A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Chapter 778

Chapter 778

"People are destined to die anyway."

"Phew, that was good."

"Roman, take care of the city."

"Enkrid, thank you."

"Ah, that was fun."

These were the words Oara spoke just before her death—phrases that went beyond re mory and beca indelibly etched, impossible to forget.

No matter how many tis he relived today, certain mories never faded from his mind.

Wasn't there a saying that those who repeat the sa day are denied the blessing of forgetting?

At so point, the Ferryman had said as much.

If you wished to forget the most painful monts, you only had to linger in today.

Crackle, crackle.

Smoke from the burning campfire drifted up to the cave's ceiling.

There, it seeped into the stone and vanished.

The acrid sll tickled his nose.

Oara, who had once beheaded the fragnt of Beelrog.

Oara, who in his dreams had been taken captive by Beelrog.

Oara, who used her oath as a shield and laughter as a sword.

Knight Oara, who in the end defended the city, etched her na into it, and departed—now sat before Enkrid, beckoning him over.

"Hey, co over here. Let's have a chat."

Enkrid walked over, drawn by her familiar tone.

As he moved, his eyes quickly scanned behind Oara before eting hers once again.

Would she suddenly pull her sword and attack?

Would her eyes turn red and challenge him to a fight?

He had a feeling this wasn't going to happen.

Oara sat on a small rock, and there was another similar stone next to the campfire.

Enkrid took a seat on it.

Then Oara spoke.

"How have you been?"

"Very well."

"You look it. You're a knight now, right?"

"Yes."

"Guess that ans I should start calling you Sir Enkrid."

Oara smiled warmly as she said this.

She didn't look the least bit surprised to see him.

The red glow of the campfire lit up one pale side of Oara's face.

All Enkrid could see was her familiar, unchanging smile.

When Enkrid didn't answer, she spoke up again.

"How's Roman doing?"

"That fool nearly got himself eaten by a Parasitic Beast, charging off on his own to 'improve his skills.'"

"Roman did that?"

Oara burst out laughing and then said,

"Tell more."

The two of them chatted away.

It wasn't hot or cold, and though they were inside a cave, it was neither damp nor dry.

It was cozy, quiet, and peaceful.

It felt like those monts in the dead of winter when you co ho after struggling through a blizzard, wash up, and sit down to talk over a steaming hot chocolate drink.

"Idiots."

From ti to ti, Oara laughed or frowned in disapproval.

She acted like soone truly alive.

But she wasn't.

On the night they killed the Beelrog's fragnt, in his dream, she had been captured by the Beelrog.

"Soul Collector."

That was another na for the Beelrog.

Before he could ask what happened, Oara gave a gentle smile and said,

"That bastard was a tough one to beat."

What stood before him now was only a part of Oara.

Demonic Sword Tutor, this was sothing he had also experienced with Aker, the weapon left behind by the knight.

The only difference was that Oara, unlike Aker, ended up trapped here because she was killed by the Beelrog.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you could set free. I tried to do it myself, but I failed."

The cozy, quiet, and peaceful air instantly vanished.

Oara's smiling face stayed the sa, but the mood had shifted.

"They're here."

Oara spoke and, with a small groan, got to her feet.

There was no real reason for a full-fledged knight to make a sound getting up; she was simply signaling Enkrid that she was standing.

"Be careful."

She spoke from the heart.

This place was like a vast clearing.

Unlike the tunnels they'd passed, the ceiling here was high and the walls stretched far into the distance.

By Enkrid's estimate, it could easily accommodate hundreds of people.

The ground was level, and there weren't any notable structures.

The only unusual feature was that, the higher up the walls went, the closer they drew together.

From a narrow opening in the ceiling, moonlight gradually stread down.

Tonight's moon was red.

It was a Red Moon Both moons turned completely red, casting their light over Oara's body.

She stepped beyond the reach of the campfire's glow, and as she did, the flas from the fire seed to trail after her, soon winding their way along her left arm.

Whoosh.

The stream of fire wrapped around her hand three tis before the rest hung down.

Laid on the ground, the fla-ford whip coiled in a tight spiral, like a fiery serpent ready to constrict and burn anything it touched.

The mont Enkrid saw Oara earlier, he had noticed her shadow.

In that shadow, two horns jutted from her head, and behind her, wings were folded close, large enough that if spread, they would easily envelop her entire body.

The Demon slowly shed the shell of the soul it had collected, revealing itself.

It had deliberately chosen to appear as Oara and waited.

At a glance, the shadow of the Beelrog now looked just like Oara's.

So, is the shadow Oara now?

Or are Beelrog and Oara mixed together?

No, it's just an illusion.

All intentional—a twisted sense of humor.

"Nice to et you," it said.

Enkrid also stood up and greeted it.

Oara's body grew larger and was gradually suffused with pitch blackness, muscles swelling and her fra expanding.

The form he had glimpsed in the shadow was now manifesting in reality.

