A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 443

Enkrid had experienced blades coming from outside his field of awareness before.

Jaxon had done that to him, time and again.

This was the same.

It was beyond his perception. So fast that Oara’s words felt like they came after the fact.

“Stomach.”

A single word reached his ears. But the blade had already swept across his abdomen before that.

His One Point Focus and instinct for evasion kicked in.

Enkrid shifted his weight by pushing off his heels, sliding backward as if pressing the ground with his soles. He thought he’d dodged it—until he saw Oara’s face.

A faint smile, lips curled even higher than before.

“Knee.”

Then Enkrid realized the slash across his stomach had been an illusion.

It was magic born of will.

No—he’d seen this before.

It resembled the spiritual blade Shinar had once conjured.

Except this time, it was created through sheer pressure and implication alone.

It happened just as Oara spoke.

The real strike—a vertical stab aimed at his knee—came plunging down.

Instead of dodging, Enkrid cut diagonally upward.

His sword curved like a whip, slicing through where Oara had been standing.

She dodged the slash, yet didn’t alter the trajectory of her own blade.

The stab remained perfectly vertical. She simply twisted her body aside while keeping her right hand steady.

Tap.

The tip of her sword tapped his knee.

No injury. Just a mark on the fabric.

“That’s it for today!”

Oara declared, almost shouting.

“Huff… huff…”

Enkrid exhaled the breath he’d been holding in.

With a sharp snick, Oara sheathed her sword and stepped closer. She stared into Enkrid’s eyes, then playfully tapped his cheek with her fingers.

“Feel like you got caught by something too simple?”

Enkrid realized she had only shown him two techniques.

One—an illusionary slash to the stomach.

Just a feint.

Two—a vertical stab aimed at the knee.

It was the second strike that decided the outcome.

He’d sensed many things, but one realization stood above the rest:

“The difference in experience is huge.”

Oara was seasoned.

She wasn’t someone who had just recently become a knight. She had lived as one for years. That polish showed.

“How old are you?” Enkrid asked, using the local custom from Thousand Brick. He adapted quickly.

It was a half-joking question.

Oara’s smile lingered in her eyes but froze on her lips.

“You’re lucky you’re handsome. Didn’t anyone teach you that asking a lady’s age gets your head caved in?”

Enkrid stayed silent, and Oara passed by with a chuckle.

“Man, I’m hungry.”

She ambled off, and Lua Gharne approached.

“Your mobility’s shot after a knee strike like that. You would’ve lost even if she hadn’t followed through.”

“I know.”

“Two simple moves, but they hold fundamental truth.”

Lua Gharne paused, letting him think. Enkrid pondered it alone, then answered:

“If someone is faster and stronger, you can’t block them.”

That’s what knights were.

More than that, it showed they had the confidence to win with the simplest of movements.

Simplicity, not flair—and just because it looked plain didn’t make it any less lethal.

Just because it’s a soft touch doesn’t mean the blade turns into fluff. He’d already learned that.

If you can win with efficient swordsmanship, then that’s what you should do.

“Correct,” Lua Gharne said with a nod.

He hadn’t been disheartened by the loss. He wasn’t exactly satisfied either.

After a quick rinse and a meal, Enkrid went to find the tavern owner.

“No bugs, huh.”

Lua Gharne grumbled about the food halfway through. It made sense—nothing on the menu suited a Frokk’s tastes.

Enkrid gave the tavern owner a look, and the man walked over.

The tavern was quiet. The alcohol ban was the reason.

“You know where those cult or heretic types are hiding?”

“Before that, can you ask Lady Oara to lift the damn alcohol ban? I'm starving to death here.”

Most things in the city operated on contribution points, but some still required krona.

Merchants, alcohol, brothels—those all took real coin.

The tavern owner vented, and Enkrid ordered something special.

“One plate of roasted larvae, please.”

“…Where the hell am I supposed to—right, that’s my job.”

Clink.

Mid-sentence, a pouch landed on the counter and split open slightly, revealing glints of silver. The tavern owner had quick hands.

“Tomorrow at lunch is fine.”

A dozen silver coins sparkled on the bar. The tavern owner pocketed the krona and shared what he knew.

Nothing of real value.

Aisia had said as much—maybe a general area—but they were nomadic. Always on the move.

And why would they wander if there was nothing to eat around here? The answer was simple.

They were trying to gather followers. Deserters. People struggling to survive in the Demon Realm.

They'd approach those whose spirits had weakened and slip their beliefs in through the cracks.

And if the cult grew large enough? They’d run far away and live like kings.

But it didn’t matter why they were here.

What mattered was that they needed to be dealt with.

