A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 765

Chapter 765

Beneath the towering spire of timber lay a wall choked with brambles, stretching endlessly in both directions. The exterior of the barricade pulsated with the restless wails of spirits that refused to move on.

*Aaaaahhhh—!*

Unfathomable murmurs blended with a low, rhythmic thrumming that hinted at a tune, only to be pierced by sharp shrieks that shattered the harmony. It was a choir composed entirely of spiteful ghosts. This ensemble of souls, draped in thorny burial shrouds, vibrated in the ears and struck hard against the chest. It was a symphony defined by hopelessness, terror, grief, and torment.

The resonance was sinister. It carried a weight that bred deep unease in any listener, tempting them to simply surrender to the darkness or seek the end of their life rather than endure the sound. Of course, such a psychological assault was meant for the weak-willed. It held no sway over the Mad Order of Knights.

“Good grief, they’re noisy.”

Rem had already cast his personal sorcerous domain. Even without such protection, he wasn’t the sort of man to be bothered by the cries of minor spirits. He cleaned his ear with a pinky finger, blew away the imaginary dust, and tossed out a casual command.

“Mind lowering the volume?”

His particular brand of sorcery focused on the manifestation of form. Rem’s expertise lay in calling forth whatever tool was required for a situation and molding it to his whim. Before his request had fully faded, a dark silhouette materialized behind him.

No one present realized that this entity contained the essence of a tiger beast that had prowled the Pen-Hanil Mountains for over a century. It was a creature that feasted on souls—the natural predator of malevolent spirits.

*Aaaa—ah, ah.*

The racket emanating from the bramble wall began to fade. The spectral eyes etched into the wood along the structure shifted. Though they were merely crudely carved timber without actual pupils, they appeared to flinch away. The wall itself seemed to have been struck by fear.

“Quiet now,” Rem whispered, placing a finger to his lips.

While Enkrid watched the scene with an indifferent expression, Teresa started to open her mouth before reconsidering. It wasn’t that she was shocked; she had almost moved to intervene herself, only to realize Rem had handled it. What he had done was impressive, but no one in this company reacted with visible surprise. It was simply what was expected of him.

Inevitably, everyone’s attention shifted upward.

The massive tree was effectively a man-made tower. Its thick branches served as sturdy ledges—which explained how the navy-skinned fae had been able to roll clear of the spear Enkrid had hurled. The figure clad in obsidian armor eased his hold on his shield. That very shield had intercepted Enkrid’s powerful throw, and it now bore a shallow scar from the impact.

*Woo-ooong—ooong.*

A low vibration emanated from within the armored visor. It sounded like speech, though the syllables were indecipherable. The fallen fae used a hand to push off the ground and stood tall once more, his gaze locking onto Enkrid.

“You.”

His eyes weren’t filled with shock, but a definite sense of surprise as he glared.

“It’s a bit awkward when you stare like that,” Enkrid remarked with a shrug.

At his side, Shinar offered her quiet, biting support. “A piece of filth too rancid to serve as compost dares to look upon anyone?”

Meanwhile, Lua Gharne moved forward a few steps. With a practiced flick of her whip, she snatched up the fallen relic-spear and tossed it back. Enkrid caught it with a sharp snap, gripped the handle, and pressed it down to collapse it back into its rod form before securing it at his belt.

“Well, that was a dramatic opening,” Rophod remarked dryly.

“What exactly are we looking at?” Pell asked, pointing ahead. A palpable intent to slice through the obstacle radiated from him.

“Just a dusty, ancient fae,” Shinar replied, insulting the magic spirit whom Pell and Rophod hadn’t even bothered to address.

“Fruit is only sweet when it’s fully ripe,” Shinar added serenely. She leaned in to whisper to Enkrid that things aged to perfection were the most delicious, as was the natural order. Regardless of any hidden temper, she was the type to voice her thoughts plainly. That was the Shinar Enkrid knew.

Despite being in a demon realm and facing the Thorn Castle—a landmark rare even in such a cursed place—not a single person looked cowed. They weren’t just composed; they seemed almost bored. It was a jarring contrast to the environment—a total dissonance of spirit.

“Well, look at this lot.”

