A Knight Who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 310

Chapter 310: CHAPTER 308
Got you.

When speaking of a duel between wizards, it’s said that they each open their own world of spells.

The spells they’ve stored within their respective worlds became their weapons.

Galaf drew forth a river from within his world.

“Rush and strike.”

A staff had appeared in Galaf’s hand before anyone realized.

From the white, glowing gemstone at the tip of his staff, a portion of the river spilled out.

It quickly formed into a massive mass, becoming a bomb made of water droplets that flew through the air.

“You think you can beat me while under a curse? How stupid!”

Galaf shouted as he hurled the water bomb.

As soon as Galaf commanded the strike, Esther also began forming hand signs.

Instead of showing emotion, she revealed her spell.

Whoosh!

The moment Esther’s finger movements ceased, flames erupted in her eyes, and a sphere of fire materialized in her line of sight, shooting forward.

The two spells, formed of different elements, collided in midair.

Boom!

With an explosive sound, a great cloud of steam billowed out.

The fireball was extinguished, and the mass of water veered off course, slamming into the ground.

Splash!

The ground was deeply gouged, and steam enveloped the surroundings.

The mist that filled the air obscured their vision like a thick fog.

But the fact that they couldn’t see didn’t mean the two wizards would lose track of each other.

From the start, they had been sensing the flow of mana to locate their opponent, so vision was unnecessary.

“You stupid bitch!”

Hearing that insult repeatedly only made her more determined.

Esther decided on the words she would say when she killed him.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

While Galaf hurled insults, he secretly sent two of his disciples behind Esther.

He had sent the others off for ‘other work’, but kept these two with him.

Neither was especially skilled in sorcery, but they were both excellent with swords.

‘Stupid bitch.’

Galaf repeated the same words in his mind while continuing to chant spell after spell.

The two disciples crept forward.

The steam conveniently concealed their bodies, making it almost impossible to detect their presence.

Since neither of the disciples had yet established their own world of spells, Esther, who could sense mana, wouldn’t be able to detect them.

The two disciples advanced, cutting through the misty steam.

One of them tightened his grip on his sword, searching for their target.

As his eyes darted, ready to stab as soon as he spotted her, something suddenly swooped towards him.

Thud!

The disciple, who had taken the lead, suddenly saw nothing but darkness.

Something had wrapped around his face, and pressure began to build on his head.

“Urk!”

“You son of a—!”

The other disciple behind him drew his sword and stabbed forward.

Clang!

Ting!

“Gah!”

It was as if he had struck a rock.

The tip of his sword rebounded, and he dropped his weapon.

His hand throbbed painfully.

Grab!

Out of the mist, a large hand reached out and swiftly gripped the second disciple’s throat.

Reflexively, the disciple scratched and tugged at the hand around his neck.

It was all to no avail.

Not even the sword could make a difference.

“Guh!”

The two disciples hung in the air, unable to even scream.

Their breath was cut off, and they couldn’t utter a word.

Both the one whose head was grabbed and the one whose neck was held struggled, but neither could break free from the grip.

The face of the disciple with the hand around his neck began to turn purple.

It was because his airway was completely blocked.

His tongue sluggishly slipped out between his lips, which had turned an even darker shade of purple, hanging limply downward.

Meanwhile, Esther calmly chanted another spell.

“D’muller’s Scythe.”

It was the same spell as before.

As the vacuum slash cut through the air, the steam that had obscured the surroundings briefly dispersed.

“The same trick again!”

Galaf blocked it in the same way.

A blue barrier intercepted the vacuum blade, scattering it.

And then, Galaf saw the figure standing idly in front of Esther.

“A Golem?”

What stood before him was a monstrous creature, too human-like to be an ordinary Golem.

He also noticed the two dead disciples.

One had died with his tongue sticking out, and the other lay on the ground, bleeding from his ears, eyes, and nose, his skull shattered, his face grotesquely twisted.

“A summoned creature?”

“I picked it up along the way.”

Esther responded, her face still devoid of any smile.

Galaf clenched his teeth.

There was no way he could lose to someone who couldn’t even open half of their spell world.

