A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

”He’s ten times more interesting than that Hawkclaw brat.”

Rem muttered under his breath.

Hawkclaw was Rem’s nickname of the one who fired arrows on the battlefield with Aspen.

It was a name that stuck in a corner of Enkrid’s own memory as well.

Back then, those arrows felt as deadly as the Reaper’s own.

But there was no point in comparing that time to the present.

So much had changed since then.

’We can handle this.’

That was Enkrid’s assessment.

None of them would die from getting hit by those arrows here.

The most likely to take a hit was Luagarne, but even if she did, it wouldn’t matter.

She was a Frog.

That race could shrug off most wounds with ease.

The regeneration abilities of a well-trained Frog were said to rival those of a Troll.

”Hmph.”

Rem let out a chilling laugh.

A dangerous smile flickered on his face as well.

From the twisted corners of his mouth and his eyes, a murderous intent seeped out It almost seemed like he wanted to hunt down and kill every archer he saw.

Anyway, when Rem said ”ten times more interesting,” it was just as fair to understand that as ”ten times more dangerous.”

Enkrid gazed at the barrier of trees and thought.

’How far away could they be?’

He could hear sounds, but it was hard to judge distance.

Still, they probably weren’t too far off.

The arrows were reaching them—so it was close enough for shooting, and there was likely a good vantage point as well.

A place where both conditions were met.

If so, wouldn’t they be shooting from a relatively higher position?

His Luagarne-style Tactical Sword—or now, what had become Enkrid’s own traditional sword technique—naturally led him into tactical thinking.

’It’s impossible to predict everything perfectly.’

It was difficult to figure out the enemy’s situation or intentions.

But that didn’t matter much.

This was the Demonic Domain, after all—there was no reason to be surprised if things turned out completely different from his expectations.

”When your mind keeps revisiting the worst possible moments, you end up struggling desperately to stop them from happening.”

This had been Krais’ answer when, at some point, he’d been asked by Abnaier to explain his thought process.

Their exchange had happened right in front of Enkrid.

He always found those conversations between the two of them surprisingly interesting, especially because it made the differences in how they thought so clear.

Enkrid accepted what Krais had said in his own way.

’What’s needed here is acceptance.’

Let your vessel be wide, allow the branches of your thoughts to spread out, but accept whatever comes your way.

Whatever fills that broad vessel, make sure nothing spills over.

’It almost feels like the Sword of Chance is mixing in.’

It felt as though he was starting to deliberately accept everything within the tactical sphere as a possible intention.

Even though he had divided his swordsmanship into categories—Balanced, Swift—in the end, all of it was simply a way of wielding the sword.

And the one wielding that sword was none other than the person holding it.

So, did it really have to be divided into five parts?

Was division itself the only answer?

He began to wonder about that.

It wasn’t a question he could solve right now.

Still, the brief rumination set his heart racing.

It felt like some interesting new idea was about to take shape.

Whatever it turned out to be, now was the time to focus on the task at hand.

The Demonic Domain distorted human senses.

He was gradually getting used to it, but inside the Domain, everything from his sense of direction to the sharpness of his five senses had shifted compared to outside.

His sense of smell and taste seemed dulled, and the information coming in through his eyes spun in a disorienting, dizzying swirl.

The entire domain itself gave off the feeling of outright hostility.

And the enemy would certainly be aware of that, too.

’Are we the ones who need more time’

That’s probably true.

Given enough time, we’d adapt to this much.

And the enemy would have anticipated that as well.

The purpose of firing the arrows was to make us stop and keep us tethered to this spot.

But do they really think arrows alone could hold us here?

”Tsk!”

The sound cut through his brief thoughts.

Though his internal reflections felt long, in reality, it was only enough time to take a few breaths, so what happened next occurred immediately after Rem muttered.

Everyone, including Enkrid, turned their gaze in the same direction.

It was where Fel and Ropord were positioned.

Both of them, hidden behind a large tree, simultaneously noticed the tree roots wrapping around their legs.

Enkrid could see it too.

Roots shot up from the ground, scattering purple soil, writhing and twisting as they pleased.

They moved with an agility that was far too lively and animated to be considered ordinary tree roots, although stiffer than a serpent.

The roots squeezed Fel and Ropord’s ankles, trying to snap them; they constricted tighter and tighter.

At the same time, a branch stretched down from above both of their heads, creaking as it bent, aiming to choke their necks.

The thick, dark-brown branch twisted toward them at a surprisingly rapid speed.

Not as fast as an arrow, but much quicker than an average adult man could swing a fist.

And it looked tough, too.

The texture of the branch itself made it obvious.

The tree was alive, moving, and making a hostile move.

