
The night vanished quickly. By the break of day, Enkrid was already outside, investigating the perimeter of the land.
Locating the signs of the monsters was not a difficult task.
Distanced.
He had figured that if they were targeting the settlement, they would be lurking in the immediate vicinity.
But they were absent. To hunt them down meant traveling deep away from the village.
So be it.
Nevertheless, his spirit wasn’t fully committed to the hunt.
Enkrid tracked the prints at a methodical pace—neither rushing nor lingering.
That foul odor.
The scent of iron and decay unique to these abominations hung heavy in the atmosphere.
What was that smell again?
He recalled the moment he first walked into that sunken dwelling. A pungent fragrance had hit his nostrils.
When he inquired, they told him it was a local berry—utilized as a seasoning to mask the rank smell of the meat.
That was the only way the locals could consume monster flesh. Not because it was flavorful—they only ate it to survive.
Brunhilt had gripped her polearm tightly, and a few other children had circled around. One wide-eyed youngster had talked incessantly about the spice.
That specific aroma had been foreign to him.
But this one—he recognized this scent.
A nauseating stench had blended with the gore and rot.
It wasn’t a smell he anticipated finding on a wild beast.
It reeked of human calculation.
He didn’t perceive it with his nose in the literal sense—but he felt it with absolute clarity.
Humans employed their intellect. They brought strategy to the theater of war.
At its finest, it was called generalship.
At its worst—it was treachery disguised as wisdom, all intended to minimize casualties and guarantee a win.
Enkrid could sense it now, hidden in the path the monsters had carved.
A distorted odor of tactical planning.
He came to a stop.
As if to validate his intuition, the monsters began to move—and the air grew thick with that disgusting musk once more.
No snarls.
No noise at all.
They camouflaged themselves in the tall grass, belly-down, watching him with those shimmering red eyes.
They were utilizing the breeze.
They had masked their scent and their very presence by using the wind’s flow to hide themselves.
Or more precisely—they had left a trail of crumbs on purpose to entice him further out.
Waste, blood—it was an intentionally marked path.
He could visualize the act: a creature gashing its own kin or itself just to leave a scent for him to follow.
Now wolves broke cover—dozens of them. Their formation stretched into a wide arc, locking him in.
It wasn’t even a shock at this point.
Traps and pincer movements—he had anticipated them.
The smaller hounds from before were just the opening act, weren’t they?
Enkrid realized exactly what maneuver these creatures were executing.
A feint.
Which meant—he knew exactly where he was supposed to be.
He whirled around and sprinted back. The dread that had weighed down his feet was now pulling him toward the village.
Bark!
The wolf at the center gave the signal, and the line began to tighten, blocking his path of retreat.
Enkrid scanned the predators obstructing his way.
Nine.
The third one from the left was the largest. The second from the right was hunched low, ready to pounce.
There was no ring of metal as Enkrid drew Three Iron.
That was because he had never put it away to begin with.
He designated the wolves’ skulls as coordinates in the air—and traced a path through them in his mind.
From that point, pure instinct took over. His Will flared, fueling his velocity.
He thrust Three Iron to the left—then whipped it back to the right.
The steel moved in a jagged pattern.
A sequence of strikes polished by mental acceleration.
A storm of silver light—each motion dictated by the most streamlined trajectory his mind could devise.
What manifested was a jagged streak of white destruction.
A bolt of lightning.
CRACK—CRACK—CRACK—
Nine wolf skulls split wide. It didn’t happen simultaneously—but in such a rapid burst that only an elite knight could have perceived the individual strikes.
A martial art born from the high-impact blows he had acquired from Alexandra, perfected through mental optimization. It was almost like a dance.
On the surface, it appeared to be a swift, basic slash—but the method in which he channeled his Will was anything but basic.
All nine wolves perished in an instant, their heads cleaved through.
Nothing remained in Enkrid’s path now.
He sprinted—and up ahead, he caught sight of a gargantuan serpent, thick enough to gulp down someone of Brunhilt’s size in one go.
CRACK!
The serpent wrapped around a massive trunk and pulverized it—then let out a haunting, terror-filled shriek.
