A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Enkrid approached Audin.

Blood was flowing from Audin's eyes, nose, and ears.

Enkrid remembered Audin — dead, surrounded by radiance.

He remembered Audin appearing behind him when they faced the Duke.

He remembered Audin teaching him the Isolation Technique.

He remembered Audin praying for him.

Enkrid recalled the past Audin had once shared with him.

Haunted by guilt?

Could that really be the fault of this hulking, gentle man? Really?

Audin's hands trembled again. Blood streamed from his lips.

He was dying. Anyone could see it.

"Tell me what you want. I'll do it in your place."

He had been his teacher.

Enkrid wanted to carry out Audin's will.

Audin looked at him with a smile. Even while bleeding, he smiled easily.

"Do you want to tear it all down? Do you want to carve out the rot?"

Do you want the Church to follow a just path? Then I'll make it happen.

For the Audin he remembered — yes, Enkrid would even dance with blades.

Just as Audin had exploded with holy light, refusing to die passively, Enkrid could do the same.

"So, speak."

Audin was still smiling. That smiling mouth opened again.

"Punish those who bear false divinity. Be they paladins, templars, or priests — if they walk the wrong path, then punish them. Don't let them use the word heresy to terrify the people. Let those who truly believe find peace. Let the Church become one that aids the poor and the helpless."

This, perhaps, was what Audin truly wished for.

He paused, then spoke again.

"Forget what I've just said. And instead, Brother Captain — pursue your dream. That is what I truly wish for."

Audin did not shift his burden of duty or responsibility onto another. And with that, he closed his eyes.

And then—

Flash.

He opened his eyes again. As if something still held him back.

"Oh, tell our barbarian brother and the others that I'll give them lessons in heaven when we meet."

If this was a will, it was a rather amusing one.

"I will."

"To Sister Teresa, just tell her to keep following her beliefs."

"I'll do so."

"When Sister Dunbakel returns, don't scold her too much about bathing. Honestly, she doesn't smell that bad."

"She does smell a bit sour."

"Don't let Shepherd Brother belittle others for lack of talent. It wouldn't be good for him, either."

Just from his words, it was clear how much Audin cared about those around him.

Enkrid quietly waited for the death of the man who had been his teacher, his comrade, the very heart of his Order.

The battle to honor him would likely be brutal.

Even if he had to burn the Church to the ground, Enkrid would carry out his will.

That was also how Enkrid would fulfill his own dream.

If he died, he would proclaim it here and now with words — and then show it through action.

So he waited.

"The weather's nice."

"It's autumn."

"When winter comes, please steal Brother Rem's heated hide and hide it for me. I think it'll be fun."

"That's too much, even for a joke."

Rem hated the cold with a pathological passion.

Suggest a trip through the mountains in winter, and he'd probably start swinging his axe.

"Brother Ragna will probably never find the right path in his life, huh."

"Set your hopes somewhere realistic."

Audin remained kneeling. Knees down, hands clasped.

Was this truly the end?

He began to pray. A silent prayer from the heart, without a voice.

Perhaps he was asking the Father he always spoke of to come meet him.

After the short prayer, Audin spoke again.

"It hurts."

"It would."

Enkrid stayed by his side until the end.

"Haa."

Audin exhaled. Enkrid blinked several times.

But — wasn't he talking a lot for someone on the brink of death?

Was it blasphemous to think so?

To have such thoughts as the man who had been his teacher and comrade was dying?

Still — it was a lot.

In that moment, Shinar approached and spoke.

"He looks... too fine, doesn't he?"

Everyone was just staring at them blankly.

Audin, dying. Enkrid, silently watching — it looked utterly tragic.

And Enkrid had all but made it clear with his stance.

Anyone who interrupted now would be unforgiven — no matter who they were.

Even Shilma, half-mad as she was, dared not speak again.

But then—

"Hm."

Audin raised his hand and wiped at his eyes. Bloody tears had flowed — but they had stopped.

His whole body still ached and throbbed, but it no longer felt like he was dying. His hands had stopped trembling.

More importantly, though he'd felt drained by the aftershock of unleashing holy light, he was now slowly regaining strength.

He couldn't burst into divine radiance again immediately, but — he wasn't dying.

He clenched and opened his fists a few times — it was certain. He had enough energy left to trigger divine regeneration, and his body was steadily recovering.

Not enough to regrow limbs like Frokk, but enough to heal the current wounds.

"Hm."

Audin groaned softly again.

Why was he alive? There had to be a reason. He'd braced for death when releasing his binding.

Though he'd bound himself, the seal had been in place so long that it needed to be carefully peeled off like thin cloth — layer by layer.

But he'd ripped it off crudely. That should've damaged the contents inside.

Even if it didn't kill him, at least half his bodily functions should've been ruined.

"Huuup."

Audin inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

Breathing was a bit uncomfortable, but his lungs were fine.

His gut ached, but not enough to lose control of anything.

So, yeah — he was fine.

What had changed? Audin instinctively reached for his waist — and there it was.

The counterfeit relic.

Something Enkrid had brought back from the West.

Audin had spent so much time and energy trying to lift the curse sealed within it.

There was only one way.

Transfer part of the curse into his own body and burn it away.

That meant enduring the pain of being branded with a hot iron — but he couldn't exactly send the relic to the Church, so Audin had resolved to endure it alone as a form of penance.

