A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 755

Chapter 755

Long before the term Eroded was ever used, the history of this people stretched back to the days of their most distant forefathers. If anyone questioned their allegiance to the Demon God, the answer lay in those early settlers who, upon arriving in this desolate region, had received vital aid from that dark deity. To them, there was more than enough reason to offer their devotion. While it was true the Demon God insisted on offerings and blood sacrifices, by this point, such rituals were viewed as the price of survival; there was simply no path back to their former lives.

Oh, Demon God.

In truth, they remained ignorant of the Demon God’s true name. Their worship was directed toward a specific emblem etched into a stone monument, yet whether that symbol actually represented their master’s true form was a mystery. A rounded, blackened piece of timber fixed to the top of a tall pole—a representation of a black sun—was said to honor the deity who would eventually extinguish the world’s light to seize this territory. This was the doctrine instilled by the individual known as the priest. This priest was the one who dictated the laws of their current existence.

“Show reverence,” the priest would command, and the people complied without question. To defy him meant certain death, for there was no other protector to be found in these barrens. Furthermore, given their current physical states, re-entering human civilization was an impossibility. Without a master to serve, they faced only extinction. Even if, throughout their years, they watched neighbors, kin, and companions vanish into the Demon Realm… Even if the priest periodically arrived to claim their newborns… it was a burden they felt compelled to accept.

They had long ago abandoned the habit of independent thought. Having settled for the mere act of staying alive, they had handed over every judgment, every choice, and every moral decision to a higher authority. Such deep-seated reliance could not be discarded with a single sigh. Practically speaking, it was a permanent state. These were a people who had lost the ability to exist without a hand to hold. Just as a fish perishes outside the current, a life shaped by decades of subservience cannot be transformed in a day. The settlement of the Eroded stood as a stark antithesis to the hidden hamlet Enkrid had encountered within the Pen-Hanil mountain range.

—

There had been those who arrived with dreams of punishing the village of the Eroded in the name of righteousness. However, they had all met their end. The horrific creatures dispatched by the priest had always delivered a swift and final judgment upon them.

—

If the Demon God truly offered them sanctuary, what were the limits of that protection? Did it step in if a beast wandered over the boundary? Was its gaze fixed upon them at every moment? It wasn’t quite like that.

“A relic is entombed beneath this spot,” Jaxon remarked. Even before he spoke, Enkrid had picked up on a localized distortion. Shinar had been vocal about a persistent ache in her temples since their arrival.

“My head is throbbing. Fiancé, I require a shoulder to lean on,” she lamented. The pain wasn’t actually severe enough to hinder her movement, but she didn’t seem bothered when her usual attempts at physical affection failed. Instead, she turned her attention to identifying the object Jaxon had detected. Given Shinar’s keen fairy senses and her proficiency in manipulating spirit, she was perfectly suited for sniffing out buried artifacts. Her history of being offered to a demon and her long exposure to such entities made her perhaps the most sensitive detector of demonic traces among all fairies.

“It’s of demonic origin,” she stated with absolute certainty. She wasn’t claiming the object was a living demon, but rather a tool forged by one.

“I agree,” Jaxon concurred, nodding his head. When Audin was led to the location, his skin began to radiate a soft, white luminescence as a reflexive response—a natural surge of his divinity.

“A foul presence lingers here,” Audin noted. He didn’t elaborate, but it was evident that even he found the local energy suffocating. It wasn’t just him; the entire group felt the weight of it. They were simply disciplined enough to tolerate the discomfort. Watching them spar with such intensity in their daily lives, one might think their patience was a limited resource, but here it held firm.

Enkrid wandered the perimeter of the settlement, taking in the landscape. Lua Gharne’s assessment had been accurate. If used as a base of operations, this location was perfect for purging the wandering beasts and minor demon realms of the area. The village occupied a flat plain, offering clear sightlines in every direction. A forest bordered the rear, while the horizon was dominated by the jagged silhouettes of black mountains stained with a reddish hue. Crucially, the local monsters and predators avoided this place entirely. The buried artifact functioned like the scent of a dominant predator—a powerful marker of territory.

The path forward was now clear and elementary.