At that moment, above the bramble wall and beneath the highest point of the tree spire, a man appeared. He stared down at them with a blank expression. His skin was tanned, but he looked human enough. His features were unremarkable—the kind of face you’d see in any crowd. He had brown hair and matching eyes. The only thing that stood out was his somewhat large frame, though he was still smaller than giants like Audin or Teresa. From that height, it was hard to be sure, but one could get the general idea.

Enkrid looked up, and their gazes locked. The man immediately identified who led this intruding party. Enkrid hadn’t expected to find many humans in this realm, so he called out:

“Are you with the Sanctuary Church?”

He was aware of the cult that worshipped the demon realm. It made sense that some of its followers might actually reside here rather than staying on the continent.

“Sanctuary Church? Why would you mention those idiots? I am a follower of the Red Foot.”

Enkrid didn’t recognize the name. Red Foot? He had never heard of them. There was a clear lack of shared context between them, but neither seemed interested in bridging that gap with explanations. There was also a strange quality to the man’s voice; he spoke the imperial language, but his accent was bizarrely distorted.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Rem interjected.

“What’s the plan?” Pell asked again.

Lua Gharne and Rophod had been searching for a way through the wall for some time. They spoke briefly but remained focused on their reconnaissance. No gate or door was visible. Did the residents have to climb over the thorns every time?

The magic spirit, still clutching her longbow, kept her glare fixed on Enkrid. Shinar met the gaze with a slow, heavy intensity of her own.

“What exactly is the Red Foot?” Enkrid asked, ignoring the activities of his teammates to focus on the man above.

Instead of a direct answer, the man scanned the group and declared, “A being destined for godhood.”

Enkrid realized instantly there was no point in digging deeper. He wouldn’t get a straight answer.

“Right. Sure you are,” Enkrid replied noncommittally.

The man on the wall let out a derisive snort. “This is the Thorn Castle. And I am its master.”

“You certainly look the part,” Enkrid called back.

Both men raised their voices, their words echoing through the clearing. The man curled his lip into a sneer, looking down at them with a calm, ordinary tone that was incredibly grating. To speak so casually in such a moment was an insult in itself.

“So, what is it you think you can actually accomplish?”

His voice had dropped in volume, yet it sounded sharper and more distinct than his shouting. It felt as though he were speaking directly into their ears.

“…Ha.”

The group went quiet for a beat. Rem was the first to speak, sounding almost impressed. “Damn, this guy is full of himself.”

The man lifted a foot and tapped the stone, a gesture meant to emphasize the strength of his fortress. Enkrid couldn’t help but laugh. It was moments like these that made his blood boil with excitement.

There had been a time when he was too weak to shield those who relied on him. It was a failure he had tasted more than once. He knew that to get what you want, you need strength. He had been told that, and he had learned it the hard way. That was the reason he carried a blade. He remembered the times when no matter how hard he fought, he was powerless—trampled and discarded. But those days were over.

Seeing a man standing there with such misplaced confidence made him curious. What would happen when the foundation of that confidence was shattered? He didn’t know the “Red Foot,” but they clearly operated on the same level as the Sanctuary Church. And Zoraslav had given him a warning before this journey.

*“Watch out for the priest.”*

That was the extent of Zoraslav’s intel. That priest was the one responsible for the disappearances in the village.

“You’re the priest, aren’t you?” Enkrid asked.

The man’s smile widened unnaturally, the corners of his mouth stretching toward his eyes in a way no normal human face should.

*Yeah, you’re definitely not human.*

The fact that he looked so mundane on the surface only served to highlight how abnormal he really was. No sane person builds a castle in the heart of a demon realm.

“Did you think clearing out those Grumruts was the hard part?” the man mocked.

Behind him, black smoke began to coalesce into a shape. It lacked wings but possessed a massive, muscular form. Even though it was made of shadow, the definition of its limbs was clear.

“Not a chance. Marcante Burta Han—”

He wasn’t speaking to Enkrid now.

“Bur,” the magic spirit atop the spire replied. She lowered her bow and looked at Enkrid. “Stay alive. I want to be the one who ends you.”

Despite the distance and the height of the tree, her whisper carried perfectly to him.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll keep you safe,” Shinar told him.

“I feel like I’ve been the one protecting you this whole time,” Enkrid noted lazily, and Shinar offered a small, knowing smile.

