A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 795

Chapter 795

Balrog was consumed by a state of pure euphoria. The sensation of absolute bliss flooded his veins, causing his inner resolve to flare with even greater intensity. This was the essence of the life he craved: a struggle where flesh, steel, and spirit are forged into a radiant blaze—a gamble of everything against a rival of equal caliber. It was the very justification for his breathing.

—Let us clash.

As his determination coalesced into intent, the atmosphere itself began to vibrate. Though he hadn’t consciously exerted it, a crushing aura weighed down on his enemies. He wasn’t worried; they weren’t the type to buckle under mere pressure. It was a rare gift to encounter souls possessing such fierce vitality.

In this peak of combat, Balrog felt a sense of intoxication. Simultaneously, flashes of his most significant encounters drifted through his mind.

The first was his time traversing the Demon Realm alongside the entity known as The Last Door of Life—the one who terminates existence, the Great Father of the Dead. Balrog had eleven siblings, every one of them obsessed with the slaughter, yet he had risen above them all, even when they united under their progenitor’s shadow.

A thick, dark vapor seeped from Balrog’s lips, congealing before hitting the dirt with a wet thud. To a mortal, it would have looked like the hungry salivation of a beast.

Balrog’s focus shifted to the warrior with the azure eyes and raven hair. Among the group, this man was the standout; he had reshaped his own spirit to counteract Balrog’s. The way he manipulated his resolve reminded Balrog of the day he breached the walls of the Thorned Fortress while dueling the one they called the Lord of Thorns. That fortress had fallen twice in history, and the first ruin had been Balrog’s handiwork.

Then, a third memory surfaced: his own downfall. It wasn’t just a memory he recalled, but a scar he could never stop touching. He had replayed it a thousand times.

“Leave. Surely you don’t wish for your end to be here?”

Those were the parting words of the individual who had truly outclassed him in raw martial prowess. That man had been human as well. Eventually, that warrior had discarded Balrog, descending further into the abyss of the Demon Realm as if sinking into an endless trench, claiming he had been summoned.

Through the cold logic earned by the slaughter of his own kin, Balrog had ascended to demonhood. He had mastered the art of taking whatever he craved. And yet, a mere mortal had once suppressed him through sheer force. Even when consumed by bloodlust, he rarely tasted defeat, but it had happened.

Because his mind operated with lightning-fast perception, these reflections passed in a heartbeat. Balrog snapped back to the exquisite joy of the present. Or rather, he had never truly left that state of trance. To him, there was no greater high than the thrill of the hunt.

Memories were merely things one walked through. The past was yesterday, and Balrog didn’t live in the past. He lived for the now.

—Make this more entertaining.

He gave voice to his desire.

Three crystals remained. If he could eliminate all of them before the last two shards were broken, the win was his. To survive and triumph while bathed in this level of ecstasy—that would be the ultimate fulfillment.

—

The combat was unfolding like the synchronized ticking of a clock.

The Fire Command launched by Rem had created a momentary lapse in Balrog’s defenses. The second Balrog committed to intercepting the shot, a gap was inevitable. However, had he ignored it, the projectile would have claimed one of the crystals. Balrog had no choice but to block.

In that split second, Audin grabbed the whip of fire, temporarily binding the entity known as Salamandra. Simultaneously, Enkrid moved to neutralize every incoming strike from the demon. During that tiny window, Ragna converted his spirit into raw thermal energy. It was an unconscious feat, his will naturally synchronizing with the searing heat of Sunrise—a display of pure, unteachable talent.

He had aimed for the crystal embedded in Balrog’s chest, yet he had missed the mark.

Could they ever replicate such a perfect sequence? Was it a fluke? Had they simply caught Balrog in a moment of arrogance? Would a second opportunity ever present itself?

These doubts were only natural.

Audin’s hand was a mess of heat-blisters, and the fiery essence Ragna had channeled into his blade had flickered out. Rem, having retreated to a safe distance, recalibrated the rotation of his sling. The high-pitched whine of the spinning disc dropped to a low, steady thrum. If he pushed the velocity any further, the cord would simply disintegrate.

Shinar was still searching for a way in, and Jaxon remained completely unaccounted for.

“That coward didn’t actually tuck tail and run, did he?” Rem thought to himself.

He didn’t mean it, of course. If Jaxon were the type to flee, he would have abandoned this fellowship a long time ago. In truth, Rem didn’t have a compelling reason to remain with the Mad Order of Knights either. But the same applied to everyone—Audin, Ragna, Shinar, Esther, Teresa, Pell, Rophod, Kraiss, and Dunbakel.

They had all gravitated toward one focal point.

They had looked at him and seen something that changed their perspective on life. That was why they stood their ground. The man responsible for that shift—the madman who had chased an impossible ambition and refused to stay down—spoke.

“It’s alright. I can feel the rhythm. I can stop him. Let’s do it again. We just have to repeat the process.”

The fire of determination still burned in the eyes of that legendary lunatic, a man who seemed to have no concept of surrender or despair. A man of average talent who had forced his way into the ranks of the elite, yet still didn’t know how to quit. His expression was a mask, but his eyes betrayed his deepest cravings.

