A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 766

Chapter 766

A savior shall arrive to conclude this era!
A warrior whose presence shall dye both combat and existence with the hues of dusk!
We shall name him the Knight of the End!
The one destined to bring all things to a close!
A champion to terminate the struggle!

Zoraslav listened to the melody, a traditional piece preserved through speech in the hamlet for ages. A group of youngsters chanted it like a psalm outside his window. Throughout the land, the narrative migrated under titles like “The Knight of Ceasefire” or “The Knight of the End,” carrying identical tunes and verses.

While some referred to him as the Knight of Ceasefire, others favored the Knight of the End. In certain provinces, he was even identified as the Knight of Twilight. The primary lyrics had faded from memory long ago. In various locales, the designations—Ceasefire, End, and Twilight—were used interchangeably within the song.

To the listeners, it was far more than a simple tune. The “Knight of the End.” Or the individual recognized as the Knight of Ceasefire. Such a character was a cornerstone of the myth that a protector would one day rise to shield them.

“Do you truly trust that this man is the Knight of the End?”

The “End” mentioned in the verses pointed to the conclusion of the world. And that “world” signified the Demon Realm. Essentially, a warrior who would orchestrate the downfall of the Demon Realm. There were scholars who interpreted the prophecy in that manner—though it wasn’t a confirmed certainty.

Zoraslav scanned the figures gathered at the expansive table. This was the assembly chamber of the village hall. More than ten individuals—upwards of twenty eyes—were locked onto him. Zoraslav was a man of logic. Until this moment, his stance had always been:

“It is merely a melody composed of longing.”

From a pragmatic outlook, this hymn was a product of desperation. What is the most vital requirement for a human to endure? Food, attire, or a roof? A person might persist even if one of those was absent. But once the spirit shatters, the journey is over.

*Why continue this existence?*

For a person who begins to harbor such thoughts, even sustenance and shelter lose their worth. Does living require a justification? Must one descend to the state of an Eroded just to survive? Is this struggle truly mandatory?

If a query like that arose, there was but one reply. Naturally, the desire to live remained. He vividly recalled a day he witnessed a youngster grin with genuine delight while consuming a thin broth made from withered, desiccated turnips. He remembered the exact day that infant entered the world.

Though their days were neither easy, quiet, nor plush, even within those hardships, they discovered the grace of existence. They could wander and observe the shifting of the seasons. They could converse with a companion and cherish one another. They yearned for life to appreciate these small things, even if it required living in misery.

And one of the pillars supporting that life was hope. What people required most to keep going was hope.

Thus, in Zoraslav’s view, that ancient, orally preserved song was nothing more than a mechanism designed to instill optimism into the community. That eventually, a champion would arrive to terminate their agony and usher in a superior life? That was the identity of the Knight of the End?

The verses claimed it, but he had never put stock in it. Not until this day. Surviving by the grace of the demons—that was the grim reality they endured. That was what Zoraslav had clung to until now. He looked at the truth, accepted the facts, and ignored the old folk songs.

“I do believe it. That man is truly the one.”

A comrade who had always expressed the most cynical and sharp views on their reality was now speaking with eyes that shimmered. Eyes that had been discarded, ignored, and forsaken were now vibrant with expectation.

A man who struck down the emblem of the Demon God without a second thought. Who decimated the encircling beasts and predators, then walked away without seeking compensation. A man who stepped into the Demon Realm without a selfish motive.

Even to Zoraslav, he embodied the image of the Knight of the End. To a people who had never tasted even a fragment of hope, a hand governed by benevolence had been extended. Could they turn it away?

No. They were incapable of it. Because they, too, craved a better future. Every person in the hamlet offered a prayer for the one who had crossed into that dark territory.

—

Teresa stood upon the small, cramped platform she had constructed. She hadn’t unsheathed her blade; she had no requirement for it at this moment.

“You take in a female who knows only the art of war, and she cannot even show gratitude?”

Why was that memory surfacing now? It stemmed from the era when her entire life had been signed away to the bishop of the sect. A period when her reality was painted entirely in shades of soot and ash.