Enkrid had spent the whole day moving around the city, and he hadn’t gained much.

“You’ll probably have to find them on foot,” was the most useful line he’d heard—and it came from Millio.

He’d watched Enkrid and Oara’s sparring match.

“Let’s spar sometime,” he had asked eagerly.

He was a spirited one. Enkrid ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) agreed.

Millio used a heavy hammer—a weapon good for crushing enemies in one blow, but too slow for follow-up if the strike missed or got blocked.

“How about this grip? And twist like this?”

“Ahhh! That hurts!”

Enkrid taught him a few footwork tricks and joint locks to use between strikes. It wasn’t even formal Balrafian martial arts.

It was just enough to help him exploit the opening after a missed swing.

Time passed, and Rem finally woke up.

Late in the afternoon, they opened their eyes and said:

“You looking for those cult guys? I saw 'em. About a day’s travel from here.”

It was a lead—one they hadn’t expected. Rem had spotted them while out looking for whetstones.

“…You saw them?”

“They were all gathered, doing something. Thought it was a bandit gang at first, but the way they talked, it sounded like cult stuff.”

“You know exactly where?”

“Do I look like some dumb knife-for-hire who can’t read a map or find her way back?”

Rem glared at him. She looked about ready to draw her axe.

Watching that, Enkrid wondered: was there any reason to delay?

This was his job.

He came here to capture deserters and deal with colonies.

A deserter turned cult leader.

Even if they were making a name for themselves, they wouldn’t be on par with a heretic bishop.

At best, their power would be equivalent to a squire.

With a small elite team—himself, Rem, Dunbakel, Lua Gharne—it was more than enough.

They used strange spells, but they didn’t feel like a real threat.

Just a hassle.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

With this much force, it was practically overkill.

Enkrid had a clear grasp of his own current strength.

And if it really got dangerous, they could always retreat.

It wasn’t a defensive mission. It was closer to a raid. If they waited too long, the cult would slip away and become a pain to track.

So, he asked:

“Should we go now?”

A question with a decided answer behind it.

The sun was beginning to set. There’s a saying: the sun favors men, the dark favors monsters.

Nighttime was when monsters with sharp night vision thrived, especially those who hated light.

That time was now.

But no one in their group cared about that.

“Just the four of us?” Dunbakel asked.

“You know anyone else here?”

Enkrid replied with a question of his own. Meaning: there was no one else to bring. Should they drag some random soldiers along?

They’d only get in the way.

So they headed out of the city. A soldier guarding the gate tilted his head.

“You’re leaving now?”

“Is that a problem?”

He was facing the Demon Slayer—the hero of the civil war. The soldier quickly shook his head.

He assumed they were just going for a walk.

That barbarian Rem had wandered out like that the day before too.

So the soldier gave them a password for reentry.

“No, it’s fine. Just shout, ‘Red’s the best color for a cape!’ when you get back.”

They couldn’t just let people in during the night without a signal.

He passed the message to the next shift, who nodded and did the same after their turn ended.

“They’re taking a while, huh?”

“Anything gonna happen? Doubt it.”

To a regular soldier, a knight-at-arms was like a legend walking.

They weren’t the sort to get into trouble just because they ran into a few monsters on the road.

And they had a Frokk and a beastkin with them too.

Dawn broke.

The morning guard, backlit by the pale light of early morning, saw them returning.

It was Enkrid’s group.

“Open the gate.”

Their armor was stained in blood—some black, some red.

“Did you run into monsters?”

“Something like that.”

Enkrid replied and stepped inside the walls.

***

When they had first set out, Enkrid thought: once we find them, it’s over.

Finding them was the hard part. Dealing with them would be easy.

“Which direction?”

“This way.”

Rem led the group. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, cloaking the surroundings in darkness, but for this crew, the faint moonlight was more than enough.

“Wanna learn how to track people?” Rem asked suddenly.

“Now?” Enkrid replied.

It wasn’t a refusal—just surprise.

Rem figured tracking the cult wouldn’t be hard.

There was a reason.

Rem glanced at the beastkin. Dunbakel’s golden eyes gleamed in the dark.

She’d always thought those eyes were something else.

That beastkin’s sense of smell was extraordinary—far beyond even others of her kind. Rem knew that.

Dunbakel sensed the glance and lifted her hand over her curved blade.

“You rabid mutt. Sniff. We’re not sparring.”

“This your method?”

Enkrid cut in.

“Why take the hard road when we’ve got an easy one? We’ve got a beastkin who can track damn near anything—everything except her own stink.”

No lies there. Even Dunbakel agreed.

She flared her nostrils, then pointed.

“Scent’s coming from that way.”

