A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 794

Chapter 794

Just before Enkrid intercepted Balrog’s strike—moments before the jagged, uneven edges of the blades locked together.
Shinar lunged with her Leaf Blade at the embers raining toward her, swatting them away.
Thud, hiss.
The dark sparks threatened to ignite the Leaf Blade, but the remaining essence of her spiritual energy snuffed out the heat.
‘If this continues to build, even the Naidel could be scorched.’
Her reserves of spiritual power were dwindling—an unavoidable reality. Shinar’s focus flickered forward. Standard protocol dictated avoiding even these stray cinders, yet there stood a man ahead, confronting the source of the fire in a direct clash.
Every fairy eventually faces a moment where they must consume their very life force. Yet, the man in front of her seemed to have already transformed into the flame itself.
“Excellent, excellent.”
The fairy’s voice was a soft, low vibration. She dodged the embers and lashed her Leaf Blade against the whip. Drawing her left heel back, she whipped her sword upward in a diagonal arc. The whip slithered like a serpent, twisting through the air to evade the steel.
Stopping her momentum mid-swing, Shinar kicked off the earth and leaped backward. It was the agile movement characteristic of a fairy.
Crack!
The whip lashed through the void, tearing the air where she had stood only a heartbeat before.
The emerald radiance coating the edge of Shinar’s Leaf Blade wavered. The pulsing light looked fragile, a dying ember on the verge of fading.
‘This is a grim situation.’
Her physical state was far from its zenith. Even within the sanctuary of the forest, victory would be uncertain—and now, the spiritual essence infused in her weapon was nearly spent.
However, if she collapsed here, she would lose the right to stand beside the man who existed like a burning spark.
Shinar darted her eyes between the searing whip and Balrog’s lethal rhythm, which sent waves of dread through her frame, hunting for any opening.
‘What is the most effective action I can take?’
Quiet the mind. A racing pulse was a liability; she needed the clarity of ice.
‘Am I providing actual assistance?’
The answer was no. She lacked the raw power to breach her fiancé’s duel. She couldn’t step in to take a blow for him. With her current spiritual levels, she could barely stall for time.
‘If I cannot help…’
Then her primary duty was to ensure she did not become a burden.
Step, step—Shinar moved with weightless grace. Despite her lack of spiritual energy, her physical form remained impeccably sharp. She kicked a pebble from the dirt, launching it at the flame-whip while spinning through the air. After several mid-air rotations, the whip spotted a gap and lunged toward her like a projectile.
Bang, bang, bang!—the air rang with a series of impacts. Rings of fire manifested along the whip’s path. It carried the weight of a knight’s desperate lunge or a spear thrown with murderous intent.
Smash!
The tip of the whip slammed into a barrier shimmering with layers of white radiance. It struck the dead center of the divine shield, which had been positioned perfectly by reading the attack’s flow. Such a feat required a master of both divine manipulation and physical coordination.
“It is known as the Radiant Shield, sister.”
Audin was the one who had stepped in. He wore a faint smile as he expanded his awareness. He had also been tracking Enkrid’s struggle, and the pressure coming from that clash was staggering.
‘An immovable wall of rock.’
It was as if a mountain had been forged inside his core, now synced perfectly with his conditioned physique.
‘The evolution of Will.’
‘Uske and Indulesse.’
These two ancient concepts defined the maturation of Will. Uske referred to a Will that was bottomless—a resolve so absolute it felt infinite.
‘Indulesse refers to the fundamental change of that Will.’
While different from Will, divine power possessed a parallel state: Domain Proclamation. He wasn’t capable of manifesting it currently. Skill was one factor, but the environmental requirements were incredibly demanding.
Regardless, Audin saw the shift in Enkrid clearly. He also sensed the window of opportunity Enkrid had pried open.
As the flame whip recoiled from the shield and lashed out again, Audin swiped it away with the back of his hand. The divine energy coating his skin prevented the heat from melting his flesh, but his clothing ignited instantly.
He couldn’t extend the protection to his gear. His clothes, already ruined from the breach of the fortress wall, were reduced to rags.
Audin batted the whip aside once more and ripped away his tunic.
Tear!—the fabric gave way, exposing his torso. The map of scars across his chest spoke of a brutal history.
Audin’s goal was to secure time for Shinar.
Even if she were trapped or injured, the group’s resolve wouldn’t easily shatter, but it would take a toll.
‘Regardless, it would weigh on the spirit.’
