A Knight Who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 412

412: CHAPTER 410 412: CHAPTER 410 Deanne Molsen, that was the name of the Count.

Deanne had been exceptionally talented from a young age.

“You have a gift for sensing magic.” “You’re also quick to pick up swordsmanship.” “You’re smart enough to work as an administrator in the Capital.” He had outstanding talent, a supportive family, and excellent teachers.

That’s how Deanne grew up.

He lacked nothing.

His world consisted of magic, his father, his mother, and rarely did things not go his way.

For a young man of remarkable talent, the world was an incredibly easy place.

His twenties passed.

His thirties went by.

He killed two uncles who had coveted the head of the family.

Deanne didn’t use spells to do it, but a sword.

It wasn’t even a particularly difficult task, but his father was impressed.

“You’re truly amazing, even if you are my son.” After that, Deanne realized that taking someone’s life was also quite easy.

It was around the time he was in his mid-thirties.

He inherited the position of head of the family.

His father began to look at him with a mix of fear.

Why?

It was after he began to get involved in family affairs.

His father often made the wrong decisions about matters that were easily predictable if one just thought for a moment.

Deanne would fix them from behind.

In front of him, he would offer direct advice.

Sometimes, he would even show something close to contempt.

At first, his father’s proud gaze gradually changed.

And then, when Deanne directly opposed one of his father’s decisions.

Deanne knew he was right, but his father shouted angrily.

“It’s for the dignity of the nobility!” It was a pathetic excuse.

A lie.

Was he supposed to pretend to be fooled by it, knowing the truth?

Deanne didn’t.

“That’s disgraceful.” Those emotionless words made his father give up the family.

His mother had never been a loving person from the beginning.

That’s how Deanne became the head of the family, and a few years later, his parents were deeply indebted to Krona due to a scheme by a neighboring Lord.

His mother had turned to gambling, his father to alcohol.

Usually, neighboring Lords would overlook such things among nobles, but this one did not.

He pushed Deanne’s father to the edge of a cliff, and his father hanged himself.

His mother followed soon after.

‘Was I too indifferent?’ But just because they were his parents didn’t mean there had to be affection.

Still, shouldn’t he take revenge?

He decided he would.

It took just half a year.

“Forgive me.” The neighboring Lord knelt, but Deanne beheaded him.

There was no sense of satisfaction in that revenge.

That was when the once modest Molsen County began to grow.

Three years later.

Deanne noticed that people were gathering around him.

His actions had caused the military strength and power of the Molsen family to expand more than ever before.

That’s when the question arose.

‘Why am I confined here?’ The question arose, and the moment he asked it, the answer came.

There was no reason for it.

A bird must break free from its egg to fly.

Deanne decided to expand his world a little further.

To break free from the egg and enter a bigger world.

‘The throne.’ The moment his ambition for power awakened.

Since everything else had been easy, he thought this too would be easy.

And indeed, it was a series of easy tasks, until he encountered a foe that blocked his path after cutting through ten thousand ghosts.

* * * “Well.” When Encrid asked, “How?” Deanne answered nonchalantly.

His arm was trembling, but he could still move.

That was enough.

“Huh.” The Count let out a sigh.

He saw the men standing behind Encrid.

A barbarian soldier was resting an axe head on one shoulder, staring blankly.

A bored-looking swordsman with a broken sword was shaking the blood off his head.

Next to him, a large soldier with a soft smile was fixing his twisted forearm.

He was resetting his bones with the same smile, as if it didn’t hurt.

Finally, he saw the assassin who had targeted him just before he summoned the specters.

The man was gripping a short stiletto in his right hand.

It was as if he was asking, ‘Are you ready to die?’ The Count raised a hand to his chin and took another long look around.

These were truly unexpected opponents.

If he had to die, he had always thought he would die surrounded by three Knights.

He had also believed that Naurillia would fall along with him.

This was an unexpected turn of events.

He felt stunned for a moment, but as the shock subsided, a hollow emptiness filled its place, and it almost made him want to laugh.

The Count laughed, “Ha-ha,” and asked.

“Isn’t it natural that the one with the most power should stand at the highest place?” It was a question of why they were standing in his way.

“That’s why we came.” Encrid answered.

Hearing that, the Count wanted to grab Encrid’s tongue and stretch it out.

