A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 753

Chapter 753

Roman seamlessly integrated himself into the pack.
“People actually reside within the Demon Realm?”
Enkrid posed the question, his voice laced with genuine shock. It was a reasonable reaction.
In this world, demonic creatures and beasts were the natural predators of humanity. The Demon Realm was a place teeming with such threats, including rare and terrifying variants. Carving out an existence here was an almost impossible feat. Even the secluded village they knew of made concealment its primary law, using every fold of the land just to stay hidden—yet this place stood out in the open, waiting for travelers?
“Yeah, it caught me off guard too,” Roman said with a shrug.
He recounted how barely ten days had passed since the parasitic infection had taken hold of him. Audin had suggested that if Roman’s mental fortitude had wavered even a fraction, he never would have regained consciousness.
Naturally, Audin had made sure to speak loudly enough so everyone in the vicinity could catch his words. It was half-meant as a tribute to Roman’s spirit, but Roman didn’t take it as a compliment.
“Fine, let’s just agree that I’m a fool.”
Realizing he couldn’t win them over with arguments or displays of power, Roman simply yielded. Rem let out a quiet laugh at the admission—he was clearly enjoying the chance to needle him.
Deflecting the attention, Roman shifted the conversation to the peculiar settlement he had encountered. It proved to be an effective distraction.
As they traveled, Enkrid contemplated Roman’s description.
The world was vast, but how much of it was actually claimed by sentient races like humans?
A scholar of the past, a man revered as a sage, once posited:
“It is possible that our world is hemmed in by entities of such power that we cannot fathom them.”
The reality of the Demon Realm served as the pillar of that theory.
Despite endless attempts at conquest, the Great Demon Realm remained unbowed. Within its borders resided six demonic entities that defied human logic.
One only had to look across the continent to see the truth: monsters were simply too numerous. Where monsters gathered, demonic beasts followed in their wake.
And among those hordes, how many had evolved into unique, superior forms?
Even in the territories stretching from the Border Guard to what used to be Molsen County—before the roads were made safe—monsters had flourished inside national borders alongside bands of outlaws.
‘Even the outlaws had to stick together, or they’d be torn apart.’
Because of this, the mere existence of such a village was a profound enigma.
“You mentioned being taken by a parasite—is your memory of everything still vivid?”
The half-giant drew near once more, his question carrying a subtle weight. Roman gave a firm nod.
While he found it difficult to mark the exact spot on a map, he could still find his way. He had reached this point without the help of a scout—his internal compass was reliable. Fixating on the jagged, crimson-and-black peaks on the horizon, he oriented himself.
Whether his instincts were true remained to be seen. As he watched him, Enkrid spoke up.
“Do you want to trade blows?”
Observing Roman’s stride, it was clear his vitality hadn’t fully returned. He moved with the heavy, uncoordinated step of someone who hadn’t slept in days—his center of gravity was slightly off.
Nevertheless, as Rem had noted, the man was resilient.
‘He’s hanging in there.’
Roman’s head was likely pounding, and his lungs probably burned. Although Audin had used holy influence to mend him, the lingering effects of the parasite were unavoidable.
It would have been more concerning if he appeared perfectly healthy.
‘But a man’s core doesn’t change.’
Being physically drained didn’t mean his martial essence had vanished. At the level of a quasi-knight, that was expected.
A warrior couldn’t always count on being at their best.
The ability to function under duress—that was precisely what defined the rank of a quasi-knight.
“Right now?” Roman asked. He didn’t look like he wanted to back down.
Enkrid unsheathed his weapon. Duskforge, Sky, Forged at Dawn—the sword, known by those three titles, cast a faint blue glow.
“A weapon of engraving.”
Roman whispered to himself. The world had transformed so much from the past he remembered.
He had once vowed to surpass Enkrid, yet now he found himself trailing behind.
A mixture of dark and fiery emotions rose within him. Roman gripped his massive greatsword and leveled it toward his opponent.
The weapon hadn’t seen a whetstone in a long time and its edge was dull—but with a blade of that magnitude, a blunt impact was just as lethal as a sharp one.
“What do you think you’re doing, stopping in the middle of the path?”
Rem barked at them.
He wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t a place for a rest stop—the sun was just rising, and they had only just resumed their trek. It was an odd time for a duel.
Regardless, he didn’t move to stop them. The rest of the group watched in silence.
It was a spectacle worth seeing, and they all understood the underlying motivation for Enkrid’s challenge.
‘It truly is intriguing.’
