Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 88 - 88 - Bonehead
Chapter 88 - Bonehead
He planned to finish it in a single strike, having already closed the distance.
Enkrid raised his sword, but something struck his face before he could swing.
It was a heavy blow, akin to being punched by Rem.
Enkrid fell backward, landing on his rear, and immediately felt another weighty impact on his head.
Reflexively, he tucked his chin and rolled to the side.
Thud.
Once again, an invisible force—an intangible shockwave—struck where he had been a moment before.
The area was free of filthy sewage, but the damp earth splattered onto his face.
Enkrid squinted with one eye, his gaze darting around.
"It's invisible," he thought.
It had to be magic, a reasonable conclusion given what he saw: a disembodied head with a moving mouth.
Who else could pull off something like that?
"You dodged. Great, now you'll just make things harder for yourself. Stay still, and it won't hurt as much," the male mage said, waving his hand.
Without being able to see it, Enkrid had no way to block the attack. He rolled to the side again.
A sharp blade of wind sliced through where he had just been standing.
Of course, Enkrid didn't know what it was.
He only knew it was some kind of spell.
'What do I do now?'
Enkrid recalled the countless swordsmanship instructors he had encountered, who all had the same advice about dealing with mages:
"Mages? There's only one way to handle them."
"Run. Don't look back, just run."
"Don't fight them. Unless you want to spend your life barely alive, suffering endlessly."
"If you're lucky, you'll die. If you're unlucky, don't even imagine it."
Even renowned names among his teachers warned him of the dangers of mages and their spells.
However, his chaotic squadmates had a different perspective:
"Shoot them with an arrow," said Rem.
"Kill them when they're not looking," said Jaxen.
"If you must fight, get in close," was Audin's advice.
And Ragna?
"Killing them is the same—just cut them down."
In the end, the consensus was clear: avoid mages whenever possible.
But if you had to kill one, Ragna's advice was the most straightforward:
"They die when you cut them."
So that's what he would do.
Running away wasn't an option.
If he left the mage alive, the same thing would happen repeatedly.
People would be torn apart like old rags and left strewn about like broken cloth.
He thought of the cobbler and his daughter.
If the mage was left unchecked, they would be the first to die.
The cobbler and his daughter.
For days, Enkrid had observed them from afar.
Even without direct interaction, they prepared meals for him and left behind their worries, despite having no idea about his struggles.
No, they wouldn't understand.
But that didn't matter.
Even if no one else understood, there were things worth protecting.
That was Enkrid's dream, the path he chose, and the destination marked by his internal compass.
"Now, now, don't run. Be good; it'll be fine," the mage said, snapping his fingers.
A bright light flared above the sewer, far brighter than a torch.
The illumination cast shadows across the damp floor.
The mage showed neither a smile nor anger.
To him, this was just work.
Watching the mage, Enkrid honed his focus, throwing open the gates of his sixth sense.
The mage paid no attention to Enkrid's movements.
To him, Enkrid was merely an experiment—a bug, a hunk of meat.
That's all the mage saw.
As the mage moved his hand again, an invisible shockwave blasted toward Enkrid.
Boom!
"Luck seems to be on your side," the mage thought, seeing Enkrid dodge the spell with a quick sidestep.
In reality, Enkrid was relying on a strange sense to guide his movements.
"It's invisible."
Just because it couldn't be seen didn't mean it wasn't there.
A small realization struck him.
If it couldn't be seen, could it still be felt?
Combining his focus with his sixth sense, he sought to predict the mage's next move, just as he had once done with wolf beasts.
This time, he watched the necrophile mage's gestures, predicting his next action, trying to feel something—anything.
The mage shaped wind into blades, sending them flying in three curved trajectories.
The blades were sharper than a reaper's scythe, capable of slicing through even his reinforced cloth armor like paper.
But Enkrid rolled to the side, avoiding them.
"Dodged again?"
The mage muttered, continuing to wave his hands.
Invisible shockwaves and blades of wind rained down on Enkrid, but he avoided them all.
It wasn't luck.
It was a sense beyond his five senses—a sixth sense.
His half-lidded eyes, twitching ears, and goosebump-covered skin combined to detect the mage's tricks.