The group moved—and spotted them. Sure enough, a pack of people had set up portable tents.

“Who’s there?”

One guy, picking his nose near the front, asked.

Enkrid didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped forward and brought his sword upward.

The vertical slash carved a red line from the man’s chin to his forehead.

Splurt.

Blood sprayed. The corpse pitched forward.

“What the hell? Are they insane?!”

A wiry blond next to the first man shouted in panic, voice trembling.

Thunk.

A curved blade flew into his face.

Enkrid watched it without flinching.

“What? You holding back?” Dunbakel asked.

“No.”

Enkrid replied—and stabbed and slashed at everything in sight. He ignored the ones who ran.

“Servants of the demon have come!”

The so-called cult leader appeared. Looked like a petty thief who’d gotten good at barking orders.

Enkrid focused on him instinctively.

Not a mage.

But he was using something like magic.

As Enkrid closed the gap, the man thrust his hand forward. An invisible blade shot out.

Enkrid had seen similar tricks—from Shinar, and from Oara earlier that day.

Just because you couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. The ki was real.

Ting. Enkrid drew Gladius and twisted it—deflecting the invisible blade.

The cult leader’s hand tensed, as if gripping a real sword.

Interesting. It really was like he was holding a transparent blade.

Enkrid didn’t hesitate. He brought his sword down on the man’s shoulder with the same indifference as splitting firewood.

Crack!

“AAAGH!”

The shoulder split open and sprayed blood. The man rolled backward.

He was fast. Even though the strike had been aimed at his head, he’d managed to twist away.

“Please! Please don’t kill me!”

Gone was the fanatical tone from earlier. Now he was begging for his life.

“The cult’s supposed to be backing you, right?”

“I started that rumor!”

His eyes rolled wildly.

Rem, thoroughly unimpressed that Enkrid was even speaking to such trash, threw a hand axe mid-sentence.

Whump! Thud!

The axe embedded in the man’s forehead like an ornament. His body flopped backward.

Enkrid saw something fall from the man’s hand.

He stepped closer.

The torchlight caught on something faintly reflective.

“You can’t buy this even with dozens of gold coins. Do you know who Carmen is? That name doesn’t carry weight for nothing. If one of her blades hits the black market, people kill each other over it. A few years back, an entire assassin guild started a war over her third piece—the Katar from the Carmen Collection.”

Jaxon’s words came back to him. He’d explained what the Carmen Collection was—and the name of the final dagger.

Invisible Blade.

A gift, out of nowhere.

Enkrid claimed it and headed back to the city. On the way, a few monsters ambushed them.

A whole pack of wild dogs, seemingly evolved into beasts, attacked—but they were all cut down.

By the time dawn came again, it was time to return.

They went in, ate, bathed, slept a bit, and were back at the gate again before long.

“How do you find a colony? That’s easier. You just gotta look at the terrain.”

Rem said as they set out once more. The suffocating heat hadn’t let up. This region was hotter and more humid than most.

They already knew how much of a headache a harpy colony could be.

Enkrid and the group moved quickly.

Just like yesterday: rest during the day, head out in the evening.

“Heading out again?”

The same guard from before ended up on duty again by chance. He muttered complaints about pulling two shifts in a row—and then saw Enkrid’s group.

“Problem?” Enkrid asked.

“No, sir.”

The group left.

Rem had plenty of experience hunting monsters. Dunbakel’s nose was razor-sharp. Lua Gharne—she knew a bit of everything.

They weren’t trained by a formal order. They were seasoned by the wild.

That kind of background had its own strength.

And with Dunbakel’s nose enhanced by battle-hardened instincts, finding a harpy nest was child’s play.

“Smells awful.”

“Good place to hide and huddle up. Yep. It’s here.”

Dunbakel and Rem took turns confirming. Enkrid looked up at the towering cliff ahead.

The Demon Realm’s terrain was always unpredictable.

Was this a cliff? Or a natural tower?

The round stone formation was so tall Enkrid had to crane his neck to see the top.

Even with ten Rems stacked on top of each other, they wouldn’t reach the summit. That’s how tall it was.

He could see a few harpies perched up top.

They used spells, but weak ones—just gusts of wind, nothing serious.

“I’ll go first.”

Rem pulled out her sling.

Throwing spears wouldn’t work here, but she was a barbarian who could launch stones harder than most javelins.

Today was brighter than yesterday.

Two moons shone in the sky—one large, one small.

And then:

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

The sounds started.

They soon became roars that ripped the air apart.

Vvvvvvrrrrrrm!

Beneath the twin moons, Rem began spinning her sling.

And then a third moon rose above her head—

A full moon forged from sheer force and stone.