A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The moment Lynox felt the invisible force constricting his body, he lightly clashed the two swords in his hands.

He tapped the sword in his right hand against the one in his left, which he held like a brace.

Cling!

The light screech of metal against metal cut through the storm like a razor’s edge.

The faint sound was soon buried under the violent roar of the tempest, but the sound itself didn’t matter. He hadn’t meant to feel anything through it.

His specialty was wave resonance. The two swords, infused with Will, released a subtle ripple detectable only to Lynox himself.

That pulse was his secret technique—the very reason he was known for possessing Zaun’s greatest reconnaissance ability.

“So that’s how it is, huh.”

He quickly located three Scalers using telekinesis. All three had their hands extended toward him, and in front of them stood a hulking Scaler with a solid, armored torso.

They were working in pairs, perfectly in sync as if they had undergone rigorous training.

“Did you train them, Heskal?”

Could monsters be trained? Could they even communicate? Lynox wondered, but he didn’t expect an answer. Just a gut feeling—he wouldn’t get the chance to ask.

He thrust the sword in his right hand into the ground like a stake—thunk!—half-burying the blade.

Using the earth as a sheath, he propped it up at an angle, then drew a third sword slung across his back and hurled it forward with all his might.

Swish—

The short sword, roughly the length of a forearm, zipped through the air in a straight line. No matter how fierce the storm, it was no match for the weight hurled by a knight’s strength.

Clack!

The massive Scaler intercepted the sword mid-air. Not only were its scales durable, but the reflexes needed to snatch a fast-moving projectile like that were astonishing.

“Bullshit.”

Lynox reached out and jerked his hand back.

Crack.

The sword pulled free from the Scaler’s grip and returned to him. His sword was one that came back when called.

Whirl—tap.

The spinning blade flew straight into Lynox’s grasp once again.

The telekinetic ones were playing tricks on him in succession.

The constricting force wasn’t weak, and it was damn annoying.

He wasn’t completely immobilized, like with a net around his legs or arms, but it was definitely enough to be a nuisance.

Lynox threw the sword again—but this time, he didn’t stop there.

While the first sword remained stabbed into the ground, he drew another from his right shoulder. It looked like an ordinary longsword, but a closer inspection revealed that it had no edge.

It resembled a practice sword, a dull-edged blade used in training.

He let it hang downward, its tip dragging across the earth.

Grgrgrgrk!

As he ran, the dragging blade left a long gouge along his path. The storm would erase it quickly, but for now, it marked his charge.

This time, the big Scaler didn’t try to grab the sword—it blocked it with the back of its hand. The blade bit in but didn’t pierce through. The creature used its fist like a shield.

Smart.

Or perhaps just an innate combat instinct.

It used its left hand to block and tried to grip the blade with its right. Likely expecting Lynox to call the weapon back and intending not to let go this time.

But Lynox didn’t call it.

Instead, he ran straight at it.

Smack!

A classic Lynox technique: throw a sword and follow it with a direct charge.

But this time, that wasn’t all.

The first sword was called Prey. The one now in his hand was Hunter.

Prey always tries to flee from Hunter.

The edgeless longsword traced a short arc.

Clang! Boom!

Hunter wasn’t meant for slicing. Its job was to strike Prey and launch it.

Hunter struck the broad pommel of Prey from behind, overlapping waves of Will that detonated on contact and sent Prey flying forward at twice its original speed.

Boom!

A blade-sized arrow split the storm.

Prey, launched with overwhelming force, tore through the Scaler’s poorly positioned head, blowing off half of its skull—blood and chunks swept away by rain.

Prey’s original target had been the telekinetic user behind the large Scaler. After piercing through the Scaler’s hand, it continued on a straight path and obliterated the head of the monster in its trajectory.

The outstretched arms of the telekinetic Scaler were useless.

Prey never returns while Hunter is drawn. This is a technique utilizing a knight’s oath, encoded into his weapons. One of Lynox’s hidden cards.

