A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 756

Chapter 756

The gargantuan proportions of the Minotaur, a synthesis of raw physical bulk and an oppressive metaphysical pressure, seemed to expand without limit. Most of those dwelling within this sector of the Demon Realm collapsed to their knees, their voices a low drone of “Black Sun, Black Sun” as they invoked the name of their dark deity. Yet, in a bizarre twist of perception, the human before them—who stood at barely half the height of that horned titan—seemed to occupy just as much space in their vision. In fact, he perhaps loomed even larger than the bovine monstrosity.

To any observer, it appeared inevitable that the man would be blasted backward, his life force and internal organs scattered across the dirt in a single strike. But the expected devastation never came.

Clang!

A deafening metallic explosion erupted. The shriek of steel meeting steel birthed a kinetic shockwave that surged outward in visible ripples. After that initial contact, Enkrid realized the truth immediately.

“This creature operates at the caliber of a knight.”

The question of why the Demon Realm had never been purged was answered with insulting simplicity: a sheer deficit of power. Even for those who had triggered the awakening of Will, this domain housed horrors far beyond what a standard human frame could withstand. This specific Minotaur, a dual-wielding engine of destruction, was a prime example of those apex predators.

Following the collision, the man and the beast created distance. The upright bull retreated slightly, its right hoof carving a furrow in the earth. Enkrid adjusted his stance, raising his blade at an angle to shield his vitals. A heavy, breathless silence took hold. Everyone present understood this was merely the prelude to the true slaughter.

The violet-hued horizon was bathed in the dying glow of the sun. As the orb dipped below the mountain peaks, the creeping shadows of night began to take hold. The air felt thick and swampy, a humid heat clinging to the skin like a physical weight. It was the height of summer, and this territory—the infamous borderland of the Demon Realm—exuded an exceptionally repulsive miasma.

“…Should we intervene?” Roman whispered from the rear.

The mere sight of the beast made his skin prickle with an instinctive dread. This creature felt leagues more dangerous than the gray-skinned predators they had fought in Oara, or even the dreaded ghoul, Jericks. The Minotaur’s guttural bellow had paralyzed his will, making his limbs feel like lead. Roman knew with absolute certainty that if he were the one in the center of that clearing, he would already be a corpse. This was a monster in the truest sense.

He felt they had to act now. To leave a lone man against such a force seemed like a death sentence.

“Stay back. You would only be an obstacle,” Rem answered without breaking his gaze. He watched the combatants with unwavering intensity.

The others shared his focus. The holy knight radiating divine light, the grim swordsman whose very presence felt like a threat, and the scout who moved like a ghost—all of them remained stationary. Roman soon grasped that their stillness didn’t stem from apathy or fear.

Why?

Beside him, Frokk puffed out his cheeks, leaning in closer. It was a sign of pure, unadulterated thrill, though Roman struggled to interpret the fairy’s alien body language. Frokk was a solitary creature, devoid of typical social bonds, and fairies were rare enough in Oara that Roman had no frame of reference for them. Usually, they were described as stoic and unreadable, yet now, their eyes sparkled with a disturbing level of anticipation.

Pell and Rophod were the same. They weren’t shaking with nerves; instead, they were flexed and ready, their hands clenching and unclenching as they mentally mapped out the duel. Their body language screamed a single truth: They did not believe defeat was possible. They were poised to strike if Enkrid fell into genuine peril, but beneath that readiness lay a profound desire to see what the man was capable of achieving.

That infectious confidence began to bleed into Roman. He wondered what kind of man could earn such absolute, fanatical trust. To reach the rank of knight was one thing, but to command this level of certainty from such a dangerous group was another entirely.

Is this the path I must follow?

He thought back to Knight Oara, who had always led from the front. Even at the threshold of her demise, she had embodied the virtues of her station, never wavering from her oaths. She had met her end with a smile while battling a splinter of Balrog. Now, looking at Enkrid, the image of the fallen knight seemed to merge with the man standing in the violet dust.

“…Oa,” Roman breathed.

In that instant, Enkrid’s Duskforge clashed once more with the twin blades of the Minotaur.

BOOM!

The sound was like a mountain collapsing. Violet earth geysered into the air, obscuring the field in a haze of dust. Through the chaos, Roman saw Enkrid’s weapon vibrate. That tremor evolved into a rhythmic pulse, pulling the invisible threads of Will into the steel. In the dark heart of the Demon Realm, a brilliant light ignited along the edge of the sword. It flared and fractured, etching a thousand glowing trajectories into the gloom. Roman couldn’t track the speed, but the sheer majesty of the display made his heart race.

—

“Death is a constant shadow.”

The prowess of the horned swordsman brought that old adage to the forefront of Enkrid’s mind. It was a lesson from his pre-knight days: if you live by the blade, you must accept that a single mistake can end you.

MUUUUGHHH!

The bull’s truncated roar was a weaponized wave of killing intent, a physical pressure designed to shatter its opponent’s spirit. Enkrid met the force with his own surging Will, holding his ground as the beast pivoted its massive torso for a strike.

The resulting swing was a blur of heavy, high-speed steel. It was Wavebreaker—a technique Ragna often utilized. Recognizing the trajectory, Enkrid intercepted the strike with Duskforge, using the momentum to spiral his body to the flank. He rolled his weight onto his left foot, letting the beast’s power slide harmlessly off his parry.

The chime of the impact—Ti-di-di-ding—confirmed his theory. Wavebreaker was perfectly compatible with the Blade of Coincidence. Indeed, Enkrid had come to realize that all disciplines of the sword could eventually be woven into a singular harmony.

