A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 756-757

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.

Chapter 757

Uncertainty. Dread. Turmoil.
A tempest of conflicting feelings swirled through the air. Within the village, minds began to fracture, and some started to witness terrifying visions.
“I will descend to meet you personally.”
The decree of the demon god resonated.
Some wept openly. Others crumbled under the weight of hopelessness. This was the precipice upon which they stood.
Yet, humanity remained their core. Because of this, the collective mood gripped them entirely.
It is a long-held truth that a single remarkable individual can shift the entire spirit of a group. A champion leading the charge kindles the fire of war. A charismatic speaker’s words can stir a multitude to action.
In this moment, it was the calm of the madman that altered the atmosphere.
Despair no longer held total dominion. Even though the path ahead was undeniably dark, no one truly believed their doom was inevitable.
Why?
Because they witnessed the serene expressions of those standing at the front.
The villagers, paralyzed and mute, could do nothing but watch.
In the midst of the tension, a few youngsters began to hum a soft melody.
It was an ancient tune passed down through the ages—lyrics that told of the world’s destruction… and the tranquility that follows.

—

“Drilling. I must continue my drilling.”
Pell spoke to himself, his blade cutting through the air.
The lunatic—who had been silent for so long, famous once for his singular obsession with repetitive training—had shaken off his daze.
“Uoooooh!”
A solitary cry erupted from him, a powerful ki-shout that shook the surroundings.
His behavior was far from standard, yet his composure was absolute.
Pell’s logic was straightforward and sharp. The creatures were the foe. These civilians required protection. That was the extent of his world.
With a fierce glint in his gaze, Pell gripped the Idol Slayer and began a rhythmic dance of death on the periphery.
“You’re creating quite a stir. Roman, isn’t it? Step over here for a moment.”
Rophod, rattled after witnessing the prowess of Enkrid’s blade and that insane exhibition, felt a flicker of internal hesitation. His greatest asset was his capacity to analyze his own state with detached precision.
In doing so, Rophod discovered his path.
“What I require at this juncture is the sensation of triumph.”
Hunting a nearby beast was one path. Alternatively, providing Roman with a necessary bout of sparring could yield the same fruit.
But beyond the win itself, Rophod hungered for the feeling of purpose—the knowledge that he was of use to another.
“How do you construct the sequence that gives gravity to a lone blow?”
Rophod inquired, subtly drawing Roman in.
Roman blinked, moving toward him with measured steps.
Are we truly going to practice swordsmanship at a time like this? His bewildered look posed the question.
Yet, even he was swept up by the current.
Rophod refined his focus.
Enkrid would find his own truth regarding his recent actions.
Thus, Rophod would attend to his own duties.
Preserving his peak state.
A balance of physique and spirit—that was the objective.
He narrowed his world until only Roman stood before him.
Having traded blows with Pell many times, he was intimately familiar with his strengths and flaws. He also grasped the nature of those who gamble everything on a single strike.
Furthermore, he had previously instructed the unit known as Enkrid’s personal guard, gathering a wealth of tactical knowledge.
He intended to manifest all of that now.
If one wishes to end a conflict with a single hit, one must master the grueling steps that precede it.
Had Enkrid not remarked that Roman required a brutal process above all else?
“To put it bluntly, he needs to toil as if his soul depends on it.”
And Rophod was more than happy to facilitate that suffering.
There were townspeople who gasped when Enkrid destroyed the emblem—yet none lost consciousness from the terror.
Among the crowd, those with keen wits swiftly pivoted to the new reality.
The speed of that transition was startlingly quick.
In truth, they had little alternative. What else could they do but submit in this moment?
The demon god’s executioner was no more.
The shadow of the demon was far away, but this master of the blade—this madman—stood right before them. A mere motion of his arm could extinguish them all.
Grasping this fundamental truth, their drive to live took over. Necks bent. They pledged their fealty to Enkrid.
“Ooooh…”
Naturally, some likely harbored their own hidden agendas.
Rem scoffed at the display and let out a dry laugh.
“Look at how they flip, like a famished Bellopter diving for a piece of rat.”
