A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 773

Chapter 773

The Magic Spirit possessed the combat prowess of a seasoned knight, and within the Demon Realm, she was in her element. Much like fairies find strength in the heart of a forest, the tainted atmosphere of this realm acted as her personal fuel. This territory and this conflict were her home field advantage.

The fallen fairy, capable of discharging bolts of dark electricity, was convinced she could dismantle several of her foes single-handedly. They might have breached the outer fortifications and eliminated one of the witches, but facing a direct confrontation with her was an entirely different challenge. Furthermore, her expertise lay in the art of the duel.

Though momentarily caught off guard earlier, she had regained her poise, exuding a sense of tranquil self-assurance. Even the biting taunts from Shinar failed to destabilize her focus. Such composure was a testament to her lethal capabilities; anyone with a history of combat experience could recognize the signs of a dangerous warrior.

“I shall deal with this myself. It is my responsibility.”

Despite the odds, Shinar informed her companions of her intent to fight the duel alone. Ragna was indifferent to the arrangement, while Audin and Teresa were the types to honor a comrade’s resolve. Enkrid gave Shinar a brief look before shifting his attention toward the blue-eyed witch. He wondered if that one was holding back a trump card. Based on her demeanor, it seemed highly probable. Furthermore, the Apostle was unlikely to remain a passive spectator.

The Magic Spirit looked past the commoner standing before her to evaluate the other threats. Her enemies were numerous. Some were occupied with the mutated creatures; a bear beastman was currently dismantling crystal-clad golems with his bare hands, crushing the distorted biological matter that leaked from their broken shells.

“The Master welcomes everyone!” the beastman bellowed, his voice thick with a touch of insanity.

In another part of the field, a man was making a steady, deliberate approach toward the Apostle. The rest of the group proved to be equally competent combatants. The Magic Spirit realized that engaging more than three simultaneously would be a tactical error.

She decided her best course of action was to harvest mana from a distance, utilizing her speed and archery to pick them off. She quickly mapped out a sequence for the slaughter. She would fire a single shaft at the man closing in on the Apostle, followed by two for the bear beastman. Then, she would exploit a moment of weakness to eliminate the mongrel with the shield before flanking those occupied with the monsters. She calculated that the remaining witch would provide the necessary distraction for her to execute this maneuver. It was a logical, cold-blooded strategy for victory.

“You’re plotting something,” Shinar observed, noting the shifting gaze of the Magic Spirit. Even in her anger, the corrupted fairy remained analytical. She was no mindless beast. What truly grated on Shinar, however, was that the fairy had stopped looking at her entirely. She had been dismissed as a triviality, a mere nuisance that would eventually wither away.

“Ah, that’s right. I forgot the lowborn was still here,” the Magic Spirit remarked, finally returning her eyes to Shinar.

Shinar’s assessment was accurate; the fairy didn’t view her as a legitimate threat. Despite their divergent paths, corrupted and pure fairies shared the same origins. The Magic Spirit understood exactly how powerless a fairy lacking spirit energy was supposed to be. She assumed she could simply cut Shinar’s throat in passing. Perhaps she would even mutilate that sharp tongue for its insolence.

Seeing the murderous intent in her opponent’s eyes, Shinar allowed a faint grin to touch her lips. The Magic Spirit offered no further words. She lunged forward, her blade cutting through the air with a directness and speed that mirrored the lethal grace Jaxon had displayed. Her movements were silent and fluid, moving with the natural inevitability of a breeze. Just as one cannot grasp the wind, her blade seemed impossible to intercept.

The sword descended, seemingly splitting the inhumanly beautiful face of the fairy in two. Yet, there was no impact. Shinar had already leaped away, leaving only a fading image behind. With that same slight smile, she swung the Leaf Blade.

It was known as the Sword of the Four Seasons. The weapon transitioned through the stages of spring, summer, and autumn before settling into the harshness of winter. The leaf that represented spring contracted and hardened into a needle—a piercing, frozen manifestation of the final season. This transformation was only possible because the weapon was saturated with spirit energy. Shinar now held a long, slender Needle.

