A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Rem didn't know why Enkrid had told them to tear through the Demon Realm.

Did he sense something? Or just a hunch?

The reason didn't matter.

He must've felt something ominous—that's why he asked for help.

That was how Rem chose to think about it.

If they checked and it turned out to be nothing, they'd just head back. Simple as that.

But there was work to do. A task had revealed itself right in front of her. The reason Enkrid had sent them here was now flooding her nose with the stench of blood.

Their job was to thin the numbers of the monsters waiting in the depths of the Demon Realm.

Rem settled into her task, lifting her chin on purpose to widen her field of vision.

Even in the darkness, she could make out enough of her surroundings.

Everything she saw—monsters.

Between the patches of gray forest, murmurs gathered like a lined-up army ready for battle.

Two types: Giant Spiders and Owlbears.

Are they doing formation drills or something?

Pointless thoughts. Useless distractions.

Rem lowered her posture, letting the axe hang loose in one hand.

With her chest nearly brushing the ground and arms extended backward, she sprinted—like an eagle gliding just above the surface.

The axe served as a substitute for wings.

Though of course, those wings wouldn't let her fly through the air.

But they could slice and dice everything in her way.

That was when a dim red light fell from above.

A razor-thin glint. The Red Moon.

A phenomenon that strengthened monsters at night. Rem didn't care.

She focused solely on swinging the axe.

Rather than thin or small ones, she went for the big, visible targets first.

She slashed the axe while running. Two crimson arcs swept across a monster's body under the red moonlight.

Slice. Crack.

Everything caught on the blade was severed—head, leg, torso—it didn't matter.

The fluids that sprayed from the severed parts probably scattered everywhere, but Rem didn't even have the time to dodge.

The gray arcs of light streaking through the darkness moved as fast as her swinging axe as she passed through the monsters.

Several monsters stood on their legs, raising their bodies.

Thunk. Snap. Grkkkrrrrr!

Rem passed by, dragging her axe across them.

Even when a leg snapped with a crack, the spider still had six others to support its body.

One broken leg wouldn't kill it—but if the blade that snapped that leg hit its head, it would stop moving.

The axe followed an arc that seemed to pass through the creature's head, spun around with the momentum, and came straight down to crush the skull.

Every motion flowed in a perfect chain. It looked almost effortless, like she was playing with practice drills learned from Suptara.

Thunk.

Another monster slammed its head against the ground.

Rem was satisfied with the way the axe followed her will.

Not bad.

It wasn't a proper weapon, but among anything you could find on the market, this had to be one of the best.

Of course—it wasn't something common. A solid block of Lewis-forged steel? That kind of axe wasn't easy to find.

No one but her could handle it properly.

The key was applying and removing force at will—and the weapon had to endure the strength of its user.

Only with such a weapon could real axe-work be done.

It wasn't about using the weapon's weight—but about wielding it purely with her own strength.

And what did that kind of fighting allow?

It allowed her to redirect in reverse momentum.

Just like that dynamic counter-strike earlier—it made her axe-work unpredictable.

Rem continued swinging.

The axe flowed in all directions without recoil. The two red arcs it carved warped and curved—

SHRRRRAAAAAK!

A spider monster that had been crawling on the ground was sliced clean in half—but it was lucky enough to keep its head.

It screamed, sending a warning to all the other monsters.

From that cry, Rem could tell—they had something, or someone, they obeyed.

The scattered parts had become one unit. Their patterns showed clear coordination fueled by fury.

Rem's gaze turned.

If someone had been watching from above, they would've found it incredible.

The monsters hadn't managed to form a proper circle around the central clearing near the forest edge.

Of course, Rem wasn't watching from overhead. She couldn't see the battlefield from above—but she found her path by instinct.

And right at that moment, a claw reached for her back.

No sound. No air tear.

A feathered forearm packed with enough brute strength to shred a human into a bloody pulp.

Rem twisted her waist and shifted both feet.

Raising her left knee, she used the torque to fire her right leg outward.

CRACK!

Her foot caught the Owlbear charging at her in the chest. Even with all its feathers, its chest caved in.

Rem could feel the sternum splinter beneath her sole.

The Owlbear flew backward and tumbled, its hips rolling through the dirt.

Despite its crushed chest, it stood again and tried to steady itself—but that was when the axe came down from above.

Of course, the kick and the retreat had just been a feint from Rem.

CRUNCH!

The monster's head split and it collapsed. Black strands of flesh spilled out. In the nearby hollow, black blood pooled.

"Humph. You freakin' wild cats are even nastier than I thought."

The sharpened axe blade, thinner than a skull, gleamed with a reddish tint. Forged of Lewis steel, its edge was honed to perfection.