A proactive defense. Audin had identified his purpose while Enkrid occupied Balrog. He was to be the anchor, the weight that kept the battlefield from tilting.
Switching between protection and pressure, he had to be the heart of the formation.
“Father of All, grant me the insight of the deity at Your side.”
He called upon the god of the Scales.
With that unique invocation, the divine light surrounding him thickened into a dense fog. The radiance coalesced, forming a physical layer over his skin. Radiant Armor. He was signaling that physical mail was no longer necessary.
Audin took his place at the center. To his front-right, Enkrid continued to stall Balrog, while the flame whip searched for a weakness in the middle.
Enkrid was intercepting Balrog’s blade, fists, and kicks—all while tracking the whip’s movements. He was attempting to shut down every threat in his vicinity.
It was evident in the way he pivoted his weight or shifted his hips to change his profile.
While Audin stabilized the center, Rem—the most observant of them—had already retreated to a significant distance.
He opened the gap to calculate the range. That movement alone dictated the layout of the fight.
He hadn’t been concerned with Shinar’s safety. If she fell here, she wasn’t fit to be the captain’s partner anyway. As he expected, she had found her footing.
Rather than rushing in blindly to help, she had used her head and fallen back.
‘A retreat is a valid maneuver.’
Fighting to the death isn’t always the smartest play.
If you have to throw dirt in someone’s eyes to survive, you do it.
In a duel of honor, things might be different, but on a battlefield, only the survivors hear the victory songs. Luck only favors those who are still breathing.
There was an old sellsword quip that a goddess’s smile is useless to a corpse.
The god of war may embrace the fallen, but the goddess of fortune stays with the living.
‘So don’t be bitter that I’m sniping from the rear.’
Rem didn’t need the justification, but he invoked the gods of the continent to rationalize his position anyway.
With that, Rem ignited his spiritual reserves. He knew he’d be bedridden for weeks after this, but he couldn’t afford to hold back.
Through Divine Descent, he channeled divine power into his frame. His spiritual energy was the cup; by draining it, he made room for the god’s essence.
In truth, it was less about emptying the vessel and more about using every drop of energy to harden the vessel itself—but that nuance was lost on those without the talent.
In the Western clans that practiced shamanism, only the elite—true prodigies—could achieve Divine Descent. It was considered as difficult as mastering Indulesse.
“Manifest here.”
While Divine Possession was a physical take-over, Divine Descent utilized tools and the surrounding space. If the ritual implements were prepared with the right sacrifices, they could serve as conduits.
Eerie sigils appeared in Rem’s pupils, and his shadow stretched, warping into a creature with elongated limbs and a stout torso.
The West recognized eight Divine Beings, including Grime. This was the peak of their craft. The entity Rem had summoned was one of them: the father of sling-stones, the one who brought down celestial entities—the small titan known as Sky-Hurler.
He produced a ritual tool forged from Black Gold, fitted it into his sling, and began the rotation. Every motion was fluid.
Whirr—WHIZZZ!
Two glowing discs hovered in Rem’s grip. He held his fire.
“Now, let’s have some fun.”
He waited. A premature throw might hit an ally in the back of the head—or worse, crush their skull.
Even from this distance, it was clear: Balrog was a natural at combat. He would undoubtedly turn a pincer attack into an advantage for himself.
Rem sharpened his senses, using his heightened vision to find a flaw—but there was nothing.
It was like trying to navigate a forest in total darkness. Like drowning in a lightless lake where direction loses meaning.
You can only reach the surface if someone reaches down to pull you up.
Once Audin took the center, Ragna moved behind him, Shinar moved further away, and Jaxon disappeared entirely from view.
The fiery whip acted like a sentient beast, snapping at Audin and then darting at Enkrid. The heat was suffocating—just the passing wind of the whip could blister skin.
The air turned bone-dry. The scent of ozone and burning charcoal grew heavy. Shinar’s natural scent was buried. The Radiant Light no longer beamed outward; it clung to Audin like a second skin.
Because of this, Balrog’s shadow seemed to expand, swallowing the battlefield. It was a psychological pressure, but for warriors of their caliber, such sensations were as real as steel.
Then, the rhythm shifted. Rem’s instincts screamed that Balrog’s next move was going to be different.
Rem’s perception slowed. His pupils dilated as he processed the influx of data.
Balrog’s movements appeared to stutter. A new tempo took over. The spacing of his stance changed. He slid his left foot back and drove his right foot down, bringing his sword around in a crushing overhead strike.
“A crown cleave.”
