Eternally Regressing Knight

Before the words even finished, a sharp spearhead fell from above.

It was a vertical thrust. Rem kicked the ground. He quickly flung his body sideways, and the spear seemed to follow, as if it had eyes.

In mid-air, it abruptly changed direction.

‘Descending weapon?’

Before he could even wonder, Rem swung his axe.

With his right hand, he swiped at the spear shaft, and with his left, he turned his axe to block the spearhead with its broad side.

Thud, smash!

Half success, half failure.

He managed to block the spearhead, but in the process, a cracked rib shattered completely.

However, the spear shaft was broken, so it was at least partially successful.

‘Tricked me.’

It wasn’t a descending weapon. A descending weapon was an artifact of the West, something like a relic.

Of course, this was very different from the so-called “relics” spoken of on this continent.

A descending weapon couldn’t be shattered this easily.

He’d expected it to be a descending weapon and had intentionally struck it. He’d hoped that with this blow, he could sever the ‘connection.’

A descending weapon needed a connection to its owner to function.

“Not bad.”

The word “holding” was left unspoken.

Rem saw a Westerner appear before him.

“What are you?”

Rem asked, stunned. He could tell just from this one blow.

‘Strong?’

Strength, speed, techniques targeting the opponent—everything was excellent.

This wasn’t the level of some amateur mercenary.

“You’re asking that after stepping onto a battlefield where lives are at stake?”

The opponent replied, casually tapping his shoulder with his characteristic spear.

He was incredibly laid-back.

His appearance was unusual. A leather breastplate covering his chest, leather guards on his legs from shin to thigh, and similar protective gear from his palms to shoulders.

His entire body was covered in leather.

His hair was graying, and half his face was wrinkled while the other half looked as smooth and pale as a child.

It was an unnaturally mismatched face.

He let go of the spear, which he’d been tapping on his shoulder. Instead of falling to the ground, it stopped at knee height and hovered in the air.

‘What’s this nonsense?’

What was going on now?

‘Some kind of technique?’

It wasn’t magic or a spell. It felt like a kind of magic, but there was no sense of magic coming from the spear itself.

So it wasn’t a descending weapon, but it was still floating in mid-air by itself.

Rem, not wanting to show any weakness, subtly raised his left arm to protect his side.

The pain followed, but if he couldn’t bear this much, he would have already died long ago.

“Let’s go.”

“Where to? Home? Why? What are you giving me?”

Rem muttered as a habit, looking for an opening. Every time he tried to throw his axe, the opponent changed the position of his feet.

More than anything, the spear floating in mid-air was irksome. It seemed ready to fly at him any second, not moving more than a certain radius from the opponent’s body.

‘Where did this come from all of a sudden?’

Just moments ago, three wolf beasts had damaged his ribcage.

It had seemed like an easy victory, but it was a deadly battle.

The wolf bishop of the cult would be furious at the loss of the beasts he raised.

But the beasts weren’t the issue.

“I’m going to pull out your tongue.”

Woosh.

Before the words were even finished, the spear flew.

It wasn’t in front of his right knee anymore; it had been subtly redirected by his left hand behind his back.

He visualized the path of the spear in his mind. Rem swung his axe.

It was an axe swing that Enkrid often described as resembling a beam of light.

Bang!

A loud crash as one of the spears bounced away. Rem felt a slight tremor in his hand.

Immediately after, the spear that had been floating in the air also came flying.

Not a descending weapon, yet it’s being used this way?

For now, there was no time to figure it out. Rem kept swinging his axe.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The spearhead and axe clashed, creating red sparks in mid-air. The sparks flew and the heat started to build up.

He had completely forgotten about the cold as sweat began to pour down his body.

The warmth from the heating stone tucked in his shirt became bothersome.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

Even as this continued, the spear retreated and charged again.

Even after dozens of blows, the spear returned and attacked.

After blocking the spear about eighty times, Rem stomped with his left foot, smashing a stone buried in the ground.

Boom! The broken rock shards shot forward.

One of the thick stones blocked the space between them.

Wham!

The spear pierced through the rock and halted. For a brief moment, the spear’s movement was restricted, and Rem swung his right-hand axe to knock the remaining spearhead off course.

Finally, Rem threw the axe in his left hand.

The axe in his left hand reached the enemy’s head in an instant.

It seemed as though it would split the head open, but the axe stopped mid-air.

The axe blade and shaft trembled violently.

“I was wondering what you were using,” Rem muttered, finally catching on.

The enemy tilted his head slightly and replied, “Was it a half-baked one?”

With white hair and skin that didn’t match his age, Rem knew who this was.