Rem, from his distant vantage point, couldn’t see those eyes, only the back of the man’s head. But he didn’t need to see them to know.

“I bet he’s got that insane look again.”

It was a look of pure, joyous anticipation. There are things you can sense without visual confirmation. The man’s voice was light, devoid of any shadow or doubt. Was there anyone else on earth who could sound like that in the face of death?

No. Not a soul.

“Fine. Have it your way,” Rem whispered with a smirk.

If things went south and he ended up a corpse, he’d just have to wait for Owl and the kid in the afterlife. He’d probably get a lecture for dying early, but he couldn’t resist the gravitational pull of that man’s conviction.

“Yeah. Let’s go. One more time.”

The strike that had grazed Balrog hadn’t been luck. It was the result of a calculated necessity. If Enkrid believed in it, Rem would too.

Following Rem’s lead—

“His gaze is forged of steel, for he knows no dread. His stride is the rolling thunder, for he never wavers. Under the watchful eye of the Lord Father, there is no hesitation in the hand that executes His decree.”

Audin was also reaching a state of religious fervor. The terrifying presence radiating from Balrog as he reveled in the fight was nothing compared to the gravity of a single command from their leader. That man’s integrity was like a beacon cutting through the demonic gloom. As a servant of the god of war, Audin viewed this demon as nothing more than a potential sacrifice to his deity.

“I offer this beast, who crawls before the Great Lord, as a tribute.”

Audin’s chant droned on.

“It’s possible,” Enkrid stated firmly. He said it because he meant it, and truth often bears repeating.

The fabric wrapping his left hand was shredded, so he tore it away, exposing his bare skin. It wasn’t just his gear that was failing; he was covered in wounds. The most concerning was a deep gash on his side. Even with the armor Esther had enchanted, his flank had been torn open, staining his clothes with crimson. A few inches deeper and it would have been fatal.

Ragna kept his eyes locked on Balrog as he asked for confirmation.

“Again?”

“Again,” Enkrid replied, not as a question, but as a certainty.

To fight in such perfect harmony, you had to understand your allies’ capabilities and even their smallest ticks. These men had that connection because they were rivals who had studied each other with the intent to surpass one another. The rule about winning without killing forced them to observe even more intently. They possessed the skill to turn a lucky break into a repeatable strategy.

Logically, there was no reason to think they could win by simply throwing themselves at the enemy again. Audin was burned, Enkrid was wounded and down a gauntlet, and even Rem wasn’t at a hundred percent. Rem had been battered while protecting Ragna, and Ragna himself hadn’t recovered from his previous exhaustion.

Enkrid had already perished over a hundred times at Balrog’s hand in his mind or previous loops. Every path had ended in disaster. Yet, with every new attempt, he pushed forward, mindful of his evolution. He had tried countless variations, but all had ended in his demise. The memory of that pain was etched into his very being. It would have been natural to be paralyzed by the demon’s power.

Instead, there wasn’t a hint of fear in his voice.

“Let’s go.”

He was filled with nothing but the hunt. The Ferryman, observing from the depths of Enkrid’s soul, was stunned. The man acted as if he had never known death. He didn’t lean on the safety net of repetition; he simply didn’t factor death into his equations. He was entirely present in the struggle.

—Once more.

The word echoed. Even Balrog whispered it.

From the library of Enkrid’s hard-won experience, a fundamental question formed: *How do you overcome such a monster?*

If the enemy moves, you move twice as much. If he strikes, you counter. When others swing once, you swing twice. It wasn’t just raw speed; if you just moved fast within the enemy’s expectations, you were just wasting breath. Enkrid was starting to see the truth.

*It isn’t just power—it’s about having a superior depth of Will.*

It was about circularity—raising every attribute to a peak level simultaneously. Then, you layer your unique strength on top of that foundation. It was the same logic behind the tiers of knighthood: intermediate, advanced, master. It was all about the cycle. You draw a circle to refine your basics, then you develop a specialty. Then you draw a larger circle around that specialty.

Through endless repetition, a “secret technique” eventually becomes as natural as breathing. It was the transition from a man of arms… to a monster.

And the creature standing before him was a monster who had spent an eternity building and shattering those circles. Balrog had taken it further. He had turned his entire anatomy into a weapon. His skin was denser than any human’s, his flesh as hard as iron. It was a level of physical reinforcement seen only in the most legendary of giants.

While others used spirit or artifacts, giants refined their resolve into their very limbs. They called it Fury. Audin’s Radiant Armor operated on a similar principle.

Everything—knuckles, heels, elbows—could be a blade.

Enkrid watched Balrog’s flaming eyes, but he also saw the subtle position of the demon’s tail. His perception had expanded; he was now tracking the smallest variables.

*He fights with perfect economy, using his whole body with zero wasted energy.*

Balrog was the pinnacle of efficiency. Enkrid had already begun to incorporate bits of that fluidity into his own movements. It was why Balrog could land four hits in the time it took a normal warrior to land one. It defied standard tactical math.

Yet, Enkrid could feel it coming.

Ideas flashed like sparks through his mind, sliced into data points by his heightened cognition. It was a flow of thought, effortless and clear. He had been focusing every nerve on the beast in front of him, and then, the thoughts vanished—

Because the enemy had made his move.