The Minotaur followed up instantly with its second blade. Infused with its own dark Will, the strike was so fast it nearly bypassed Enkrid’s enhanced perception. The edge whistled through the air where he had stood a heartbeat prior. Only his fluid transition during the first parry saved him. The sword’s path left a lingering trail in the air, a bleeding afterimage that looked like wet ink on paper.

Enkrid moved within that blurred space, his mind fracturing into memories of his training.

*Never drop your guard. Stay fluid. Don’t let your muscles lock. Use every tool at your disposal to secure victory. A rigid mind leads to a rigid body; only through relentless repetition does conscious effort become instinctive grace.*

The lessons of Oara and Ragna coalesced. He knew the path forward. He had touched this pinnacle once before, and he would do it again.

Luminous energy pooled into the metal of his sword. The ethereal force solidified into a tangible shape. Leveraging the momentum of a spinning vortex, he parried the incoming steel and pivoted off his lead foot. A dragon of pure light roared from his blade, cleaving through the Minotaur’s skull and neck.

Enkrid retracted Duskforge with a violent snap.

KRKRKRKRAKKK!

The blade ground through the creature’s thick vertebrae, ripping through sinew and bone as he pulled it clear. The monster’s momentum failed. One massive knee hit the dirt, the body swaying like a heavy pendulum before the final collapse.

THUUD—

The silence of the wasteland was shattered by the impact of the corpse. Black ichor geysered from the ruined neck and split skull. Enkrid looked down at the remains with a cold, analytical gaze.

He mused that if these applications of Will could be organized into a system, they could be passed down to others. The secret lay in dragging the subconscious power of Will into the light of conscious control, eventually giving it physical form through the body or the weapon. But Will was not a shortcut; without the foundation of grueling physical practice and refined swordsmanship, it was a hollow dream.

He knew he wasn’t a natural prodigy. He was a man who had to fail a hundred times to learn one truth. But that lack of innate talent had forced him to become a master of observation and reflection.

The skirmish ended as quickly as it had peaked. Lua Gharne was breathless with excitement, her hand pressed against her chest. Frokk let out a low, vibrating growl as his cheeks deflated, venting the sensory overload. Pell found his hand drifting toward the hilt of Idol Slayer. He wanted a turn. He didn’t need a justification; he simply wanted to test his mettle against the man who had just performed the impossible.

“Not yet. Your time hasn’t come,” the barbarian’s voice rumbled behind him. The aura he exuded was savage, like standing in the path of a predator.

“O Lord Father…” Audin whispered, a shimmering halo of divine energy beginning to manifest around him in response to the battle.

Ragna, clutching Sunrise, stepped forward. “Can you manifest it at will now?”

It was a demand for confirmation of Enkrid’s mastery over the physical embodiment of Will.

“Yes,” Enkrid replied, methodically cleaning the blood from Duskforge.

Shinar approached, her eyes filled with a new level of respect. “You are a far cry from the man I met at the start of this journey.”

Rophod stood quietly, acknowledging that while Pell was eager to fight, he himself was not yet at a level to challenge Enkrid. But he felt no bitterness, only a renewed drive. Most of them knew Enkrid’s history—how he had started as the lowest of the low in Naurillia. His journey had been one of constant, agonizing struggle.

As the adrenaline faded, Enkrid looked toward the villagers—the corrupted ones who were now staring at him in paralyzed shock. The Ferryman’s silent question hung in the air: Should they be saved or purged?

These people were slowly being consumed by the influence of the demon god. But it wasn’t total yet. If the source of the corruption was severed, perhaps their humanity could be restored. He thought of Anne, who would likely be fascinated by the prospect of curing such a blight. Her obsession with medicine often bordered on the fanatical.

Enkrid didn’t expect these people to apologize for their existence. He didn’t blame them for the choices of their forefathers. He only wondered: Can they be rescued?

He decided he would attempt it. Even if the effort was destined to fail, the act of trying held its own intrinsic value. Choosing a path that wasn’t among the grim options presented to him, Enkrid walked into the heart of the settlement.

He stopped before the village’s central icon: the Black Sun.

Under the collective gaze of the terrified residents, he looked at the symbol of their worship. If this object was what warped their souls, the solution was to replace it.

With a swift arc of Duskforge, the wooden plaque was sliced in two. The symbol of the demon god fell into the dirt.

“Uuhh…” A collective gasp of horror rose from the crowd. The taboo had been shattered.

“Audin. Help me incinerate the artifact buried here,” Enkrid commanded.

“As you wish.”

They prepared to purge the demonic influence with holy fire. The village was at a tipping point. Zoraslav, seeing his god’s protector slain and his idol desecrated, fell to his knees in a desperate bid for survival.

If Kraiss or Crang could see this, they would likely be baffled or mocking. Yet Enkrid, ignoring all conventional wisdom, made his declaration.

“This territory is now under my jurisdiction. It is part of the Border Guard’s lands.”

He was forcibly redirecting their devotion. If they needed something to serve, he would be that thing.

Rem blinked, trying to process the sheer audacity. “So… you’re telling them to worship you instead of the demon?”

Enkrid paused. “That wasn’t exactly how I’d put it—”

“May the Heavens witness this,” Audin interrupted, his voice resonating with authority. “In place of the Father, he shall be the pillar of this land.”

Enkrid opened his mouth to protest, but the eyes of the villagers—hundreds of them—were already locked onto him with a mix of fear and budding reverence. Ragna remained indifferent to the politics, focusing only on the martial breakthrough he had witnessed.

Shinar, watching the scene unfold, let out a soft, admiring laugh. “My future husband truly is a madman of the highest order.”

And in the silence that followed, no one found reason to disagree.