Everyone had at least one trick that wouldn’t fly in a formal duel.

Lynox swung another paired blade, severing the neck of the now half-headed Scaler.

Crack, slash.

He hadn’t even used that much strength, but it cut cleanly. Considering how tough Scaler bodies were, this was absurd.

But Lynox’s sword had several times the cutting power of a normal blade.

Of course, the downside was that even though it was an inscribed weapon, it broke often. But that could be offset with skill.

He had even changed his swordsmanship to take advantage of his weapon’s strengths.

Using the blade’s sharpness to create glancing attacks that wore down opponents’ blades—his defensive style was born from that.

Not a typical tactic, even within Zaun.

“Next.”

He spoke as he sheathed Hunter and extended his hand.

The Will-infused call made Prey tremble and fly back into his grasp.

Prey had only three functions: throw, return, and be launched by Hunter.

Thus, the tip had been specially crafted from true silver and diamond-coated. Expensive, delicate, and easily damaged if it hit something wrong.

Lynox didn’t care. It was meant to stab and be thrown. That was it.

Prey was more club than sword.

His tactics were unique—techniques completely divorced from convention.

He used the same method to take out the two remaining Scalers entangling him, then retrieved the sword embedded in the ground. Along the way, he took out a winged monster aiming for the Lord’s back with a clean shot from Prey.

Meanwhile, Tempest Zaun was cleaving through three monsters at once with brute force.

He struck one with the flat of his blade, crushing its head into the muddy ground. The owlbear’s skull and torso split, shattered, and burst—carried away by the rain.

Lynox saw it and once more clashed his swords together.

Clang!

When focused narrowly instead of spread wide, his wave technique could pierce further. He extended it in Enkrid’s direction.

After grasping the general situation through the wave, Lynox muttered,

“I should’ve gone there.”

Seeing the trap Heskal had laid, he understood the intent. He’d clearly worked to counteract Lynox’s techniques.

Border Guard Enkrid. A promising youth. Would he have the strength to break through the fox-like Heskal’s trap?

That he didn’t know.

Sssshhhhh...

The rain continued, but the wind had weakened slightly. The downpour was still heavy, but much better than before.

“What’s in front of us is no joke either.”

At Tempest’s words, Lynox turned his gaze forward—only to suddenly retch acidic vomit onto the ground.

The rain couldn’t disguise the blood in it.

“I won’t last long.”

He ground the vomit into the mud with his boot.

The medicine Anne gave him had kept him moving, but only for a limited time. That’s why he had pushed himself further forward than even Alexandra or Tempest.

By drawing the attention of ability-wielding enemies to himself, he took on more burden.

Even if it looked easy, each monster was an ordeal.

He had to remain constantly alert for monsters hiding their presence and aiming for their backs.

“This won’t be your grave, Lynox.”

Tempest readied his stance as four monsters approached.

Craaaack!

A lightning strike lit the battlefield. Though the night was pitch dark, a knight’s eyes could still see.

The bolt revealed their foes clearly.

Four Scalers.

Their scales were half black, half red. Based on his experience, the more red a Scaler had, the more potent its psychic abilities.

These ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ four would be far more troublesome than anything they’d faced so far.

“Tempe. Time to fulfill that childhood promise.”

Lynox didn’t have the power to see the future, but he knew he wouldn’t survive this battle.

“If I had six months, I could fix it... but right now...”

That’s what Anne had said after examining him and giving him various medicines.

He knew.

His condition had worsened drastically after taking a hit from Heskal.

Fever. Heart palpitations. Vomiting blood as if his insides were being torn apart.

He’d joked—“Guess I’m dying.”—but in truth, he knew this was the end.

What was left?

Plenty. But the only thing on his mind was an old promise from youth.

If either of them were to die—it would be him first, not Tempest.

They had once quarreled over a woman. But they were also friends who had grown up side by side.

“You go help Alex.”

Tempest spoke sincerely—he couldn’t express emotion, but his words held truth.