Under the Red Moon, both axe and skin looked nearly black.

Red or black—whatever. It didn't matter.

Rem let her arms drop, the axe hanging loosely again.

And she admitted—though she didn't want to, though she'd never say it out loud no matter what—

They helped. Those crazy bastards actually helped.

Her muscles had thickened more than before.

The force behind the axe had grown stronger.

Her senses had sharpened.

All of it, gained from running with those Mad Squad lunatics.

She had once thought that techniques and skills rooted in physical strength had reached their limits—but she was wrong.

She'd learned from men who didn't know how to give up.

There were no limits. No real end to anything.

Thanks to that, Rem had started to feel something like... anticipation.

Compared to who she used to be—her current self had clearly evolved.

So what would happen if she got rid of the curse on top of that?

Even back when she had the curse, she'd never felt inferior to any knight.

"Hey, I'm busy. Come at me already."

Rem grinned and turned again—toward the densest horde of monsters.

While she was hacking through them, Dunbakel split an Owlbear's head with a curved blade and leapt into a tree.

She didn't use the curved blade like a typical scimitar. And her vision was sharp.

From there, she held a weapon in the form of a bow and spotted the spider swarm.

Dunbakel figured that with numbers like that, she could also predict the extent of the damage they'd cause if they spread.

She wasn't exactly quick-witted, but she wasn't a fool either. Of course she could assess the battlefield.

Spread, bow, monsters.

An unexpected threat—and attack.

What needed to be done to eliminate that threat?

A preemptive strike.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

That was when Rem's survival instinct began to operate differently. Dunbakel honed her sense of smell through raw instinct.

Because—

Because beyond all of this, there was another scent. And she could catch it.

If there's a signal in the scent, there has to be someone receiving it. And someone sending it.

A different smell. The sender was nearby.

In other words, those commanding this were also present.

Dunbakel's gaze shifted to the rampaging barbarian.

That bastard was diving through the horde, slashing everything down.

Even in that chaos, there were monsters radiating a distinct scent. Not just one—maybe five or six?

That too felt like a problem that needed to be dealt with.

But was he planning to tear through it all? He was carving a straight path between the monsters.

Dunbakel watched—and heard a voice rising in her own head.

I can't do that.

If I charge in, I'll die.

Then what can I do?

If I don't do something, I might really die.

So I fight? Fighting is the only way to survive?

But I could just run, couldn't I?

Instinct was warning her. Dunbakel's fur bristled. At the same time, she moved.

She ignored the countless questions tormenting her. She had made her decision.

To prove herself.

Why was she standing here?

That was clear now.

To slash, cut, and kill monsters.

For that, she drew her curved blade and ran.

Her feet kicked off the earth. As her body passed under the moonlight, her fur began to rise. Snow-white fur covered even her face.

The beast form cursed among beastkin monsters—transformation.

As her body changed, so did the quality of her muscles. Power surged into her legs, and her speed soared.

Dunbakel softly landed, keeping silent through her ankles and knees as she ran.

Bang!—a sound like the air itself tearing made a few monsters turn their heads, but Dunbakel was already sprinting.

Just like that, she reached the edge of awareness. A toxic presence seeped into her entire body. Dunbakel held her breath.

And then, through the fog of scent that clung to the battlefield—

She dove straight in.

The target was at the center of the awareness.

***

Admor, who had reached the edge of the battlefield, spotted Rowena tied to a pole.

"Damn it, Rowena."

He gritted his teeth as he approached, untying the ropes and checking her injuries.

"How...?"

Rowena blinked and asked. Though she wasn't gravely wounded, her thigh had been wrapped with torn undergarments as a makeshift bandage.

"Did you come to rescue me? Is Sir Oara here? Or Sir Mundan?"

"The barbarian and the beastkin came. We'll talk about the rest later."

Admor drew his dagger, sliced the ropes, and hoisted her onto his back.

Half of her unit ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) had died, but the other half had survived.

"I thought this was the end."

Rowena muttered quietly.

"Where do you think you're going, leaving you behind? What do you mean, 'the end'?"

Admor spoke as he wrapped both himself and Rowena together with rope.

Now what?

He'd found his ally and rescued her.

Nearby, all that remained were monsters hacked apart by blunt force.

But that didn't mean the danger had passed. This was still a terrifying, perilous place.

Could they just head back?

As he considered their next move, he scanned the edge of the danger zone as if drawing a boundary.

"Tum·ber!"

Despite his wariness, someone was rampaging near the edge.

Something in both hands traced sweeping arcs through the air. Though he could tell it was an axe, it looked like feathers in motion.

Only—those "feathers" crushed and shredded everything they touched on the ground.

