A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 762

Chapter 762

Yesterday evening, the Ferryman visited in a vision and muttered:
“Show some appreciation.”
Or words to 그 effect.
As was his custom, his voice was somber—reminiscent of a clouded winter firmament—and heavy.
There was a stillness within it as well, akin to the grime resting in a long-forgotten manor. Yet, Enkrid could just barely detect a trace of playfulness lurking beneath the surface.
Truly peculiar.
The thought that even the pilot of the stygian river craft could crack a joke crossed his mind.
Whether it was a prank, a sincere remark, or a blend of both, Enkrid inclined his head deeply and with great earnest.
He showed genuine courtesy and reverence. His chest sank to the height of the barge’s railing as he lowered his brow.
Splash.
The vessel drifted softly upon the river’s flow.
The Ferryman continued to chant of misery and downfall, still harboring the hope that Enkrid would cease his struggle and stay. But regardless of the pilot’s desires, Enkrid was certain he had gained much from their encounters. He held that belief firmly.
Lately, it actually felt as though the Ferryman was assisting him.
“I understand.”
He spoke while remaining in his bowed posture.
“Do not be so quick to agree.”
The Ferryman appeared to scowl. His features were as mask-like as ever, but Enkrid sensed the irritation through a mental and spiritual connection.
“I understand.”
He gave the same reply.
“Your responses—no. That is enough. Cease your talking.”
This time, the Ferryman gave a palpable shake of his head. It was a slow, clumsy motion, like a malfunctioning pendulum swinging out of sync.
The intent behind the movement was undeniable.
It was a refusal that signaled: Let us conclude this dialogue between us.
Enkrid straightened his neck. He wasn’t pacing the riverbank as he usually did. Perhaps that contributed to the different atmosphere this time, despite the barge’s edge looking much like the shore. In a way, it felt oddly intimate.
It was the Ferryman’s aura that caused it.
In this interval, Enkrid experienced a peculiar tranquility. It was as if they were sharing a communion—not through spoken language, and not regarding any specific topic. The Ferryman’s essence radiated that sensation, transmitted through the mind rather than the air.
“You surely don’t believe it will be simple in that place, do you?”
The Ferryman inquired. It remained unsettling how he vocalized without any movement of his mouth.
Those lips resembled a scorched earth—ashen, parched, and split. A terrain that had forgotten the touch of rain.
“Do I strike you as someone who takes the Demon Realm lightly?”
Enkrid countered, focusing on the gentle lap of the waves against the hull.
Was that truly how he appeared to the Ferryman? Like a fool entering those lands out of arrogance?
“You ought to be thankful I haven’t stitched those lips shut for answering a query with another query.”
The Ferryman shot back, projecting a sensation similar to a subtle mental laugh.
So, that was another jest.
Enkrid looked directly into the dark pits where the Ferryman’s eyes should be. Instead of continuing the banter, he concentrated on providing a sincere response.
He didn’t view the Demon Realm as a trifle. He simply held certain expectations for the challenges he would face. That was the weight behind his words.
“I do.”
He offered the answer with a slight nod.
“The more we converse, the more I feel I am losing something vital.”
“Is that the case?”
“Be quiet.”
“…”
The Ferryman realized once more that he was outmatched in a war of words. This brat had been this way from the very beginning.
“The Demon Realm is not comparable to this realm. Your perception, your gut feelings—your physical reflexes will all shift. Do not count on your five senses or your intuition to function as they do in this world.”
The Ferryman delivered the necessary warning. Showing a bit of “compassion” wouldn’t hurt.
He gave his lantern a single shake, then raised his other hand and shoved it forward. The motion was peculiar—presenting his palm flat and exerting a gentle push.
As the lamp moved, its glow fractured and blurred the surroundings. That palm was a mirror of his lips—a gray wasteland, and within the lines of skin—be they wrinkles or scars—were bottomless ravines.
Was it only a fleeting second?
Before he could process the shift, the Ferryman was towering directly over Enkrid.
When had he—?
It was a feat possible only within the logic of a dream.
Before even his survival instincts could kick in, the Ferryman’s palm met Enkrid’s chest—and with that contact, he shoved him over the side of the vessel. The movement that had started from a distance concluded right here.
Stability and reflexes were useless. His frame tilted backward uncontrollably.
Below him waited the river. Inky, boundless, and terrifying water.