Bellopters were obsessed with rat meat—wasn’t that why vermin were so scarce in the West?
Though it might also be blamed on the mimic-style predators that roamed the territory. Felines hunted rats with such efficiency they couldn’t even keep up with the population.
“A match?”
Ragna walked toward Enkrid, who had just finished his struggle.
Rem’s eyebrow moved irritably at the sight.
This lazy wretch. What is he suggesting now?
“Have you lost your senses?”
This wasn’t his typical frustration. It sounded as though he had been dealt a personal insult—something directed at his lineage or his own blood.
Men of the West were notoriously protective of family honor.
Rem, without a second thought, gripped his axe and clarified the source of his anger.
Enkrid assumed Ragna had slighted Rem in some way. He was wrong.
“I made the request first. I am the one who spars first.”
…That was the cause of the friction?
“Brother, the Lord never instructed us to tolerate unfairness. Why do you insist on being first?”
Audin intervened.
“He is my betrothed. Naturally, I take precedence.”
Shinar chimed in as well.
Though in reality, was Shinar even capable of using her true power here? In a region devoid of spiritual essence, fairies found their strength severely diminished.
Ever since their arrival, Shinar had frequently joked about her lightheadedness and how a night in Enkrid’s company would heal her.
Those quips were born from her genuine frailty.
“Can any of you even perform an imbuement?”
Ragna asked, scanning the group.
Can you actually manifest Will within your steel? Can you forge a blade that radiates light? If you cannot, how can you hope to compete at this level?
Essentially, Ragna was declaring: From this point forward, the training will be of the highest caliber—so the weak should stand aside.
“Hey! You’re mocking Western traditions now!”
Rem remained incensed. His fury began to take physical form. He projected his aura in his own distinct fashion.
Rem’s shadow lengthened, defying the glow of the moon.
He even began to stand tall.
If a fight broke out now, that shadow might very well wield an axe of its own.
“The Lord proclaimed that nothing is beyond reach through divine grace.”
Audin continued to chip in.
Suddenly, Enkrid felt a stealthy approach from the rear.
To put words to the feeling—it was like someone was a few paces away, gently waving a willow branch.
Yet, his instinct caught the movement.
His perceptions were sharpened to a fine point following the previous clash. Enkrid’s frame reacted without a thought.
CLANG!
He pivoted and slammed Duskforge upward—just as the point of a blade scraped against its metal.
It was a strike from Jaxon.
Friction created sparks. Jaxon immediately leapt back three paces and locked eyes with Enkrid.
In terms of striking and disengaging, his velocity surpassed even Rem’s.
“You little wildcat bastard!”
Rem’s anger flared once more—but Jaxon paid him no mind.
“I’m satisfied.”
That single exchange was sufficient. Through Enkrid’s counter, he had gauged the depth of the man’s awareness and reflexes.
For Jaxon, that was the only data required.
‘Catching him unaware will be nearly impossible now.’
A basic sneak attack would no longer suffice. That much was certain.
‘What then?’
Whoosh.
Jaxon slipped past a thrown hand axe, focusing his mind.
‘I will have to exhaust every trick I possess.’
Only then would a window of opportunity open. Even then, he would have to secure a superior position first. Otherwise, the kill was impossible.
That was the assessment from the head of Geor Dagger, the most renowned assassination organization on the continent. If even they deemed Enkrid immune to assassination—then the matter was settled.
“That’s enough.”
Enkrid, seeking peace for the first time in a long while, signaled for silence and beckoned Rem. Merely to coordinate their movements—a brief exchange.
“I figured as much.”
Rem nodded, drawing his axe. It appeared as if a dark, thick haze had settled around the metal.
Even though he had utilized Will against the Minotaur earlier, the lingering Will and a body perfected through the Isolation Technique were not so fragile as to fail now.
“Strength is a thing of beauty.”
Audin’s remark hit the heart of the matter.
Teresa watched the display in silence—as did those standing with her.
‘Is this what they define as courage?’
Or perhaps it was merely madness.
Looking at the tainted souls—those who were effectively the Infected—the veins in Teresa’s hand throbbed. Her fingers tightened on her weapon instinctively.
She wanted to unleash her greatsword this instant. To shatter, to annihilate.
They were loathsome. Vile. Like a swarm of insects scuttling over her flesh.
She felt the urge to tear them apart. To cleanse this earth.
