A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 403: Nothing Felt Right

Andrew paused, [N O V E L I G H T] hesitating.

Where exactly was he now?

Since he was with Enkrid, he had been accepted as part of their unit.

As a member of Baron Gardner’s forces, it felt awkward to lead troops.

Even if he counted his own soldiers, there were only five.

Andrew observed the battlefield.

Although not overwhelming, things seemed to be going according to his army’s strategy.

Andrew stopped in his tracks. It felt right to listen to the mage Esther's request now.

"Form up."

Thus, Esther, Andrew, and five other trainees formed a circle around her.

Esther sat at the center, ignoring the dirt floor. This was not the time to care about such things.

Her robe touched the ground, spreading out around her.

Then, Esther entered the magical realm and began searching for the work prepared by the opposing mage.

No, there was no need to search.

The mage had not hidden it, instead, he revealed it openly, exposing his power.

This grand display became pressure that weighed down on Esther’s shoulders.

However, she was no ordinary mage.

A witch who wielded the flames of the black world.

A witch who fought and carved out worlds through struggle.

A seeker, burning the truth in flames, learning from it.

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She spoke the words of a spell, raising her head.

Esther observed what the mage—Count Molsen—had prepared and unraveled it.

Not all mages were mad, but there was a saying that the greatest mages inevitably nurtured madness.

Esther agreed with that saying.

The mage she faced now proved that very point.

‘He mixed curses with spells.’

Between the flow of mana, the essence of spirits could also be felt. A force was sweeping the area, displaying the mage’s will.

It was darkness.

Count Molsen, in this dark space, sat in a chair that seemed even darker. He wore a cloak made of soot and gripped a pitch-black staff matching the color of his chair, glaring at her.

"Do you think you can stop me?"

The Count's will turned into words that reached her, filled with a mocking tone. He dared her to try.

Esther didn’t react to the mockery. Instead, she scrutinized everything.

‘A magic circle.’

The entire battlefield had turned into a magic circle. To create a magic circle, one needed materials.

"You're excellently mad."

As she realized, Esther spoke. The Count lifted his chin with his staff-hand and opened his mouth.

"Do you think things will change just because you know?"

The Count had used the horrors of war, the blood, and the bodies as materials for his magic circle, from which he had drawn a spell rooted in curses.

What would be the result of this?

With half-closed eyes, Esther tried to predict what would happen once the spell was completed.

Esther was a genius in her own world. Thus, this foresight was a talent she possessed.

The black darkness would soon swallow the entire battlefield. The world consumed by it would lose light and be submerged by a will as dark as the void.

This was the work of a madman, a disgusting attempt to merge his spell world with reality.

This part was especially repulsive. What did a spell world mean to a mage?

It was their most secret space, something that must never be shown to others. A forbidden space.

Count Molsen had ignored that taboo.

‘He’s connecting it and sending spirits.’

By blocking out the light with the magic circle and vomiting forth darkness, he was essentially pulling his own magic world into reality.

Esther saw the black mass behind the chair the Count was sitting in.

They were spirits. Spirits so many they filled the magic world.

What would happen if those spirits were released onto the battlefield?

Spirits could invade the human mind, and some would turn into puppets while others would swing their swords without distinguishing friend from foe. Some would lose all sense of self and die without realizing it.

Most would show signs of madness.

This was the inevitable future.

This was what the Count had been aiming for.

Victory in the war? That wasn’t his goal.

He only needed blood, death, and corpses.

He would use his spirits to dominate the battlefield.

If Crang knew, he would likely be furious about this act.

"Do you think you can stop me?"

The Count asked.

Esther could burn the enemies before her with her magic right now. But she couldn’t stop the ones fighting before her.

She had no idea how to stop them.

The best she could do now was to take only the ones she needed to protect and remove them from harm.

Should she do that?

It was a fleeting thought, but she realized Enkrid wouldn’t want that.

Then what should she do?

‘I will ask him.’

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

She would pass everything to Enkrid and ask him.

It was a choice that would have shocked those who knew Esther and her powers.

Esther altered part of her will into a physical form and sent it toward Enkrid, who was ahead on the battlefield.

