Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 461 - 461 - I’ll become a knight and then I’ll kill Beelrog
Chapter 461 - I'll become a knight and then I'll kill Beelrog
From the start, Enkrid never dreamed of becoming a knight.
Not even once.
In all the countless "todays" he'd endured, not a single one allowed Oara to emerge unscathed.
The conditions for that outcome were simply too demanding.
"Kill the ghouls before Oara steps forward."
During that time, Roman would slay the spider monster, using its eight legs as swords, while simultaneously blocking the ghouls' final strikes.
There was no way to relive a day where Dunbakel or Rem ended up dead.
Oara slaying the owlbear might not have been part of the plan, but it was a fortunate development.
"Not bad."
That was his conclusion.
At that moment, he suddenly recalled the ferryman's words.
"Do you know what they call someone who willingly walks a harsh path?"
"A saint?"
"A fool."
The ferryman had ruthlessly criticized Enkrid.
It didn't bother him.
Such criticism was nothing new; he'd grown used to it.
When he declared he would become a knight, the number of tongues that mocked him were too many to count.
It no longer mattered.
What did matter was the emptiness that came from failing to protect what he held dear due to his own inadequacies.
He had seen a man fighting monsters to protect his family.
He had also witnessed that man's death.
And the family he fought to protect.
When Enkrid saw a mercenary smirking at the lone surviving daughter, he lost all reason.
"Stop that madman!"
"Hey, you bastard!"
"Agh, my ear!"
Enkrid bit off the mercenary's ear and drove a dagger into the back of his neck.
"You.
Hah, forget it.
Cool your head."
The mercenary captain let him off.
By "letting him off," they meant imprisonment—because otherwise, he'd be killed by the dead man's comrades.
He spent half a year in a cell, with nothing to do but train his body.
Most of the guards ignored him, but one—a grizzled warden in his fifties—spoke to him.
"Why did you do it?"
"I didn't like his smile."
"Are you insane?"
The warden eventually released Enkrid.
And before doing so, he said something that lingered in Enkrid's mind for a long time.
"Without strength, you can never achieve what you truly want."
As Enkrid left the prison, he rubbed his unkempt beard and replied, "I know that well."
His dream was to become a knight—not for honor, but to protect what he wanted to protect.
"Hahaha!"
Oara's laughter rang out.
The fragment of Beelrog growled like a beast.
It was impossible to count how many attacks had passed between them.
Oara's "laughter" sliced through the Beelrog's arm and carved a hole in its belly, but it didn't die from that.
In fact, the wound only made it move more ferociously.
Black smoke rose from its body, sealing its injuries without any visible effort.
Even as the creature swung its crimson rod—which resembled a sword—dozens of times, Oara didn't retreat.
Instead, she met the attack with a rising strike of her laughter, shredding the net-like lines into fragments.
A flash of white light burst forth, and the surrounding air trembled under its pressure.
Boom!
Thud.
The ground shook violently as the Beelrog stomped down like a hammer.
Oara swung her sword.
Something intangible rippled along its blade, multiplying into countless shimmering images.
Enkrid could see it clearly—a projection of Oara's will manifesting through her weapon, turning invisible power into a tangible force that swept the battlefield.
The Beelrog responded in kind, its red rod mimicking the same phenomenon.
Sometimes, the weapons turned into whips; other times, they became beams of light.
They bent and straightened unpredictably, forming walls of steel or slicing through the air like spears.
To Enkrid, it looked as though they were merely swinging their swords, but the clash was far more profound.
Boom!
The Beelrog fragment and Oara collided again.
No one could interfere in such a battle—it would only hinder them.
This was a knight's fight.
"Master!"
Roman shouted.
Enkrid silently observed.
The battle didn't last long.
Having glimpsed the realm of omnipotence, he could sense how it would end.
Oara would win.
But calling it a loss for the Beelrog wouldn't be accurate either.
Nearby, Rem staggered, his face pale.
He coughed up blood as a fractured rib seemed to pierce his insides.
But this wasn't enough to kill him.
Instead, he dragged himself to stand alongside Enkrid and watch the fight.
"She's won," Dunbakel said, slumping to the ground after narrowly escaping death.
A long, dark line had been carved across the Beelrog's neck.
Its head separated from its body—not in a bloody farewell, but a blackened one.
No one could tell if the separation was agonizing or satisfying.
But what did the emotions of a monster matter?
Oara turned, her face still wearing a smile.
"People die, regardless," she said with that smile.
Enkrid knew.
Oara wouldn't live long.
No matter what, some things couldn't be undone.
Repeating today wouldn't change the inevitable.
"Well, that was satisfying," Oara remarked.
A red rod—the Beelrog's weapon—was lodged in her chest.
It was a crimson skewer, like a burning sword.
Luagarne had warned them: Beelrogs wield flaming swords and whips.
This fragment, being incomplete, only wielded a sword that didn't burn.
"Roman, take care of the city," said the knight with the rod piercing her chest.
"Sorry I'll miss Rowena's wedding," said the ruler of the city built from a thousand stones.
"The labyrinth ends here.
Just kill what's left.
No more monsters will emerge."
Oara smiled at Enkrid.
"Thank you."
Her final words carried gratitude.
"That was fun."
And with that, her story ended.
Life begins and ends.
To live is to walk toward death.
What one chooses to do along that path is what matters.
Regrets over roads not taken are meaningless.
In life, only effort to make the chosen path worthwhile brings beauty and fulfillment.
Enkrid sheathed Aker and straightened his stance.
He placed his hand on his right hip—a gesture of control over his weapon.