On the other hand, Esther found her opponent pitiful.

After all, why had she earned the title that included the word ‘battle’ in her name?

Because she fought well.

Her world of spells had begun with battle and combat.

“Ah, it’s been a while.”

It had been a long time since she had faced a decent opponent.

After this, she would have to remain in panther form for more than a month, but the enjoyment she was feeling now would be worth it.

* * *

Thwack!

If they came close, he struck them.

If they retreated, he would close the distance and strike them down.

Encrid was like a siege weapon, single-handedly breaking through the wall of enemy soldiers.

He was demonstrating that very power.

Some of the enemy soldiers, filled with fear, began to retreat.

“Don’t retreat!”

A Commander behind them drew his sword.

If they retreated, they would be killed by their own allies.

With renewed resolve, the soldiers clenched their teeth once more.

Encrid observed the reactions of the enemy soldiers, his mind always focused on swordsmanship.

He was always thinking about how to swing the sword.

It was about the method of fighting.

‘Commander Sinar brought a sword technique specifically to counter me.’

Why had she done that?

Because she had chosen the appropriate means for the situation and moment.

Then, what should Encrid do now?

He reflected on what he possessed, reviewing and ingraining it into his body.

It was the same as always.

Lost in his thoughts, he swung his sword again.

Whoosh.

A sense of impending danger touched his chest before the wind even moved.

Encrid retracted his sword.

He employed a defensive stance from the Correct Sword Technique of the Nameless School.

He pulled his right foot behind his left and twisted his body, raising his blade to defend his center.

Clang!

It was the perfect response.

A blade struck the middle of Encrid’s steel sword.

Had he been any slower, it would have been a severe slash.

The blade that struck Encrid’s sword pulled back.

The man who had swung it settled into a stance.

He was short, his forehead barely reaching Encrid’s chin, and he wasn’t wearing a helmet. His build was sturdy, and his feet were large.

With just one glance, Encrid understood his opponent.

‘An attack based on explosive charges.’

In terms of swordsmanship, it was swift swordsmanship—a style of fast blades.

Greetings from the southernmost part of the country.

Translated into the common tongue of the continent, it meant: Straight sword, Heavy Sword, Deceptive Sword, Swift Sword, Soft Sword.

Swordsmanship was broadly divided into five categories, and when mixed with various footwork techniques and other elements, it often transformed into new forms of swordsmanship.

His opponent’s swordsmanship was like that—a harmony between fast feet and fast hands.

A quick, rapid sword.

The opponent bounced on the spot a few times before moving again.

His body moved like lightning.

As he swung the sword in his hand, it was revealed to be a scimitar-like blade.

Anything caught by that curved blade would surely be sliced apart.

Encrid shifted his feet and retreated.

Clang!

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Bang!

Even though Encrid blocked two, three, four, five consecutive strikes, the opponent did not let up.

There wasn’t even the sound of breathing, but the attacks came continuously, one after the other.

Nor did they slow down.

It was as if the opponent was saying he could swing like this all day.

Encrid didn’t mind.

This opponent was slower than Laikanos.

After blocking a total of nine sword strikes and retreating ten steps, Encrid grasped his sword with only his right hand and attempted to deflect the next strike.

The opponent, who seemed like he was going for a wide swing, suddenly pulled back his sword and crouched down, lowering his stance in an instant.

Encrid kept his right hand where it was and used his left hand to reach for the sword on his right hip.

The sword was called Ember, a blade so incredibly light that it was tricky to handle.

However, when considering only a single thrust, it was the best choice.

As fast as the opponent’s movements were, in the blink of an eye, the man who had been in front of him was now airborne.

There wasn’t even a sound of him kicking off the ground.

It was as if he had suddenly appeared above Encrid’s head.

A move that bordered on acrobatics.

From mid-air, he slashed downward.

A strike launched from above, adding speed to his momentum—a faster and sharper strike than any of the previous nine.

It was a decisive move, his final gambit.

But Encrid didn’t retreat.

Instead, he moved his left hand.

The descending slash from above and the upward thrust of light brushed past each other at an angle.

Slick!

The curved sword grazed Encrid’s chest.

