Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 459 - Protecting a Knight’s Pride

Chhapter 459 - Protecting a Knight's Pride

Rem didn't understand why Enkrid had ordered him to delve into the demonic swamp.

Did he sense something? Or was it just speculation?

The reason didn't matter. If Enkrid felt unease, asking for help was only natural. That was enough justification. Verifying it and finding nothing amiss would simply mean heading back. But there was work to be done—work that now lay unmistakably before him. The reason Enkrid had sent him here was practically oozing with the scent of blood.

The task was clear: reduce the number of monsters lurking in the swamp.

Lowering his stance deliberately, Rem scanned his surroundings broadly. Despite the darkness, he could vaguely make out the area. And what he saw was monsters. Clusters of creatures filled the gray forest, giving the impression of a grand army standing in formation.

There were two types: massive spiders and owlbears.

What is this, some kind of parade drill?

Shrugging off idle thoughts, Rem relaxed his grip on the axe, lowering his body as though pressing his chest to the ground. As he sprinted forward, arms trailing behind, his movements resembled a swooping eagle—his axe serving as its wings. Wings that wouldn't lift him to the sky but could carve and tear through anything in their path.

Under the faint red glow of the twin moons—known as the Red Moon phenomenon, which strengthened monsters—Rem remained unbothered. His sole focus was swinging the axe.

In a crouch even lower than a seated posture, Rem slashed forward with his axe as he ran. Two crimson lines streaked across the monsters' bodies under the red moonlight.

Slash! Crack!

Every obstacle caught by the axe's edge was severed without distinction—heads, limbs, torsos. Black fluids sprayed from the wounds but not a drop landed on Rem. The gray streak of his movements shone brightly in the darkness, weaving through the monsters as he swung his axe.

A few spiders reared up on their legs.

Thud! Slash! Crunch!

Rem passed by, slashing their legs and leaving a trail of destruction. Broken legs didn't kill them, but a severed head did. His axe slashed the legs, moving forward, only to halt mid-swing, reverse direction, and cleave the spider's head in one fluid motion. It was as effortless as a child playing with a loose thread.

Crack!

Another monster collapsed to the ground, its head crushed.

Rem felt satisfaction in the rhythm of his strikes.

Not bad at all.

It wasn't a legendary weapon, but for something commercially available, this axe was likely the best of its kind. A solid steel axe forged out of Lewis wasn't a common item, after all. And without his strength, wielding it effectively would be impossible. Mastering such a weapon required precise control over force—both applying and withholding it.

With this axe, he could execute the unique "feathered axe swings" technique, which relied solely on his physical strength rather than the weapon's weight. It allowed him to change direction without recoil—like the reverse strike he had just performed—making his attacks unpredictable.

As Rem continued swinging his axe, the sharp-edged arcs tore through everything around him.

Screeech!

A spider missing half its body screamed, warning its kin of danger.

From that sound, Rem deduced the monsters were being directed by something. His instincts sharpened, fusing his senses into a sixth sense that guided him. His gaze fixed on a specific point.

If someone viewed the scene from above, they'd find it peculiar—a cluster of monsters forming a circular pattern around the clearing's center. Though Rem couldn't see it from above, he trusted his instincts.

Suddenly, claws struck from behind. Silent but deadly, the feathered arms of an owlbear aimed to rend flesh and reduce him to a bloody mess.

Rem twisted his body and thrust his right foot back.

Crack!

His kick connected with the owlbear's chest, its feathers denting inward under the blow. The creature's chest bone crunched audibly as it was hurled backward, rolling across the ground.

Even as it tried to rise with its crushed chest, an axe fell upon its head. It was, of course, Rem's handiwork.

Slash!

The monster collapsed, black blood pooling in the ground beneath it.

"Even feral cats are more savage than you, little cub," Rem muttered.

The fine steel edge of his Lewis mountain-forged axe dripped with black liquid under the Red Moon's eerie light. Red or black, it made no difference.

Rem lowered his axe again.

Though he wouldn't admit it aloud, not even under threat of death, he acknowledged it.

"Those lunatics... they've helped me."

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His muscles had grown stronger. The power behind his axe strikes had become fiercer. His senses were sharper.

It was all thanks to those madmen he'd been around. Techniques and skills based on physical strength, which he thought had reached their peak, proved capable of further growth. He had learned this from a man who refused to accept limits. There were no boundaries—no end to what could be achieved.

Because of this, Rem felt a flicker of anticipation.

Compared to his former self, the gap in his skill was undeniable. And if he added sorcery to this? He had never thought knights were superior to him before, even when he possessed magic.

"Hey, I'm busy here. Come on, let's get this over with!"

Grinning, Rem charged once more into the mass of monsters.

Meanwhile, Dunbakel cleaved an owlbear's head with her curved blade before leaping into a tree. Her extraordinary vision and intuition allowed her to spot a cluster of spiders with bow-like appendages at the rear of the monster horde.

The moment she saw them, she anticipated the devastation they could cause.

"Bows, arrows, monsters," she murmured.

It was an unexpected and dangerous threat.

To neutralize it, decisive action was needed. Her survival instincts kicked in, heightening her senses.

Though she didn't understand how, she could detect distinct smells, signaling a leader among the monsters. There was a commanding presence orchestrating them nearby.

Her gaze briefly flicked to Rem, the berserker carving through the monsters. Even amidst the chaos, a special scent emanated from several monsters around him—perhaps five.

These needed to be dealt with.

Though Dunbakel felt apprehension at diving into the chaos, she steeled herself.

"I need to prove myself."

Why was she here? The answer was clear.