Teresa felt the impulse vibrating through her entire being. But a palm rested on her shoulder.
Large, comforting, and capable of emitting a holy white glow if needed.
“If the Lord ordered you to execute them all, would you obey? The Lord’s intent is pure, but our interpretations are often flawed.”
Audin was merely reiterating the lessons he had always provided.
The half-giant took three long, shallow breaths, then bowed her head. Sending them to the Creator might bring them peace, certainly—but they possessed their own wills as well.
Regardless, Teresa had already found her answer. No, she had decided long ago.
‘They are beyond redemption.’
There was no path to salvation. No strategy.
“Incredible! Truly incredible!”
Lua Gharne’s voice rose nearby, filled with incessant adoration.
Indeed, a lunatic of a different caliber possessed an entirely different perspective. His logic operated on a wholly separate frequency.
Teresa had witnessed it. Enkrid toppling the icon. Audin employing holy power to vanish the buried relic.
‘He will find a way to shield them.’
And somehow—he would save them as well.
‘Perhaps the title of Salvation, rather than Iron Wall, is his true calling.’
Only moments ago, she had believed that sparing these wretches was an affront to the Lord’s word. But now—the feeling had shifted.
The deity of battle she followed provided her with a sense of calm.
‘Lord…’
Teresa inclined her head in a silent plea. She did not know the logistics of how they would defend this location.
That was the burden of the one who had initiated this path.
Would Enkrid send word for Kraiss?
But would that wide-eyed fool even show up if called? Even if Enkrid was the one asking, that man would likely never set foot in the Demon Realm.
So—what was the strategy?
These thoughts flitted through her mind… but once more, it wasn’t her problem to solve.
Teresa wasn’t the only one seeing the inevitable future.
Rem saw it too. He recognized the sheer difficulty of their position. And yet, he dismissed it.
Even now, with the icon shattered—wasn’t the aura of predators and ghouls already drawing closer?
It was glaringly obvious if one thought about it.
‘How tempting has this place been until this very moment?’
It was like placing a fresh rat before a Bellopter and demanding it stay still. A disciplined Bellopter might hold back. Might resist the urge.
But if its master suddenly shouted, “Eat”?
‘If it doesn’t strike, it isn’t a Bellopter.’
It was the demand of nature.
Rem mused as he returned his axe to its place. They were still in the middle of their match. If things turned even slightly more aggressive, someone was going to be seriously injured.
The dark residue on his axe dimmed, then drifted away like smoke.
“What was that?”
Enkrid inquired. It resembled Will, but there was a distinction. A method that didn’t follow the usual route of focusing and imprinting Will into a blade.
It wasn’t a standard martial art. It was more akin to a raw display of shamanistic gift.
“Spirit-binding.”
It was a power that couldn’t be used without a weapon that had undergone a descent. Rem had bottled spiritual force within the axe and released it outwardly.
It was no simple feat. There were countless obstacles to clear to reach such a state.
Rem stared at Enkrid without a word. He had no more inquiries.
The way to concentrate Will as before? He didn’t require it. As for the rest—he had seen and absorbed enough.
‘Weapon mastery and shamanism are separate paths.’
To reach the rank of a Knight here—or a Hero in the West—one had to be a master of both. Honing the physical form and honing shamanism were distinct… yet intrinsically linked.
What were the odds of being gifted in both?
‘Minimal. Truly minimal.’
Without innate talent, one couldn’t even hope to approach this tier.
‘But I now comprehend how to instruct it.’
He had simply observed the structure and demonstration Enkrid provided.
“Fine then… I’ve gained something valuable today.”
He spoke with a hint of reluctance.
Enkrid blinked and retorted:
“Where is Rem? Who are you, some possessing spirit?”
“…You little—”
Why is he being so difficult when I just expressed gratitude?
“Should I perform an exorcism?”
Audin answered instantly. Perhaps his holy strength was required after all.
“Was he taken over by a ghost?”
Teresa added.
Jaxon already had his knife ready to fly.
“The dawn consumes all impurities.”
Ragna remarked with his usual dryness.
Rem just chuckled.
“You piece of—”
The retort was cut short.
“Time to get to work, Rem.”
Enkrid interrupted him perfectly. He had satisfied his urge to tease.
The gates to the heavily fortified food stores—the lure—had been thrown open.
The moment had arrived. Predators and monsters were already closing the distance. They were visible now. And their cries were audible.