But it did not cut through his flesh.

The final strike lacked the necessary strength.

“Urgh, you’re faster than me.”

The blade had embedded itself in opponent’s chest, preventing the man from continuing his attack properly.

Because of that, the man’s sword merely grazed Encrid’s chest.

It tore through the leather armor and the gambeson, but it couldn’t penetrate the under-armor he wore beneath.

The armor he had acquired when he saved Big Eyes had proven to be quite useful.

The man, now with a hole in his chest, fell to the ground, writhing.

“Recently, I fought someone much faster.”

Encrid said to the dying man.

The man blinked a few times before his breath stopped.

He was dead.

It was remarkable that he had even spoken after having his heart pierced.

Encrid swung his sword in the air, shaking off the blood.

The blow had left his chest feeling a bit numb.

Both the gambeson and leather armor covering his chest now bore clear marks from the strike.

However, the bandage armor underneath had remained intact, so he hadn’t been cut.

The aching in his bones suggested it had been a blow of considerable strength.

Encrid didn’t know who his opponent had been, but the Aspen Commander did.

He was a man called Janus the Quick-Handed.

Among the mercenaries active within Aspen, he was considered one of the most capable.

His rapid strikes and light movements had haunted many before, but that nightmare had ended here.

“Time to finish up, right?”

Encrid spoke to the enemy soldiers as he began to move forward.

Behind him, his comrades were watching.

One soldier in particular, who had been muttering nonsense up until the very end, couldn’t take his eyes off him.

‘I’m such an idiot.’

He fought disgustingly well.

Incredibly, disgustingly well.

He wasn’t even in a position to say anything after what he’d seen.

The approaching enemy soldiers were neither bundles of straw nor rotten wood, yet they were all collapsing and falling over as soon as they approached him.

‘Ah, to go up against someone like that…’

It was all because of Helma.

He had secretly taken a liking to her, but now it seemed she had completely fallen for this man, and it bothered him.

He felt jealous.

He felt ashamed.

He was embarrassed.

He wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

How could he have spat such nonsense in front of someone like him?

‘Lead from the front? Do you even know how to fight?’

He had thrown so many veiled insults his way.

He even wondered why this guy kept chewing on eels by his side all the time.

“Ah, damn it.”

The soldier converted his rage and shame into physical strength.

“Kill them all!”

The soldier, now in a state of frenzy, rampaged forward.

It wasn’t just happening to him.

Encrid’s exploits had thrown all the soldiers into a state of heightened excitement.

“Where do you think you’re going?!”

Helma also shouted.

The enemy was being pushed back.

In terms of raw power, Aspen had the advantage, but in terms of morale, they were losing. The balance of power was also tipping in favor of Naurillia.

The truth was, it was all a bit strange.

The enemy’s movements were odd.

They fought as if they were following some kind of hidden rules.

If someone were to observe the battlefield from above, they would surely notice the strange pattern forming.

Encrid advanced while the enemy soldiers retreated.

Even so, they subtly maintained their formation as they withdrew, and the number of enemy troops between Encrid and his comrades steadily grew.

But no one sensed any danger.

That’s how much control they had gained in this fight.

It was now a matter of waiting for the enemy to crumble and retreat for good.

Encrid continued to move forward.

After defeating Janus the Quick-Handed, two more well-known mercenaries had challenged him.

“My name is Joey Hurrier.”

Even a swordsman from the Hurrier family had charged at him.

Encrid defeated all of them within five to seven exchanges.

“You damn monster!”

An enemy soldier’s shout felt like an admission of defeat.

At that moment, no one could claim that Naurillia’s army was losing.

The Aspen unit, retreating to avoid Encrid, was quietly maneuvering within their ranks.

They were subtly reforming their ranks and formations, dividing Encrid and his allies.

From afar, Avnair watched the flow of the battlefield, silently repeating to himself:

‘Come in closer, closer.’

In front was a plain, and behind was a hill.

Several small hills jutted out randomly. If you went towards the river from here, you’d find a valley, and to the right, there was a forest.

Avnair had made arrangements in every direction.

* * *

Krais held off those attempting to circle around.

