A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“How was that friend’s usual behavior?”

To get a good grasp on a person, it’s best to ask around in various places. Krais did just that.

He started with Deutsche Pullman.

“He was very friendly, like a tongue in the mouth, and meticulous. He wouldn’t start anything unless he was sure about it.”

He was considered a valuable asset before becoming part of the cult. He got along well with everyone, never making enemies, and his meticulousness was his greatest strength.

“He was sneaky. Both in his actions and the methods he used.”

This was the opinion of Luagarne.

‘Sneaky and cautious, not acting without certainty.’

Even when gambling or making bets, he wouldn’t step in unless he was sure.

“He was good at whatever he did, but, well, he tended to take a long time to prepare. The leader seemed to like that.”

“His position in the battle formation? At the very back? Yes, always at the very back.”

“Now that you mention it, that’s true.”

Krais compiled the opinions of his fellow vigilantes and formed an image in his mind.

In Krais’s mind, the guy seemed like a petty goat. He had a rough sense of his habits as well.

‘If we’re talking about personality, he’s like Jaxon.’

Jaxon could get things done, but he was meticulous and particular about various things.

They’re similar, though the other guy was dumber. Much dumber.

Krais crafted a script, one to draw out the sneaky and timid fellow.

Specifically, it was a scenario designed to make him let his guard down.

“How about coughing up some blood? You can use this.”

It was a pouch made from a pig’s bladder, filled with goat’s blood. It smelled bad, but you didn’t have to keep it in your mouth—just let it drip out.

“A little injury would be good. It’s Frog, so a bit of injury is fine, right?”

“Sure.”

Luagarne was intense. She came in with an arm completely severed.

“This would be more effective. But are you okay with losing an arm?”

“I’m right-handed.”

Was that an answer?

Maybe.

In any case, the opponent would see the severed arm and be sure of their victory, feeling relieved.

Even so, the morale of their own side didn’t waver, thanks to Encrid.

There was something shown that day amidst the monsters and beasts.

It was truly impressive, even Krais shouted out.

This plan took everything into account.

‘This should be enough.’

It would be good to steer the opponent’s thoughts in one direction. You could call it a learning process.

‘They don’t seem that smart.’

People have habits.

Hiding in the back is a habit, a routine. Could they abandon it just like that?

‘Not likely.’

Pinpointing the enemy’s location was quite easy for Krais.

He planted a preconceived notion in the enemy’s mind by keeping Esther close to Encrid.

Where the panther was, Encrid would be.

Thus, at dawn, before the enemy noticed, Encrid and Luagarne were sent out.

“Finn, put this on.”

After dressing Finn in extra clothes, Krais placed him and Esther atop the barrier in a spot that could be called a gallery.

As the swarm of monsters and beasts, anticipating victory, charged in, Krais could clearly see where the enemy was hiding.

A place where he could stay hidden while watching his enemies.

He’d probably be hiding behind monster hides.

Reading the enemy’s mind and using it to set traps was a simple and easy task.

At least for Krais, it was.

* * *

“Big Eyes is quite useful. It’s not just about the face.”

Luagarne remarked, and Encrid’s jaw moved slightly up and down in agreement.

As predicted, they found the guy disguised in a hyena hide at the spot Krais mentioned.

Encrid wiped off the charcoal makeup mixed with water.

He also brushed off the powdery stone dust sprinkled on his face.

The gray dust dispersed from his hand. It was thick and uncomfortable.

“You bastards, you’ve tricked me!”

Ah, such a stereotypical response.

Every time, Encrid wanted to say a particular phrase. It was on the tip of his tongue.

“The one who’s fooled is the idiot.”

The world had become so harsh and cunning that such stereotypical reactions had become rare.

It was like a textbook conversation, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time, and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

“You scoundrels!”

The cultist was enraged, his eyes turning red.

Several knolls nearby reacted to the cultist’s shout and rushed in.

Screech!

The cultist’s hypnosis and illusion spells disrupted the monsters’ minds. The knolls showed no fear.

If they had seen Encrid’s sword in action, they should have fled, but instead, they charged fearlessly.

However, Encrid didn’t need to step in.

Whoosh, bang! Bang! Crack!

Luagarne’s whip lashed out. The metal piece at the end crushed a knoll’s head.

One of them blocked with a thick wooden shield.

With a bang, part of the shield shattered, but the whip was blocked.

It was a mutated knoll. The creature behind the shield bared its fangs.

As several mutated knolls approached the cultist to shield him, Luagarne puffed up her cheeks.