This was something only possible because they had been close for more than a year.

Sending her will in this form required a relationship of that depth.

Fortunately, Esther’s will reached Enkrid.

"Ask him."

Esther replied, and the Count blinked in confusion.

What was she going to ask?

***

The giant, who wielded its body as a weapon.

That was Bennukt’s epithet.

Enkrid pulled his sword out of the giant’s skull, which had crashed to the ground, his knees bloodied.

With his right foot pressing down on the giant's shoulder, he pulled the sword free, and blood followed in a stream.

The giant’s will to fight was impressive and terrifying, but...

‘Compared to Audin...’

It was weak.

Bennukt struck Enkrid’s side once and twisted his ankle to try to throw him off.

Enkrid endured the blow to his side and let the strike slide off, redirecting his body’s momentum to make the move useless.

After that, he systematically delivered his strikes.

He repeated the cutting and thrusting with confidence, knowing the difference in their abilities was too great to rush.

He drove Bennukt into a corner, using his sword to press the advantage.

And then, he killed Bennukt.

Enkrid looked around.

He saw soldiers charging at him in a panic, having witnessed the giant's death.

They hesitated, then backed off, staring at him with wide eyes full of fear.

They weren’t alone—there were dozens of them.

‘Why?’

It was puzzling. Their eyes were filled with terror, their legs shaking. Enkrid hadn’t used any special ability to intimidate them. Yet, they were terrified.

It was clear now.

They were the sacrifices, sent by the Count to become the blood and corpses he needed.

To protect those behind him, Enkrid had to become a demon in front of the soldiers.

Enkrid knew this too.

Still.

‘I don’t like this.’

It bothered him deeply.

Enkrid struck out, knocking the spearhead aside with his palm, then ripped the spear from the soldier’s hands as he stumbled forward.

The soldier, no older than twenty, fell as soon as he lost the weapon, unable to brace himself and crashing to the ground.

"Ah!"

A scream rang out.

Enkrid swiftly sliced through the next soldier’s spear with his sword, then kicked the soldier's chin, sending him flying.

Bam.

Even with a light kick, the soldier’s chin lifted, his eyes spinning as he collapsed.

After taking down a dozen or so soldiers, the enemy ceased their attacks.

Eyes full of vigilance, eyes brimming with fear—those two emotions mixed, their pupils showing confusion and inner turmoil.

Enkrid didn’t like any of it.

The blood of the dying.

Their flesh and bones.

The flowing death that stained the earth.

It was an unpleasant feeling, born from instinct and solidified by intuition.

‘Why?’

This was the battlefield, and the battlefield had become a familiar place.

Those standing before him, guarding his back, knew too well that they would have to become demons to protect those behind them.

As Enkrid looked around cautiously, something akin to blue smoke touched the back of his neck.

It was Esther’s will, sent in physical form.

She had passed on the information she had gathered to Enkrid.

It was a strange experience. It felt as though Esther’s voice was whispering directly into his ear.

What she relayed was clear: Count Molsen’s plans were the source of this discomfort.

Although Esther didn’t fully understand the magic circle or the Count’s exact intentions, it was clear that everything the Count desired was nothing that should be allowed to proceed.

The battlefield was now his tool, and that, in itself, was something Enkrid could not stand.

Turning, he moved deeper into the enemy lines, parting the soldiers who made way for him.

It wasn’t much of a challenge. Even with the poison squad pushing daggers into his back, no one dared to attack.

He had just killed the giant. After watching the death of a beastlike creature covered in red blood, soldiers began to scatter.

Though he appeared like an ordinary swordsman, the power he displayed rendered him anything but ordinary.

The path ahead was now open.

From the opposite side, Rearvart stepped forward.

"Bennukt was no match."

"Didn’t you send him knowing that?"

"True."

"You should have stepped forward sooner."

Enkrid chastised Rearvart. It was like reprimanding a child. He was genuinely irritated.

It wasn’t a fitting response for the situation, so naturally, it was provocative.

Even now, Rearvart felt the sting of being a noble in such moments.

