Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 165

Encrid didn’t count his enemies.

He simply swung. Again and again.

The monsters kept coming, and the screams of men rang out one after another.

No—at some point, even the screams had faded, leaving only the stench of blood and the cries of the gnolls and beasts.

The battle had begun at dawn, and now the sun hung directly overhead.

Encrid couldn’t block every attack.

A hyena beast’s severed head clung to his left thigh, its jaws still latched onto his flesh.

His left arm hung limp.

His right hand was still functional, but his right foot was not.

His toes had been crushed under a hammer’s blow, making his body sway unsteadily. His vision blurred slightly.

And yet, the monsters did not stop coming.

“Grrruugh!”

The desperate pleas for help had faded.

The screams from somewhere in the distance were gone.

Dragging his injured leg, Encrid swung his sword once more.

The reckless use of the Heart of Monstrous Strength had left his entire body screaming in pain.

From morning until past noon—nearly half a day—he had fought alone, slaying gnolls and hyena beasts.

More than a hundred.

If anyone had known.

If anyone had seen.

They would have been horrified.

But there was no one left.

No one but him.

“…Ah, Krys.”

Stepping back, his foot caught on something. A corpse.

A body with a torn abdomen, entrails spilling onto the ground—too lifeless to even groan when stepped on.

A familiar face.

Krys, with beastly bite marks scarring his cheek.

His face was ruined.

He had always claimed it was his greatest asset.

Finn must be out on patrol. Lucky her, having left to survey the terrain.

Seeing this scene, she would have run.

At least she wouldn’t die today.

But the others? Were they all dead?

Probably.

The wall.

Today’s battle felt like another wall. A certainty, a premonition.

Even without the boatman telling him, he knew.

Or rather, it felt as if he could already hear the boatman mocking him.

“You think you can overcome the wall with just sword training? Go ahead, try it. You’ll suffocate, surrounded by monsters and beasts, and only then will you realize your limits.”

Encrid let out a deep breath and gripped his sword once more.

‘Limits? What limits?’

The gnoll horde, which had been relentlessly attacking, suddenly halted.

“Guuuuuugh!”

“Guuuuuuuuugh!”

“Guuuuuuuuuuuuugh!”

Harsh howls echoed.

Then, the mass of monsters split apart, parting to the sides.

From the center, a single gnoll emerged.

Its posture was hunched in the typical gnoll fashion, spine curved as it walked forward.

It wasn’t one of the larger, mutated ones.

It wasn’t wielding some grand weapon.

At a glance, it was an ordinary gnoll.

The only differences were its more bristled fur, a slightly longer snout—

And the gleaming pair of daggers in its hands.

Something coated the blades, making them glisten under the sunlight.

At its arrival, the surrounding gnolls howled even louder.

The very air trembled. The resonating sound rattled Encrid’s eardrums painfully.

Raising his sword before his eyes, he felt his arm tremble.

A consequence of overusing the Heart of Monstrous Strength.

‘Damn it.’

It felt unfair, in a way.

What was all this?

He had woken up intending to train, but suddenly monsters had surged like a tidal wave.

And now, here he was.

The gnoll’s glossy yellow eyes locked onto Encrid.

And Encrid’s blue eyes stared back.

Blue and yellow. They acknowledged each other.

Monsters forming a colony always had a leader.

Just by the atmosphere, it was clear.

This one was their leader.

The gnoll leader raised its daggers, sniffing the air.

Then, its snout twisted into a grin.

A smile of certainty.

A grin of assured victory.

Was it… laughing?

Gnolls could laugh?

Encrid pondered for a moment—then dismissed it.

It wasn’t a pleasant sight, but what did it matter if a gnoll was smiling?

All that mattered was the fight ahead.

‘I’ve dedicated myself to proper swordsmanship.’

Of course, he had only focused on the fundamentals. Expecting immediate results was unreasonable.

Especially against monsters.

Against a wave of them.

‘Not exactly opponents you can test techniques on.’

Ruagarne had once mentioned that proper swordsmanship was the worst style to use against monsters.

For a lone warrior to cut through a horde, one needed to be at least a knight-level fighter. A lesser knight at the very least.

So, had he gained nothing from this battle?

No.

He had.

Encrid smiled.

As always, he had discovered something new.

And that exhilarated him.

The feeling of avoiding death.

The instinct for evasion wasn’t something that could be learned through mere training.

But now, in this battlefield—

He could feel it.

Every wound he had suffered—every bite, cut, slash, and blow.

He had felt every single one.