Saving the cards of Sinar and Dunbachel had proven worthwhile.

“We’ve blocked them!”

Nurat approached and shouted.

Krais quietly clenched his fist.

It was done.

Now, all they needed to do was hold the stalemate.

Even in this situation, the enemy fought relentlessly.

They showed no sign of retreating.

It was a foolish act.

‘You want to fight through the night?’

That would only cause immense losses for both sides.

To be more precise, Aspen would suffer several times more.

If they continued this battle, Aspen would take an irreparable loss, one from which they could not recover.

And yet, they still wouldn’t retreat.

On the other hand, their own forces couldn’t afford to withdraw first.

It was a winning battle.

Without a doubt, a winning battle.

‘What’s going on, seriously?’

Krais was frustrated, unable to grasp the enemy’s intentions.

Despite the advantage, his face was grim.

* * *

“Block them with your bodies.”

Some of the Gray Hound unit had withdrawn and were now pursuing Encrid from behind.

They were relentless, with tenacity as their defining trait.

“Push them until the end.”

What a bunch of lunatics.

That’s what Encrid thought as he swung his sword.

It was time to retreat.

Aspen’s forces were barely holding on by sacrificing lives and sheer numbers.

At this rate, another day would ensure that victory fell decisively to Naurillia.

Yet the enemy still wouldn’t give up.

It wasn’t just the Gray Hound that was the problem.

At some point, the eyes of the surrounding enemy soldiers had changed.

Their demeanor was not normal.

“Kill!”

“Kill him!”

Encrid didn’t know.

Some of them had their families held hostage, and others were criminals.

They were people trading their futures for the present.

If they survived here, their crimes would be pardoned.

If they survived here, Krona would be given to their families.

And if they killed one particular man, they would receive a fortune in Krona beyond their wildest dreams.

They were a suicide squad, driven by rewards.

Of course, after fighting Encrid a few times, many had considered fleeing.

They realized that facing him was like throwing away their lives.

But that wasn’t an option either.

“If they retreat, shoot them all.”

If they retreated, their allies’ spears and arrows would come flying at them immediately.

It was a Punishment Squad.

A unit that mercilessly stabbed their retreating comrades in the back.

If they wanted to live, they had to push forward.

And so, they did.

The situation was growing more and more ominous.

Encrid fought, killed, and tried to retreat, but he couldn’t easily return to his forces.

“I am Dolce Hurrier.”

Swordsmen of the Hurrier family charged at him, mercenaries attacked, and men who disregarded their own lives blocked his path with their bodies.

Encrid’s muscles began to tremble.

The human wall was too thick to break through with brute force alone.

Meanwhile, the main forces of Naurillia were also trying to push forward, but Aspen was resisting with everything they had.

In the end, things went wrong.

Encrid was isolated.

There were several reasons for this.

The first was that the enemy had willingly sacrificed themselves.

“Damn it, what is this…”

Krais was the first to realize it.

They had sacrificed hundreds of lives just to isolate Encrid.

Some of the Gray Hound unit had even attacked the Border Guard Reserve Unit in unfavorable terrain.

The cost of those lives had done nothing but separate Encrid from his comrades.

The second was the enemy’s resolve.

It was also Avnair’s resolve.

The men clinging to Encrid grabbed him and held on as they died.

They held him back.

It created a more difficult path than anticipated.

They had sacrificed their lives to bind his feet.

The third was the terrain, the formation, and their preparations.

Avnair had prepared a lot, and this was part of it.

As Encrid tried to shake off the enemy and return, he found himself lost.

There was even some sorcery mixed in, though no one noticed it.

It was only natural.

They had advanced slowly and prepared everything step by step.

It had all been carefully arranged to capture just a few individuals.

Among those preparations were soldiers, and formations that, in the far east or south, would be called battle formations.

Even when Encrid looked to the sky, he couldn’t find his way.

The sorcery had blotted out the stars.

By now, the sun had set, and night had fallen.

Encrid was trapped in a dense area between hills, where thick brush grew all around.

At that moment, from the midst of his army, Avnair declared, almost as if making a proclamation:

“Got him.”