In fact, he had realized it earlier.

“A madman chasing immortality, an ageless lunatic, right?”

“Knowing that won’t save you.”

The words came with a gentle smile, one that naturally carried an eerie quality. With an appearance like his, it made sense.

Rem recalled stories he had heard during his time with the tribe but quickly pushed them aside.

“You never fully learned, did you? That half-baked technique—how many ribs did that left one take out? Two? Three?”

The enemy asked.

Two of Rem’s ribs had broken due to the pressure from the earlier attack.

It was only thanks to the strength of his muscles that he was able to hold on—if things had gone wrong, the broken bones could have pierced his lungs or organs, sending him to an early grave.

In truth, he couldn’t argue with the enemy’s words about being half-baked.

It was true.

Rem had learned some techniques from the tribe, which he had then adapted and refined in his own way.

But he had abandoned other essential teachings, choosing not to pursue them.

So, he was indeed “half-baked.”

“You’re just a fool who never properly mastered the arts. No soul connection, nothing.”

Whoosh.

As the enemy spoke, he pulled a small metal ball from his pouch.

A blue beastly shape flickered over his left arm.

“Ah, a spell.”

It was a summoning spell.

The strength of a beast had likely fused with his natural power through his left arm.

The simple stone in his hand felt like an overwhelming threat.

Rem hesitated for a moment. Whether it was a summoning or a spell, his ribs were broken, and his left ankle was strained from blocking two spearheads. But he pushed the discomfort aside.

‘Is he planning to kill me?’

If it came down to a fight for life, he could face him head-on.

But did it really need to go that far?

Though he appeared to be a brute warrior who didn’t know how to retreat, Rem was, at his core, someone who lived life his own way.

So, he spoke up.

“Hey.”

The ageless lunatic, the one who had slaughtered an entire tribe in the West and stolen all their visions, responded.

“What?”

“See you again.”

“…What?”

Rem pulled out two marble-sized orbs wrapped in paper from his pouch.

Boom!

As soon as the enemy saw it, he threw his spear.

The thrown spear, however, was a mere distraction. The orbs Rem had taken out exploded.

Gray smoke quickly billowed up, clouding the vision.

Whoosh!

The spear pierced through the smoke but only hit a tree with a crash, leaving behind the sound of splintering wood.

“What’s this?”

The ageless lunatic listened intently. Despite the smoke, he was a skilled hunter.

A good hunter knew how to both chase and hide.

But retreating wasn’t something he would do easily.

The lunatic closed his eyes and then opened them again.

Soon, his eyes glowed blue.

It was magic.

The spell had activated, and the lunatic’s eyes pierced through the obstacles before him.

“Try running away.”

The lunatic moved. He was following the trail his eyes had found.

His steps were no slower than Rem’s.

***

“Is he off playing somewhere?”

The question was almost rhetorical. Enkrid’s comment was met with nods of agreement from the entire unit.

“He’ll come back when the time is right. Probably.”

Enkrid didn’t seem worried about Rem at all. It wasn’t because there wasn’t time for concern; it was just that this was Rem.

The mad barbarian who had earned the nickname “The Lunatic of the Unit.”

“He may have gone back to his homeland.”

Jaxen said something unnecessary. It sounded more like wishful thinking.

The two of them shared a close camaraderie.

Now that he was gone, they were concerned, but still joking about it.

“Right, there’s no need to worry.”

Enkrid replied, casually sharpening his sword.

“…Me? Worry?”

Jaxen shot him a glance, a hint of menace in his eyes.

One wrong word here, and it seemed like Enkrid would be in trouble.

“Heh, looks like our barbarian brother is just going to take a nap and come back.”

Audin half-heartedly tried to defuse the situation.

Worry? There was none of that.

Enkrid thought about Rem and believed that he would come back on his own.

“Eventually, he’ll show up.”

It was just the way Rem was.

He would have fun and then come back when he felt like it.

When they finally heard word, it turned out Krais’s plan had been a great success.

Shinar had beheaded four of the enemy commanders, and the cultists had lost a portion of their supplies.

“Rem? He’ll show up soon enough, I guess.”

Krais commented on the absence of the gray-haired lunatic.

Despite his usual talk of bad omens and uncertainty, he was calm now.

Enkrid, too, just thought that it was business as usual.

He focused on what needed to be done.

Looking ahead, he analyzed the upcoming situation.

“What about the enemy?”

“As expected.”

Back at Graham’s tent.

In the end, who would win if the two armies clashed head-on?

“Who else but Aspen?”

The one who had just been watching would sweep the area clean.