All the while, he searched for a way to kill his opponent.
A simpler option might have been to throw a dagger and end it.
But his instincts warned against it.
"No, that won't work."
His sixth sense told him the dagger wouldn't kill the mage.
What, then, was the best option?
While he wasn't sure if this was natural, his instincts guided him through the mage's spells.
The mage's antics, though magical, weren't fundamentally different from arrows or blades.
If they were like the blunt weapons or swords of enemy soldiers...
"Are they truly dangerous?"
Not really.
He could avoid them.
Even Mitch Hurrier's sword was sharper.
So he evaded them.
If a dagger wouldn't work, it was time to recall Audin's advice:
"Get in close."
Dodging, he pushed off the ground in a single, explosive move.
He saw the mage's eyes widen in shock.
"You little—!"
The mage was startled as Enkrid closed the distance in a few swift steps, avoiding invisible spells while raising his sword.
The soldier's blade was now within a threatening range.
This was Enkrid's range—a swordsman's range.
Whoosh.
As the longsword descended toward the mage's head, the mage shouted in panic.
"Devour!"
Powerful mana and the mage's chant combined, manifesting into the world.
The spell should have carved out a portion of Enkrid's innards.
It wasn't something instinct alone could dodge.
Yet nothing happened.
Well, not quite nothing.
"Ugh."
The mage staggered, confused.
The spell, instead of hitting Enkrid, rebounded, striking the caster.
Through the torn cloth of his armor, the mage glimpsed black leather underneath.
A faint magical aura radiated from it.
"What... what are you wearing?"
"Something good."
Enkrid replied, noticing the mage's eyes fixed on his armor, which had seemingly nullified the spell.
Enkrid was quick to pick up on things—and even quicker to act.
Swish!
The sword cleaved through the air.
The forged weapon, tempered by fire and hammer, descended mercilessly.
Crunch!
Crack!
The blade severed and crushed the mage's head.
Despite resistance mid-swing, Enkrid overpowered it with brute strength.
As death overtook him, the mage lamented his fate in silence.
"There's still so much I've prepared! Vamillo! Vamillo!"
The magician even tried to wake the creation he named Vamillo.
Of course, all attempts failed.
The dead can do nothing, not even magicians.
A dead person's delusions cannot influence reality.
"You seem disappointed," Enkrid remarked, kicking the dead magician's body.
Afterward, Enkrid stripped off his torn gambeson.
It was so shredded that even using it as a rag would be pointless.
He felt no satisfaction.
There was barely any relief at having survived.
A threat to his life?
It had existed, but he had overcome it.
The only feeling left was that he had done his duty.
He had killed the one who needed to be killed.
That was all.
"Before cleaning up..."
This magician wasn't one to go down without laying traps, Enkrid thought.
He carefully searched the area, wary of triggering any hidden traps.
Eventually, he found a thick brown book, a pouch containing five gold coins, a black wooden staff, a few blue and white stones, and a pair of brown gloves.
Enkrid took everything worth taking.
The rest? Unidentified herbs and suspicious items that gave him no inclination to touch them.
As Enkrid cleaned and sheathed his sword, there was a loud
clang
as the blade broke in the middle.
"Damn it."
A sigh escaped his lips.
It wasn't due to careless use of the sword, but he had felt a peculiar resistance while cutting the magician.
Could that have been the cause?
He couldn't be sure.
Regardless, it seemed he'd need to buy another sword using the magician's gold coins.
"Maybe I should try reforging it," he mused.
The sword was made of Valerisan steel, so repairing it might restore its usability.
With that thought, Enkrid turned and left.
His abdomen throbbed from the impacts he'd taken, and his head pounded, but it wasn't unbearable.
Not long after leaving, Enkrid returned.
"The light's still on?"
The magical glow above remained unchanged.
Squinting upward, he noticed a glowing stone floating mid-air.
"A floating magical artifact?"
It reeked of value.
"Well then..."
The stone was only about the size of a fist.
With a quick jump, he caught it, and even in his hand, it continued to emit light.
At least it would make a convenient torch.
Enkrid resumed his trek back, his footsteps echoing softly.