“No need!”

Alexandra shouted from over ten paces away. In front of her, black smoke swirled, and from amidst the monster corpses, a gauntlet of blackened steel reached up.

A Death Knight.

A necromancer’s ultimate creation, forged from a knight’s corpse.

Even lesser undead warriors were nightmares to most. A Death Knight was horror itself.

“I’ll go first. You’re the Lord.”

Lynox said again. Tempest looked briefly at his wife.

She replied.

“Believe in me, Tempe. I’m Blitzkring—the Lightning Blade.”

Yes, there had been a time when he hadn’t even dared to challenge her.

“Support Lynox. I’ll say it again—this won’t be your grave.”

They had to endure. That resolve was necessary.

The Lord believed all battles had a flow. Victory came when the tide turned. Now was the time to hold out.

The four Scalers stood before Tempest and Lynox. Two wielded short clubs. The other two had katars—short, punching blades with parallel bars and a horizontal grip.

Their weapons told their strategy. These four had fought many battles.

Their weapons were short, and their bodies were tightly muscled. Rain bounced off their scales.

Their attacks would rely on agility nearly on par with knights.

Likely, their blades were also poisoned.

“Hoo.”

Tempest steadied his breath.

Just as she trusted him, he had to give her faith as well.

“Just cover me, Lynox.”

Far away, Medusa observed the battlefield. A part of Tempest’s Will remained shackled by her gaze.

He kept his head down—enough to avoid her eyes but still see the enemy’s feet.

From youth, he had struggled with many techniques.

But he’d always had the strength to wield a massive sword. That hadn’t changed.

Tempest Zaun’s greatsword angled through the air—ready.

Lynox took his place behind him.

From between the four Scalers came a familiar voice.

Heskal’s voice—delivered through some spell or sorcery.

“Tempe, those four are special monsters. Chimera among chimeras, crafted to fight knights. A genius of alchemy and a monster of the last generation spent seventy years perfecting them.”

A sudden, unwelcome explanation.

“They’ll hold you here while I go kill your son. I don’t know where you’ve hidden Odinkar, but I’ll find him too.”

Heskal had read a portion of the Lord’s heart—and now sought to shake it.

Lynox felt a flicker of anxiety. He glanced at the Lord—but the man’s face hadn’t changed.

No emotions showed.

It was his weakness—but in this moment, it became a mask of calm.

As the voice vanished, the four Scalers kicked off the ground.

Thud!

Lynox squinted, turning his back to avoid Medusa’s gaze.

From now on, his role was to guard his friend’s back.

Even if his guts twisted and nausea surged—he’d hold it in.

Because if he didn’t, he’d lose his head.

***

“You’ve always been chasing ‘what’s next.’”

Andante had once been Alexandra’s close friend.

That same friend had now rejected death, rising again with black blood and madness.

Stripped of reason, driven solely by combat instinct.

Andante—once a dear friend—had refused love and children.

All she ever sought was what came next, to climb higher.

“What’s next? I can do more.”

A dream easily twisted into obsession. But if anyone could hold such a dream, it was a knight of Zaun.

Now, seeing her like this—it was safe to say she had failed.

“I’ll surpass you someday, Alex.”

It had been Alexandra who kept her grounded.

Nowhere—neither continent nor empire—would tolerate a born killer with an instinct for murder.

Andante needed to spill red blood monthly. She had to kill at least once every three months.

She constantly craved murder.

“Now you’ll be able to kill to your heart’s content, Andante.”

Alexandra murmured.

Hisssssss...

The Death Knight born from a monster’s corpse said nothing.

Only black steam billowed from its scorched visor.

Not even the storm could dissolve the steam. It pierced through the rain and coiled around its helmet.

It was not a mystical sight—but one of pure, paralyzing fear.

A knight dies, drunk on omnipotence. A sorcerer deceives that death. The knight becomes a Death Knight.

Such a being possessed power far beyond what it held in life.

This was the blade Heskal had prepared for Alexandra.