During that process, part of his divinity had naturally imbued the relic.

When he unleashed his divine light earlier, the strain on his body — part of it had been absorbed by the relic.

The effect wasn't massive.

Just a little help — barely worth mentioning. But it was enough.

Audin's strong body could handle the rest without issue.

So this is how it turned out?

Was it coincidence or fate?

"Whatever you bestow, it shall return to you. Fortune arises from what you yourself have sown."

Borrowing the words of the goddess of luck, that was how it felt.

Audin felt deeply awkward. He truly thought he would die — but now he was just... too fine.

He could feel Enkrid's gaze shifting from those blue eyes to his face.

"Ahem."

Audin coughed awkwardly.

Still, the gaze remained.

He'd probably have to say something, honestly.

"Well, uh, I'll take care of the Church matters myself."

Enkrid continued to stare at him.

"There's probably no need to postpone Brother Rem and the others' lessons, either."

"Ah, so — you lived?"

Enkrid said, maintaining a blank expression.

Audin smiled faintly. Embarrassed, he had to at least smile.

Enkrid stared blankly at him for a moment, then nodded.

To be honest, he was just relieved that Audin had lived.

It may have been a farce, but being able to say that aloud — it filled him with joy.

"Just don't go around killing everyone in the Church."

From what Enkrid had seen earlier, that burst of holy light could probably pop a priest's head with a flick.

"I would never do that."

"Brother Alma!"

Finally, Shilma shouted.

It was the moment when the forcibly paused tragedy resumed.

Alma rolled his eyes, then, as if he had made up his mind, raised his hammer high.

"All for the glory of the Church."

He had given his two disciples each a ring.

Those rings were not divine — they stood in opposition to divinity. In other words, they were demonic.

Items stolen from a demonic realm. Why give them to his disciples?

Because the rings could instantly suck the life force from their wearers and transfer that power to another ring.

Using that, Alma could momentarily exceed his limits.

His two disciples had once gone missing — for the same reason.

It was a way of borrowing power.

Why? Not because Alma was despairing at the limits of his own talent. Just because it was easier this way.

That was how Alma lived — always choosing the easy, convenient path.

He lived in contradiction to the saying that one should choose the path of hardship. And so, his divinity had long since dimmed.

That was why, even as a quasi-knight level templar, he was stuck doing menial jobs like this.

"Huh?"

"Eh?"

The disciples only managed a single exclamation before they screamed.

Aaaagh! Screams filled with unbearable pain.

Enkrid turned from Audin to look at Alma.

Even at a glance, it was obvious he'd tapped into demonic power. This wasn't Enkrid's first time seeing it.

He'd seen something similar from Count Molsen.

And so, one thought passed through his mind:

Is consorting with demons trendy these days?

A careless thought, perhaps — but hard to avoid.

Compared to the demonic power he'd seen so far, what Alma displayed was weak.

Alma's two disciples shriveled up and turned into dry husks, like brittle firewood.

The light vanished from their eyes, and they collapsed.

Their screams — those were their final words.

Standing over their fallen bodies, Alma opened his mouth. He didn't even glance at his dead disciples.

He only thought of himself.

"Can you withstand a knight's power while exhausted?"

The light he emitted was murky. Faint. Speckled with black grains.

The price of selling his soul to a demon, no doubt.

How he siphoned off their life force, Enkrid didn't know — but it didn't matter.

And Enkrid — injured and tired as he was — knew well that he would not lose to a fake knight like this.

Especially since Shinar was still unharmed.

If Overdeer intervened, that would be a problem...

"How pitiful."

The old man shook his head.

But he didn't stop there.

"Stand down."

Another statement followed.

Enkrid thought the words were directed at Alma — but they weren't.

The one who reacted was Bert, the inquisitor. He backed away quickly, as if fleeing.

Shilma didn't look surprised — she already knew Alma's secret.

If even demonic power could be used for a righteous cause, she believed that was the correct path.

"You fools."

Overdeer spoke — and his tone had changed.

Gone was the formal voice. It was now lighter, almost casual.

He raised two rods. The direction was obvious — the opposite of before.

Enkrid watched silently, then added one comment. He simply couldn't resist.

"Hey, Count Molsen already did that whole fake knight act."

He meant he'd already seen this play before.

Templar Alma probably didn't even know who Count Molsen was.

"What are you saying?!"

Alma roared.

Understandable. That rush of omnipotence probably made him feel like he could do anything.

Feel like, anyway. Just feel like.

Though struck by Audin, the elderly man lifted his rods.

"You should've just died a martyr."

A bitter remark.

To put it bluntly: Alma's head exploded from two strikes of the rods.

Shilma tried to cloak herself in ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ divine light, but Shinar's precise blade severed her legs.

"Thank you, little fairy."

The old man offered his thanks in his now-casual tone.

"I'm four hundred forty-eight years old, little human."

Shinar replied thus.

And that was that. The situation was resolved.

"Overdeer."

Only Bert remained.

"I believe we need to talk."

The hundred-year-old man seemed briefly flustered at hearing Shinar's age.

He wiped Alma's blood and brains from his rod onto the dead templar's robe.

Enkrid looked at the old man — not exactly hostile, but clearly someone who'd drown them all if pushed.

Plip.

Rain began to fall.

And with it, the atmosphere around Holy Knight Overdeer changed entirely.