Much later, a Lake Panther, resembling a sleek black cat, descended to the ground.
"Did he evade the magic?"
Esther was astonished.
She had never imagined encountering someone capable of such a feat.
Of course, the opposing magician's skill had been lackluster, but still.
She reminded herself, "It's only natural I don't know everything."
She had lived a secluded life, not one of worldly exploration.
It made sense that somewhere, there would be someone with such unusual abilities.
Regardless, "A stroke of luck."
Esther reveled in magical knowledge and exploration.
Once, her curiosity about another magician's grimoire had even led her to steal some.
Using her claws, she sifted through the magician's belongings but scoffed.
"Amateurish."
To her, the items were unimpressive.
The true treasure wasn't any of those things but rather the creation the magician had called Vamillo.
A creature stitched together from beasts, monsters, and human remains, designed to bolster a magician's physical weaknesses.
Such constructs were commonly referred to as Flesh Golems.
Repulsive to most, but highly practical for a magician.
Esther, summoning her remaining strength, etched a magical circle onto the golem's forehead with her claw.
It was a ritual that connected her inner magical realm to another dimension, transporting the construct there.
The magician had been a fool.
Had he activated the golem earlier, Enkrid would have stood little chance.
Of course, Esther wouldn't have allowed that to happen either.
As the ritual completed, the golem began to crumble and vanish, its remains dissipating like dust.
All that remained was the impression where it had sat.
Panting heavily, Esther was utterly drained.
She had used up the last of her mana.
The only thought on her mind was to return to her lodging and rest.
Still, she couldn't resist one final remark.
She named it after the magician who created the golem, ensuring she would never forget his ineptitude.
"Bonehead."
Of all the magic practitioners she had observed, he was the most idiotic.
"There was a magician in the city sewers?"
"Yes."
"And you killed him?"
"Yes, I did."
Enkrid spoke matter-of-factly, and his platoon leader responded with equal indifference.
After stepping away to confirm the report, the platoon leader left Enkrid to clean up and check his equipment.
He had considered assisting with a beast extermination task, but with his sword broken, finding a replacement became his priority.
"What happened to you?" Rem asked when Enkrid returned to their lodging.
"I fought a war with a pair of boots."
"A war? Were they Ego Boots? Did they put up a good fight?"
The term "Ego Boots" was a playful jab at the legendary Ego Swords, which were said to think and act independently.
Not just Rem but others in the room stared at Enkrid, curious about what had happened.
"I'll file my report and return," he said, avoiding further questions.
"Where's Esther?" he asked before leaving.
Audin, lounging in a corner, replied, "She often goes out, but she'll return by evening. Don't worry."
It was a reassurance.
Esther was clever—too clever to fall victim to trouble.
Upon returning to the captain's office, Enkrid saluted when his superior entered.
"Everything was there: spell traps and the dead magician."
"I see."
"He was a potential threat beneath the city."
"Understood."
"Good work."
As the platoon leader joked, Enkrid gave a formal salute, pressing down on his sword hilt and bowing.
Back at the lodging, he explained the situation to his squadmates, who were shocked.
"A magician? In the sewers?"
"And you just cut him down?"
"Impressive work, brother."
Why the magician had been there remained a mystery even to Enkrid.
After resting for two days to recover, Enkrid attempted to have his sword repaired, only to receive complaints from the blacksmith.
"This is beyond repair. What did you do? Kill a magician?"
When Enkrid nodded, the blacksmith gave him a skeptical look.
"Even if that's true, do I look like someone who can forge weapons to counter magic?"
Enkrid shook his head, and the blacksmith continued, "You shouldn't keep doing things like that. This sword is useless now. I can make you a new one, but it'll have to be standard steel—no Valerisan metal available."
It was disappointing news, as Valerisan steel was rare and valuable.
"Too bad, but it's fine."
"Wait a few days. Someone I know might bring some Noir Mountain iron. It's pricey, though—better come prepared."
The mention of Noir Mountain iron made Enkrid's mouth water.
Stronger than regular iron, it was highly sought after for weapons, second only to Valerisan steel.
Leaving the blacksmith's shop, Enkrid was stopped by a familiar voice in the marketplace.
"Hey! Soldier!"

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