It was Fel who drew a sharp breath.

You couldn’t really blame them for getting caught by the roots and branches.

In the Demonic Domain, your senses were shaken, and no one would expect roots to silently creep up from underground to grab your ankles.

So they were caught—but so what?

That’s what Fel thought, and as he swallowed his breath, he swung his sword both up and down.

The blade drew a wide arc.

When he brought it downwards, it was loose but with his full weight behind it, and when it swept back up in a half-circle, it was fast and powerful.

His swing sliced through both root and branch at once.

Just like that, Fel cut through the roots and split the branch.

Crack, snap!

The two sounds overlapped.

Idol Slayer was an exceptional sword, and the man wielding it was a skilled swordsman.

No matter how tough the roots and branches were, they couldn’t withstand a knight’s sword swung in earnest.

As the branch and roots were cut, Fel broke free from their hold.

Ropord moved just as Fel did.

His weapon was outstanding as well.

It wasn’t an Engraved Weapon, but Ropord’s sword was finely sharpened too.

It was honed to a razor edge with True Silver, and its core was forged of Valerian Mountain Steel—a blade crafted by a Dwarf, with great skill and over three months of painstaking work.

That sword, too, traced a wide arc, slashing through roots and branches.

The difference from Fel was that Ropord’s swings carved a circle at a steady pace.

It wasn’t for lack of strength.

If Roman had been here, he would have been amazed just watching that swordwork.

He had only recently attained it, but Ropord too was a knight known as a Calamity.

Will, channeled through his disciplined muscles, gave him ferocious strength.

Crack!

Branches and roots were severed.

Black sap sprayed into the air.

Fel and Ropord withdrew to either side, scattering apart.

Almost as if it had been planned, two more bolts of black lightning shot toward them, targeting exactly the spots where they’d moved.

Bang!

Enkrid didn’t consciously decide to get in their way, but his body moved on its own.

Fel was closer, so he headed that way.

Just before he moved, several thoughts flashed through his mind at the same time.

’The enemy is watching this place.’

’If they are watching, they must know we came from outside.’

’They must also know we need time to adapt, since the air of the Demonic Domain is different.’

This was an extension of the thoughts he had just a moment ago.

His rapidly organized thoughts converged on a single conclusion.

The intent was to pin them down with both the arrows and the tree monsters—to trap them here forever, dying off one by one, fending off arrows until the end.

But who would just sit back and let that happen?

Crunch! Boom!

The moment Enkrid moved with real intent, the ground beneath his feet shattered, and his body surged forward, tearing through the oppressive air, as if he had teleported.

Then, Duskforged struck lightning.

It was a sky-colored light hammering black lightning.

Crash!

The explosion thundered.

This wasn’t deflecting or blocking; he simply smashed it.

The arrow that Enkrid struck slammed into the dirt, then ricocheted into the air several times.

Almost simultaneously, the second arrow—aimed at Ropord—was blocked by Audin.

A white light gathered in his hand, swelling into a large sphere, and with it, he batted the arrow away.

Boom!

The noise on this side was just as loud.

The light in Audin’s palm unraveled and tore apart like a ball of yarn, flickering several times before vanishing.

It was the price of withstanding the arrow’s force.

It almost looked like he was scattering holy lightning.

Whether the god of battle was here or not didn’t matter—this place certainly wasn’t any domain of the heavens.

”What a devious opponent, brother.”

Did that sound like a provocation?

Audin wore an expression rarely seen on him.

His lips were smiling, but for once, the usual smile in his eyes was gone, exposing those pale yellow irises.

Enkrid felt a tingling sensation in his palm and checked the edge of Duskforged.

If his hand was numb from the impact, had the blade taken damage too?

He ran his finger lightly down the blade, pondering the thought.

”Well, look at that.”

The blade reflected the dull sunlight filtering through, scattering a sky-colored glow.

It was exactly as it had been when he first received it from Aetri—not a single mark or change.

Was this really not enough to leave even a scratch?

The tingling, ringing blade almost seemed to answer him:

No matter the opponent, I will never break.

Enkrid was quite pleased with the response from his Engraved Weapon.

”It won’t break.”

Aetri had said the same thing once.

Maybe it wasn’t trust or faith behind those words—it was just a simple fact.

Aetri, as a blacksmith, had handled Will.

Someone who pours everything into their craft uses Will almost unconsciously.

And when handling Will, there’s nothing more important than believing in yourself.

The resolve never to lose, the determination never to give up—

All of that becomes the foundation of Will.

So it was only natural that a sword, forged by Aetri who poured his very life into it and inherited Enkrid’s Will, would possess this kind of confidence.