To slay and kill monsters.

Her body shifted as white fur sprouted across her form—a transformation her kin once deemed a curse. With enhanced strength and speed, she dashed forward silently, her movements as smooth as a hunting predator's.

Ignoring the toxic fog ahead, she held her breath and plunged into the swamp, heading straight for her target at the center.

***

Near the battlefield, Admor saw Rowena tied to a pole.

"Damn it, Rowena."

Gritting his teeth, he approached her, loosened the ropes, and checked her injuries.

"How...?"

Rowena blinked and asked. While she wasn't severely injured, her thigh was wrapped in torn underwear as a makeshift bandage.

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

"A barbarian and beastkin came instead. Let's save the details for later."

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

Half of her unit was dead, but the other half had survived.

"I thought it was all over..." Rowena muttered.

"Where did you think you were going, leaving me behind? What's supposed to be over?"

Admor spoke as he bound himself and Rowena tightly with a rope.

Now what?

He had found and rescued his ally. The area was littered with monsters slain by axes, but his vigilance didn't waver. The place remained dangerous, threatening, and terrifying.

Could they just leave now?

As he pondered the next step, remaining on high alert, a voice rang out:

"Bring it on!"

A figure rampaged near the swamp, slicing through foes with twin weapons that trailed sharp arcs through the air. Though clearly axes, they seemed almost weightless, like feathers. Yet those "feathers" shattered and cleaved through everything they touched.

For a brief moment, Admor stared blankly at Rem fighting. Wherever Rem moved, dark fluids sprayed, staining the surroundings. But Admor couldn't afford to remain dazed.

"Let's get out of here."

He retreated with Rowena on his back, confident no monsters would pursue them.

***

Oara felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Has this happened before?"

No, it hadn't. She had never left a fight she should take on to someone else.

Oara watched as Enkrid fought Jericks.

This was no ordinary foe—this was the one named after her ex-husband. A foe she was meant to cut down.

So why wasn't she stepping in?

The answer lay before her.

It was Enkrid. His unwavering will had stopped her.

"He's holding up well, but..."

From her vantage point, his situation seemed precarious.

Clang!

Zerix's clawed strike was blocked by the flat of Enkrid's sword. As he blocked, Enkrid hooked a foot at the ghoul's leg. Jericks narrowly avoided the trap, lifting his leg and bending his knee to aim a strike at Enkrid's groin.

Enkrid, as if predicting the move, pulled his sword parallel to the ground and struck the ghoul's knee with the pommel. Before the pommel could connect, Jericks leaned back and extended his leg, maintaining his target.

In the nick of time, Enkrid dropped his left forearm to block Jericks' shin. Their limbs met in a cross-like collision.

Clang!

The sound of metal reverberated. The silver vambrace on Enkrid's left hand had deflected Jericks' attack.

After the rapid exchange, the two fighters took a moment to create some distance. Oara observed intently. Jericks wouldn't stop attacking, nor would he recklessly attempt to end the fight. The ghoul was cautious, keeping an eye on her while battling Enkrid.

"Jericks, you've gotten better."

Should she intervene? If she did nothing, Enkrid might die.

He was a valuable person—both skilled and... well, handsome. She didn't want to lose him.

Yet, stepping in wasn't so simple.

Despite not being a knight, Enkrid exuded a knight-like Will that stood firm before her. It might've been an illusion, but it was unmistakable in that fleeting moment.

Even though his stance seemed precarious, he was holding his ground.

Oara, a knight herself, understood honor and wielded her blade in accordance with her oaths. She couldn't bring herself to undermine the man standing before her, who bore a resolve similar to her own.

A resolve rooted in protecting this city.

For her, the city was her joy, her laughter.

What was driving Enkrid?

What was he protecting?

"What is it, really?"

Oara's curiosity grew. Though she stood by for now, she would act if the situation soured.

Yet acting wasn't easy. Nearby, Roman was fending off the Spider Swordsman while a powerful Owlbear kept a wary eye on the knights. Oara found herself at the center of a precarious balance.

If she acted, one of the three monsters could be slain, but the remaining two might target her allies. Could she prevent that?

Unlikely.

So, she chose to maintain the balance for now.

If someone could kill just one of the monsters, the rest of the battle would become more manageable.

"No one needs to die to end this fight."

Still, the odds weren't in their favor. Time worked against them. While the monsters showed no fatigue, her allies seemed to be slowly losing ground.

Yet the fire in their eyes burned brightly. Their determination fueled the soldiers' spirits.

"Oara!"

A soldier on the wall shouted from behind her.

"Let's die with a smile!"

Though she didn't want anyone to die, Oara momentarily held back her decision.

"How unlucky."

Oara, poisoned and unable to fight properly, was frustrated.

"I'll hold them off to the end."

In the end, she died standing her ground. Oara had never truly lost—she just hadn't had the chance to fight properly.

At least, that's how Enkrid saw it. The fragment of Beelrog had sent monsters ahead to drain her stamina, claiming an easy victory.

What if she hadn't been poisoned?

She could've fought.

Unable to fight because of the poison? Then Enkrid would give her one proper fight.

What Enkrid sought to protect was the pride of the knight, Oara.

Though his muscles ached from blocking the ghoul's claws and defending Oara behind him, Enkrid endured. The ghoul couldn't easily find an opening to kill him.

He held on. He endured and kept enduring.

It was the end of his endurance.

"What's this? Chaos here too?"

Rem arrived.

"There was a commander leading the archers. I killed him," said Dunbakel, limping back, eager for praise.

"You took your time, Rem," Enkrid said.

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