The vibration alone was enough to freeze prey in place.
“I’ll keep it busy!”
It was the village threshold.
Harkvent stood there by himself, spear at the ready. Blood leaked steadily from his limb—staining the earth at his feet a bright crimson that looked nothing like the dark fluid of a monster.
Enkrid looked at him—and immediately grasped his intent.
A decoy.
He intended to lure the serpent.
He had claimed the wild hounds only got the better of him because they attacked without warning—otherwise, he could have handled them all with his traps.
But this serpent?
That creature would never be defeated by a simple hole and some sharpened wood.
Enkrid advanced without a moment of doubt. With total conviction. His blade was high.
The serpent didn’t even bother to turn—it lashed its tail, launching a heavy log straight at him.
Penna glided downward in a fluid motion, bifurcating the log entirely.
Slice.
When it came to pure cutting power, Penna was superior to Three Iron. The log’s inner grain was left perfectly flat. The noise was like a knife through tender beef.
Enkrid charged through the two falling pieces.
Penna was already tucked away, and both of his hands were now locked onto Three Iron.
The falling edge collided with the serpent’s skull.
Whoosh—BOOM.
The sword traced its trajectory faster than the speed of sound. To Harkvent, observing from just a few paces away—it looked as though Enkrid materialized, a tree was severed, a white streak flashed—and the snake’s head simply fell open.
A surgical bisection. Dark brain matter leaked from the wound.
The steel traveled so quickly that the sound couldn’t keep up. There wasn’t even a spray of blood until after the blade had passed.
It wasn’t just a clean strike—it was something beyond the human limit.
Enkrid had entered the territory known as a knight—or more accurately, a force of nature.
He could handle a weapon in ways that broke the boundaries of his kind.
In a duel between two knights, that gap was difficult to perceive.
Against beasts—it was impossible to ignore.
Tap. Thud.
Enkrid touched down before the serpent’s massive weight hit the grass. The ground shook slightly as the body collapsed.
He raised his chin, filtering the sounds of the night.
It wasn’t finished.
Several stags with tusks longer than any wolf’s teeth had breached the village.
In the branches—fox-like creatures stared down with burning red eyes.
“To hell with it, Harben!”
A voice cried out his name.
Their defenses were simple pits—packed with jagged stakes.
They had concentrated them all at the front of the settlement.
But the creatures were continuously filtering in through the flanks.
They are aware of the traps.
The hound monsters were meant to stall me.
The bear monster was meant to distract.
They are attempting to isolate me.
Now it was undeniable—this pack of monsters possessed high intelligence.
They were sharp and devious enough to outwit the average person.
“En-Ki!”
Brunhilt’s shout echoed.
She didn’t call for her father—she called for him. It was a reflex.
The person who could see her through this nightmare wasn’t her own flesh and blood.
It was the stranger with the steel.
Enkrid shifted into motion.
He launched off the dirt, sprinted up the bark of the trees, and opened a charging stag’s throat in a single blur.
The head rotated through the air before hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
He leaped back down, found his footing—launched a spear—and in that same fluid motion, threw a horn-gripped knife he had pulled.
FWOOM!
The power of a knight was practically supernatural. The knife shattered the stag creature’s skull like a piece of overripe fruit.
Enkrid caught sight of a white-furred fox with two tails.
It retreated. It was observant.
After witnessing him butcher several of its companions, it had measured the danger zone.
It perched atop a massive tree, one so high the canopy was lost in the clouds. The fox moved across the limbs with a ghostly grace.
As if this whole ordeal was merely an examination.
As if to demonstrate—it still had tricks up its sleeve.
Enkrid looked away.
There was no leisure for a chase.
A life would be lost if he faltered for even a heartbeat.
He could not permit that.
Fewer than twenty creatures had made it into the village—the serpent included.
But if I weren’t here—people would be dead.
Brunhilt, gasping for air, raised her polearm when she caught sight of him.
“I managed to kill one!”
The talented girl had managed to run a fox creature through. The wooden shaft was nearly snapped in two.
“We need to gather everyone,” Harkvent rasped as he scanned the aftermath.
No one had been killed.
But that realization did nothing to soothe the dread in his soul.