A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 761

Chapter 761

The Eroded Ones—the inhabitants of the Demon Realm—were paralyzed with dread.

Judging by Zoraslav’s initial demeanor when he first approached, there hadn’t been a trace of such terror. That was likely due to his assumption that Enkrid and his companions were destined for a complete death. Whatever the specific cause, it would have been difficult for them to anticipate that their entire existence would be upended by a traveler who appeared out of thin air.

In all probability, the villagers had treated every wanderer or mercenary who passed through with kindness until this point. It wasn’t because they possessed any innate benevolence, but simply because they lacked both the power and the spirit to act otherwise. There was even less incentive to resist when a blade was positioned directly beneath their chins. After all, one never knew what might happen if things took a turn—someone might just decide to swing a weapon.

Furthermore, they were aware that if left to their own devices, the Cleaner would inevitably arrive to slaughter anyone trespassing. Yet now, even the Cleaner lay dead, the emblem of the Demon God had been torn down, and the corpses of the beasts and monsters that had swarmed were being buried and cleared away by the villagers themselves.

Under these conditions, extracting any significant information from the locals was no simple task. Even the youths were terrified, their complexions appearing almost blue with fright. Of course, given that their skin naturally possessed a faint violet tint, one could argue whether it had turned blue or dark from the sheer intensity of their fear.

“Observe carefully—this is the moment where someone with a friendly face needs to take the lead.”

Rem displayed total confidence as he approached the trembling villagers. He claimed that all that was required were a few gentle words and a smile. That degree of self-assurance was nearly indistinguishable from vanity.

*Ting.*

At those words, Ragna drew his blade by the width of a finger. The comment about a “friendly face” clearly irritated him. It had the same effect on Enkrid. Ragna shifted his gaze toward Enkrid. It was a look that seemed to inquire: *Isn’t it acceptable to cut down a man who says something like that?*

“The effort isn’t terrible. Anyone is free to try.”

Even if not everyone present would confess it, Rem was undeniably striking. His features were bold and his presence was distinct—but that only enhanced his rugged, aggressive handsomeness. However, that did not mean he possessed a “kind” face. Not in the slightest.

“Pl- please… I have nothing to give, no food to eat.”

A thin, haggard woman lowered her head as she pleaded, pulling her child closer to her chest. Rem’s temperament soured instantly. Consequently, his features began to set. Instead of a welcoming smile, the terrifying aura of a vengeful deity settled over his countenance.

“Eating people? My profession is killing scum like that, and you think I want to consume humans?”

Rem was fuming, and Enkrid stepped in to quiet him down. Ragna merely shook his head in disapproval. Jaxon, quite unusually, let out a soft laugh. Rem erupted again at the sound, but Enkrid managed to soothe him and began asking the questions himself. Ironically, the villagers were quite forthcoming and obedient in their responses to him.

Some of the women even blushed during the conversation, but Enkrid maintained his professional air, posing questions and providing quiet answers at their side. Even in their state of alarm, it was evident that many of them couldn’t stop glancing at Enkrid’s face.

That wasn’t the sole reason for their cooperation, however. Zoraslav, who appeared to be the village head, had begun to softly reassure his people. Properly speaking, Enkrid had only stepped in after witnessing that shift. Among the crowd, the way they watched Enkrid was peculiar, yet devoid of any ill intent. Instead, there was a profound sense of one-sided appreciation and awe.

Regardless of the specifics, they were finally prepared to converse.

“Favoritism?”

Rem, still nursing his bruised ego, grumbled the word upon seeing the reaction.

“A difference in aesthetics,” Jaxon clarified.

*Thud!*

Friction ignited between them. Rem swung his heavy axe toward Jaxon, who was positioned three paces behind him. Jaxon unsheathed his stiletto, parrying the strike at an angle, which created a high-pitched metallic ring. Was it not referred to as the Sword of Coincidence? Jaxon naturally applied the martial principles he had studied under Enkrid.

