A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 769

Chapter 769

“Manipulating the flow of intelligence.”
Lua Gharne spoke the words softly, almost like a mantra. This was the specific task she had assigned to Jaxon.

She had proposed the idea based on the suspicion that the Demon Realm’s commanders had abandoned their posts, leaving the defense entirely to the mindless thralls they ruled. It had been a gamble—a hopeful tactic—but as it happened, the timing was perfect and the execution flawless. The response from the opposing side was sluggish and dull. Even as the group pressed against the very shadows of the fortress, the resistance remained predictable.

The events unfolding were not extraordinary; they were simply the logical progression of their plan.

“They’ve arrived,” Shinar muttered from her position behind Enkrid. The air was thick with the wailing of the spirits anchored to the Thornwall. From the darkness flanking the battlements, monstrous shapes detached themselves from the gloom.

Werewolves with four limbs and massive werebears lumbered into the light. One particularly gargantuan werebear caught the eye, clutching a heavy, obsidian-colored club in each of its four paws. The sight of those four bludgeons swinging in unison was a vision of sheer violence.

These creatures were different from the rabble they had encountered on the road. They pulsed with a palpable, lethal pressure. This was no skirmish; this was the true welcoming party of the Demon Realm.

“We stand our ground, then we pierce through,” Lua Gharne commanded.

In war, the most basic plan is often the most devastating. With the sheer caliber of warriors gathered here, there was no reason to waste time scaling walls or hunting for secret tunnels. Jaxon had utilized those methods because his expertise lay in shadow-work and assassination. But this group? They didn’t need such subtleties.

In truth, they were far beyond them.

Lua remembered the taunt from that wretch earlier: “So what can you do?” She intended to provide a response that would be burned into the enemy’s memory forever.

As they reached the base of the wall, the monsters weren’t the only threat. Massive structures carved from bone, situated along the ramparts, suddenly groaned into motion. These skeletal frames were built to launch jagged, heavy bolts of bone. They were ballistae, but possessed by malevolent spirits—beasts of wood and marrow.

*Creeeeak.*

Purple sinews strained like tensed muscles, winding the mechanisms until they snapped.

*Thwump!*

A massive projectile tore through the air, aimed directly at the heart of their formation. It was a mechanical reflex triggered by their proximity to the wall—the automated guardian of Thorn Fortress.

Enkrid tracked the flight of the bolt with a steady gaze. Even in this hellscape, the enemy maintained a functional defense. These were siege engines twisted into living nightmares, a commendable bit of fortification. He reached for the hilt of Duskforge, but he didn’t draw.

A shadow blurred past him, leaping into the air with a blade held high.

*Clang!*

A precise strike caught the bone bolt mid-flight. The projectile, a fused mass of skeletal remains, was knocked off course and tumbled into the dirt in front of a mangy werewolf. This beast was scarred and balding, but its arms were swollen with unnatural muscle. One grasp from those limbs would turn a normal man’s bones to dust.

Of course, there was no one “normal” in this company.

The werewolf snatched up the bolt, testing its weight like a makeshift mace. It swung the heavy object through the air with a menacing whistle. The ability to improvise tools suggested a glimmer of intellect, though the way the creature leaked foul fluid from its maw made it look more like a mindless, canine horror.

Pell, the one who had parried the shot, landed and kept his guard up.

“The air is mine to clear,” Pell announced. He saw this as the ultimate training ground for his defensive arts. To a knight of his skill, the heavy bolts were predictable—lethal, yes, but not too fast to track.

“Do what must be done,” Audin replied, standing firm at the center of the fray.

The horde of lycanthropes and bears began to close in. They didn’t sprint; they moved with a heavy, deliberate stride. Yet, due to their massive size, they covered the distance with terrifying speed.

Any other group would have buckled under the sight of these giants closing in from both sides, but this team remained unshaken. Pell kept his eyes on the sky while the others focused on the meat in front of them. Their breathing was rhythmic and calm.

*Shing.*

Teresa bared her steel. It looked like a standard blade in her grip, but it was a massive greatsword that could rival Ragna’s Sunrise. She held it with a single hand as if it were a feather—a testament to her giant heritage.

*Ahhhh…*

A soft melody escaped her lips—a hymn. A radiant white aura began to envelop her. In this world, holy power was the most tangible form of the supernatural. Channeling such energy through sheer Will would normally require years of spiritual awakening, but Enkrid knew that strength took many forms.

Holy power was traditionally defensive or restorative, lacking a sharp offensive edge. To solve this, Audin—and the entire Holy Knight Order—had pushed their physical bodies to the breaking point. Audin, however, had taken that training to a violent extreme. He bridged the gap in offensive power with pure, unadulterated muscle.

For a half-giant, holy power was the perfect catalyst. It required only two things: unshakable conviction and raw talent.

Teresa’s expression shifted into a jagged grin. The “Holy Teresa” who sang hymns had vanished, replaced by the “Half-Giant Teresa” who lived for the crush of battle. The white light was no longer a shield; it was a fuel for her monstrous strength.

*Boom!*

Her blade descended upon a charging werebear. The skull held firm, but black ichor sprayed as the metal bit deep. This was an Armored Bear, its hide reinforced by a natural, metallic exoskeleton.

That strike was the signal.