He was used to turning the tide with words, yet now those words fell flat.

"Your tongue is..."

"Enough. I won’t listen to your excuses."

Enkrid cut off Rearvart’s words.

"You really are a piece of shit."

Rearvart said nothing, his face serious. Enkrid drew his sword.

It was clear that he couldn’t move forward without crossing this line.

At that moment, Esther, still observing Enkrid's situation through her ethereal form, sensed his intentions.

He wasn’t about to retreat.

The will burning within him was like an ever-raging flame.

It was a will that, despite everything, would not be stopped.

Esther felt that will reach her.

She responded to it.

"Then we can’t lose."

Losing here and retreating would mean there was no hope of stopping the Count.

Enkrid raised his sword. Gripping it with both hands, he stared down at his opponent, preparing to divide him vertically with the blade.

His reflections on the previous battle had lasted all day.

He had fought, even while chewing meat, while sleeping, and upon waking—endlessly.

There had been no boredom.

In fact, he had enjoyed it.

This was an opponent he needed to surpass. That was why it was enjoyable. A chance to improve by facing him.

Instinctively, Enkrid knew.

‘I can win.’

How many times had he been so sure of victory?

Especially against an opponent as skilled as this.

He hadn’t fought with the thought of repeating today, but...

Enkrid thought there would be no repetition today.

"How enviable."

Rearvart spoke, holding his sword and shield.

He raised the shield, covering his mouth, and only his eyes were visible.

He was ready to fight.

The fight would unfold just as it had before.

Those who had witnessed their previous duel might have thought so.

But it wasn’t the same.

Thwack!

Suddenly, Enkrid sheathed his sword and dashed forward.

Rearvart, holding his shield, assumed a defensive stance in response to the unexpected move, pulling his shield closer to his body and hiding his sword-hand.

Enkrid extended his hands.

In a flash, he drew out a whistling dagger.

Screech!

Two beams of light shot towards Rearvart's eyes.

Clang!

Rearvart quickly raised his shield to block, covering his eyes.

‘Blocking my sight?’

Blocking his vision didn’t prevent Rearvart from reading Enkrid’s movements—semi-knights were always acutely sensitive to their surroundings.

Rearvart pivoted, and Enkrid swiftly sidestepped and threw his sword.

It was a technique known as a "throwing slash."

The gladius turned into a spinning disc and flew directly toward Rearvart’s back.

With a shield? That would be too late. Rearvart, relying on the strength of his armor, turned slightly, displaying his skill.

It was a technique that deflected an incoming strike using his torso.

It was a technique Enkrid had learned from Audin.

Bam!

The second strike was deflected.

Without hesitation, Enkrid leapt upward and delivered a vertical strike.

Thud!

This time, even though Rearvart blocked with his shield, Enkrid could feel the power transfer to his forearm.

It felt as though his body was sinking.

Something was off—Enkrid seemed stronger than before.

Enkrid had used his dagger throw to create an opening, then restricted Rearvart's movements with his gladius, continuing with a powerful swordspin.

And he didn’t stop there.

It was a non-breathing world.

Having gained the advantage once, he quickly pulled Rearvart into a position that favored him on the battlefield.

It worked.

Normally, Rearvart would have been able to endure a long fight, but after exchanging dozens of blows, focusing so much on defense, his rhythm was disrupted.

His stamina couldn’t compare to Enkrid's.

Enkrid was a force to be reckoned with.

In the gap that appeared, a spark of fire slipped through and tore into Rearvart’s abdomen.

A thrust aimed at the gap in his armor pierced his innards.

Rearvart immediately swung his shield to strike Enkrid.

Enkrid had already overreached with his thrust, so he couldn’t dodge.

Thud.

Enkrid staggered back two steps.

"Cough!"

Then, Rearvart vomited blood.

This was the turning point. Enkrid looked into Rearvart’s eyes.

Those eyes, now dead and glassy, resembled those of a dead fish.

"Ha, how enviable."

Rearvart muttered words he couldn’t quite understand.

Enkrid didn’t care. It was time to raise his sword again.

"How do you think one becomes a knight?"

Rearvart asked.