A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 759

Chapter 759

For forty-eight hours without pause, a chaotic tide of predators and abominations threw themselves into the conflict. They swarmed the area, salivating and driven by a primal craving for the taste of warm flesh and lifeblood. Although the soil of this region had been corrupted for ages, the life force of the inhabitants still ran a vibrant crimson. No major casualties had occurred, yet Enkrid noticed a small youth who had tripped in the dirt—blood weeping from a raw scrape on their leg. Even as the child hit the ground, they cried out a single name: “Demon-Knight!”

To Enkrid’s ears, the shout carried the weight of a desperate prayer for deliverance. It went without saying that the iron-like scent of blood acted as a powerful lure, intoxicating the surrounding horrors. They arrived in relentless waves. Among the encroaching horde, the most formidable adversary was a construct of pure sorcery, encased in heavy plating. This was an Iron Golem—a massive, articulated statue of forged metal.

Its metallic exterior was capable of turning aside almost any blade, making it a grueling challenge. For anyone lacking the status of a knight, victory usually required wearing the thing down until their own stamina failed. In simpler terms, it was a lethal threat. Projectiles were useless against it. Standard swords simply skipped off its surface. The most logical approach involved using heavy bludgeoning tools to crack the shell and reach the internal power source. Even for those of knightly caliber, the task was far from trivial. One could not simply part thick iron as if it were parchment. It was achievable, certainly, but it demanded significant time, physical power, and a tactical mind.

Enkrid found himself wondering if this magical entity felt the pangs of hunger, or if its only purpose was mindless destruction. His musings were cut short by the sound of its approach.

**THUD!**

The earth shuddered under the weight of its stride. This construct surely outweighed the massive, charging rhinoceros beast they had faced previously. Every footfall sent a ripple of physical force through the ground. Its sheer aura seemed to compress the surrounding air. It’s on the same level as that bovine blade-master, Enkrid realized. This was no common Iron Golem; it was a far more lethal variant.

Lacking a mouth, it emitted no battle cry. Instead, it hoisted a massive cylindrical rod of steel and brought it down against the earth.

**BOOM!**

A thunderous impact erupted, sending a jarring tremor up through everyone’s legs. The weapon functioned like a giant mallet—heavy and blunt. It was whispered in legends that if an Iron Golem functioned long enough, it would integrate its body parts into specialized armaments. At that stage, it was effectively a living, enchanted weapon. In the songs of traveling minstrels, such constructs were portrayed as sluggish, dim-witted sentinels of forgotten tombs. But witnessing one in the flesh proved those stories were deceptive.

The threat needed to be neutralized. Ragna, positioned closest to the metal giant, moved to engage. He squinted at the golem; its monumental height forced him to crane his neck back. It was nearly impossible to take in the creature’s full scale from his low vantage point. It was immense—wider even than that preacher with the bear-like features. Up close, the sense of scale became dizzying. He had a passing memory of tales describing how such golems were birthed into this realm via prehistoric sorceries, but the specifics escaped him. Regardless, the history was irrelevant now.

**SCRAAAAPE.**

The heavy steel rod furrowed the earth as it moved. Ragna, observing through narrowed eyes, had a realization. *I can execute it now.* What, exactly? An evolution of his swordsmanship. Drawing motivation from the displays Enkrid had provided, he had felt challenged—and now, he had discovered his own solution.

**The Transformation of Will.**

While Zaun had prioritized the regulation of Will, Ragna’s focus was on its metamorphosis. He projected his Will, gave it physical substance, and anchored it. It was shaped by his intent and given life by his ambition. He infused that Will with a singular, sharp command: to sever anything that crossed its path.

*Its form is that of a razor.*

Above the shimmering radiance of the sword Sunrise, a delicate scarlet glow began to cling to the metal. *I cannot sustain the coating over the entire surface.* He felt the energy bleeding away toward the middle, so he concentrated the manifestation on a single edge. Consequently, only one side of the weapon burned with a red light. It appeared as though a blade of crimson fire had been grafted onto the steel.

As the construct swung its massive iron club, Ragna executed a diagonal upward strike. It wasn’t a display of overwhelming force or blinding speed. His movement was fluid, almost nonchalant. He didn’t lock his joints or strain his frame. To a distant observer, it might have looked like a casual, testing flick of the wrist.

But the impact was absolute.

**SSSSHHHK—FWOOSH.**

The blade Sunrise passed through the solid metal as if it were soft curd. Embers erupted along the line where the sword had passed. The heavy iron mallet was sliced through. The golem’s torso was likewise marked by a diagonal, smoldering gash. Ragna adjusted his grip and brought the weapon down in a vertical arc—parting the construct’s head and chest completely.

It appeared unnervingly simple. Could a knight take down a golem? Certainly. But not in such a manner. Most would require a dozen strikes, building up momentum to shatter the plating and hunt for the heart. They didn’t just bisect the machine with two effortless motions. With the interior exposed, the end was inevitable. Ragna plunged his sword into the rounded core—the mechanical heart—nestled within the cloven chassis.

*Crunch.* The core disintegrated.

A shimmering fluid began to leak from the cracks. The construct hit the ground with a heavy **THUD**, splintering into metallic debris. Dark ichor pooled between the broken pieces.

—

Even in the heat of the wider skirmish, the display hadn’t gone unnoticed. Everyone who saw Ragna’s strike was left in a state of disbelief. As the fighting began to wane, Rem spoke up, voice filled with incredulity: “What in the world was that?”

Ragna, despite being the clear subject of the question, didn’t bother to look back. “I cut it.”

“That’s all the detail I get?” Rem snapped back. Ragna ignored the outburst.

