A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 484

Descent—it meant summoning a god to this land.

If one were to say something like that in the continent, especially in the Holy States, the inquisitors would immediately come running.

And they’d pull out your teeth so you could never chew meat again, or rip out your fingernails and toenails as they said,

“Admit you're a heretic.”

From the perspective of some fanatics, the West itself could be considered a gathering place for heresy.

If not for the Holy Ground of the Demon Realm religion, the continent and the West might still be at war.

As recorded in history, the continent and the West once waged war due to differing ideologies.

Religious conflict, linguistic conflict—people with different perspectives on life often tried to assert their will through war.

If those in power were like that, such things would happen all the more easily.

Of course, those rulers may have used religion as an excuse to start a war for their own gain,

But fortunately, this was not that era.

Even with the Holy Ground of the Demon Realm religion standing plainly in the open,

What fool would talk about punishing the West for heresy?

hey’d be called a madman before they got through the first sentence.

No one here would agree with that notion.

After so many long years, the West had finally come to be respected as its own culture.

“Heresy” and “barbarian” were just words used to demean.

Of course, Gennarae couldn’t care less what others called her—heretic or otherwise—

She simply served the god she believed in.

“Tear and rip and devour.”

It was a spell.

From the blackened wooden talisman in Gennarae’s hand, dark smoke rose.

The smoke didn’t scatter, but took form before her.

Its pointed ears were white, while the rest was pitch black.

Amid the dense black smoke, the white ears stood out.

“Go.”

Her lips parted—red within—and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Even before she finished speaking, the legless wolf made of smoke darted forward.

Its body undulated up and down, making it look like it was sprinting despite having no legs.

The two white ears drew twin streaks of white through the air.

Awooooo!

ith a howl that rattled the viscera, the smoky wolf shot through the warriors and bit into a giant’s thigh.

It was one of those trying to slip past Rem’s axe range.

No matter how powerful Rem was, he was still only one person. Without magic, there was no way he could block all the giants by strength alone.

It was exactly then, when a few giants began to slink backward, that the wolf appeared and tore into a thigh.

Its smoky fangs pierced the thick hide of the giant.

It was a bizarre sight—through the smoke, one could clearly see flesh being torn.

Crunch!

Purple blood sprayed through the smoke.

Grrrkh!

The giant let out a shriek and flailed. The smoke scattered for a moment, then reformed.

Crack.

The wolf Gennarae had summoned paid no mind to the giant’s wild swipes.

It bit once, then twice, then again and again without pause.

Flesh was torn away, blood sprayed. The wolf buried its head into the ragged meat. The giant’s scream grew even more horrific.

Waaahh!

Naturally—it would hurt even to be bitten by a normal wolf,

But the fangs of the wolf god were imbued with a curse of pain.

Being bitten was worse than having a needle jammed under one’s fingernail.

It was like gouging a festering wound open with your own fingers.

The last time the giants attacked, the spell had failed—perhaps a prank of the sky god.

Most likely the work of a seer’s tribe or some bastard mage from the continent.

But not now. There was no interference.

Of course, she had prepared for possible disruptions, but in this situation, even if Gennarae were the enemy commander, she’d let it be.

How exactly does one respond to this kind of chaos?

“Shit, bastard.”

“Hey, you—”

“You…”

She saw the enemy leader, swinging wildly at his face with a sword to fend off strikes.

His body kept phasing, letting attacks slip through, but how long could that last?

This outsider called Enkrid didn’t seem like he’d tire.

How could he swing a sword so calmly like that?

‘Was it really a mistake to suggest a sparring match with him?’

Even to the bravest Westerner, this felt unreal.

“Blergh.”

Meanwhile, Gennarae, lost in idle thoughts, couldn’t suppress the rising nausea and vomited blood.

It felt like someone was twisting her guts with a clenched fist.

She had overexerted herself summoning the wolf god, and her insides had twisted.

Before, she would have held it in to appear unbothered, but now there was no need.

“Don’t push it, eh. Just watch. Why’s the patient out here?”

Rem’s voice echoed from up ahead.

He saw her vomiting blood in the middle of all this?

The words were annoying, but oddly reassuring.

“Worry about yourself,”

Gennarae muttered as she wiped her mouth. Rem didn’t even pretend to listen. He probably hadn’t heard her at all.

Gennarae had stepped forward even while coughing blood. The tribe’s warriors raised their spears high.

“The ground shakes. The ground shakes. Oh Mother of the Earth, protect us, protect us.”

Two shamans began to chant while shaking bells.

It sounded like children’s toys.

