A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“You pick stupid things to do.”

“In the end, you chose a path where you die alone.”

“Idiot.”

He saw the ferryman’s apparitions—one lamenting, one speaking flatly, one snickering.

‘What if this is the wrong path?’

It was the kind of question that made itself arise. What if, because of this choice, everyone standing behind him died?

What if he couldn’t stop anything?

Doubt and distrust weaken will. That was why Enkrid didn’t entertain the question. He ignored what anyone might ask, and he didn’t allow stray thoughts to slip into his choice.

He didn’t need a self-mocking attitude, so he simply swept it aside.

Just as Rem and Dunbakel looked at him and believed, Enkrid also believed in himself.

‘Stop it.’

He set his will. Night Walk hummed at his waist. Will swirled around his whole body, ready to change however he wanted at any time, ready to grant what he wished for.

‘Resolve.’

He layered on what he’d learned from Cypress, the guardian god of the southern front.

‘Not a single one gets through.’

He swore it and made a vow. He didn’t intend to expand Will like Cypress did. Instead, his head was clearer and cleaner than ever.

“Hoo.”

Blue frost mixed into his breath as it came out. It was Will’s influence. With that, the pressure that had been pressing down on the surroundings was pushed back.

To Rem, Dunbakel, and Juol, an illusion overlapped—something they couldn’t see, as if the Demon-lands’ outstretched hand had been shoved aside.

It was a strange sight. Like the Demon-lands itself and one human were facing off.

In that way, Rem and Dunbakel were people who followed instinct.

Rem stood to Enkrid’s right, and Dunbakel stood to his left and a step back.

“So you’re going to fight? It was definitely really ominous until a bit ago, but it seems a little better now.”

Dunbakel said.

“I saw an illusion. Something like a dragon was flying. Looks like it’ll keep pulling that kind of cheap trick, so brace yourselves. It was named Silence because it ruins people without a sound.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dunbakel cut him off. Rem was about to say more, then shook his head.

Silence—just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean there’s no response. It’s a name that contains the danger this Demon-lands has. Silence shakes the mind of whoever comes close.

Rem was going to explain the sorcerous meaning tangled up in the name Silence, then stopped.

If he’d experienced it, the two of them would’ve already experienced it too.

One experience was enough, more than a hundred words.

“It means the Demon-lands does dirty little things.”

Enkrid summed up what Rem meant.

Rem nodded like that was close enough, and recalled the illusion he’d seen a moment ago. Was it trying to lure him in?

Should he call it a fatal illusion? He’d almost fallen for it, but now he knew for sure.

“A nasty bastard. Seriously.”

It hid its intent and used every method to manipulate its opponent. It was like a Demon-lands made by combining Jaxon and Kraiss.

“It’s coming.”

Enkrid was going to tell them about the illusion he’d seen too, then shut his mouth. There was no need.

The gray rocks warped and changed shape. They were the ones from the illusion.

Beyond the fog, shadows drooped and monsters stuck their heads out one by one. There were many kinds. The one at the very front caught his eye.

‘A manticore.’

It was different from an ordinary manticore—its whole body was pitch-black, and instead of eyeballs there were thin tentacles coming out of its eye sockets—but the overall shape was similar. And plenty more monsters came crawling out, writhing.

“Hng.”

A thin groan slipped out of Dunbakel. It was the moment she saw the mind wraith with a gray hood for a head approaching.

Just like Rem had warned, the Demon-lands was pulling a trick. More precisely, the monster the Demon-lands spat out was approaching Dunbakel’s mind.

She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it.

Then should he do it like in the illusion?

Enkrid was the type who got more skilled the second time once he’d experienced something. He used a more efficient and certain method.

He suddenly raised his left arm, drew a half-circle, then struck Dunbakel’s forehead with his elbow.

The motion was quick, so discreet he didn’t even let his breathing leak. And Dunbakel was half out of her mind and couldn’t dodge in time.

Thump!

Thanks to that, it hit her squarely in the forehead. Light returned to Dunbakel’s eyes as her head snapped back.

“Ah!”

The scream came a little late. It was an outburst like she was protesting. You could’ve called it her asking why he was hitting her.

Whatever it was, Dunbakel snapped fully back to her senses. Then she looked at the wraith trying to dominate her mind again.

“One more?”

At Enkrid’s words, the domination broke. This bastard—if he said he’d do it, he’d do it. If she got bewitched by them, he’d beat the hell out of her.

‘And that bastard Rem will add a few more from the side.’

A saying from the continent seeped into her.

They said a club was medicine for someone who’d lost their mind.

The medicine worked. Perfectly.