“Do you think you’ll get away twice?”

“You Frog, don’t you value your heart? You didn’t realize I wasn’t prepared then?”

It had a very long tongue.

With that thought, Encrid’s hand moved.

Whoosh.

A beam of light flew.

It wasn’t a whistling dagger, so it was much slower, but it was thrown with the Heart of Great Strength. It was fast.

The dagger flew straight toward the cultist’s forehead.

Just before it reached its target.

Thud!

A mutated knoll extended its left arm and blocked the dagger. The blade embedded itself into the thick hide of the knoll.

Without any change in expression, the knoll pulled the dagger out with its other hand and tossed it aside.

Black blood flowed freely, and though it furrowed its brow for a moment, it merely glared at Encrid.

‘That reaction speed…’

Not bad. In fact, it was impressive.

The knoll’s yellow eyes locked onto Encrid, and Encrid stared back.

* * *

The cultist, though cautious, was not a fool.

He realized that continuously controlling the monsters was a waste of his magical power. There was an easier way: appointing a leader among the colony. ＲαΝổʙΕS̩

The previous leader had been a berserker wielding poisoned daggers, but this time, it was the largest of the mutated knolls.

With the addition of a spell, it seemed as if a dark aura emanated from the new leader’s shoulders.

“It’s a cultist’s trick.”

Luagarne said, implying they should be cautious.

Encrid drew his sword, gripping it with both hands and holding it upright as he faced the enemy.

He kept both the dark aura and the cultist in his line of sight.

‘How will this turn out?’

At some point, Encrid had started to gauge his opponents by comparing them to Rem.

‘Are they like Rem?’

Or perhaps,

‘Are they tougher than Rem?’

Or,

‘Is this better than facing Rem?’

In conclusion,

‘Not a chance.’

Comparing them to Rem seemed almost insulting to that brute.

So,

“Cover the rear.”

He said, then charged forward.

The cultist was confident. He trusted his summoning skills.

He believed in the leader knoll as it charged, thinking that no matter how skilled the opponent was, the unexpected element, the newly appointed leader, was a wildcard in his favor.

Thus, the opponent standing before him now was another variable.

An unforeseen asset.

Meanwhile, Frog was rushing toward him.

The cultist wanted to employ a strategy that guaranteed victory.

He assessed that the one with the drawn sword was far more dangerous than Frog, who had only one arm remaining.

‘Give me you flesh.’

Bones.

The cultist did just that.

A black, lump-like substance dropped from his right fingertips. It was darker and denser than a shadow, exuding an ominous aura.

“Warrior’s Arm.”

As the cultist murmured, the lump quickly took shape.

It was a bizarre form—thin legs, one thick arm, and a headless human shape. The thick right arm wielded a blunt, sword-like object.

Meanwhile, Luagarne swiftly approached, swinging her whip. It whistled through the air, aiming to crush the cultist’s head.

“Block it!”

The cultist shouted, his eyes bloodshot.

Thud!

A mutated knoll blocked the whip with its body.

Luagarne flicked her wrist, and the whip coiled and twisted, like a living snake, over the dead knoll’s body, aiming again for the cultist’s head.

As the cultist twisted his body, the whip wrapped around his left arm, snapping the bones.

“Damn frog!”

Instead of screaming, the cultist bit his tongue, a thick stream of blood trickling down his mouth.

As the blood was offered as a price, the cultist murmured, and the left arm, caught by the whip, fell off, melting into a dark liquid.

“You, Dog of Hualin!”

The cultist shouted.

The black liquid that had been his left arm transformed into a four-legged beast, larger than an average dog.

The cultist felt his insides twist from summoning multiple creatures in quick succession. His stomach churned, and his vision spun.

Additionally, the loss of his left arm caused blood to pour out.

‘Damn.’

He was on the verge of death.

Swallowing the blood pooling in his mouth, the cultist managed to regain his composure.

And then he grinned at the sight before him.

Frog was fighting the beast he had summoned.

On the other side, the half-witted junior Knight using strange techniques was almost within reach of the warrior’s arm.

‘I’ve won.’

The cultist was confident of his victory.

Luagarne, facing the summoned beast, wrapped the whip around her wrist.

Her whip grew stronger as it shortened.

The opponent was hiding their true strength. The summoned creatures were trickier than she had anticipated.

They were fast, had sharp fangs, and, despite having no eyes, could dodge attacks well.

This wasn’t an opponent to be easily taken down with a single strike.

The fact that the opponent could summon two creatures simultaneously indicated that this cultist was exceptional among his peers.