So, the troops sent to Green Pearl couldn’t be pulled back.

Instead, they were now requesting reinforcements.

The fact that Aspen’s garrison was located at such an aggressive point meant it was a place where trouble could start at any moment.

If things went wrong, they would strike without hesitation.

That was the only option available.

Krais knew he had to break up the black blade and the cult’s forces with minimal losses.

‘There’s no need to kill them all.’

He just had to break their morale and make them retreat. He needed to buy time while keeping as much of his forces intact as possible.

This was the best strategy.

Before they could both charge, he would strike. Then, he would inevitably force them into a full-scale battle.

One battle.

He would make them retreat and crumble with that single fight.

He needed to make them collapse on their own. That was the goal.

“First, break the blade that the enemy prepared. This is something the commander needs to handle.”

Krais had spent several days thinking about how to approach this if he were in charge of the black sword or the cult.

The answer he had come to was this.

They were wary of the Madmen unit. Although he wasn’t sure of their exact abilities, they must have prepared some trump card.

He couldn’t risk facing them unprepared.

‘We’ll draw them into a full-scale battle.’

The two armies would unite after losing some supplies and their commanders.

They would know this wasn’t a battle that could drag on for long.

And with Enkrid’s presence…

‘We can draw them out and still manage.’

“Second, Lord Tarning must die.”

Cut off the justification.

“Third, as soon as the battle ends, we move towards Green Pearl.”

This meant they had to finish before Aspen could act.

“If things go wrong, we’ll all end up buried here.”

Graham spoke.

Krais himself had no intention of dying, but he nodded vaguely.

After all, many people would have to fight, risking their lives.

As Krais intended, the cult, having lost some supplies, decided to join up with the main force of the Black Sword.

The combined forces of the Black Sword and the cult began advancing toward the wide plains.

The Border Guard’s standing army had to move forward, away from the walls.

If they stayed in defense, it would be the same as inviting an attack on their exposed back.

They had to move out.

A biting wind blew, carrying dust between the two armies.

The dark sky and frozen, barren land set the stage for the confrontation.

“We must win.”

The Madmen unit gathered around the center of the battlefield.

Krais also came out. He had to stay close to Enkrid in case they needed to flee after the battle.

Enkrid understood Krais’s thoughts, but didn’t interfere.

He thought it was a reasonable approach.

‘We have to win,’ Enkrid thought, mulling over Krais’s words. But he didn’t believe that winning required him to be the one to deliver the final blow.

Ultimately, the battle could be won as long as it was won.

A few thoughts flashed through his mind, but he didn’t speak up to Krais.

Now, it was the time for those wielding swords to step forward.

Just as they were about to move, a sound interrupted.

Clop-clop, clop-clop!

It was the enemy. Someone on horseback appeared in the center of the two armies, throwing something.

It landed just outside the range of the arrows.

“What’s that?”

Vengeance furrowed his brow and muttered to himself.

“Go fetch it.”

He gave the order.

One of the scouts quickly rode out and retrieved the object.

It was soon in Enkrid’s hands.

The weapon looked familiar. As he looked at the axe that had been retrieved, Ragna spoke up.

“It’s the barbarian’s weapon.”

“Hmm, I’ll make a grave and bury it. Let’s bury it together when the time comes.”

Ragna and Jaxen both muttered something, and it seemed like they were on the same wavelength for once.

Several soldiers recognized the axe, and some even noticed that Rem was absent.

Some of the soldiers murmured.

“Wait, did Captain Rem die?”

“No, I heard he set fire to the cult’s camp a few days ago…”

“He didn’t return after that.”

“Maybe he’s on another mission?”

“How urgent could it be, though?”

Enkrid paid little attention to the murmurs around him as he examined the axe.

The blade was dull, with deep gouges and signs of fierce combat.

It looked like it had been used in a brutal fight.

“He’s probably just off having fun.”

Enkrid muttered.

“Just assume he’s dead.”

This time, Dunbakel murmured.

It was hard to tell if they were being sincere, but they certainly sounded like they were.

Enkrid ignored the gossip around him, keeping his focus on the enemy.

On one side, the wolfish claws were gathering, and on the other, a full human army of the Black Sword and the cult stood.

Among them, Lord Tarning, dressed in an ill-fitting chainmail, stepped forward and shouted.

“I will personally decapitate the rebel scum and offer their heads to the king! Whoever dares conspire against us, strike them down!”

He raised his sword high.

His voice was loud and carried well, possibly enhanced by some magical tool.

However, no one moved.

“That fool.”

Krais muttered, cursing the pig who had no value outside of his role as a figurehead.