To their allies, it was a soft, ignorable sound—

But not to the giants.

Grrrkk.

They shook their heads with vacant eyes. Some staggered.

It was a spell that concentrated sound waves into the skull.

Wolf god, bells—between them, brave Western warriors charged in.

Fighting like this, even giants could be dealt with.

Of course, the one showing the most overwhelming presence was Rem.

“Don’t die trying to play hero. Owl, take command.”

He said this while wildly swinging two axes, right in the middle of the giants.

“Dallae, Maru, Tamu, Altan—slings.

Rangge, Narae, Goot, Tan, Hoon—javelins.”

Incidentally, Owl was the commander of the Western warriors.

When Gennarae had collapsed, who had led the warrior ranks?

Owl.

She was one of the pillars holding the unsteady tribe together.

Everyone followed her orders and rearranged their formation.

Four drew slings in response to the call for projectiles.

Two moved forward, two moved back to create distance, while the other four warriors lifted black-tipped spears.

The spearheads, tightly bound to sturdy wooden shafts, were black—obsidian tips.

Durability was poor, but for a single deadly strike, there was no better weapon.

Everything was prepared to fight the giants.

The Westerners weren’t fools—they had prepared for battle.

Even without Rem, they would have fought. It would’ve been brutal, of course.

But now, that fight was one you could watch from a straw bed.

“Hyaah!”

A beastman rampaging nearby was no less impressive.

He weaved through the giants, his movements almost divine.

Stepping on ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) a giant’s thigh, he launched upward, grabbed its greasy hair, and smashed his elbow into its crown.

Crunch!

The sound of a skull caving in rang out.

The struck giant tried to stay upright, but the beastman followed with clawed fingers digging into its head, then leapt sideways.

Hrrrgh.

With a strange groan, the giant collapsed.

The blood and matter spilling from its crown made it clear it wouldn’t rise again.

***

The chieftain almost rubbed his eyes—but stopped himself.

If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up and lose it.

Of course, it wasn’t a dream. He knew. Very well.

He wasn’t so dull as to confuse dreams and reality.

It was just all so unreal.

On one side, an enemy kept phasing into smoke, fleeing sword swings.

The wielder of that sword was the outsider, Rem’s companion.

“All cults are my enemy. I’ll kill them all.”

Frokk mumbled over and over, cheeks puffed as if possessed by a god.

Just hearing him made you feel the murderous intent.

And there was the beastman fighting the giants.

Right. Those three were outsiders—so maybe that made sense.

Even the chieftain couldn’t judge their strength.

But one of them was different.

Rem—the supposed hero candidate who brought the outsiders.

The chieftain’s gaze stopped at one spot.

There, the prodigal returned, was splitting firewood.

“Axes.”

Each time one broke, he simply grabbed another and continued chopping.

Except what split under his axe wasn’t green wood or dry wood—it was giants.

The man-eating giants who had threatened the tribe were being chopped down like logs.

If that didn’t feel cathartic, then he’d be lying.

The chieftain had endured this whole time while practically pissing blood.

The pressure he’d been under could’ve dried a man out and killed him.

He couldn’t sleep, his chest always felt tight, and his heart would thump uncontrollably.

His anxiety had gotten so bad he’d lost his appetite.

He'd grown thin, and with each day his face looked more and more sunken. If not for the painted markings on his face, he would’ve looked like a full-blown patient.

That was the reality. It had been that hard.

Because the chieftain understood reality better than anyone.

“We’re doomed.”

The dark cloud looming over the West blocked out the sun and swallowed the sky.

He did everything—whatever was within his reach, and even what wasn’t.

Looking for the minor tribes? That came before even Rem.

No one responded, that’s all.

At one point, he’d even considered secretly currying favor with the seer tribe.

He almost begged them:

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Why are you doing this? If you want to become a great tribe, fine. I’ll make it happen. Do whatever you want, just come back. Stop this damn madness.

But they didn’t listen.

He even considered borrowing the power of the other continent beyond the frontier.

Of course, nothing went the way he wanted.

Nothing from the outer continent.

Not finding the minor tribes. Nothing. Not one thing went right.

The situation got worse by the day.

The curse descended. The head shaman collapsed. The leading warrior, Gennarae, fell ill.

“Fucking hell.”

The chieftain knew that fleeing was a valid answer. It was an option.

But how could he?

The West was their birthplace. The land they were to be buried in. The land they had to protect their whole lives.

Low clouds, high clouds, sun-blocking clouds, the Great Lake, the canyon that held back sand, the Mir Hills—

The chieftain loved it all.

f this was the end, then he would endure it.