Hallucinations and illusions trying to dominate her mind, along with dark feelings—resentment, injustice—came creeping toward Dunbakel.

“Shaking?”

Enkrid asked again.

“Kraaa! I’m Dunbakel, the one who’ll become the Beastman King!”

It was a spell she used to shout whenever her self-esteem dropped back in the east. It was the first time she’d said it out loud since coming back.

“What the hell is a Beastman King now?”

Rem said, shaking his head side to side, and Enkrid nodded.

Talking about good liquor and all that with words hadn’t been something you did just once. He’d had to wake her mind up. That was how it had gone in the illusion.

This time, there was no need for that. She’d beaten it herself. He’d only shoved her back a tiny bit.

“If you need it, say so any time.”

Enkrid showed consideration, and Dunbakel answered without even breathing.

“I’ll handle it myself.”

Her forehead throbbed. But did it hurt enough to kill her? No. Getting hit was something you could endure with your body. What stung her pride was a different reason.

‘My mind wavered and I almost got played by trash like this?’

To Enkrid, she must look pathetic. Dunbakel hated that.

Grrr.

A beastly growl spilled from her mouth. She straightened her resolve again, showing her unshaken heart once more.

“Stink-breath, get a grip. Quit whining.”

Rem clicked his tongue as he looked at Dunbakel and said it.

In his eyes, he could see the black energy lodged in the monsters coming out ahead. Every one of them was a big clump. From the standpoint of sorcery power, even if they weren’t at the level of a general—

‘They’re about around the ones below that.’

The giant bandit pack they’d met on the way here wasn’t even something you could compare. But if you wanted to call this a crisis, sure.

“Rem.”

Enkrid called him. It felt like an answer had come back to the question he’d asked himself. That call made it sound like this wasn’t a crisis at all.

He drew a line on the ground with his sword. With a light slash, the ground scraped, drdrdrdrk.

It was only a line cut into the earth, but a wall appeared in front of the Demon-lands.

‘An intangible fortress wall.’

It was just one slash, yet it brought a fortress wall to mind.

“There’s too many.”

Juol said with a face gone pale. There really were a lot, just like the words said. An army was coming out of the Demon-lands.

The number was in the hundreds. Each one was the kind that would set off an alarm if it attacked a city.

A few gnolls with pitch-black skin lowered their bodies the moment they came out, then vanished into the fog.

‘The stage favors the enemy.’

And the numbers were overwhelming.

And you couldn’t even grasp the opponent.

So did that become a reason to retreat?

“Not a single one gets past this line.”

Enkrid said. Hearing it, Rem laughed.

‘That’s our captain, all right.’

Rem pulled out two slings and gripped them in his hands. The sorcery power lodged in his eyes dyed them gray.

“There’s too many.”

Juol said again, and Rem answered his captain.

“I’ll start.”

The reason Enkrid had called his name just now meant start first. Even without spelling it out, they understood. As Dunbakel lowered her stance and set her hand on her scimitar, Rem spun his slings.

Whoong— wiiiiiing!

Two discs rose overhead. For the ones facing them, it was the appearance of discs the reaper threw.

***

Juol started to wonder if the training as a warrior had been neglected too much.

‘It was neglected.’

That was an admission. Even if blood had been coughed up and bones shaved, the scene in front didn’t feel like something that could be understood.

None of them were human. Had some of the eight generals of the west from myth come here?

Rem made discs and threw them. Every time he did, part of the monster horde that kept wriggling out ahead burst.

Flames surged, flesh exploded, and the fog was pushed back.

Bwang—!

With the sound of air popping, pressured heat brushed Juol’s face.

‘Sky-dropper.’

The one who brought down a flying general with a single stone.

The story surfaced on its own. Rem’s slings smashed and shattered everything. In the hands of a small giant, the slings were faster and longer than the spear a general held. And the instant they hit, they burned and exploded.

‘Even if Sky-dropper came back alive.’

Could it be done like Rem was doing now?

Aside from the gray-glinting eyes that showed up now and then, Rem didn’t let a single bit of sorcery power spill.

‘Perfect control.’

He loaded strength into the sling shots and threw them. A westerner knew how. There was no loss of force. Without leaking anything, he handled sorcery perfectly.

Only a faint part of the flow could be sensed, and in truth there was nothing that could be seen clearly. In Juol’s eyes, only the results remained.

Black, thick blood splattered everywhere. Sometimes there were ones whose blood was even hard. Ones with scales sprouting on their bodies—when their whole bodies burst, crystals like black gemstones scattered in all directions.

“All we have to do is not let them cross this line.”

