A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 407: WatChapter He is my friend

The ragged cloak draped over him fluttered wildly with every shift. It was little more than a tattered sheet—not something that could offer real protection.

Every time a spear grazed it, another piece was shredded away.

Audin endured and endured—until, in a split second, he ducked low and lunged forward.

His movement was so fast it almost seemed as though his body had stretched.

By committing himself entirely to the charge, he could momentarily match their speed.

“Hah!”

The trident wielder let out a sharp cry.

Because Audin had lowered his stance so much, the blade only grazed his back.

The sheer force behind the thrust was overwhelming—even a glancing blow was enough to tear his cloak in half and scratch his skin.

But no blood was drawn.

Audin’s skin was like iron. It wasn’t like that of an ordinary human.

His charge brought him close enough to seize his opponent’s knee.

Their reflexes might have been superior, but they could never match his strength.

And in combat, grappling was king.

As soon as Audin secured his grip, the trident wielder’s feet left the ground.

“What the—?!”

The trident user shouted in alarm.

His leg felt trapped, as though it were wedged between two massive boulders.

He instinctively struggled, but to no avail.

Seeing his comrade lifted into the air, the spear wielder lunged to attack.

Audin felt the shift in the air, reading the spear’s trajectory without even needing to look.

He twisted his body just slightly.

Whoosh!

The spear scraped past his torso, veering off course.

A body redirection technique.

Audin had been the one who taught this move to Enkrid.

It was only natural that he executed it even better.

His massive frame moved with the softness of cotton.

The spearhead struck his back—but it merely skimmed past.

All the while, Audin’s grip on his opponent’s knee remained firm.

The trident wielder abandoned his weapon, reaching out with both hands.

His nails had grown unnaturally long, aiming to dig into Audin’s forearm.

But Audin ignored him and slammed him into the ground.

BOOM! Crunch.

Of course, just slamming him wasn’t enough.

He rolled forward, keeping hold of the enemy’s legs, flipping his body over.

And in doing so—

He bent his opponent’s spine backward until it snapped.

CRACK.

The red-stained bone was exposed to the air.

Blood exploded outward from the overwhelming force.

The opponent’s claws never even reached Audin’s shoulder.

Everything had happened in the blink of an eye.

Having finished off one, Audin turned his gaze to the remaining spear wielder.

The opponent flinched.

Even in his half-maddened state, something about this was beyond comprehension.

“A... monster?”

The word spilled from the creature’s mouth.

Audin simply smiled.

“The Lord is waiting for you, my monstrous brother.”

The battle continued the same as before.

Even two of them together couldn’t stop him.

The spear wielder tried desperately, but Audin closed the distance, step by step.

Even his iron-like skin bore scratches now. Blood was drawn.

The opponent’s strength was no joke.

Yet the gap closed.

Audin seized his second opponent.

A moment later, an arm was torn free, a spine was shattered.

For his finale, he even performed the morbid trick of plucking out a vertebra with his bare hands.

Enkrid almost clapped.

Was their opponent overwhelming in power?

Yes.

And yet, this was the result.

At a glance, the chimera warriors resembled knights.

But they were not knights.

Throughout all of this, Count Molsen had remained seated in his dark, ominous chair, eerily still.

Jaxon had somehow reappeared behind Enkrid, breathing lightly.

“He’s a troublesome spellcaster.”

His evaluation made it clear—Molsen wasn’t an opponent to take lightly.

Enkrid studied the Count.

The veins in his forehead bulged, his eyes seething with murderous intent.

“I should have killed you long ago.”

Molsen regretted it.

He had never expected them to hold out against him like this.

Not even knights had stepped in—yet look at what had happened.

It was infuriating.

Still, that didn’t mean he had lost.

After all, hadn’t he already decided?

He would turn them into wraiths.

If they could not serve him as humans, then they would serve him in another form.

“I won’t be able to sleep until you’re all dead.”

“I’ll fold your legs up nice and tight—inside your coffin.”

Enkrid shot back effortlessly.

It was a childish joke, but perfectly timed.

And of course, it got under Molsen’s skin.

Of all things, it was Enkrid’s mouth that might have been as dangerous as a knight’s sword.

Though right now, even the sword in his hand looked more threatening than ever.

“Yes, keep running your mouth. I’ll rip you apart, burn you alive, and let you watch as your own body is destroyed!”

And then, I will claim your soul, leaving you neither dead nor alive.

Molsen’s voice rang twice—as if another being spoke with him.

Enkrid felt a strange pressure in his skull.

Ironically, as he listened to Molsen’s curse, his vision expanded.

It was the same as when he had been trapped by Abnaier’s power.

It was no longer a matter of strategy or tactics.

His instincts took over, drawing paths toward his goal.

Not reason, but intuition.

Esther’s words echoed in his mind, bringing the realization naturally.

He has to die.

The war would not end unless Molsen died.

Just as he reaffirmed that thought—

“You gonna let that bastard keep talking?”

Rem spoke.

Enkrid looked at his barbarian comrade.

Beyond him, he saw Ragna, Audin, and Jaxon.

They were tired, but none of them would ever show it.

Audin casually popped his dislocated finger back into place with a loud crack and grinned.

“Brother, allow me to send him off with a prayer.”

In other words—let’s kill him together.

Enkrid scanned the four of them before turning his gaze back to Molsen.

His eyes said everything.

Shall we?

With that single question, the four nodded.

Rem stepped forward.

Ragna followed.

Jaxon silently flanked the side.

Audin moved to cover them all from behind.

“I knew from the start—”

Rem muttered as he rolled his shoulders.

“—that bastard was a piece of shit.”