She thrust the weapon toward the Magic Spirit, who raised her dark, mottled sword to intercept the strike. A sharp metallic click echoed as Shinar held her position. The Magic Spirit blocked the needle horizontally just below her face, her eyes burning with a primal, predatory hunger. Dark miasma pulsed from her pupils, while a vibrant green glow began to radiate from Shinar’s eyes and flow into her needle-like blade.

The scent of fresh grass began to permeate the metallic, blood-soaked air of the Demon Realm. The Magic Spirit’s eyes widened in genuine shock.

“Did you honestly think I was defenseless?” Shinar asked softly, maintaining her smile. “I am Shinar Kirheis. In the name of every living thing in the forest, I will take the life of a traitor.”

As their blades remained locked, Shinar felt the surge of spirit energy within her weapon. She had prepared for this long ago, infusing the essence of the woods into the steel before they ever set foot in this place. Her previous complaints to Enkrid about the foul air causing her headaches had not been a performance; it was the genuine strain of maintaining that energy.

“So she was faking it…” Enkrid thought from the sidelines. He realized she had been concealing this power while acting like a petulant child. She had spent the journey whining like a preteen rather than the ancient being she was. Yet now, she seemed completely revitalized.

The two warriors began a deadly dance, their clashing blades creating streaks of contrasting light. A heavy thud resonated, followed by a sudden shockwave. A localized gale erupted between them—a chaotic wind that carried the scent of both decay and the forest.

Enkrid felt confident in Shinar’s ability. While no duel is guaranteed until the final blow, he trusted her skill and respected her need to settle this grievance. Above them, the magical embers in the sky began to fade into darkness. Just as the last light died out, a piercing scream tore through the air.

“I WILL CONSUME YOU ALL!”

It was the blue-eyed witch, driven to madness by the death of her companion. She unleashed waves of telekinetic force and blade-like gusts of wind in Jaxon’s direction. Jaxon adhered to the fundamental rule of fighting a magic user: stay mobile and break their line of sight. He sprinted in a jagged pattern, moving fast enough to burn the soles of his boots.

The witch, however, didn’t rely on sight alone. She blanketed the entire zone in a creation spell. As a fine shimmering dust filled the air, Jaxon realized his stealth was compromised. Every movement he made left a visible wake in the powder. He had no choice but to rely on pure reflexes and evasion.

When a skeletal warrior blocked his path, Jaxon efficiently dismantled it and used the fragments to shield himself from the witch’s magical volleys. A sudden flare of light signaled a powerful attack; Jaxon grabbed a nearby skeleton and used it as a human shield as he rolled. The resulting explosion turned the monster into bone shards and scorched the earth.

As the dust settled, Enkrid began his move. Though they hadn’t spoken, his timing with Jaxon was instinctive. While Jaxon drew the witch’s fire, Enkrid approached her flank. It was a textbook pincer maneuver designed to split her focus. Enkrid felt ready; his Will had replenished, and despite the constant strain of this realm, he felt he was at his peak. He believed that for a warrior, the present moment is always the best condition available. This conviction strengthened his resolve.

His arm throbbed with a dull ache, but he welcomed it as a sign of readiness.

“How dare you… HOW DARE YOU!” the witch shrieked, her personality shifting instantly from manic rage to a chilling, calculated calm.

“Hounds of Fuarin,” she chanted. Dark, viscous fluid leaked from her fingers, and from the scorched earth, black canine forms began to manifest. They were magical constructs of soot and shadow, a spell Enkrid recognized from his encounters with cultists in the west. These versions, however, were infused with a sinister crimson hue.

Enkrid remained undeterred. He simply continued his advance, his dawn-forged blade carving through the magical beasts and turning them to ash. Realizing her summons were failing, the witch hurled a massive boulder at him. Enkrid found the attack sluggish compared to the lightning arrows he had faced earlier. He redirected the stone’s momentum with a single hand, sending it crashing through a group of lesser monsters.

The witch screamed in frustration as she realized she couldn’t halt their progress. Between Enkrid’s relentless advance and Jaxon’s hidden daggers, she was being cornered. In a final act of desperation, her body began to undergo a horrific metamorphosis. Her bones snapped and rearranged, six additional limbs tore through her back, and black ichor sprayed from her expanding torso. Her multiple hands began weaving complex signs, beginning a ritual to summon the dark influence of a demon.