A beastman next to Juol muttered and stepped out. Juol couldn’t gauge her skill. Of course.

Dunbakel was a knight too. And among them, a knight whose rank had risen under Enkrid’s influence.

Her nose caught everything. Some of what poured out of the Demon-lands hid in the fog, but she separated out the rot stench and caught their scent.

It was a process that couldn’t be understood even while watching. To Juol, it was only that the beastman suddenly kicked off the ground and vanished, then a dull thud sounded up ahead and black masses toppled in a rush.

They were monsters that resembled gnolls and had a knack for blending into the fog, but before they could even get close and attempt an ambush or anything, Dunbakel cut and killed all of them.

After killing them like that, she returned to the front of the line and scanned the surroundings again.

“Uh, you’re fine, but stay farther back. Don’t step on that.”

Only then did Juol look down at the foot that had, without noticing, stepped on the line Enkrid had drawn, and flinch, backing away three or four steps.

Watching made it feel like the body was being sucked forward, feet moving on their own.

Only after the beastman—back already, as if killing a dozen monsters was nothing—said so did Juol realize.

Juol kept the gaze forward. There was still more to be shocked by. Rem and that beastman were shocking, but—

‘Savior.’

No. Didn’t they call him the monster slaughterer?

The west had far more interest in Enkrid than Juol had thought.

He was the benefactor who had saved the west from a crisis that came to it.

Naturally, people listened for what he had done, where he had passed, and where he had formed ties.

And the nickname that spread as a result was monster slaughterer.

He proved the alias attached to him. Before anyone noticed, he was gone, then he bored into the middle of five black, mass-type monsters shaped like manticores.

Juol didn’t know it, but Enkrid had only taken the most rational and fastest path. He judged it advantageous to go into the middle of the monsters.

Pung, tung, pung, tung.

The same sound repeated, like keeping rhythm.

Juol saw four manticores’ heads floating in the air. At the same time, monsters pouring in from all sides burst, fell, and were crushed.

A calamity humans couldn’t bear had incarnated. A storm swept in from all directions.

‘Ah.’

All that could be done was marvel. Hands trembled. A thrill climbed up, body hair standing on end. A chill ran down the spine.

Nothing could be seen properly, but the longer it was watched, the more a strange order appeared.

When Rem used the line as a reference point and jumped sideways, throwing slings to blow up and kill the monster horde, the beastman vanished and reappeared, removing variables.

Lastly, Enkrid—the monster slaughterer—split through the center of the hundreds.

He split through, surged forward, then came back again. From where Juol stood, it was a repeated sprint out and return.

With that alone, the monsters burst like rotten pumpkins and fell like brittle, dried leaves.

‘Monsters like that...’

If that horde had been met in a western city, what would have happened?

“Everyone, combat readiness right now—everyone who can fight, get out here, and everyone else, fall back!”

Owl would have shouted like that on the spot.

That crisis and threat—here, it was a fight where hands and feet were matched and bodies were loosened up. Of course, whether it was really loosening up or the absolute limit couldn’t be known.

Still—

“Hey, you’re leaking, stink-breath. If you miss one, I’ll split in half the skull you got hit by our captain earlier.”

Rem shouted that now and then.

“Worry about yourself.”

Dunbakel shot back like it was nothing.

Just hearing that back-and-forth, ease seeped in by itself.

Then, from deeper inside the Demon-lands, a heavy fist flew in. The body attached to it was twice as big as a decent giant.

The fist struck Enkrid, who was at the front. His body was shoved back with a whoosh. His cloak fluttered with a flrrrk.

He retreated, floated briefly in the air, then landed softly on the ground. The motion was so natural it looked less like someone who’d been hit, and more like someone matching hands and feet with an opponent and showing off a stunt of floating.

The one that threw the punch was a monster whose head required tilting up to see. It resembled an ogre, but tentacles wriggling out of its eye sockets made it a strangely different shape. The writhing was disgusting to look at.

‘Huh?’

As much as the earlier thrill had been, confusion rose.

How do you deal with that?

The answer appeared immediately. Enkrid dashed forward twice as fast as the shove back, blocked the punch, and surged in. A green line flashed, kicked up along the instep, spat out blue light near the neck, and came down.

Thud.

The sound came late. The huge ogre, head cut off, tilted and fell with a boom.

A thick, sticky liquid seeped out of the headless corpse, spreading very slowly because of its viscosity.

Enkrid stepped aside to avoid that thick black lump of blood.

Before anyone knew it, the number of monsters had dropped to less than a quarter.

For Juol, it was something hard to understand, but for Enkrid, Rem, and Dunbakel, it was only natural.