A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

”...To kill, or not to kill, that is my question.”

The man hesitated for a moment but continued speaking in the same tone as before.

The knight from Azpen had curly, dark navy hair, a high nose bridge, and deeply set eyes framed by slightly sunken bones. Overall, his face was fairly presentable.

Not quite as handsome as Enkrid or Kraiss, but not bad either.

Regardless of his looks, Rem had already decided to mock this idiot.

”Huh? What? I can’t really hear what a guy who mated with a ghoul is saying.”

The word ”mate” was only used when male and female animals had sex.

Ghouls didn’t have genitals, so the act itself was impossible—and even if they did, no one in their right mind would actually do such a thing. This remark went a step further than asking, “Was your mother a ghoul?”

”What did you say?”

”You’ve got one hell of a kink.”

”What are you talking about?”

”Hmm? Can’t hear me? Your ears bad? Ghoul. Mate. With. Eat. Up. Eat. You. Freak.”

Rem kindly broke it up, word by word, and the man listened, too stunned to respond.

What the hell did that crazy barbarian just say?

It only took a moment for the words to pass through his ears and settle into meaning.

He was proud of his looks, and he fancied his melancholic eyes and fondness for reciting poetry as his defining charms.

All of it was superficial.

At Rem’s words, the forehead of the knight from Azpen’s Royal Knights—who longed for the nickname “Poet Knight”—bulged with thick veins.

The veins stood out so clearly, it was surprising they didn’t make a cracking sound. And since he wasn’t wearing a helmet, they were even more visible.

“Don’t let a madman’s words shake you.”

A red-eyed man spoke from behind.

“Ooooh, he said he mated with a ghoul. With a ghoul~.”

Rem was childish. He stuck his tongue out and babbled whatever came to mind. The Azpen knight knew it was childish. He also knew he should ignore it. The problem was that the man speaking these words had a presence far too large to ignore—and he was clearly enjoying himself.

The man was surrounded by Montaire’s swamp assassins and showed not even a hint of tension, even with enemies before him. He even picked his nose.

Everything he said, the way he acted, the way he looked—none of it sat right with him.

“Isn’t this fun?”

Rem grinned and asked, and the navy-haired knight decided, then and there, that he would rip that barbarian’s mouth open with his own hands.

“Such foul language... you barbarian.”

Had anyone ever looked down on him like this before?

Maybe not looked down—but no one had ever mocked him to this degree.

That mockery awakened a demon sleeping within him. Or so the man believed.

The man, now a knight of Azpen, had little spiritual discipline.

Which made sense—he had never once in his life been overtaken or outdone by anyone.

He was born with talent, built upon it with effort, and even his environment had favored him.

The genius of House Eckins. His name was Corwin Eckins.

He placed his hand on his sword. Ting—the blade reflected the surrounding light as it was revealed.

Corwin had named his sword Fate.

To be more precise, “Predetermined Fate.”

“You, barbarian. Lacking rhythm, lacking romance. I shall claim your life.”

Born a genius, gifted with the sight of future paths since childhood, Corwin had always seen the trajectory of his opponents’ attacks and predicted their next move.

That’s why he bore the sword called Fate—the weapon that decided the opponent’s destiny.

Naturally, having won every life-or-death battle thus far, he believed in his sword, and in his skill.

Corwin spoke once again, as if reciting poetry, and Rem picked at his ear and replied.

“Sure, you ghoul-mating freak with a special kink. Let’s see it.”

”...Didn’t I say not to engage?”

The red-eyed man muttered again from behind. In terms of verbal sparring, it was Rem’s complete victory.

Corwin’s forehead pulsed with veins, and the tip of his sword pointed forward, exuding pressure. Rem shrugged off that pressure with ease. At the same time, two steps behind Corwin, the red-eyed man thrust his toe into the dirt and kicked it forward.

Thump! Dirt exploded toward Rem with a loud crash.

Rem tucked his chin, lifted both arms, and blocked the incoming earth.

Every motion happened in a single breath, in an instant—and in that split second, one of Montaire’s swamp assassins fired a silent dart gun. It was a ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) coordinated maneuver.

The sound of soil splitting, the distraction from the pressure—using that gap, a nearly inaudible needle flew through the air. Rem casually swept his left hand through the air.