To be fair, he had grasped the theory long ago and had practiced it thousands of times. His regimen had involved being surrounded by master assassins and being forced to react to unpredictable thrusts from every angle. By now, he had reached a level of absolute proficiency.

Rem glared at Jaxon, who had successfully deflected the axe.

“Do you actually want to die today?”

“There is no world where I die at your hands.”

Jaxon corrected Rem once more, and the two began to trade blows and insults in earnest.

*Thud! Ting! Tadatadatang!*

Sparks erupted between the pair. Anyone reckless enough to get close would have been shredded. Pell and Rophod, observing the chaos, began ushering the villagers away from the fray.

“This is perfectly normal. They are always like this,” Rophod remarked casually to soothe their worries, though it was only logical that some villagers looked even more terrified after witnessing the exchange.

Despite the spectacle, they continued to provide Enkrid with the answers he sought. Lua Gharne, watching the proceedings, was quite moved.

“He truly earns the title of ‘Demonic Charm.’”

Shinar added her own commentary.

“Quite right. A magnetism that even captivates the fey.”

They were obviously mocking him. Enkrid allowed their teasing to pass through him without effect, staying focused on gathering data amidst the absurdity. When dusk arrived, he relayed his findings to the rest of the group.

“If you approach too closely, bolts of lightning strike.”

“A sorcerer exists who commands black lightning.”

“If you take a wrong step inside, you will be entombed in a crystal cell forever and forced into servitude—even your spirit. You won’t be permitted to depart, not even through death.”

Those were the accounts provided by the villagers. They were a collection of grim and terrifying legends. At least, that was how they appeared to the locals. To Enkrid, however, many aspects of the stories felt inconsistent.

Forced into perpetual labor? For a people supposedly haunted by that fear, these villagers didn’t exactly seem to be living lives of leisure to begin with. This was an autonomous village like any other—it wasn’t fundamentally different, was it? At least regarding the necessity of work. Their survival clearly didn’t work without intense effort.

They had to farm land that barely produced crops, and if any demon-tainted weeds took root in the dirt, they would siphon what little nourishment the plants had, meaning every single one had to be extracted by hand. And those weeds were not easily removed. If ignored even briefly, flowers that fed on human blood would sprout. One had to locate and destroy them early, or it became a nightmare.

A few talented trackers might occasionally bring down useful animals or beasts, but there was no consistent trade partner. Essentially, they were entirely self-reliant—and self-reliance demanded more work than people generally assumed. They had to plow the earth, venture out for food, maintain their structures, preserve their stores, and so on. Every task required time and expertise. Without the specialized skill, they had to compensate with raw labor and hours. To create what one requires for themselves meant having to use one’s own body constantly.

They must have honed specific skills amidst those hardships. From that perspective, one particular detail was glaring: the leather they were clothed in was exceptionally well-kept and expertly fashioned. They had utilized the hides of demonic beasts—stiff, varied in size, and notoriously hard to process—and had somehow cured them beautifully. Even settlements on the edge of the Demon Realm or those near the Border Guard used such hides, but never as elegantly or practically as these people, who wore them like custom-made garments.

Some wore leather vests, others had sweeping skirts. Seeing the fabric catch the breeze, the material appeared thin, yet it was clearly durable enough that a dull knife wouldn’t leave a scratch. He wasn’t a merchant, but Enkrid had spent years as an escort—he knew how to evaluate materials at least that well. And when the quality was this obvious, even a novice could see it.

A beast was slain, skinned, and the hide was put to use. Working those hides would not have been a simple task. There must have been centuries of shared knowledge in the art of tanning. That expertise had likely led to their advanced leatherworking. They probably traded some of these goods to the occasional traveler who stumbled upon their home. Even without official trade, they must have met the occasional daring peddler.