“We don’t need to stay in a single group, do we?” Enkrid asked. He wasn’t speaking to the wind; he was flanked by Shinar on his left and Lua Gharne on his right. They were his companions for the afternoon trek. Rem, oddly energetic, had claimed there were fascinating magical signatures nearby and was busy exploring the village fringes. Meanwhile, Audin and Teresa had decided the heavy atmosphere was conducive to spiritual focus and had settled into a state of deep meditation.

“That is correct,” Lua Gharne answered.

They had spent several days gathering intelligence regarding the local demon realms. The inhabitants were surprisingly knowledgeable. Essentially, any location they considered a “death zone” was home to either a colony of high-tier monsters or a small-scale demon realm. Even with their perceived protection, entering those areas without the priest’s guidance usually resulted in people never returning. Thus, a map of danger had been drawn by tragedy.

To Enkrid, the ecosystem seemed semi-stabilized. Various monsters and beasts existed in a bizarre equilibrium, respecting each other’s boundaries. Creatures migrating from the South were a common sight across the continent. This was why Viscount Harrison, who governed the southern farmlands of the Kingdom of Naurillia, had spent his career repelling monster incursions—beings he viewed as nothing more than sentient natural disasters. Many of those threats likely originated in places exactly like this.

Regardless, with their current strength being equivalent to a veteran knight order, there was no reason to bunch up.

“Assign Rophod and Ragna to one team. Lua Gharne, Teresa, and Pell will form the second,” Enkrid commanded. This wasn’t a calculated tactical move; he simply spoke from his gut. Even in the heat of a massive battle, Enkrid possessed a talent for reading the flow of combat through pure intuition. That instinct, sharpened by countless life-or-death encounters, served him well here. Though the pairings seemed random, they were balanced.

“Agreed,” Lua Gharne replied.

The following phase was familiar, yet notably easier. Even if it hadn’t been, this group would have hammered away until they saw results. The Mad Order of Knights wasted no time, immediately launching sorties into the neighboring demon realms. They departed at the first light of dawn and returned before the sun had fully dipped.

“We encountered a pack of Scalers. They lacked magic, but their hides were exceptionally resilient,” Rophod reported. They had dismantled a demon realm in less than half a day. Ragna’s Sunrise had turned the marshlands into a funeral pyre—incinerating and cleaving everything in its path. “I suspected Sir Kraiss would have appreciated some of those hides for his work… it’s a pity we couldn’t haul them back,” Rophod remarked, though Enkrid only offered a disinterested nod.

The remains were simply too cumbersome. If they had a logistical chain to move these monster components, it would be a windfall. Those scales, if forged into armor, would massively upgrade the gear of the Border Guard. Looking at the villagers’ own attire, it was clearly possible; they had fashioned functional garments from local hides and scales with surprising craftsmanship.

“I saw a peculiar creature—a serpent with vestigial wings. It possessed a triangular skull and fired toxic needles,” Lua Gharne recounted upon her return. Apparently, Teresa had caught the venom on her shield, bridged the gap, and decapitated the beast with her bare hands. “She chose raw power over finesse, but the result was undeniable,” Lua Gharne noted. It was obvious Teresa was evolving. If her strength was her greatest asset, it was only logical to weaponize it fully. Her combat style was becoming a showcase of her terrifying physical might.

Audin had teamed up with Jaxon. They spent two days tracking a mobile predator and eventually cornered it. It was a colossal centipede. During the struggle, it reportedly attempted to use telekinetic force, but against those two, such a power was trivial.

“Was it a challenge?” Enkrid asked.

“Not in the least, Brother,” Audin replied with a shake of his head, while Jaxon merely gave an indifferent shrug.

The residents of the village were stunned. It was impossible not to be, witnessing the systematic destruction of the threats that had loomed over them for generations. These outsiders were literally carving a path through the demon realms and monsters. Some of their targets were demons in human skin who lured travelers to their doom. They cleared more than five realms inhabited by ghouls and purged several incorporeal spirits. One of the most feared entities in the region, the Twilight Witch, who commanded the Maiden of Plague, was also neutralized. She was an entity of such power that she was on the verge of ascending to full demonhood—a target the Red Cloak Knights had officially marked for elimination.

Yet, three large men and one grim warrior had simply walked out and erased her in an afternoon. Ironically, Frokk appeared to be the least imposing of the group, though the villagers couldn’t truly grasp the scale of the power on display. They could only stand in awe, wondering who these people truly were.