To the average eye, it was an imperceptibly fast double swipe, up and down.

Whoosh!

Wind stirred from that gesture, and the flying needle lost its direction and dropped.

At the same time, with a shraaaa, a weighted net dropped over Rem’s head, and a blade rose from between his legs.

The Montaire swamp assassins had seen what they thought was a gap.

Naturally, it was a deliberately exposed gap.

Rem appeared still—but suddenly, he pulled out an axe and grinned wickedly.

To Corwin Eckins, all of this burned itself into his brain in slow motion.

Thwack!

The axe moved.

Whamwhamwhamwhamwham!

The axe never stopped—its constant motion demonstrated exactly what it was meant to do.

With each swing, it carved lines in the air.

Like someone mashing fruit with brutal hands. He hadn’t even used the blade, just flung it around haphazardly.

Seven charging assassins had their heads smashed, cracked, and crushed. The net split into six pieces mid-air and scattered.

All of it happened in the time it took to exhale once.

“...May your will dwell within me.”

The red-eyed man, having seen Rem’s movement, began chanting an incantation. It was possession—a spirit entered his body.

His entire body trembled as he absorbed the will of another being and drooled with eyes closed.

When he opened them again, his presence had entirely changed.

It was a forbidden technique that summoned the spirit of a noble demon—even among monsters, known as a high-ranking demon, a vampire.

Through this, he challenged knighthood with a more refined method than Count Molsen ever had.

After wiping out the assassins, Rem leaned on a tree with his left hand and spoke.

“Y’know, the guy who set all this up—King Eyeball or whatever—was real nervous about this. And I couldn’t figure out why. Know why? ‘Cause to me, this looked like an easy-ass fight.”

As he spoke, three more assassins lunged at him using the same gap that had appeared earlier.

A shower of needles and darts rained down from above. Poisoned sand scattered.

Rem kicked the ground and shifted his position.

The tree he’d leaned on had already been cut through, and now tilted as it collapsed.

Around that tree—or hiding atop it—the remaining assassins scattered like ants caught in a sudden downpour.

Rem scanned the chaos with a lazy glance, kicked a pebble up with his toe, and smacked it with the flat of his axe.

Clang!

He kept the force steady as he swung. At the moment the pebble met the axe blade, he added pressure and released it—launching the stone faster than an arrow. That flying pebble split the air and crushed an assassin’s skull.

Pop!

Blood and brain matter exploded in a radial spray, splattering across the dirt.

Rem kept talking like nothing happened.

His axe rested comfortably on his shoulder.

“And the captain too—he said he wouldn’t tolerate friendly casualties? Then just make that happen. What’s the point in talking about it? Just bash in the skulls of every bastard that comes at you. Problem solved. Ain’t that right, you easy-ass fucks?”

It wasn’t a childish taunt. It was honest provocation. Two of Azpen’s knights exchanged glances and backed away.

Their fight was a different kind.

But Corwin Eckins’ Fate could see the future. Which meant Corwin could coordinate with friendly knights.

Even if he personally hated it.

Rem watched the two enemies positioning around him—one in front, one behind.

The red-eyed man’s body turned into red mist and then reformed.

He had summoned the will of a vampire—an upper-class demon—and could now wield their magic.

Whether that mattered or not, Rem muttered with his axe still on his shoulder.

“Feeling pretty good today, huh?”

He wasn’t talking to the enemy.

He was responding to the feeling transmitted by his axe.

His inherited weapon had just told him it felt good today. That it wanted to play.

The assassins reformed their ranks and surrounded him once more.

Rem had already faced Jaxon, so Montaire’s swamp was hardly worth his attention.

Same went for the two in front of him.

Clumsy idiots.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Just as Barnas Hurrier had confidently said—not all knights are the same.

“You ever played with someone whose Will never runs dry?”

When Peld was provoked, he spouted some nonsense about the air being different and spiraled into frenzy. Jaxon had also been struck with something close to shock upon seeing Enkrid.

And Rem was no different.

A knight wasn’t the end.

Enkrid spoke through his actions and body—and that message hit Rem hard.

“You know I started training like a madman again because of that guy? Huh? You get that?”

As he spoke, Rem dropped his left hand. It was the beginning of a real battle—the kind he’d never shown his allies before.

He brushed along his waist, then his left fingers wrapped around a thick leather cord.