Regardless, viewed from that perspective, life here was a cycle of work either way. Their fingertips were worn, but their nails had become pointed and stained with a bluish tint. No matter their skin tone, their hands bore the marks of their labor. It was likely the result of processing unique plants and herbs found only in the Demon Realm.

Of course, Enkrid didn’t claim to understand every facet of their society. He was merely forming theories based on what he could see. And he kept those thoughts to himself.

The villagers’ final warning was this:

“If you perish within those borders, you are forced to wear a shroud of thorns.”

That was the essence of the oral history they shared. Everything else was just a variation of those themes.

“To recap, we have the black lightning, the crystal dungeon, and finally, the thorn shroud,” Rophod stated, summarizing the points Enkrid had presented.

Lua Gharne’s cheeks puffed out and sank repeatedly. The unknown—what they referred to as “the mysterious”—always had a way of making her heart race. Naturally, those who insist on chasing the unknown, knowing full well it will likely result in their demise, are little more than insects—creatures incapable of mastering a single impulse.

Perhaps because he had vented his frustration by sparring with Jaxon earlier, Rem, now much calmer, inquired:

“So, what is it exactly?”

Simply hearing the rumors made it difficult to form a conclusion. Was there truly a sorcerer residing there? It was a possibility, but not a certainty. From Rem’s point of view, everything the villagers said sounded like a collage of stitched-together whispers. And wherever the narrative had holes, they likely filled them with their own dread. The only thing the inhabitants of the Demon Realm knew with absolute certainty was that no one who entered ever returned.

“Do you have an idea of what we’re facing?” Pell asked, looking at Enkrid.

They had gathered in a relatively open space in a corner of the settlement. There was no fire, but the moonlight was exceptionally bright. The two moons hung in the sky, casting long shadows across Enkrid’s face. Between those shadows, his blue eyes shone, their color vivid even in the darkness of the night. Pell suspected those eyes wouldn’t glow with such intensity unless he was sure of something.

Before long, every gaze was fixed on Enkrid. Were they all wondering the same thing? Did the Commander possess some secret knowledge? Enkrid silently raised his eyes and looked toward the heart of the Demon Realm. He would see something entirely different from what they saw—that was what Rophod believed.

*The Commander is not like us.*

The moment Rophod heard the phrase “entering the Demon Realm,” a natural sense of dread had risen within him—but observing Enkrid’s silhouette slowly caused that fear to fade.

Then Enkrid spoke.

“No.”

That was his answer regarding whether he knew the truth. The moonlight filled the brief silence that followed.

“…You don’t?” Pell asked again. Perhaps he had caught Jaxon’s habit, because when he was taken aback, Pell now tended to speak in shorter fragments.

“Yeah, I have no idea.”

Enkrid was entirely unbothered. What could truly be known from legends alone? Black lightning? If it was genuine lightning, how were you even supposed to defend against that? Could a human even move fast enough? Half of the encounter would rely on raw instinct regardless.

*I should be able to deflect lightning, shouldn’t I?*

The question was aimed at Duskforge. The blade offered no vocal reply. Naturally, it didn’t—it wasn’t a thinking weapon. However, Duskforge was still imbued with Enkrid’s spirit. And in response to its owner’s resolve, the sword gave a localized, subtle vibration.

*Woom—*

That was its response: *Yes.*

It was a silent night. Everyone present heard the low hum of the blade. And as it vibrated, Enkrid looked at his team and grinned like a youth in the throes of first love. More accurately, he smiled like a boy on his way to meet his beloved for the first time. Enkrid’s voice was filled with more excitement than anyone else’s—even Lua Gharne didn’t compare.

“There is one thing I am sure of. There are several colonies within.”

“Inside?” Ragna repeated, focusing on the last word.

Even in this peripheral zone, there were roaming predators capable of wiping out an entire settlement in an instant. There would be far more dangerous things deeper in.

“If we eliminate them, the reach of the Demon Realm will contract.”