Admor stared blankly for a moment at Rem fighting.

Everywhere he moved, black fluids gushed out and soaked the earth.

But Admor couldn't afford to just stand there, mesmerized.

"Let's get out of here."

He supported his partner and retreated. He didn't think any monsters would follow them now.

***

Oara sensed the feeling of a knight.

Had she ever felt this before?

Probably not. She had never once passed off a fight she was meant to handle to someone else.

Oara was watching Enkrid fight Jericks.

The man bearing her ex-husband's name.

The very one she should be handling herself.

So why wasn't she stepping in?

The answer was right in front of her.

It was because of that man, Enkrid. The will he showed stopped her in her tracks.

He's holding up well...

But it also looked like he was constantly one step from danger.

Clang!

She saw Jericks slash down with his clawed hand, and Enkrid block it with the flat of his sword.

While blocking, Enkrid kicked at the ghoul's leg. The ghoul retaliated by raising the opposite leg, aiming a knee toward Enkrid's groin.

But Enkrid, as if he had predicted it, pulled back horizontally and smashed the ghoul's knee with his pommel.

Right before the pommel hit, Enkrid stretched the ghoul's leg out by forcing it down while falling back.

Jericks' kick still aimed for the same place.

On the verge of losing his manhood, Enkrid brought down his left forearm to block Jericks' shin.

Their limbs met in a cross.

CLANG!

A metallic shock rang out like struck iron. The silver vambrace on Enkrid's left hand had blocked Jericks' foot.

The clash was over in an instant, and the two created space between them.

Oara watched and thought.

Jericks wasn't attacking carelessly.

But neither was his caution driven by respect.

While fighting Enkrid, Jericks was clearly checking him—just as he would her.

That bastard Jericks... he's gotten better.

Should she let this go? He might really die like this.

What a waste. His face, his skill...

She didn't want him to die.

But she couldn't step in on impulse.

Even though he wasn't a knight, Enkrid was performing at a knight's level in Oara's eyes.

At that one moment when he blocked that strike, he had looked like a true knight.

It was probably an illusion. Of course it was.

He was still just barely hanging on.

Even so, he was holding his ground. Barely—but he was.

Oara was a knight.

She understood honor, and she wielded her sword in defense of the oaths she'd sworn.

That's why she couldn't stop the man who had just blocked her opponent's strike.

Enkrid was showing something similar to herself.

A vow that kept him smiling no matter the cost.

A vow rooted in his resolve to protect this city.

And this city, to her, was laughter itself.

That same thing—she saw it in him.

What was behind this man?

What was it that he was trying so hard to protect?

Who the hell is he, really?

Curiosity bloomed in Oara's mind.

It had just turned out this way, but now she found herself wanting to understand why Enkrid was doing this.

Of course, if things went sideways, she'd step in.

But even that wouldn't be easy.

Right next to her, Roman was handling the spider swordsman, and a monster-level Owlbear—strong enough to rival a knight—was lurking, waiting for a gap.

Oara was standing on the balancing point.

If she made a move, she could definitely kill one of the three.

But the remaining two would then target one of her allies.

Could she stop that?

That would be difficult.

So, she chose to support the balance.

If someone here could take out even one of those three—

The rest becomes easier.

They might even finish the battle without losing anyone.

Of course, the situation wasn't in their favor. Time was on the enemy's side. The monsters never tired, while her side was visibly fading.

Even so, the fierce glint in their eyes hadn't dimmed.

Their fighting strength—this battle, this struggle—the will of the soldiers was burning.

"OARA!"

From behind her, a soldier on the wall shouted a rallying cry.

"Let's die with a smile!"

A shout from those prepared to face death rang out.

Oara, as if in response, didn't want to tell anyone to die.

So for a moment—just a moment—she put off making her choice.

"How unlucky."

Poison had kept her from fighting properly. She resented that.

"I'll hold out till the end."

Oara, who died holding her ground.

Oara, who had never truly lost.

She just hadn't had a proper fight yet.

She had never even been given the opportunity.

At least, that's how Enkrid saw it.

That monster with the claw or whatever had sent wave after wave of monsters to exhaust her—and then snatched easy victory.

If she hadn't been poisoned?

If not for that, Oara could have fought.

She hadn't been able to fight properly because of the poison?

Then he'd make sure—just once—that she could fight at her best.

What Enkrid wanted to protect was Sir Oara's pride as a knight.

Because he was mindful of the Oara behind him,

He endured. And endured again.

This was the end of that endurance.

"What the hell? It's chaos here too."

Rem had arrived.

"There was someone commanding the archer. They're dead now."

Dunbakel, limping, also returned—clearly hoping for praise.

"You kept me waiting, Rem."

Enkrid said.