Through these events, Enkrid was reminded once more of the raw brutality of the southern demon realm. It was a land fundamentally hostile to human life, yet life persisted there nonetheless. The village of the Eroded was the living embodiment of that paradox. The Ferryman of fantasy had been posing a question—no, he had been demanding an answer for days:

“What is your decision?”

It was a cold demand for a choice, born of harsh reality. Should these people be shielded? Should they be purged? Or should they simply be ignored? Regardless of the path, the oath of a knight remained. Oaths and personal convictions required a foundation of internal logic. He knew, both by instinct and hard-earned experience, that a single compromise would fracture one’s Will. Valphir Valmung, the Imperial Knight, had taught him much. He had often detailed the chasm between “flower knights” and true imperial knights.

“The continent is crawling with flower knights who treat their oaths like suggestions. They compromise the moment things get difficult. Those men never reach the summit,” Valmung had said. History backed his claim. Betraying one’s oath diminished a knight’s essence, which directly crippled their Will. Enkrid had to find the answer to the Ferryman’s query.

Despite their shock, the villagers did not turn away from Enkrid or his party. They had no reason to. But just as the villagers had feared, the Demon God’s relic had been observing, and it had finally dispatched a collector.

Mmm-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The sound erupted from the village’s edge, where the defenses were weakest. A massive bull-man stormed into the area, trampling through the cultivated fields. Sheep scattered in a panic, and the village dogs retreated, whimpering in terror.

“A Minotaur?” Jaxon was the first to react. A thick, musky scent of beast and ozone had preceded the creature’s arrival. The monster announced its presence with a bone-shaking bellow, and its intent was crystal clear: Combat. No one could turn a deaf ear to such a challenge.

It was the twilight hour, a time of hazy, grey light. As its roar tore through the humid air, the monster’s shadow stretched out across the dirt like a dark stain. It was so tall that one had to look straight up to see its head, and its sheer aura made it feel even more monolithic.

“When your thoughts are clouded, there’s no better cure than a good fight,” Enkrid said, stepping out. He intended to settle this personally; the others were to remain spectators.

“You always take the best ones for yourself,” Rem complained, though he didn’t move to interfere.

As the sun vanished, two moons began to emerge in the sky. Under their gaze, the Minotaur rested its hands on its hips, tilted its head back, and roared again.

Umm-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The vibration was enough to make one’s marrow shiver. Its core was composed of nothing but murderous intent and ancient fury. Enkrid instinctively projected his Will of Rejection, dismissing the beast’s intimidation and meeting it with his own crushing pressure. His focused aura formed a literal wall of defense.

“Well, look at that,” Rem whispered, his interest piqued.

The bull carried two broad-bladed swords at its hips. They were reminiscent of glaives but featured shortened handles—bespoke, modified weaponry. Where such a creature had acquired such tools was a mystery. The Minotaur unsheathed both blades and settled into a combat stance. Could a beast’s raw instinct coexist with disciplined swordsmanship? Usually, the answer was no, but this was no common predator. If there were Scalers with armored skin and monsters with psychic powers, perhaps this creature possessed a martial soul. Or perhaps, in the heart of the demon realm, such things were simply the norm.

A monster that understood the sword. Typically, a Minotaur’s brute strength surpassed that of an ogre, and its danger level was ranked alongside a medusa—and this one was armed with technique. With its legs braced and one blade held high, its every movement signaled a mastery of the steel.

Enkrid unsheathed Dawnforge. The Minotaur knew how to use a sword. So what? At that moment, Enkrid was more interested in whether the beast’s next sound would still be a simple “Umm-MOO.” Beyond its posture, its weapons were unnatural—relics in their own right. Specifically, they were artifacts saturated with demonic energy, or perhaps true demon swords.

Facing the beast, Enkrid settled into a deep, rhythmic breath. Dawnforge hummed in his hand, a restless vibration that seemed to urge him to strike. Enkrid decided to fulfill the blade’s desire. Silently, he blurred forward, erasing the gap in a heartbeat. The Minotaur’s muscles surged as it swung, its blade whistling through the air. The entire exchange happened in the space of a single breath.

BOOM!

A deafening explosion of sound followed, echoing through the valley. But by the time the sound reached the onlookers’ ears, the man and the beast had already crossed blades.