That guy always spoke so briefly.

He was curious about what would happen if he physically lengthened that tongue by force.

“Well, it wouldn’t be solved with words anyway, would it?” The Count spoke as he reached out his hand.

Following his gesture, black soot gathered in the air, soon transforming into the shape of a bird and flying towards them.

Though the description was lengthy, the moment he raised his hand, the bird appeared and flew swiftly.

If Esther had been present, she would have recognized it as the spell ‘Charlesner’s Life-Stealing Crow’, one of the necromancy spells, but none of the people here knew the name of the spell.

Instead of understanding the spell, they reacted.

As the black bird flew toward Encrid, a dagger flew toward the bird, hitting it.

Bang!

The bird exploded in mid-air.

The dagger that had been thrown also shattered into three pieces, scattering to the sides.

The Count frowned.

‘An artifact?’ No, no sorcerer in their right mind would waste such an enchantment on a mere dagger.

It wasn’t that.

The dagger had been wrapped in a scroll and thrown.

It was a unique technique.

The one who had thrown it was, of course, Jaxon.

He held several similar daggers in his hand.

“I am the one who will sit on the throne.” Even in this situation, the Count was resolute.

It was only natural that he wouldn’t give up easily, even if they had pierced through the specters.

As he continued to send out ‘Charlesner’s Life-Stealing Crows’, the Count also cast another spell.

Following the incantation, black and red masses appeared in the air, turning into living swords.

The swords flew toward Encrid.

A figure resembling a bear blocked their path.

“Pitiful soul, unworthy of reaching your Lord.” He muttered as he moved his hands and feet.

Despite his large frame, his movements were swift, and with deft hand and footwork, he made quick work of the black-red swords, causing them to explode in mid-air.

‘These bastards.’ The Count recalled some of the specters.

Several of the specter possessed soldiers targeting the troops collapsed and disappeared, dissipating into thin air like mist.

“Rise, Spectral General!” It was a spell that reformed the specters.

In front of the Count, a large figure wielding a massive black sword materialized.

It was even larger than Audin.

Blocking its path was Ragna.

At some point, Ragna, dragging his feet, had walked forward and lifted his head.

Without a word, holding a half-broken sword, he swung it.

Before the creature wielding the massive black sword could react, Ragna’s blade slashed its throat, cut through its chest, and split it in half at the waist.

Encrid was almost amazed by Ragna’s skill.

What on earth was that?

In one breath, he had swung his sword three times, each slash extending in a different direction, yet it appeared as a single motion.

In other words, he had eliminated the movement of retrieving the sword after each strike.

By calculating his movements as he swung, he minimized his sword’s path, making it possible.

The sequence was a high horizontal slash, followed by a vertical downward slash, and ending with a middle horizontal slash.

He had imbued every cut with the Will of Severance.

It was as though he had painted a picture with his sword, but the strikes were so fast and bold that the enemy had no chance to defend.

Even Encrid himself might not have been able to block it.

After swinging his sword, Ragna took two steps back and plopped down.

Though it was clearly a collapse, he casually remarked,  “Well, I guess I’ll take a break for a bit.” He spoke calmly, as if sitting down was entirely intentional.

The Count nearly dropped his jaw.

What kind of person was this?

A Spectral General, capable of devouring an average Junior-Knight, had been killed with a single sword strike?

From the Count’s perspective, it had all seemed like one single swing of the sword.

A sense of danger filled the Count’s chest.

Although he felt a sense of unease, he forced himself to ignore it.

He still had more means to use.

The Count bit down hard on his tongue.

Crunch.

The smell of blood filled the air from the tongue the Count had bitten.

He opened his mouth.

Red blood streamed down from his lips.

The Count pulled his left hand toward his chest, and the blood flowing from his mouth gathered on his left hand without dripping.

“Come forth, the blood that protects.” He waved his staff with his right hand as he spoke.

At his call, the blood on his left hand began to wriggle and grow.

In the blink of an eye, the blood grew to the size of a human, and arms and legs emerged from it.

Now that it had formed a shape, it needed to be filled.

To do this, the Count had to recall more of the specter soldiers he had sent to the battlefield.

Naturally, the battlefield became quieter.

More soldiers, who had barely been saved from death, began to emerge.

Most of the soldiers possessed by the specters also regained their senses.