Enkrid had observed it as well. *Of course. That is how these freaks operate.* Constructing a physical edge out of pure Will? The man was a lunatic. Merely grasping the underlying concept was difficult enough. How had he managed to—? He had effectively encased his steel in a shell of solidified intent, creating a cutting edge that ignored the density of the target.

“A Blade of Flame?” Teresa whispered. She recalled a line from a religious text describing a deity of war who carried a sword of living fire capable of rending any substance.

“No, Sister,” Audin interjected, his voice thoughtful. “That isn’t a miracle. That is pure skill.”

It went beyond mere mastery of energy; it was the artistry of reshaping Will into a completely different state of matter. Audin, who could manifest holy light to shield himself, watched with intense curiosity. *Could I mold the divine radiance into a sharp edge like that?* It would be a monumental task—but perhaps not impossible. And maybe it didn’t have to be a blade. Perhaps it could take another form. *Lord, is this a sign? Are you teaching me through this slothful man?* Simply witnessing the act seemed to expand his grasp of holy energy. He could feel his own potential shifting. Among the followers of the war god, Audin’s natural aptitude had always been legendary.

Rem’s mouth hung open for a moment before he snapped it shut. Enkrid could see the frustration; Rem wanted to scream an insult but found himself speechless.

“Do you feel outclassed?” Enkrid asked.

“Shut your mouth. I can replicate that if I wanted to.”

It was obvious that Ragna’s breakthrough had spurred the others. Ragna himself was fully aware of what he’d achieved. He had found a path no one had ever walked—a new frontier of combat. For a brief moment, he felt a sense of total mastery, a feeling of being above the rest. He tilted his head back, looking over the group.

The Mad Order of Knights, the slayers of the unnatural. Their leader was right there in the center. Ragna decided to make a declaration. “I am taking the role of vice-captain now.”

The rejection from the group was instantaneous and unanimous.

* “What kind of idiocy is that—”
* “That post requires maturity and actual thought.”
* “Has the laziness finally rotted your brain, Brother?”
* “If you’re going to act like that brute, why don’t the two of you just go off and play together?”

Rem, Shinar, Audin, and Jaxon spoke in rapid succession. It sounded like a rehearsed chorus. Jaxon’s parting shot was particularly pointed. It was a callback to when Rem had used his Residue ability to wreck Audin’s quarters just to prove a point to Enkrid. The arrogance Ragna was showing now wasn’t much different from that display.

“Do you want a demonstration? Of the Flame Blade?” Ragna took the name Teresa had whispered and adopted it as his own. He directed the challenge straight at Jaxon.

“If you can’t even land a hit, what good is it?” Jaxon fired back.

A heavy, aggressive tension filled the air between them. It was like two apex predators snarling at one another. Neither had drawn blood yet, but the atmosphere was enough to terrify the onlookers.

“Don’t worry. They won’t actually kill each other,” Rophod said, attempting to quiet the anxieties of the terrified villagers from the Demon Realm.

Pell watched with wide eyes, whispering, “What kind of power is that?” Then, he gave his head a firm shake. *It doesn’t matter. I don’t need natural genius. I will bridge the gap through sheer persistence. Training is the only answer.* He renewed his internal vow.

“As long as you don’t quit, you’ll get there. He’s living proof, isn’t he?” Lua Gharne remarked, having caught Pell’s quiet words.

Enkrid didn’t weigh in on the vice-captain argument. He seemed genuinely stunned by the sheer leap in ability Ragna had demonstrated. “This is ridiculous,” he breathed.

The emotion behind those words was easy to read. Enkrid wasn’t a mystical creature, but his reaction this time was like a heavy stone dropped into a still pond—the ripples were deep and far-reaching. The sensation was as fresh and distinct as the smell of a breeze through a mountain pine forest. If one had to put a name to the feeling he was experiencing, it was pure exhilaration. A sense of wonder. A grin slowly spread across his face.

Noticing this, Shinar chimed in. “Maybe we should aim for three children?” At this point, Shinar’s teasing had gone well past the limit, but Enkrid didn’t even seem to register the comment.

“I’ve found myself captivated by him all over again,” Lua Gharne admitted. It wasn’t a statement of romance, but rather a profound respect for the sheer magnetism of the man’s presence.

The tainted villagers watched the exchange and felt their dread intensify. Why were these individuals, having just slaughtered a legion of monsters, simply chatting and joking? Why was the man at the center of it all smiling so broadly? Why was the fairy talking about starting a family, and why did the woman claim to be captivated? Even the Balrogs, the demonic entities that existed only for war, didn’t seem to find this much pleasure in the middle of a slaughterhouse. These villagers were worshippers of demons, but they were still human. Most had spent their lives in isolation, like frogs at the bottom of a well. This reality was far beyond their comprehension.

One after another, they fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads into the dirt in a gesture of total submission to Enkrid.

It required two more full days just to handle the cleanup. Even after the piles of carcasses were cleared away, the scent of death hung in the air. However, no more beasts appeared. It made sense. They had broken the back of the local threats—Iron Golems, Harpies, and exotic predators. A Gremlin that moved faster than a fired bolt had been snatched out of the air and killed by Jaxon. An Armored Bear with a hide as tough as steel had its skull caved in by Teresa’s shield.

The villagers had seen every feat, and they lived in constant tremors of fear. Enkrid remained indifferent. What purpose would being “nice” serve in this environment? None. Instead—

“So, what’s the plan? He probably hasn’t given it a single thought. He just reacts to his whims,” Roman complained, leaning toward Rem. Among the group, Rem was the only person Roman felt he could talk to.

“I have considered the next steps,” Enkrid answered.

Ragna remained unconcerned. Audin continued to ponder if the encounter was a divine sign. Lua Gharne blinked her large eyes and asked—

“What is it, then?”