And each time, he asked himself:

Why was I hit? Why couldn’t I dodge?

Fighting, thinking, remembering—

And now, finally, he was grasping it.

Had the gnoll leader noticed his smile?

Or perhaps, it simply disliked the shift in atmosphere.

Either way—

The gnoll lunged.

Thud!

It kicked off the ground, dashing forward at an alarming speed.

No weight behind it, but its agility was comparable to a lesser knight.

Without specialized vision training, it would have been impossible to track.

Even now—it was barely within his sight.

Encrid twisted his body, half-dropping into a crouch to dodge.

Gnolls were monsters.

They wielded weapons, but they weren’t swordsmen.

Their attacks were crude and direct.

Had that not been the case, dodging would have been impossible.

Gripping his sword with both hands, Encrid slashed upward.

His body was wrecked, preventing him from delivering a perfect strike.

But—

He hadn’t expected the gnoll to dodge so easily.

Whoosh—

The gnoll leader retreated as fast as it had advanced.

A flickering afterimage.

Encrid’s sword cut through empty air.

Then—

Yellow fur flashed, like a blurred shadow.

Its dark-spotted body flickered—

And suddenly, it was right in front of him.

In an instant, the gnoll closed the distance.

Having dodged, it was already charging back.

This time, he had no way to dodge.

The dagger sank deep into his thigh.

It felt like a burning iron rod had pierced his flesh, the searing pain spreading through his entire body.

Encrid tried to grab the gnoll the moment the dagger struck—

But it had already retreated.

His desperate grasp met only empty air.

The gnoll simply stood there, watching him, circling around him in slow, deliberate steps.

Dragging out time? Now? Why?

What kind of monster was this?

The realization struck him.

“You sneaky bastard.”

Instead of smiling, Encrid let out a strained breath of admiration.

The dagger embedded in his thigh—its shimmering blade—

A dull, spreading pain, followed by a wave of nausea.

This wasn’t the kind of pain one could simply endure.

“Urgh!”

He retched, vomiting blood and whatever remained in his stomach.

Poison.

The dagger was coated in venom.

‘Cunning bastard.’

It knew its own strengths well.

With hands and feet faster than any other gnoll—far superior reflexes—it didn’t need to kill outright.

Just one scratch would be enough to win.

It knew how to fight.

And it knew how to win.

“Guhh.”

Encrid collapsed to the ground.

‘Ruagarne isn’t coming back.’

For a fleeting moment, he had wondered if she might return if he could just hold out.

It wasn’t hope. It wasn’t dependence.

Just a fact.

She wasn’t coming.

That was all that mattered.

He had to endure alone.

And then—pain unlike anything he had ever experienced followed.

The gnoll, as if toying with him, casually poked and prodded his body with its dagger.

Poisoned and writhing in agony, Encrid suffered for over half an hour before dying.

Darkness. Nothingness.

And once again, the Boatman.

“Proper swordsmanship? You really think that’ll work? You’re just a tiny boat caught in a wave of monsters and beasts.”

Ah, what was this?

The boatman’s reaction was so predictable.

“I see.”

Encrid recalled Deutsch’s reaction—and decided to try the same trick on the Boatman.

“…Tch. You little shit.”

The Boatman immediately scowled, having seen right through him.

—

When he opened his eyes, it was dawn.

Encrid armed himself immediately.

The sound of metal clinking filled the room as he secured his second sword, throwing weapons, and armor.

The weight pressed down on his entire body—a reassuring heaviness.

His movements were loud enough to wake the others.

That, too, was intentional.

There were questions to ask.

Ruagarne, the Frok, was the first to speak.

“Fully armed at dawn?”

“Do you know anything about the Cult?”

A sudden question.

The air inside the hut turned cold.

Ruagarne was the cause.

This wasn’t the usual, indifferent Ruagarne.

“Where did you hear that?”

Of course, it was from her own mouth.

“Back when I was a mercenary. Just briefly.”

“Hmm.”

“Shall we talk outside?”

Ruagarne let go of the tense atmosphere.

There was no need to confront him over this right now.

Fine. Let’s hear what he has to say.

She was curious, after all.

—

Outside, Encrid checked his equipment.

Everything was in order.

He then began practicing the Isolation Technique.

Fully armored, every movement carried weight and discomfort.

The discomfort forced him to adjust his posture, and from that corrected stance, he recalled Audin’s teachings.

“Training the body is meant to be uncomfortable.”

What a lunatic.

The trick was applying strain to muscles rather than joints.

How many hours had he spent refining this?

How many days had he repeated this training?