But just as he was about to plunge, Enkrid hooked his lower legs against the barge’s rim and hardened his core, anchoring himself in place.
The physical conditioning of the waking world had translated to his astral form.
His falling momentum was jerked to a halt mid-air. It appeared more like a feat of divine intervention than the Ferryman’s initial push.
He gripped with his toes, flexed his calves, thighs, and glutes, and turned his torso into a rigid pillar of steel.
Because of that effort, he remained suspended at an angle, defying the fall.
The Ferryman’s dark sockets widened. Were those hollow pits expressing shock?
There was no telepathic message this time, so Enkrid was left to speculate.
Still, within the Ferryman’s gaze, purple embers sparked. Perhaps it wasn’t shock, but annoyance. That seemed plausible.
“You are resisting?”
The Ferryman asked.
“Isn’t that obvious?”
Enkrid challenged.
“Release your grip.”
His gaze seemed frustrated or startled, yet his tone held a faint trace of warmth.
Enkrid was fully aware that even if he plunged into this current, it was merely a dream.
“Go.”
The Ferryman commanded.
Enkrid surrendered his tension. His muscles went slack, and his body tumbled backward exactly as the Ferryman intended.
Splash.
His form sank into the obsidian depths. Enkrid felt a soft thud against his back and the immediate sensation of the liquid closing over him.
Breathing was impossible, naturally—but this river fluid gripped his body with the crushing weight of liquid lead. One could not describe this consistency as mere “water.”
Even when he forced his eyelids open, the world was a total void; he saw nothing. Then, the Ferryman’s voice resonated through the blackness.
“Acclimate.”
Enkrid didn’t bother wondering why he was being subjected to this. What was the point in questioning the Ferryman’s erratic behavior?
He knew that even human whims were rarely worth the breath to argue—let alone those of a being like this.
In reality, this was more of an agonizing ordeal than a simple dream.
One could hardly describe the act of struggling against drowning as a “pleasant” slumber.
*I can’t draw air, but I don’t believe I’ll perish.*
Enkrid maintained his composure and paddled through the heavy, metallic waters. Regardless of the weight, he had to attempt to reach the surface. He kicked and fought with every ounce of his strength.
How much time had slipped away?
To his mind, it felt as though he had been battling the current for months.
He finally managed to hook his fingers over the boat’s edge—and even the oxygen felt alien to him then. That was how long he had felt trapped beneath the surface.
He was incapable of dying here, but that didn’t make the airlessness any less traumatic. The crushing force was constant, and surviving it was an immense burden.
Mentally drained, he heard the Ferryman’s voice once more:
“That is the exact nature of the air in the Demon Realm.”
It was time for the encounter to end.
The Ferryman’s shape began to flicker, crumbling like grains of sand.
Right before he regained consciousness, Enkrid witnessed dozens of layered images ripple across the Ferryman’s face.
The shifting particles of sand coalesced into various expressions.
One moment it was a furious Ferryman. Then an indifferent one. One who laughed. One who sobbed.
At times, it looked like two Ferrymen locked in a struggle with one another.
Internal strife?
That notion flashed through his mind—and then he was awake.
That had been the vision from the night before.
And the moment he stepped over the threshold into the Demon Realm, Enkrid understood that the Ferryman had gifted him both a rehearsal and a trial.
Because of that experience, even though his perceptions were warped and his limbs felt heavier than lead, his body still obeyed him.
Pivoting on his left heel, Duskforge arced upward toward the murky sky of the Demon Realm and collided with the approaching bolt of energy. A jagged, vibrating streak of obsidian lightning raced toward them—and now he could perceive its actual shape.
It was a projectile.
Longer than any standard arrow, tipped with a point blacker than coal.
Clang!
It wasn’t just the head—the entire body was constructed of metal.
At that magnitude, it was essentially a small ballista bolt.
The projectile Enkrid parried with Duskforge spun away and crashed into the earth with a violent roar.
It wasn’t a simple impact, but an explosion. The ground erupted upward as if struck by a literal bolt from the heavens.
He had deflected it, yes—but he hadn’t entirely nullified its momentum. That was why the blast followed.
An arrow infused with Will—or something of that nature.
He could tell from that single interaction.
The entire party recoiled. Enkrid’s hand throbbed with a stinging ache.
This was no different from stopping a siege engine’s bolt with a handheld sword.
He even felt a momentary fear that his weapon might have been chipped.
But there was no window to inspect it.