‘Just hold on.’

That would be enough. Frog drew her prepared weapon. When traveling alone, the most challenging foes were spirit-type monsters.

Ghosts and evil spirits.

The summoned creatures controlled by the cultist were similar in form.

They were entities physically manifested in this world through summoning.

There were many ways to deal with them, but she preferred a simple approach.

For instance,

“Burn.”

She seemed to be using a simple magical tool.

Whoosh.

Soon, blue flames ignited along her whip. Naturally, this was a kind of spell.

Something meant to effectively strike the summoned creature.

She didn’t know.

The cultist was using his life force to control the summoned creatures.

She just thought he was sending a hindrance toward Encrid and a troublesome creature toward her.

Meanwhile, the warrior’s arm, with its thin legs, dashed forward, closing in on Encrid.

It was right there.

Encrid had just parried a descending club with his sword, held in both hands, and slashed forward, cutting deep into the creature’s abdomen.

Rip!

Despite the deep cut, enough to expose its innards, the knoll seemed to ignore the pain, swinging its club wildly.

Encrid ducked and bent his knees, avoiding the attack.

The club whooshed past his head.

He then smoothly drew his sword back, cutting the tendons behind the creature’s knees.

Crossing his left and right legs, he moved behind the creature, slashing twice across its calf muscles.

Slash, slash!

That was enough.

With its calf muscles severed, the creature fell to its knees.

Twisting his body, Encrid executed a spinning slash with the sword.

Thud!

The knoll’s head was severed and flew through the air.

Gu-

It died without even being able to scream properly.

The movements hadn’t been seamless. Each action was adapted to the situation at hand, but he fought as if he was facing Rem.

Encrid found this easier than fighting multiple opponents. The battle was swift, and the difference in skill was clear.

As he severed the knoll’s calves, the dark figure and sword sent by the cultist approached.

By the time he decapitated the knoll, the summoned creature swung its shadowy, black sword.

This was the cultist’s last desperate move, a deadly final strike.

The warrior’s arm was a summoning spell designed to vanish after delivering a single fatal blow.

It was a spell used when one wanted to ensure the death of an opponent.

Seeing the thin-legged creature charge at him, Encrid raised his sword.

The black sword slashed down from above. It was incredibly fast, a sudden acceleration. There was no way to avoid it.

Encrid had envisioned blocking this attack after killing the knoll, so he raised his sword.

To block and deflect.

Just as the cultist had hoped.

The warrior’s arm would ignore physical defenses, delivering a fatal blow to the human spirit.

The cultist’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, even as he bled from his mouth and arm.

‘Die.’

Soon, Encrid’s sword met the blade swung by the warrior’s arm.

* * *

‘Hmph.’

Esther watched Encrid’s fight from atop the fortress wall.

The cultist’s spell was a crude trick. However, even such a crude attempt could be fatal to someone unprepared.

Knowing this, how could she just let the man go?

She tore off pieces of her old leather armor, adding her magic to it. This was a substitute, a gift.

‘This is a gift, man.’

Esther infused some of her magic into the man’s sword.

So that it would react if the opponent tried any spell-like trickery.

* * *

Encrid saw a faint blue glow emanating from his sword.

It was a brief moment in time.

The glowing blue sword shattered the black sword, slicing the black mass in half.

If it were a human, it would have been a clean cut below the chest.

He felt the sensation of cutting through it in his hands.

Was there some kind of flesh inside that form?

The sliced black mass exuded billowing black smoke before dissipating.

Seeing this, the cultist’s eyes widened as if they would tear apart.

“…What is that!”

Encrid was honest.

He was also a bit bewildered. Not overly so, but after a few moments of thought, Encrid opened his mouth.

“I don’t know either.”

This response made the cultist’s head heat up. To speak as if something significant was coming, only to say such nonsense!

As his emotions were rattled, the cultist’s vision began to spin. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

Having pushed himself beyond his limits, his heart seized up.

“Argh.”

Sometimes, death is anticlimactic.

The cultist clutched his chest, gasping for air before collapsing forward.

The sight of him hitting the ground face-first was far from dignified.

As he fell, the fog clouding the minds of the monsters and beasts around him lifted.

They had instincts too.

The moment they saw the humans who had killed their kind, they all scattered in different directions.

The colony had fallen apart.

Meanwhile, Encrid was carefully examining his sword.

‘Is this a magic sword?’

So, was that Border Guard blacksmith a magician?

It didn’t seem likely, it was an odd combination.

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