At the end of the slack cord was a palm-sized leather pouch made to hold projectiles—his sling.

He had twisted tiger beast sinew with owlbear leather and crafted it himself.

He’d even torn apart a drake-scale armor, layered it, and used it for the pouch. Kraiss had smacked his own forehead when he saw it.

“Do you have any idea how much that thing’s worth?”

“Why should I care?”

“No reason. Just... keep living without knowing.”

Kraiss never really intended to convince him. He just couldn’t bear to leave it unsaid. The waste was too much to stomach.

Even if he got beaten to a pulp or had his life threatened, Kraiss couldn’t have held back that comment.

Same way Enkrid couldn’t go a day without training or he’d feel like bugs were crawling under his skin.

Rem had walked along the riverbank, collecting dozens of smooth stones to use with the sling—and even asked the forge to make similar iron slugs.

The sling hung low, dragging near his feet. The cord was long—too long—but it suited Rem perfectly.

Axe in his right hand, sling in his left.

This was Rem’s final combat form. Same one he’d used when he killed that cannibal warrior.

“Man, this really takes me back. You should feel honored, you ghoul-loving freak.”

He couldn’t help but taunt his opponent one more time.

Corwin no longer responded to the words.

He had shed all pretense of flair. He was still a knight of Azpen, and his survival until now had proved his skill.

His instincts whispered.

The grey-haired beast before him was more threatening than anyone he’d faced.

Even, for a fleeting moment, more so than his own master—Barnas Hurrier.

“Nonsense,”

he muttered immediately. Feed the enemy in your mind, and you lose before the fight begins.

A knight must always raise the blade of resolve within.

“I will win.”

Corwin reaffirmed his resolve to bolster his spirit.

On the other side, Red Eyes analyzed the situation even more calmly, and judged that now was the time to reinforce his own will.

He wasn’t a knight by ordinary means, but through the magic of embodying spiritual will.

It wasn’t the conventional path—but it wasn’t a corrupt one either.

Barnas Hurrier had acknowledged that.

“Hm? Huh, that’s some interesting spellwork. So people talk shit about it? Who cares? Long as you stand tall, that’s all that matters. You’ll end up facing everything out there eventually. It’s just a difference of methods.”

Azpen’s strongest knight had acknowledged him.

For Lord Barnas...

Red Eyes steeled his spirit for the sake of the one he believed in.

Rem—

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

He began spinning the sling. Soon, a disc-like blur formed above his head.

Wheeeeeeeeee!

The sound alone carried immense pressure.

Then without pause, Rem extended his left arm and let the sling fly—showing that the sound wasn’t just for intimidation.

Bang!

A stone struck an assassin’s head, sending blood and brain matter exploding in a radial burst across the ground.

When the fluids from the shattered skull splattered onto the side of a large nearby tree, it left a mark like someone had hurled a ripe tomato at it.

The dead assassin and the tree were more than ten paces apart.

Whoosh-whoosh, wheeeee!

After the first shot, the sling immediately resumed spinning.

“Alright, next one’s coming.”

Rem said as soon as he launched the first shot and began spinning for the second.

Corwin, upon detecting something faster than his own visual tracking, activated Fate.

The eye that glimpses the future.

Judging he’d be hit if he stood still, Corwin’s sword split the air.

His feet pounded the earth and his body surged forward. He slashed down vertically. Just as his blade neared Rem’s back, an axe appeared and clang!—knocked it away.

In that moment, Red Eyes dropped from above, aiming to stab down with the ten crimson claws sprouting from his fingers.

Rem’s axe blocked both the sword and the claws.

Clangclangclang!

Sparks burst out, and a wave of heat swept through the air.

Fwooosh!

Swinging his axe, Rem tilted his body and twisted the sling, firing the second shot before it could even hit full rotation speed.

Ping, pop!

Another assassin died.

It was an irregular attack timing. The assassin group could’ve frozen up for a moment—

“Swarm him! Anyone who values their life will face worse punishment if they hesitate!”

Red Eyes shouted, and the assassins moved again.

Rem still didn’t feel threatened by any of this.

Even with two knights as opponents—

“Still easier than that lost bastard or that goddamn stray cat.”

And definitely easier than sparring with Enkrid.

That was Rem’s honest thought.