Rem muttered.

“I agree. That thing needs to die.”

Jaxon replied.

“No need to take shortcuts.”

Ragna said, his gaze fixed on the plainly visible Count.

“My Lord, my Father. I shall send another weak-hearted soul up to You.”

Audin prayed.

Enkrid stepped forward, past the four.

Sinar did not join them. To be honest, she didn't think she would be of much help right now.

She had cut down the mutated elf, but the enemy’s blade had split her thigh, making it difficult to run properly.

Even with the spring essence flowing through her, the enemy had not been an easy opponent.

She pulled out a bandage and wrapped it tightly around her leg. Even if she couldn't help, she wouldn't be a hindrance.

Dunbakel and Teresa didn’t even consider stepping in.

Enkrid had explicitly told them to head to the rear.

It almost sounded like an excuse—like they weren’t needed here—but they followed the order without question.

As Dunbakel and Teresa withdrew to the rear, Enkrid and his group steadily advanced.

Truthfully, Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxon weren’t in great shape.

Jaxon was in the best condition of them all, but frontal assault wasn’t his specialty.

If it was purely a matter of swordsmanship, Enkrid could now be considered superior.

And yet, the five pressed forward.

They had a task to complete.

No matter which version of today it was, Enkrid had always lived that way.

So, he had chosen to walk forward and bring an end to the civil war.

Crang and Marcus, who had arrived late, witnessed it.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“All the months I spent agonizing, struggling, and preparing... and yet, it feels like this friend I met by chance will be the one to place the crown on my head.”

Crang spoke with a laugh. He didn’t look worried at all.

Marcus, on the other hand, found it incredible that Crang could laugh in this situation.

“You’re laughing?”

Their forces—more specifically, Enkrid—had demonstrated overwhelming power, but Count Molsen still remained.

He hadn’t moved an inch, emanating a deep, oppressive darkness.

He looked like death itself, sitting upon a throne in a battlefield that doubled as a palace.

If someone told him that chair was literally named Death, Marcus would have believed it.

Aisia also approached with her knights, heading toward where Enkrid and his company were visible.

Her squire, Lophord, caught sight of them and urgently spoke.

“I will assist!”

At some point, he had begun to respect and follow Enkrid more than any knight.

Who else could fight like that? Who else could step forward like that?

Lophord was about to charge forward when his superior, the orange-haired knight, stopped him.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Huh?”

“He stopped the entire battlefield just so dumbasses like you wouldn’t die. Watch how he fights instead.”

Even Aisia was irritated.

“Not even an invitation?”

She was a knight. A good one. Yes, she had lost to Enkrid, but the people standing by his side right now had fought even harsher battles. There was no way they were unscathed.

Wouldn’t it make sense to bring her along, given that she was still relatively fine?

“This is pissing me off.”

The urge to stand among them flared within her.

She was a member of the Red Cloak Knights. Within Naurelia, they were unmatched.

And yet, right now—she wanted to stand by Enkrid’s side.

No matter the cost.

So, when she stopped Lophord and told him to stay put, it was as much a message to herself as it was to him.

Meanwhile, a shepherd who had hesitated at the sight of the frozen battlefield was already backing away.

But Вell—unable to suppress his curiosity—approached Crang under the pretense of guarding him.

‘Oh?’

A familiar face.

‘That lunatic from that moonlit night.’

The madman who had kept asking to be cut down, even after being slashed by the idol-slayer.

He was no ordinary man, that much was clear.

‘But was he really this much?’

His back was visible.

The back of the one who had been involved in everything that had unfolded on this battlefield, the back of the one walking forward after stopping the battle itself.

‘Is it duty?’

A duty to fight and protect?

As he pondered, Crang's eyes gleamed as he spoke.

“Watch. He is my friend.”

A friend.

Which meant he wasn’t bound by royal duty.

And yet, he still stepped forward.

For what?

To end the war.

That was what he had declared. So that must be his only purpose.

For a shepherd who moved based solely on practicality and profit, it was a difficult concept to grasp.

“Вell. To lead a pack, you can’t see the world through gains and losses alone.”

His father’s teachings resurfaced in his mind, and Вell had a small realization.

Sometimes, one had to take losses for the sake of ideals.

At that moment, he made a decision.

He would leave the shepherds for a while.

Not just because of the nagging elders.

‘There’s much to learn here.’

As Вell got lost in thought, Crang laughed and warned the others not to interfere.

Only Marcus was still uneasy.

He knew. There was no stopping Enkrid now.

And yet, he wanted to use dirty tricks.

Even if it meant being cursed for the rest of his life, he wanted to fire an arrow straight at that bastard Count’s head.

It wouldn’t work.

He knew that.

But he wanted to try anyway.

He wanted to stop Enkrid from walking straight into that monster’s grasp.

And so, when he saw Crang laughing, he couldn’t hold back his question.

“I really don’t understand how you can laugh right now.”

“Commander Marcus. If not now, then when? If Enki dies, we’re all dead anyway.”

“...There’s still a last resort.”

“I won’t use it.”

“Why not?”

“A crown isn’t worth using if it means watching my friend die.”

Crang remained the same.

He was who he was.

It frustrated Marcus.

But that was also why he followed this man.

And at that moment—Marcus finally let go of his hesitation.

He decided to bet everything on Enkrid.

“...Then.”

Marcus let out a hollow laugh.

***

The Count wasn’t looking at the approaching figures.

His eyes were fixed on the rear of the battlefield.

His special forces had finally reached the backlines, moving in to slit the throat of that damn witch.

‘Damn her.’

Inside, Count Molsen had already cursed Esther a hundred times over.