Rem complained out of habit, but his inner thoughts were far more focused. That man—Enkrid—had pushed Pell and Rophod beyond the boundaries of standard knights.
Certainly, those two possessed the raw talent, the ambition, and the hunger to grow.
But if those traits alone made a knight, the continent would be swarming with them.
‘Even if their numbers are growing.’
It remained an elite and rare calling.
Ragna stood perfectly still, a hand resting on the hilt of Sunrise, watching the pair.
The man known as Roman had many flaws ingrained in his swordplay. In a life-or-death struggle, those weaknesses would become glaring. They were the kind of errors that were obvious to any trained eye.
‘How does he intend to strip away those habits?’
It would be a grueling process.
Lua Gharne watched with curiosity, while Shinar and Jaxon seemed less invested.
Pell, Rophod, and Teresa, however, were entirely absorbed. To them, every movement was a potential revelation.
Then, Roman’s greatsword swung into motion, carving a diagonal path through the air in a fluid, sweeping arc.
‘Fast and powerful—but he’s already thinking too much about the next move.’
That was the critique in Pell’s mind.
‘His reaction time is lagging.’
That was Rophod’s assessment.
Enkrid reached the same conclusion.
So—what was the response?
He stepped forward with his left leg and lashed out. The strike was identical to the one he used to dispatch monsters, yet—
‘The power is being held back.’
Jaxon recalled seeing Enkrid slice a parasite clean off a person’s skull.
It would be a lie to say it hadn’t sent a shiver down his spine.
‘Accuracy that transcends mere precision—absolute control.’
He had practiced the motion in the air after seeing it once, and had even rehearsed it in his sleep.
“Hey, are you even paying attention?”
The boatman had called out to him several times, but Jaxon was mesmerized by that specific cut. Now, after several more tries, he felt he could mirror it.
And Enkrid was clearly relishing every moment of the exchange.
Crash!
A sudden surge—a slash focused with tight, internal rotation. A powerful strike driven by the pivot of the shoulder.
Roman’s weapon was sent reeling by the single impact.
“Once more. We’ll do this as we move.”
Enkrid performed the same action repeatedly. Roman was forced to keep swinging, receiving not a single word of guidance.
No pointers. No corrections.
Every unrefined strike was met and suppressed by a single, identical blow.
Was this a mere display of superiority?
If it was, Enkrid’s expression and posture suggested otherwise.
Even those watching followed suit, remaining silent.
Roman tried to decipher the meaning behind it. There had to be a purpose to this repetition.
Was this a genuine duel—or merely a form of discipline?
Then, a smirk touched Enkrid’s lips.
Is that the best you can do? Is that all? Is that all?
In that moment, Roman heard a voice. It felt like a delusion—but it was too visceral to ignore. It cut right into his soul.
After nearly fifty exchanges, his shoulders were screaming, his elbows felt like they were on fire—truthfully, every inch of his body was in pain.
His mind was still reeling from the parasite’s lingering toxicity.
Yet, alongside Enkrid’s mocking smile, that phrase—is that all—continued to pulse in his brain. Again and again.
Snap.
Roman bit down on his tongue.
Fine. You think you’re untouchable. But the road I traveled to get here wasn’t paved with gold.
I have carved my way through blood and risked my life to find this strength.
To honor the memory of Knight Oara and live up to her legacy.
A surge of rage erupted. Blood seeped from his bitten tongue, the sharp sting jolting every nerve into high alert. His vision clouded with red.
With one strike.
Spinning on his left foot, he channeled a strike he had rehearsed a thousand times. The one he had developed to emulate the power of a knight.
He had even played a part in Enkrid’s own refinement of the Vortex style.
To deliver the strike of a true knight, a quasi-knight had to condense every fiber of their muscle and infuse their entire Will into the edge.
Once, it was Roman who had been the teacher of this concept.
Strike.
That desperate ambition manifested his Will. Roman swung with everything he had. It felt like a dam in his chest had finally burst.
For the first time in an age, he delivered a strike with his full, unbridled power.
BOOM!
The atmosphere seemed to shatter. Roman’s blade thundered down.
Enkrid met it with the Sword of Coincidence, guiding the force away in a seamless motion.
Clang. Rattle. Thud.
Roman’s greatsword failed to meet its mark. The blade went limp, losing all its momentum, and struck the earth with a hollow sound.
Then—with a sharp snap—a crack spiderwebbed across the center of the metal. It broke apart.
“Gah!”
Roman spat out blood—it was as dark as ink.
“Move aside.”
Audin was instantly there, placing a steady hand on Roman’s back. Teresa was right behind him.