Creak

The wandering monster, who had just sprouted two horns stretched out its neck as if feeling refreshed and let out a long breath—huu.

Following that breath, a short burst of fla flared up with a whoosh.

"So you can breathe fire too,"

Enkrid remarked, watching quietly.

Then, the owner of the fragnts looked down from above and spoke.

—You made such a racket calling , so here I am.

To be precise, it didn't use its vocal cords—it conveyed its aning with its will.

A thod of communication that didn't require language.

Nothing surprising.

The Ferryman did the sa.

"Well, when I call, you show up,"

Enkrid replied without a hint of hesitation.

The creature's entire skin was a dusky black, and in its pupils, instead of irises, red flas burned fiercely.

The swirling tail of fire spinning around was its eye.

—I am the Master of the Labyrinth, Beelrog. Mortal, did you summon in your quest for immortality?

"No."

—I thought as much.

Enkrid laughed.

After all, he'd just run into soone incredibly hard to find.

The monster, known by the epithet Demon of Strife, suddenly laughed as well.

It was a scene where a human and a monster faced each other and laughed.

If there had been an artist present, they wouldn't have been able to resist painting those two right then and there.

That's how striking the confrontation was.

Beelrog's smile caught Enkrid's eye.

The corners of its mouth twisted upwards, revealing white fangs.

Why are its teeth so white?

As Enkrid stared, Beelrog's mouth opened again.

—This will be fun.

Sensing the anticipation, joy, and thrill contained in that line, Enkrid felt a strange sense of loss and spoke up, following his feelings.

"That's my line, you bastard."

Beelrog was a great monster, so strong it was called the Demon of Strife.

It had even demonstrated the power to scatter the group throughout this place.

Enkrid didn't know exactly what had just happened, nor did he fully grasp the current situation, but he had a pretty good guess.

It was the power of a Demon.

Demons were not simple beings.

Their powers rendered them entities that others dared not even covet.

Beelrog's power was to turn its domain into a labyrinth.

So why did Enkrid use such casual language with an opponent like this?

There was hardly a reason at all.

He would do whatever it took to win.

Enkrid fought in his own way.

Demons must have emotions too, so if he could shake them, he would; his intent was to deliberately undermine Beelrog's dignity.

A regular knight wouldn't even dare to attempt such a thing, wouldn't even consider it.

The funny thing was, Beelrog was doing more or less the sa thing, trying sothing similar to Enkrid.

—Out of everyone who ca here, you're the only one left alive. The rest must have been in bad shape.

Without missing a beat, Enkrid replied,

"From what I encountered before arriving here, no one would die from the likes of what you can bring out."

He had made his way past three knights trapped in the labyrinth.

They were excellent training partners.

—You think that's all there is to it?

There was a threatening energy in Beelrog's voice.

Let your guard down for even a mont, and it felt as though your lungs and heart would shrink in terror.

This must be the source of true intimidation.

And the aning behind his words was clearly ant to shake Enkrid's resolve.

The Unknown is fear itself—a source of terror.

Beelrog was trying to sow unease in Enkrid's heart.

But the madman dood to repeat today used that tactic against him in return.

"Oh."

He pretended to be caught off guard, feigning an opening.

Beelrog recognized that fact instantly.

What lies behind the moniker 'Demon of Strife'?

It was more than simply enjoying battle—the title was earned because he poured everything into every fight.

—…You bastard.

Even Beelrog's speech grew coarse, sounding more like a rcenary at a tavern than the renown he was known for.

That in itself surprised him a little.

A human who didn't cower before such overwhelming presence and still had the nerve to speak his mind—such a person was rare indeed, even if Beelrog looked back on his long life.

"Didn't fall for it."

Enkrid murmured as if talking to himself. 'Feigned Opening,' an Enkrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship technique, had failed.

Beelrog stopped speaking, and Enkrid moved smoothly, shifting his footing as he grounded himself.

He pressed his weight down, ready to spring forward—the posture for a downward slash.

It was an attack developed from Oara's continuous sword technique, a fitting first gift for Beelrog's arrogant face.

As Enkrid advanced, folding space itself with his blade, Beelrog blocked the strike with his bare arm.

Clang!

A shockwave rippled out from the two of them at the center. Whoosh.

Beelrog's flaming whip flared up furiously, almost as if it had a mind of its own.

—Say hello. This is Salamandra.

Beelrog raised his forearm to his forehead as he spoke.

His eyes t Enkrid's—ones blue, ones red.

His fiery eyeball blazed fiercely.

At the sa ti, his whip, no different from a living fire serpent, lashed out without warning.

The coiling flas tried to seize Enkrid's ankle, but he instinctively stepped back and pulled his sword against Beelrog's forearm with all his strength.

Dawnforged responded to its master's call, further sharpening its edge.

This was an Engraved Weapon infused with Will.

Its cutting power, if only for an instant, surpassed even Penna, the treasure of the fairies.

Thud-thud-thud.