No matter what awaited them, he would meet it in battle. Not knowing what would crawl out of those shadows only made the prospect more exhilarating. His tone and his body language made that clear. It could be described as a physical manifestation of his battle-thirst, a drive equal to his hunger for self-improvement. And if someone labeled him as half-insane, there would be no ground to disagree.

After all, this was the entire reason he had picked up his blade—to challenge the unknown. Training was satisfying. But the moment you applied that training in a real struggle? That was far superior.

“Truly,” Pell finally admitted his respect. “You certainly live up to the reputation of the Mad Order of Knights.”

Teresa nodded a few times in agreement. In her veins flowed the essence of a red-blooded monster—a giant, specifically. That meant the drive to fight was woven into her very soul. Was she truly meant to hold that back? Was repression the only path?

“This ought to be entertaining.”

Teresa nodded once more, confirming her stance. No one in this group was truly stable. Even if someone had once been sane, they had been tainted by this madness by now. Everyone signaled their agreement with Teresa’s sentiment.

*Booowoooo—*

The hoot of an owl echoed from a great distance. But this was no standard bird. The moment they heard the sound, something deep within their chests tightened instinctively. And why not savor even that chilling sensation? Enkrid’s grin suggested as much. Even Roman found himself swept up in the atmosphere. He felt a twinge of regret that he couldn’t join their ranks quite yet.

The following day, the entire party crossed into the Demon Realm.

—

Between thick groves of trees with a brownish-red bark—unlike any flora of the known world—there ran a narrow track just wide enough for a small group to walk abreast. That was the gateway to the Demon Realm. Or more accurately, it was the only path known to the local residents.

At the break of dawn, as they watched the sun begin to climb, the group stepped over the threshold.

“The air is heavy. It feels oppressive.”

Shinar remarked. Everyone shared the feeling, but it wasn’t enough to make them hesitate. They followed the winding path deeper into the territory. Before long, the way they had come disappeared from sight. All that remained was the endless sea of those brownish-red trees.

No—on closer inspection, the bark shimmered with a subtle crimson glow. It was so deep a red that it appeared brown in the shadows. How long had they been traveling? Was there a physical border? No. There wasn’t a visible wall stopping them.

Yet, it felt vastly different from their entrance into the Gray Forest. With every stride into the Demon Realm, Enkrid felt as if an invisible force were pulling at his feet. And then, the moment he moved forward again, he realized—he had crossed a threshold. No one needed to explain it to him. He could sense it in his marrow.

The atmosphere was now so dense and foreign that the previous air seemed pleasant by comparison. It felt as though iron filings had been stirred into the very oxygen—taking a breath became a conscious effort. For the average person—or more specifically, anyone who hadn’t reached the level of a knight—the moment they stepped inside, they would have been crushed by the atmospheric pressure alone.

“This is genuinely repulsive,” Shinar stated again. Her level of discomfort had doubled.

Enkrid remained silent, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. Then, in that instant, he spotted a black speck. The moment he registered it, his perception slowed and expanded. His instincts roared.

*Move, or you’re dead.*

A tiny black dot soared toward him, and a crack echoed from the distance.

*Shwaaaang!*

The noise and the object arrived at different times. The projectile was traveling at such velocity that the sound was left behind. Compared to a strike of natural lightning, the sound was faint—but Enkrid’s refined senses caught every vibration of the air.

The dot grew, elongated, and transformed into a bolt of black lightning that tore through the sky. It was a flickering, unstable current. It didn’t travel in a straight line—it moved with a rippling, wave-like motion. As his mind sharpened to a razor’s edge, he perceived its true shape.

It was a long arrow. Its destination? It was aimed perfectly at the center of his brow.

In the microsecond that followed, his brain mapped out the most efficient evasion and counter-path. Enkrid moved with absolute precision. His torso pivoted at the waist. The sudden burst of speed sent his deep green cloak snapping around him, and Duskforge rose to meet the sky.