“And I’ve loved every second of it.”

It was a blunt confession of feelings, leaving Enkrid with little to say in response.

*AaaaAAAAAAA—*

As the priest finished his decree, the wall erupted in a fresh wave of wails. The choir of thorn-wrapped souls was louder and more oppressive than before. At this intensity, even seasoned knights would struggle to keep their focus.

“Hmph,” Rophod grunted. The discordant noise vibrated through his body.

“Incoming,” Jaxon announced. Even without special skills, the threat was obvious.

From the flanks of the wall and from the rear, dark masses began to spill out like discarded waste. It was a swarm of ghouls. These were different from standard undead; their skin was stained an abyssal black by the demon realm.

“Scream all you want. I’ll sleep to the sound of it tonight,” the priest mused. He was genuinely curious to see how long these intruders would last. It had been a long time since he’d had such entertainment.

Enkrid tilted his head, cracked his neck, and looked at the wall. *What’s the best way to handle this?*

*KyaaaaAACK!*

Above them, three massive black avian beasts circled. They were large enough to snatch a grown man. A few feathers drifted down; each was nearly half the size of a man’s forearm. These were heavily mutated creatures, though the group had no way of knowing their origin.

Looking at the encroaching monsters, Enkrid realized one thing: if they hadn’t come here, no one would have survived. He thought back to the village. They had cleared the surrounding threats and saved a single town from the corruption. But compared to the horrors inside this castle, those external threats were nothing.

The ghouls closed in. They were grotesque, with surgical scars marring their heads and necks. Their lips were sewn shut, and their craniums appeared to have been opened and crudely stitched back together. It was clear they were the product of dark experimentation.

Jaxon was the first to strike. In a blink, he was behind one of the ghouls. He drove a stiletto into its neck and shattered its ankle with a kick. Then, he abandoned all subtlety and dashed back, leaving a trail of afterimages in his wake.

From the wound in the ghoul’s neck, a foul mixture of black and yellow pus began to bulge. It swelled rapidly, growing larger than a human torso, and then it detonated.

*Boom!*

The explosion showered the area in toxic sludge. Jaxon had sensed the danger the moment he saw the creature’s warped anatomy and moved to test its mechanics. It was a smart play; now they knew the ghouls were living bombs.

“The stench is unbearable,” Shinar said, drawing her Leaf Blade just a few inches. A scent of forest and flowers bloomed around the steel, but it couldn’t mask the rot of the exploding ghouls. If they were struck, they would spread disease everywhere. They could resist some of it, but there were simply too many.

The priest’s laughter echoed from somewhere above. Enkrid watched the swarm bound forward on all fours.

“Audin.”

“Not my turn yet, brother.”

“Teresa, then?”

“Yes.”

The half-giantess stepped forward, her gaze cool and unwavering. She drove her massive shield into the earth and hopped onto the top edge, using it as a high vantage point. Just like that, she had established her own personal battleground.

—

Long ago, Count Molsen had commanded a unit of chimeras, trying to turn failed knights into something greater. All of that twisted research could be traced back to the man standing on the wall. He wondered if these newcomers would make good subjects for his plague ghouls. He had the finest warriors on the continent at his doorstep; surely they would provide good data.

The priest had spent years hollowing out ghouls and filling them with refined spirits and pestilence. It was a work of art that combined sorcery, alchemy, and ancient chants. He had his crows and his knights in crystal armor ready.

*Survive a little longer. Show me what you’re capable of.*

The priest truly hoped for a good show. They would likely hold out for a bit, which would give them time to “ripen” properly. Satisfied, he headed back to his inner chambers to organize his notes.

Once the sun went down, the beasts would become truly uncontrollable. In this realm, the sun was always dim and grey, and without a Red Moon, the night was a void. The humans would suffer in that darkness.

A short while later, just as he was preparing to head back out and watch the carnage—

*Kugugung.*

A vibration rattled the floor. It wasn’t a minor tremor.

*Kyaaaaah.*

The song of the Thorn Castle suddenly shifted into a frantic scream.

*Kugugugugung.*

The shaking intensified. It felt as though the very foundations of the fortress were being uprooted. And it was far more than just a feeling.