It combined raw power, immense speed, and surgical precision.
He used his reach to its absolute limit. A standard crown cleave required a forward step, but Balrog executed it while moving backward. His balance was perfect. It was the mark of a master.
“Even a successful block will send me flying.”
A force similar to Rem’s Divine Descent was manifesting in Balrog’s blade. His Will had solidified into the metal. The demon’s eyes flickered with intensity.
As the blade descended toward Enkrid’s skull, Rem faced a choice.
“Intervene, or trust?”
Enkrid had claimed he could handle the defense. He had told Rem to stay back.
The discs were ready—if Rem acted, he could prevent Enkrid from being crushed in a single blow.
Rem held his fire. In that split second of accelerated time, he chose to trust.
Simultaneously, Enkrid transformed into a pillar of stone. His internal Will hardened into a physical force.
Enkrid slanted his sword and caught Balrog’s blade.
Screeeee.
There were no sparks. No explosion. Instead of a loud crash, there was only the high-pitched hum of tension—like a wire about to snap.
Two invisible forces collided and stalled. A vacuum formed between them.
The moment Enkrid caught the sword, Audin grabbed the tail of the flame-whip.
HISSSSS!
The fire began to consume the divine radiance itself.
White vapor rose from Audin’s hand as he held the burning lash.
“A gap.”
He saw the moment the defense wavered. His body reacted instantly.
“Fire Command.”
The projectile filled with Sky-Hurler’s power streaked toward Balrog’s head—but the demon swiped it away with his free hand.
Will—or for a demon, magic essence—formed a physical barrier to deflect the shot.
“Impressive, you monster.”
Rem whispered to himself, though his words were lost in the chaos.
Ragna unsheathed Sunrise with a two-handed grip. The metal was dark and silent. It gave off no warmth.
That was because Ragna had not yet called upon its power.
In the parched air, Ragna regulated his pulse. He stood poised behind Audin.
The instant Enkrid stopped Balrog and Rem’s projectile detonated—
Ragna struck.
“One Point Focus.”
Enkrid said he would hold the line—and Ragna believed him.
There was no doubt in his mind.
That absolute confidence allowed him to clear his thoughts of everything except his target. He was focused entirely on a single opening.
The knight he had encountered in the dark, his mentor Donapha, had spent a lifetime perfecting this, but Ragna was a natural.
He shut out the noise. His vision narrowed to a single point on Balrog.
Ragna swung his blade toward Balrog’s flank. It was the exact moment Enkrid surged his Will to pin the black blade in place.
A slash from right to left, grazing past Enkrid’s position. The edge of Sunrise suddenly turned a brilliant, glowing crimson.
Under Ragna’s Will, it had become a blade of pure thermal energy.
CRACK!
The strike, capable of cutting through stone, was intercepted.
With his sword trapped, Balrog thrust his left arm forward.
A heavy bracer emerged from beneath his skin—an artifact embedded in his very body.
The bracer shattered, releasing a piercing scream—the cry of a ghost.
Just as the attack seemed to fail, Ragna’s blade changed direction.
The momentum of the slash reversed, spinning around Balrog’s arm into a horizontal cut. A two-stage strike.
Balrog wasn’t the only one with high-level technique.
The superheated edge of Sunrise scraped across Balrog’s forearm—grrrkkkk—but it only left a shallow mark. It didn’t deep-cut.
Instead, the line of fire moved straight for Balrog’s torso.
BOOM!
Balrog pulled his wings around himself, standing on one leg and launching a counter-kick.
Ragna ignored the incoming blow and followed through.
Enkrid had promised to block—so he would.
That trust was absolute.
Enkrid delivered. He absorbed the impact and lunged for Balrog’s ankle.
THUD!
A shockwave erupted from their meeting feet. Even so, Ragna’s Sunrise didn’t quite finish the job.
PZZZT.
His blade shattered a single crystal on Balrog’s body—but the others remained.
A jagged wound opened across Balrog’s chest, and dark blood began to flow.
Ragna had intended to take out all three crystals.
He had come up short.
—“It seems I’ve been bleeding quite a bit lately.”
Balrog spoke casually, resetting his posture.
Blood began to leak from Enkrid’s nose in a heavy stream.
He didn’t have the luxury of noticing.
In that heart-stopping exchange, Enkrid had felt the full weight of Balrog’s strength again.
“Are the sword and whip his only tools?”
Balrog had answered that before—his entire physical being was a weapon.
The Demon of Struggle—even a claw could be a death sentence.