Encrid quickly corrected his form.

Today, his Isolation Technique training had to be short and intense.

There wasn’t much time.

Ruagarne had come outside to talk but found Encrid already training.

She was baffled.

But what could she do?

That’s just the kind of person he was.

“Why did you suddenly bring up the Cult?”

Encrid glanced at Ruagarne.

He had seen Cultists before. He had even helped wipe them out.

They often lurked in dark alleys, hidden corners of cities.

Of course, when such filth appeared in urban areas, the Church’s Inquisition swiftly dealt with them, so mercenaries rarely got involved.

But in rural villages, things were different.

When trouble arose, village chiefs sometimes hired mercenaries.

Encrid had fought fanatics who smoked mind-altering herbs, their brains half-rotted.

They were insane.

But what Ruagarne spoke of wasn’t just that.

That much was clear.

She had bolted off the moment she heard the word.

“Had a dream about it.”

Encrid chose his words well.

Choosing the right words meant understanding the other person, being perceptive, and thinking quickly.

And he knew—Ruagarne was looking at him differently.

‘She won’t think I’m normal.’

So this explanation should be enough.

If not?

Then he’d just drop it.

Learning about the Cult wasn’t his primary goal.

Half was curiosity, the other half was the sense that something was off.

This wasn’t just a simple colony of monsters.

The sheer number of creatures—it wasn’t normal.

“A dream?”

Ruagarne found herself increasingly intrigued.

One reason was simple—Encrid himself wasn’t normal.

‘That much makes sense.’

She quickly accepted it.

This was a man who trained even now, fully armored.

How was that normal?

Truly, he was worthy of being the captain of a band of lunatics.

“Real Cultists are dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Even saying their name carelessly is risky.”

Ruagarne’s voice was grave.

“I see.”

Was that enough explanation?

Ruagarne considered this before adding a few more words.

“The Cult spreads its roots across the entire continent. But the most dangerous of them are the ones who believe the Demon Realm is their holy land. The Cult of the Demon Realm.”

She paused.

“They’re also known as the Cult of Rebirth. They worship the Six Demons.”

That was all she offered.

Just surface-level information.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Ruagarne held back.

And Encrid?

He had heard all he needed.

The Cult of the Demon Realm, the Cult of Rebirth, or the ones who worship the Six Demons…

‘So, they’re involved somehow?’

Encrid couldn’t press Ruagarne further.

That was something to figure out over time—through observation.

Instead, he continued his training.

Ruagarne watched him, letting out a guttural noise before asking,

“Aren’t you hot?”

Sweat trickled down Encrid’s forehead.

Of course, he was hot.

Training in full armor, working his muscles to exhaustion—

It must have looked strange.

“The weight of the armor adds strain to my muscles. It’s good for training.”

He spouted whatever came to mind.

But even in moments like these, he chose his words carefully.

That was his quick wit.

Ruagarne considered his response and decided it made sense.

Time passed.

Encrid checked their escape routes.

Could he evacuate Esther and Krys beforehand?

The fortified wooden palisade wasn’t easy to scale.

There were two gates—one at the front, and another at the back, which led to a rocky hill used as a quarry.

Send them out the back?

But that gate was sealed shut.

Krys had once mentioned it was never opened.

And that they seemed intent on hiding something near the quarry.

‘Are they covering something up?’

Not his concern.

Encrid didn’t push his body too hard.

Just enough to loosen up.

Still, sweat dripped to the ground.

The morning heat was intense. Wearing full armor alone was enough to make him sweat, and now, he was swinging his sword on top of that.

Waiting for the horde of monsters to arrive—

It almost felt like he could hear the Boatman’s voice.

“When standing alone before a surging wave of monsters, what can a single human do?”

No.

It wasn’t the Boatman asking.

It was himself.

What could a single person do?

A lot.

He had learned much.

Reinforced his instincts.

Trained his senses within the waves of monsters.

Refining reaction speed, sharpening judgment, honing muscle reflexes, and developing crisis control—all at once.

He had already realized this before.

Against Letsha the Mage, the werewolf colony, and the Azpen ambush forces.

Repeating today, moving toward tomorrow.

He would use everything he had.

He wouldn’t waste today.

More than that—he would make full use of it.

He had made that resolution.

And he would carry it through.

Encrid sharpened the blade within his mind.

And with that mental blade, he raised his real one.

Facing a new day.

Standing with his back to the rising sun.

Boom!

“Guuuuuugh!”

A thunderous sound erupted—

Followed by the gnolls’ battle cries.