The Count, in his haste, was pouring everything into this moment, disregarding the battlefield entirely.

Soon, a ‘Blood Golem’ stood before the Count, its entire body a deep red except for two hollow eye sockets.

“Looks like you’ve used some weird sorcery tricks here, huh?

Judging by your tricks, you must have been hanging around with that madman who sought immortality.” It was the voice of the barbarian warrior.

The moment the Count looked at him, the man was pulling something out from his pouch.

The Count, hiding behind the Golem, could see what his opponent was doing.

It wasn’t hard to guess.

The barbarian warrior began to swing the object above his head as soon as he pulled it out.

He had taken out a sling and loaded it with a spherical bullet.

The moment the Golem appeared, he began the motion, and soon the sound filled the air.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whiiiiiz.

Rem used the last of the totems he had taken from the Madman of Immortality as a sling bullet-a bead-shaped amulet.

He hadn’t known it could be used as a projectile, but it was perfect for this moment.

Whiiiiiiz!

The sound was chilling to anyone who heard it, whether ally or enemy.

The Golem’s attention turned toward the noise of the sling cutting through the air.

The Golem, born from sorcery, brought its hands together.

It intended to release streams of blood from its joined hands.

But before it could, Rem’s arm moved.

Whiiiirr, whoosh!

The whirring noise above Rem’s head abruptly stopped.

Simultaneously, another sound rang out.

Bang!

It came from the Golem’s head.

Normally, a Golem wouldn’t be affected by a simple physical blow.

But this bullet was no ordinary one.

It was a concentrated essence of the Madman’s decade-long accumulation of sorcery power.

The explosion from the impact wiped out the Golem’s life force along with its own.

That was the reason for the explosion.

“Gah!” The Count grabbed his chest with his left hand and struck the ground with his staff in his right.

For a moment, a wave of loss and emptiness washed over him, making it feel as though his heart had stopped.

The Count realized his Golem had been destroyed.

The loss overwhelmed him, bringing with it a deep, dark feeling.

It was a summoned creature born from his own blood and heart.

It should not have been defeated so easily.

“These bastards!” The Count shouted in fury, while Rem, having used his last sorcery tool, felt all the strength drain from his body.

‘Am I going to die like this?’ Not that he thought he’d die.

But he had so little strength left that it made him wonder.

The price of using a talisman filled with someone else’s sorcery power was now taking its toll.

Rem lost his balance, swaying backward before he fell with a thud, landing on his backside.

For a moment, he looked at Ragna.

Somehow, he had ended up right next to him.

Rem looked at Ragna and said,  “Time to just watch.” Ragna nodded.

Their eyes met, and they understood each other.

Neither had the energy to insult the other, and now wasn’t the time for conflict.

For once, it seemed their minds were in sync.

Audin, too, couldn’t simply eliminate the black-red swords, so he endured the restriction for a moment and imbued his strikes with divinity.

The flying swords were not to be underestimated, especially compared to the Blood Golem.

After all, these magical creatures, which one would normally only see in the Demon Realm, were brought into existence by a spell.

It was only right to acknowledge the Count’s impressive abilities.

Audin had no choice but to endure the pain caused by the restriction.

‘Father, forgive me.’ Audin drew on his Divine Power for a moment.

Instead of emitting light, he channeled it to protect his body.

‘My left hand is a divine sword, and my right hand is steel.’ Barehanded, his hands were as sharp as a sword and as hard as stone.

With even a hint of divinity imbued, his hands were now a divine sword and iron.

As soon as Audin’s left hand touched one of the flying swords.

Clang!

The black-red sword shattered upon contact with the divine sword.

Then, with a strike from his right hand.

Bang!

The crumpled black-red sword lost its power and flew off to the side, burying itself in the ground with a thud.

The blade bent at a right angle, and the specter contained within it dissipated, causing the blade to crumble to dust.

One by one, Audin shattered the black-red swords, though the pain from the restriction surged through his body.

He couldn’t move for a moment.

Audin’s limbs trembled, and his body stiffened like a log.

He stood there, completely still.

“Tsk.” Watching this, Rem clicked his tongue.

Why hadn’t that guy fallen over yet?

“Hmph.” Ragna glanced over and frowned.

It was an annoying sight.

Even that religious fanatic should have collapsed.

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