’A sword that will never break, no matter what.’

In the language of the Fairy Tribe, it’s called Infrates, if I recall correctly.

That was something the fairy blacksmith Lafrathio once told me, when we were talking about legendary divine weapons.

If you translate that to Eastern slang or the dialect of the Southern Region, it means ’unchanging.’

It goes beyond just ’unbreakable’; it’s the sense that it will always remain exactly as it is now, no matter what.

That’s why I like this sword so much.

No, I’m very fond of it—almost as much as the way it fits perfectly in my hand.

I don’t care about legendary divine treasures or anything like that.

The tree moved just like the Wood Guards I’d seen in the fairy village.

It used its upper branches like hands, jabbing and slamming down at us.

”So, do I look easy to you?”

Fel muttered, standing underneath it without moving, his paused step betraying no effort to dodge.

Honestly, he didn’t even need anyone to block those arrows for him.

So there were some openings?

I’ll admit that much, but it was never enough to kill me.

I could dodge, defend, and handle it on my own just fine.

’Am I a burden?’

I would never accept that.

It just meant I hadn’t trained enough.

My drive to improve and desire to compete flared up like wildfire, mixing with Will and surging through my entire body.

A brownish tree giant rose, using its roots like feet.

Dirt and stones scattered all around.

”That’s what I’m saying.”

Ropord’s reply came from the other side.

Even if he didn’t feel exactly the same as Fel, his state was nearly identical.

Their pride had taken a hit.

Did these damned trees really think we were easy prey?

Without hesitation, both drew their swords and began stabbing, slicing, and swinging.

The tree giant’s exterior was tough, but not tough enough to withstand a knight’s sword.

Thunk!

Crack, split.

With those ugly noises, the tree was severed, spraying black sap everywhere Enkrid watched the tree giant collapse, then turned to Shinar and asked,

”Is that one of Bran’s friends?”

It looked different on the outside, but its structure reminded him of the tree fairy Woodguard.

Were they relatives?

Or did monsters like this just exist here?

How many trees were in the area?

Too many to count.

The barrier itself began to writhe and shift.

Waves of wood surged toward them.

Roots wriggled through the dirt with a wet, ripping sound, crawling across the ground.

Above, sharp branches sliced through the air, coming in close as if to welcome their guests.

The problem was, this ”welcome” wasn’t anything like a reassuring pat on the shoulder—it was more like they’d jab something deep into your body to suck you dry.

A faint line appeared between Shinar’s brows.

She drew her blade.

Srrring.

It was as if the blade sliced right through the air of the Demonic Domain—likely because her Will was infused in it.

As Shinar let the drawn Leafblade hang at her side, she spoke.

”So this is why the air here felt so unsettling.”

She murmured, locking eyes with Enkrid.

”There’s something beyond that barrier that I recognize”

Enkrid didn’t ask further.

They’d see for themselves once they got there anyway.

Right now, they had to deal with the crowd of tree giants approaching ahead.

How?

Cut them down, stab them, bring them down.

That should do it.

Hadn’t Ropord and Fel just proven that moments ago?

These things died when sliced apart by a sword.

”Looks like each of us will have to handle about a dozen or so.”

That was Rem, who had roughly counted the number of tree monsters closing in.

”I’ll take down thirty. That’s my duty as the vice-captain, isn’t it.”

That was Ragna’s response.

There was nothing arrogant about his tone, but for some reason, his words rubbed people the wrong way.

Maybe it was just the effect of the word ”vice-captain.”

Ever since he had shown off Sunrise, he’d always been acting like this, hadn’t he?

Rem’s eyes darkened.

His killing intent was obvious.

”Do you really just carry your head around as an accessory? I knew there was something off about you when you started spouting nonsense like you had nothing left to live for. Do you even think before you speak? Who said you’re the only one who can take down thirty of these bastards? Try reading the context, will you? I was just saying that’s about how the numbers work out.”

”Fine. Regular member Rem.”

Grit.

Rem’s molars ground together.

”And I’m the vice-captain. ’Duty’? Do you even hear yourself? Does something like ’duty’ even suit you? Duty? Duuuuuuty?”

”You’re so annoying. I might as well cut you down first before we fight the monsters.”

”Go ahead, try it.”

They stared each other down in silence, not even a breeze seeming able to slip between them.

The air grew icy and the dust settled as if the space itself had frozen over.

The approaching wave of tree monsters hesitated for a moment.

Are those two really fighting each other and ignoring us?

If they could speak, wouldn’t they have asked that?

Of course, monsters don’t actually get confused—this was simply their overwhelming presence radiating a tangible pressure, making the monsters falter.