Despair came suddenly and gnawed at him from the inside, and when all that remained was a husk waiting for death—

Then Rem returned. The curse was blocked. Two giants were slain. Each of those moments gave him hope, but not like this.

Now the chieftain felt peace.

Just now, as he watched Rem kick a giant’s ankle.

Rem was half the size of the giant. Normally, a kick like that wouldn’t even make a giant flinch.

With one kick from Rem, the giant lost its balance. There was a crunch as the bone snapped through the leather and it toppled sideways.

The edge of the axe met its neck.

Thunk!

With a satisfying sound, violet blood spurted out.

Rem, covered in blood, smiled as he spoke.

“Hey, there’s not even half of you left now.”

That was Rem. The prodigal returned.

He was different from the old Rem. He fought like this without any shamanic power. Even without a god-given weapon, he fought well. Astoundingly well.

The chieftain felt relief.

This fight—they’d won.

Tonight, he probably wouldn’t piss blood.

Back when that outsider Enkrid suddenly darted out, his heart had dropped into his stomach.

Now, it beat at its proper pace.

Peace, comfort—those gave him relief.

Up ahead, blood flew, bones broke, and screams rang out, but the chieftain was calm.

Gennarae had vomited blood, yes, but judging by her condition, she just needed a few days of rest.

The chieftain muttered:

“We won.”

Naturally, that was a premature judgment.

***

Lua Gharne, despite hating cultists, was not enjoying the end of her battle.

Can I kill all cultists?

No.

Can I uproot all cults?

No.

After her second lover died, Lua Gharne had drifted for a while.

Back then, she had no interest in anything besides killing cultists.

It would’ve made sense for her to pursue their deaths as her goal—but she didn’t.

Because it was a losing game.

She knew that if she made it her goal, it would never be fulfilled.

So she shifted the direction of her desire.

To the unknown. To learning and discovering. That felt fitting.

It was enjoyable, and it made sense.

From the outside, it might seem like Frokk’s desire came from instinct or some unknowable domain,

But what she truly felt was different.

“When there’s will, desire follows.”

That’s why the true Frokk carved their own desires.

They say what they want clearly and have clear reasons.

They don’t let themselves be dragged along by desire without purpose.

Ah.

Realization came in a flash.

A nightmare recalling her worst moment.

The blurry trace of cultists.

In the end, she would have to face the bastards who would be her lifelong enemies.

Being by Enkrid’s side wasn’t unpleasant.

Walking toward the unknown was enjoyable too.

One day, she wanted to set foot in the East. She would draw the map her late lover once dreamed of.

Lua Gharne watched Enkrid swinging his sword.

She had observed his daily life for quite some time now.

’ll explore the unknown.

And crush cultists too.

How?

Whether or not there’s an end, she would strike down every one she saw with all her might.

Even if the ending was tragic—enjoying the process was enough.

There was a man who smiled while swinging his sword.

A man who didn’t tire of swinging that sword.

A man who rose at the same time every day to hone his body.

Gruruk.

Aside from venting her rage, Lua Gharne smiled.

Of course, to the cultists, it was impossible to tell whether Frokk was smiling or snarling.

“Crazy frog bitch!”

“Crush her heart!”

“Tear her heart out!”

The barbaric, man-eating crowd kept shouting.

They were provoking her with the word “heart.”

Lua Gharne’s mind was firm. She let irritating words pass through one ear.

One of them stomped on the ground.

Magical energy flowed from his boots, and his body shifted to her flank.

It was a magic-infused item that granted high-speed movement.

She’d seen it before.

When was it...?

Right—when they were fighting the Nol colony.

She’d been with Enkrid then, too.

As the memory surfaced, a battle cry burst out of her.

Grrrurk, grrrrrurrrrk!

It was Frokk’s war cry.

At the same time, her Loop Sword arced upward to the right.

That was exactly where the man-eating mage had appeared.

Fwaang!

The powerful slash made the cannibal mage recoil in panic.

“Tch!”

Then a woman who appeared to be their leader gave a signal.

Enemy troops began to gather around her.

Meanwhile, a one-eyed fairy lunged to stall for time.

It wasn’t a particularly tough opponent, but not easy to finish in a flash.

If they wanted to buy time, it was a solid tactic.

“Come forth, arm of the warrior.”

One of the cannibals muttered and extended his hand.

A black droplet formed at his fingertip and fell.

The droplet widened into a black pool,

And from its depths, a black hand burst upward.

It was a cultist’s spell.