They were purging the final remnants of the parasite’s influence.
Surviving the initial infection wasn’t the end. The dark essence—the magi—still saturated Roman’s system.
It had finally been expelled along with the dark blood he’d just vomited.
If Audin had attempted a pure divine intervention earlier, it might have shattered Roman’s mind. But the timing was now ideal.
Audin glanced up at Enkrid.
“Was this your intention?”
“In a way.”
A bit of fortune had assisted.
Roman lifted his head from the dirt.
He understood the significance of what had just happened better than anyone.
Simultaneously—
“You perceived it, didn’t you?”
Enkrid asked. Roman knew exactly what he was referring to.
Roman had lost his way during his training. He had deeply internalized Knight Oara’s methodology—a style of grace and fluid transitions.
It wasn’t designed to end a battle in one breath, but to paint elegant, continuous lines.
Because of that, a man who once focused on the raw power of a knight now had a refined foundation.
In Enkrid’s view, Roman had mastered the graceful arc—but was that his true calling?
Roman was born with a naturally massive, powerful frame.
His essence was built for singular, devastating impacts.
A man’s Will is a reflection of his inherent nature.
That was the lesson Enkrid’s journey had taught him.
Rophod lived for the sake of others—watching, contemplating in solitude. That loneliness didn’t destroy him because it suited his soul.
Pell was the total opposite.
He would burst forward, shedding the skin of a common shepherd to take what he desired.
Will is forged by intent—by one’s temperament. Fight against that nature, and the path to becoming a knight will remain a distant dream.
“My thanks.”
Roman managed to speak before losing consciousness once more.
“Looks like we’ve gained another burden to carry,” Rem remarked.
“What was that trick from before?”
Enkrid inquired. Rem gave a sly grin and replied casually,
“Wasn’t the timing perfect?”
What Roman had heard—Is that all? Is that it?—was no trick of the mind. Rem had used magic to broadcast those whispers directly into his consciousness.
“You have a remarkable gift,” Enkrid admitted, truly impressed. Sending a whisper was simple—but sensing Roman’s mental breaking point and knowing exactly when to apply pressure was a masterstroke.
“It was nothing.”
Rem laughed, and Ragna gave a slow, deliberate nod.
“You truly are a master of the most trivial talents.”
Was that a compliment or a jab?
“…What on earth did you have for breakfast today?”
Their typical bickering resumed, and the two traded mental and physical barbs with axe and blade.
Before they realized it, the sun had fully risen. The sky was a brilliant, clear blue.
Roman had been carried along on Teresa’s back. He woke up toward the middle of the afternoon and remarked,
“My head feels much clearer now.”
“Is that so?” Enkrid replied.
The dueling was over.
Lua Gharne puffed out her cheeks and stayed glued to Enkrid’s side.
“I’m curious—how did you become such an effective teacher?”
Enkrid found himself talking with Frokk, who was bursting with questions, feeding the man’s endless appetite for knowledge. Meanwhile, Roman guided the party toward the settlement he had discovered.
To put it simply—it was likely the most jarring first impression they had encountered in their travels.
“So, do we just burn it all down and slaughter them?”
Rem asked, leaning into the grim mood of the place. Ragna tightened his grip on Sunrise.
Enkrid looked toward the monument standing in the center of the village—completely exposed and unashamed.
At the top of a high wooden pillar was a pitch-black disc. A dark sun.
It was an emblem—a sigil favored by certain dark sects.
It was essentially a public proclamation of worship for the Demon God.
“I thought you called this a village?”
Shinar, as a fairy, was acutely aware of the foul energy produced by monsters.
In places where the essence of the forest was absent, fairies were unable to call upon their full potential.
“It is a village. They just… have a very specific way of living,” Roman replied.
Once they crossed the threshold, it became obvious—this wasn’t just some weird cultist outpost.
People were going about their lives. Their clothes were tattered, resembling the rags of city beggars—but they didn’t look like prisoners being kept against their will.
One of the inhabitants blinked in surprise and started toward them.
The most striking difference between Enkrid’s party and the man walking toward them?
His skin. It wasn’t pale or tanned—it was a muted shade of purple.
“You actually returned in one piece,” the man remarked, eyeing Roman. Then his eyes drifted over the rest of the group.
“And it looks like you’ve brought a whole crowd of guests.”
He signaled toward the heart of the settlement.
The village seemed to welcome the infrequent travelers. Though, in all honesty—it felt profoundly unsettling.
After all, this was a community that openly revered the Demon God.