The person who launched that arrow would surely fire again.
“Prepare yourselves!”
Jaxon grunted. That was the only command needed. Everyone shifted.
Enkrid, summoning the technique he’d honed with the Ferryman, regulated his lungs. The others made their own preparations.
Rophod ducked behind a massive trunk. Pell huddled behind him.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“You’re my human cover.”
“You absolute madman—”
Ignoring their squabbling, Teresa braced her shield.
That bulwark was plated in high-grade dark steel, lined with the hide of a manticore—the very beast Audin had slain in their past.
She could halt an attack with raw power, certainly, but she could also divert it. The second one of those electric arrows struck her guard, she could guide the force away.
Stop half, slide half.
It was a difficult feat, but Teresa possessed the competence to pull it off.
A soft radiance enveloped Audin’s form. It wasn’t the complete Holy Light Armor, but he had summoned enough divinity to make his body glow.
No matter what flew his way, he would sense and intercept it.
If one could summon Holy Light Armor, then creating a Holy Shield was a simple matter. It was just a process of condensing that holy power.
Compared to the blades imbued with Will that Ragna had demonstrated previously, this was far more straightforward. You simply had to collect the light.
Of course, that was only feasible because Audin practiced compressing divine energy daily and could call forth his Holy Light Armor instantly.
Asking Teresa to do that? Out of the question.
Lua Gharne and Shinar slipped behind Enkrid.
Shinar was of the fairy folk—and her kind relied on the vitality of the woods. To her, this environment was like a fish struggling in a dried-up pond.
Had this been the heart of a vibrant forest, the fairies would have fought with far more grace. But here, that natural energy was void.
The Demon Realm was a poisonous place for her kind.
Lua Gharne also recognized that her talents couldn’t halt that lightning.
She made her choice instantly. Her movements were fluid.
Take cover behind the one capable of stopping the blow.
That person was Enkrid. Thus, both Shinar and Lua Gharne sought safety at his back.
Rem and Ragna, however, remained where they stood—gazing forward.
Their perceptions might have been muffled. The crushing weight and thick air were disgusting.
But as long as they were on guard, an arrow like the previous one would not find its mark.
The group moved as a single organism.
And as anticipated, more projectiles arrived.
Enkrid’s ears picked up two distinct whistling sounds in the distance—overlapping perfectly.
Two bolts, targeted at the two most prominent figures.
Two arrows, aimed at Rem and Ragna.
Enkrid sensed them. Rem did as well.
His arm blurred.
The axe strike—what Enkrid called his “flash”—the core of his refined combat style—was derived from this move.
He swept his axe up at an angle and parried the arrow with the flat edge of his tool.
To an observer, it looked like a simple, powerful swing.
But in his mind, he was redirecting—not meeting force with force.
Clang!
Embers flew from Rem’s axe. Even with a perfect parry, the vibration that reached his hand was immense.
It was exactly like trying to swat a flying boulder aside. That was the sheer weight of it.
Ragna copied Rem’s move. He was certainly well-versed in the Flowing Blade technique.
He drove his greatsword Sunrise into the ground vertically like a wall and let the arrow’s force slide off the side.
CLANG!
The distinction was clear: Rem had used his wrist to guide the impact away, while Ragna used the broad surface of his massive sword and braced for the impact with his entire frame.
The sound of the collisions revealed the difference. Sparks erupted from both defenders.
The two projectiles shot past them and vanished into the woods behind.
BOOM! BOOM!
The twin explosions provided a vivid image of the destruction those arrows carried.
They carved into the soil and shattered massive trees. It was exactly like being bombarded by giant spears.
“Will… they’ve packed the arrows with Will.”
Rem rotated his axe-hand as he spoke.
He was identifying the same phenomenon Enkrid had already noted.
“And?”
Ragna countered sharply.
“Just making sure you knew, you sloth.”
“They are straight ahead. I’m leading the way.”
“You think you’re a comedian now? Should we go on a sightseeing trip across the world? No, wait—if we start here, I guess it’s a Grand Tour of the Demon Realm. Ha, sounds like a riot.”
Enkrid had heard the launch, seen the path, and stopped the strikes—he knew the origin point.
Yes, it was directly in front of them.
Past that barrier of tightly packed trees—where the reds and dark browns blended together like dried gore and timber.
To put it another way, the arrows had been loosed from behind that barricade.
A forest wall so dense it functioned as a fortress.