That was when she encountered Enkrid. And for the first time, she discovered happiness in wielding a blade that had previously lacked all purpose.

“I shall struggle and struggle further to validate my existence.”

That was the vow she had offered Enkrid when he questioned how she would choose to live if granted a second birth. Every detail of that day remained etched in her mind with perfect clarity. The scent of the air. The warmth of the sun. Everything.

There was a fervent, rising spirit. And there was the version of herself who mourned the past while looking back. Consequently, Teresa of the Cult perished and was reborn as the wandering Teresa. She had attempted to seek cover behind a modest disguise, but quickly understood how futile that effort was.

“Ultimately, I will fight.”

That wasn’t a sentiment driven by the giant’s blood coursing through her heart. It was for the person she used to be, and for the person she intended to become tomorrow. And besides, combat didn’t always necessitate the clashing of fists or the shedding of blood.

Teresa had battled her former self. She had embraced a new deity and studied the tenets of the Holy War. Positioned on a modest stage crafted from a shield, she turned her head slightly to glance back. The savior who had rescued her was observing her directly. She parted her lips as she met his gaze.

“Ah—”

A coarse vibration escaped her throat, yet no matter the listener, the sound was mesmerizing. She turned her focus back to the front—at the horrors dripping with filth as they closed in, and at the citadel in the distance, vibrating with wails.

And she began her melody.

Her voice acquired rhythm and depth. It surged and ebbed, even her intakes of breath functioning as musical notes. Thus, she initiated her performance. Soon, a psalm honoring the holy rose toward the firmament and vibrated through the soil.

—

Tapping into divinity was a gift bestowed upon a rare few. And the ability to stir hearts with one’s voice was likewise a talent granted to a limited number. To put it another way, manifesting divine energy and executing a proper chant demanded entirely different skill sets.

If an individual happened to be born with both, and if they committed themselves with relentless discipline, they could direct divinity through the medium of song. Within the Holy Knight Order, such individuals were referred to as “Sacred Singers,” spoken of with both admiration and awe. Some termed them “Holy Cantors.”

Audin had perceived the seeds of such potential within Teresa and had steered her toward her awakening. When Enkrid had set off for Zaun, Lua Gharne had remained to aid her for that very purpose. She possessed the knowledge of a unique war-song known as the Frog Cry, and her vocalizations influenced everyone in her vicinity. In some regards, it operated on a logic similar to a sacred chant.

The half-giant wedged her shield into the earth, fashioned her own tiny podium, stepped up, and started to sing. Her voice moved with the tune—exquisite and reviving. When she shifted to a higher register, it echoed as if purifying the heavens.

“Ah–ah!”

Simply listening to it provided a sense of revitalization.

“This is…” Enkrid whispered.

Synchronized with Teresa’s melody, something began to manifest in front of her. The sight caused his jaw to drop.

“Ah–ah…”

A song without words—Teresa’s very respiration was a component of the tune, and it sent shivers down his back. It is said a talented minstrel knows how to handle instruments, but a master minstrel knows how to use their voice. Her tones were profound, her resonance expansive. Majestic, comforting, and peaceful.

The atmosphere, despite being situated in the core of the Demon Realm, embraced Enkrid and the rest with a softness that seemed impossible.

“May the Lord watch over us,” Audin murmured a petition.

That tranquility was more than just a sensation. Though her singing wasn’t booming, her lyrics merged with divine energy and solidified, creating a rampart that halted the ghouls’ progression. The wall wasn’t as tall as Teresa, who stood elevated on her shield, but it rose well above the height of a normal man and radiated a white glow.

The barriers of pale light expanded to the left and right, shoving back the gloom of the Demon Realm. That spectacle by itself was breathtaking.

“She mentioned she conceived the idea from observing the Company Captain.”

“Ah.” Enkrid released a brief sound of wonder.

So the metal wall displayed when they obstructed Azpen’s battalion had been her muse. Back then, Enkrid had also saturated his voice with Will—evidently, that had made an impression on her as well. Audin had always maintained there was no need to fret over Teresa. But he hadn’t anticipated she would achieve something of this magnitude.