Yet, even so, the blade failed to achieve its purpose.

Not even a scratch, let alone a mark, was left on Beelrog's ever-smiling forearm.

'What in the world are his arms made of?'

anwhile, the whip of fla—seemingly self-aware—moved on its own, at will.

'His arm muscles didn't even move.'

In fact, there weren't any signs of movent in any of his muscles—not just his arms, but his entire body.

The whip had attacked entirely on its own, without any warning or indication of intent.

That fiery whip slithered across the ground with a sizzling sound, then raised its head.

Looking at it, one could easily believe it was a living serpent-beast moving independently.

—This one is Surtr.

Beelrog then introduced the sword in his right hand, which blazed with a fiery light.

Unusually, the flas burned black rather than the typical color.

The blade itself was at least three tis larger than Ragna's Sunrise.

Beelrog's body was only slightly bigger than Audin's, so for him to wield this weapon, it was a truly massive greatsword—both long and thick.

When he spread out his two wings, his figure looked three or even four tis larger.

At that mont, Beelrog radiated an aura that seed to crush and overwhelm every living creature present.

It was the embodint of pure intimidation.

It felt as if my entire body was bound tightly in red-hot, burning chains, and as if a boulder larger than a house was about to crash down on my head.

I'm going to lose.

I will lose.

There's no way to win.

Surpassing a being like that is impossible.

Such things are not granted to humans.

Then would it be possible if I were a giant?

Would it be different if I were a dragonkin?

As these thoughts flickered through my mind, Will moved on its own within and rejected them.

It tore apart and cast away the intimidation Beelrog exuded.

The chains snapped, and the boulder that had weighed down my Imaginary Realm vanished.

Enkrid managed to overco the oppressive force emitted by his opponent, but in doing so, realized a large rift had opened within him.

And Beelrog did not follow up with an attack through that opening.

—You adapt quickly. Good.

He actually seed pleased.

He never intended to strike in the first place.

Is this so kind of trial?

Was he just testing my abilities?

Or just showing off his composure?

It didn't really matter.

Enkrid wasn't shaken.

No matter what the opponent did, he never forgot what he himself needed to do.

Cut.

He poured his heart and Will into it.

In that mont, he briefly understood the trick Ragna had pulled earlier.

The Transformation of Will.

It's about imbuing Will's original properties with sothing else.

How?

By infusing my own intent into it.

I had watched what Ragna did and practiced countless tis, squeezing in every spare mont to ponder, struggle, and, along the way, gained the experience from fighting three knights to get here.

All of it ca together and lingered on the blade.

The dawn-blue sheen of Dawnforged grew thinner and sharper along the edge.

Just as swinging with all my heart would naturally imbue it with powerful cutting force, if I pushed that to its limit, it would beco a blade manifested from Will itself.

It felt both like an extension of what I'd learned before, and as if I was discovering sothing completely new.

Regardless of how I got here, what mattered was that now Enkrid's blade was lined with a sky-blue edge.

Thunk.

Whether or not that sky-blue light shone on Enkrid's sword, Beelrog sprang into the air from where he stood.

As he leapt, he suddenly vanished.

He reappeared behind Enkrid.

Enkrid's blue eyes traced two lines through the air, each line arcing around his body to form a semicircle.

Enkrid spun around and swung his sword.

The blade, sharp enough to slice through steel as if it were tofu, t with Surtr Sword and was blocked.

Thunk.

There was hardly any noise.

Instead, the black flas simply flared up, a bit larger than before.

Whoosh.

It was as if Beelrog was saying that sothing on the level of the Dawnforged was nothing to worry about, that he could handle this much with ease.

Through the flas, Balrog's fist ca flying.

Enkrid tucked in his knees and elbows, grabbing Balrog's wrist in an attempt to snap it mid-movent, but Balrog's punch accelerated, shifting speed and rhythm.

Bang!

He took the hit squarely.

Even though he had sequentially used the Sword of Chance, calculations, optimized thinking, and the Wave-breaker Sword, he was still overwheld.

Enkrid's body was lifted off the ground and sent flying, slamming into the cave wall.

Beelrog imdiately opened the fist he'd punched with, grabbed his whip's handle, and swung it at the wall.

The speed of the movent was nothing like when the whip moved on its own.

The head of the Fire Serpent swelled, transforming into a large bludgeon, and struck the wall faster than the speed of sound.

Bang—! Crash!

He struck the wall with the whip, but it exploded as if a boulder had smashed into it.

Amidst the chaos, Enkrid could be seen rolling out of the way.

Blood stread from his lips as he rolled, as if his internal organs had been injured.

'It's not working.'

No matter how sharp a sword may be, it will be blocked by a blade of the sa kind.

That's exactly what Beelrog had done.

A wandering-type demon, a living legend—he was capable of such things.

"That's all you've got?"

Beelrog spoke.

His sword, Surtr, was much like Enkrid's, its blade forged of fla.

Visibly, it looked like a sword made of blazing fire