*Thump!*

Pell batted away another projectile. Rophod shifted to secure a flank. In Ragna’s grip, Sunrise carved through the air, leaving a trail of fire and severed limbs.

*Schiiiiiik—*

Searing white mist rose from the neck of a werewolf where Sunrise had bitten through. With one fluid, sweeping arc, Ragna decapitated half a dozen monsters. It was the legacy of Oara’s swordsmanship in motion.

In this environment, no one held back. They fought with everything they had. If a single knight could hold a gap against a thousand, then a few hundred monsters were merely a chore to be completed. Together, they turned the charging horde into a literal slaughterhouse, carving through the opposition with systematic efficiency.

Audin eventually reached the moat of bile, a trench filled with the foul vomit of the wall’s spirits. The stench was a neurotoxin, but it failed to phase him. He ignored the beasts on his wings, trusting his comrades to handle the chaff.

The spirit of the fortress wall shrieked in defiance. Audin met the sound with a fighter’s stance: left side forward, body coiled. He pivoted his entire frame, channeling the rotation of his hips and ankles into a single, glowing white fist.

The holy energy began to spin, creating a localized gale that whipped around him.

“O Lord,” he murmured.

His hair surged upward as the vortex peaked. He threw the punch. The combination of wind, light, and kinetic force exploded forward in a focused beam.

*Whoom—*

The spiral of light slammed into the spirit-infested briars.

*Boom!*

The impact was cataclysmic. The pressure at the point of contact shattered the thorned exterior, sending fragments flying in every direction. The spirit gave a final, piercing cry. With that one strike, dozens of entities were vaporized or scattered.

“O Lord, the choice to forgive or condemn rests with You. I am merely the messenger sending them to Your doorstep.”

Audin retracted his hand and offered a brief prayer. Whether the spirits felt terror or relief was impossible to say. The result, however, was undeniable: a hole wide enough for a man to pass through had been punched into the fortress.

The living wall tried to fight back, but Audin’s shimmering armor brushed off the curses and spectral claws. He looked at the trembling foundation.

“It’s a bit flimsy,” Audin said casually, moving slightly to the side. The spirits fell into a stunned silence. If they possessed any shred of awareness, they were likely questioning the sanity of the mortals before them.

The apostle of the war god, immune to the touch of the damned, coiled his fist once more.

“That’s a loud way to announce yourself,” Enkrid noted with a dry tone. It brought back memories of a certain raid on the Gilpin Guild where they had used a similar “knock” to enter a secret room. The only difference now was the scale of the door.

*Kwa-ANG!*

The second blow landed with the force of an explosion. In two strikes, Audin had breached the rampart. The gap began to pulse and writhe, attempting to heal itself like a closing wound. Shinar’s face twisted in revulsion.

“They’re imitating the Living City.”

She was referring to her home, a place of ancient, sentient trees. To see that sacred architecture mimicked by the filth of the Demon Realm was an insult. It suggested the enemy had plundered the knowledge of the fairies.

The wall healed quickly, but Audin’s fists were faster. Even if the gap was currently small, the interior of the fortress was finally visible.

“The entrance is ready,” Teresa said, having just tossed aside a massive club she’d stripped from a werebear. She hadn’t even bothered to cut the last Armored Bear; she had simply pulverized it.

“Strictly speaking, we manufactured the entrance,” Pell corrected, still dancing through the air. He spun gracefully, knocking ballista bolts aside without ever touching the ground. His technique was flawless.

Enkrid didn’t argue the semantics; he just watched the path open. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jaxon high above, systematically disabling the bone ballistae. As the fire from the walls slackened, Pell was no longer needed as a shield.

Enkrid lunged forward.

Claws swiped at his head. A heavy club whistled toward his ribs. A taloned foot tried to sweep his legs. The monsters were coordinated, attacking in a high-low-mid synchronization.

With Duskforge in his right hand and Penna in his left, Enkrid wove through the chaos. He didn’t use heavy lunges; he used rhythmic, alternating slashes. The blades moved with such efficiency that limbs fell away before the monsters even realized they’d been hit.

His reflexes, honed to a razor’s edge, turned his movements into a blur. One strike led to the next, and the next, until the flickering steel looked like a storm of lightning.

*Zzzzzak—KWA-RRRRR!*

The air thundered as his blades tore the atmosphere apart. A wake of dark blood trailed behind him. This level of combat was becoming second nature—the result of his obsession with the perfect cut.

A sword is merely an extension of the soul. Even the most complex styles required the person to be the heart of the blade. It was a thought he had been nursing—a new path for his swordsmanship. He pushed the philosophy aside for the moment.

Reaching the wall, he returned Penna to its sheath. His body was perfectly calibrated, his Will flowing through his veins like liquid fire. He felt a rare sense of total clarity, as if he could touch the very fabric of the world.

“Greetings, spirits.”

Enkrid offered the casual remark as he leveled Duskforge. The sword hummed a low, eager note, vibrating in harmony with his intent.

Audin was using brute holy force to break the wall. Enkrid figured he should contribute his own brand of destruction. He flooded the blade with his Will.

This was the Demon Realm. This was their stronghold. He knew exactly where he was.

So what? The question still echoed: “What can you do?”

*Groooan…*

“You’re out of your mind,” Lua Gharne whispered from the rear.

Enkrid didn’t smile. He was focused.

*What can I do right now?*

This was his reply.