“It isn’t flawless. They are leaking through.”

Lua Gharne shifted her large eyes and remarked. She was correct. One ghoul was forcing its frame through a crack in the holy wall. Its skin sizzled and emitted vapor as it traversed the white light, yet it managed to penetrate the barrier.

*Thud—*

It collapsed to one knee and dug its distorted talons into the dirt, dragging itself forward. And right in its path, it met a man brandishing a short blade without a hint of anxiety.

*Slice.*

Monsters, too, consisted of flesh, skeletal structure, and sinew. Jaxon, who understood precisely how to strike at the correct angles, found ending these things trivial. However, their physical responses after being struck were unnatural.

*Blorp.*

A sickly yellow discharge began to swell at the open wounds. It happened once more—the yellow pus distended at the sliced edges.

*Pop.*

The discharge erupted with a wet noise. Ordinarily, the explosion would have sprayed pestilence spores in every direction, but Teresa’s holy energy neutralized the spores and wiped them out. As her voice rose in pitch, white light concentrated and bore down on the shattered ghoul.

Audin went into action as well. There were numerous holes in the line. As his feet struck the ground, he appeared to be in three locations simultaneously. It was a visual distortion caused by extreme velocity—speed that seemed impossible for a man of his bulk. Moving with that grace, he nonchalantly threw a punch, and the ghoul craniums caught in his strikes shattered repeatedly. The pus-laden sections bloated like gas-filled bladders and then detonated again.

Audin didn’t need to depend on Teresa’s support. He couldn’t perform sacred chants, but in the realm of manipulating divinity, he was her superior. He reached out over the remains of the ghoul he had just obliterated. A white radiance emanated from his palm like a mantle and descended. The eruption of filth could not penetrate that light.

*Thud—*

It resulted in only a muffled impact.

“Remarkable skill,” Lua Gharne noted in admiration, uncoiling her whip. Her weapon reached further than a blade—designed for intermediate distances. It was also an enchanted item that naturally ignited.

A plague ghoul that had barely managed to squeeze through the rampart was lashed by her burning whip, its skull splintering. The weight at the tip of the whip was crafted from dense gold, and the cord itself was woven from the hide of beasts. The greater the speed of the strike, the more devastating the blow—the sheer power of such a hit required no explanation.

*Crack—! Crack—!*

The whip tore through the air and burned away the heads of the ghouls. One would need the reflexes of a knight just to track its path. The ghoul’s skulls and torsos erupted with pus, but even that merely served as kindling for the heat.

Then Ragna entered the fray. With his relaxed stride and footsteps that seemed to lack a specific destination, he drifted toward the plague ghouls. At some point, he had unsheathed his greatsword, which shimmered with a subtle red glow. Even as the sun dipped toward the horizon, there was no shortage of illumination.

Ragna handled his greatsword like a laborer reaping grain with a scythe. He kept the blade’s movement minimal, trusting entirely in the snap of his wrists and his positioning. It was a sequence of basic, rhythmic actions.

*Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.*

Instead of grain, the heads of plague ghouls soared into the air and hit the ground. Even the ones decapitated by Ragna began to bloat with yellow discharge at the neck, but the accumulation was significantly reduced.

*Psshk.*

They failed to even detonate correctly.

*Sunrise purges the impure. Named for the sun it bears.*

A treasure handed down through the Zaun bloodline. This was exactly the type of utility it was crafted to provide.

The volume of hostiles was staggering, so many continued to slip through. At this stage, it was almost as if Teresa were allowing them to pass on purpose. She then concentrated the remaining holy energy and incinerated the bulk of the plague ghouls in divine fire. The ones with their lips stitched shut were unable to even scream.

Observing the ghouls being decimated, Rem smirked and spoke up.

“Hey, you two really need to coordinate with my tempo here.”

He was addressing Rophod and Pell. Teresa’s holy chant had established a divine rampart, but it wasn’t designed to defend them from above.

*Screech!*

That left the massive avian creature plummeting from the heavens. But would that truly pose a threat? Likely not.