Then he bowed, paying respect to her.
"Oara."
He spoke her name as a final salute.
And with a smile, he watched the last moments of the knight who had laughed as she died.
Two apprentice knights managed the aftermath, while Aishia dragged her exhausted body to handle the rest.
On the battlefield, anyone could die.
Knights were not immortal.
Everyone knew that.
"The Master was dying," said a short-haired soldier as they lit a torch.
Few wept.
As they cleaned the battlefield, there was much to do.
The entire city joined in to lend a hand.
Roman carried Oara's body to her home.
There was no coffin yet.
For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though she might suddenly burst in with a laugh and shout, "Surprise, you bastards!"
But such miracles didn't happen.
Knight Oara was dead.
Enkrid washed off the blood from his body.
Outside, the noise from the troops moving for the night watch echoed incessantly.
He returned to his quarters, washed up, and lay down, closing his eyes.
He soon fell asleep, and in his dream, the boatman appeared.
"Do you want to turn back today?
But there are some things that never change.
For example, the dice's roll never changes.
Where a god resides, curses lose their power."
The boatman mixed in words that were hard to understand.
There were several words Enkrid could not make sense of.
He could only vaguely guess their meanings.
What did the place where a god resided even mean?
"If you stayed in today, you would never have had to see that death."
The boatman's tone was enticing, yet not seductive.
From the start, Enkrid had one thing in mind: to protect Oara's content smile, her joyful smile.
Watching the hero fight properly was secondary.
Enkrid had seen Oara smile like that, and because he saw the hero die with a smile, he didn't feel troubled.
What he had aimed to protect was her smile.
It wasn't a life he would cling to just to survive while abandoning what he needed to protect.
Without a word, Enkrid fell back into sleep.
The boatman's image faded, and the sound of waves grew distant.
Soon, another dream came.
This time, it was a real dream, one without the boatman.
It was a mix of random thoughts based on the memories still lingering in his mind, blending fragments of memories and information.
"Hey, how's my city?"
Oara, draped in a red cloak, stood atop the city wall and asked.
Enkrid, now standing beside her, noticed he was without a cloak.
If it was a dream, she could have at least given him one.
His back felt empty.
"How is it?"
"It's nice.
It's good to look at, and good to live in."
"Then will you stay?"
Without hesitation, Enkrid shook his head.
"You're still set on becoming a knight?"
Perhaps because it was a dream, the flow of conversation was strange.
No, Oara was always like this, impulsively asking questions, though they were sharp as blades, hitting at the core of things.
"Yes."
"Yeah, I think you'll make it.
Anyway, thanks a lot.
That was really close in the end."
"Really?"
"You didn't see it properly, right?
Come here, let me show you how it was done."
In the dream, Oara reenacted her fight against Beelrog.
Enkrid stood in Beelrog's position and at times in Oara's, remembering each move.
"If you raise your sword like this, this guy's going to try to trip you in a sly way."
"Is that a prediction?"
"No, it's intent."
In the brief exchange, countless calculations of intention were mixed in, as if Oara was using all her power to read her opponent's moves.
"You're using intent now, right?
But once you get used to it, you'll be able to use Will freely."
Oara generously shared all her insights.
They talked for what felt like ages.
In this dream, it was unclear whether it had been a day or a month.
"Goodbye."
With a bright farewell, Oara kissed Enkrid on the cheek.
When Enkrid gave her a questioning look, the dream hero answered.
"It's a thank-you."
There seemed to be no other meaning behind it, just friendship or gratitude, as she said.
Oara was still Oara, even in the dream.
She faded away, leaving behind the afterimage of Beelrog.
Enkrid saw the demon placing a chain around Oara's neck.
Why?
Was it because it was a dream?
It didn't feel quite right, though.
It was an unsettling end.
Enkrid woke up.
It was dawn.
When he stepped outside, Roman was there.
"Awake now?"
Roman asked.
His face was pale, exhaustion evident.
"You don't look like you slept."
Enkrid said, noticing Roman's tired face.
"I did."
Roman replied, his voice flat.
But despite having slept, there was something about his expression that was off.
Roman, who had fought the spider inspector, had a deep wound on his arm, wrapped in bandages.
"Just for a bit, but in my dream, the master came and told me not to do anything foolish."
Roman, now relaxing his tense expression, began talking about his dream.
It was quite different from the one Enkrid had.
"Was it a subconscious manifestation of your will?"
The words came from Luargarne, who had appeared in the doorway as Enkrid stepped outside.
It was only natural that she would follow him.
"Beelrog collects the souls of those he kills.
He turns them into sculptures, storing them in the flames of hell," she continued.
What exactly were souls?
They were something every being with intellect had.
"So?"
Enkrid interjected, signaling for her to finish what she had to say.
Luargarne continued.
"The reason Beelrog scatters fragments is that he's a soul collector.
He's also called a knight hunter in the Grand Magic Realm.
He's a monster who enjoys collecting beings that fight beyond their species' limits."
He disregards worthless souls but watches over those with potential.
He waits for them to grow, sometimes even nurturing them.
When he sees a being with a stronger body and mastery over their skills, he rushes at them like a famished dog.
On the surface, he appears cultured, but he lives intoxicated by his desires.
A monster with true intellect, he was called a 'demon' on the continent.
"Does that mean the master's soul is with Balrog now?"
Roman asked, fire flickering in his eyes.
"Probably."
Before Luargarne could finish, Enkrid spoke.
"Ah, I see."
A simple phrase that usually would have no significance felt heavy, resonating in the air.
That one phrase carried more weight than any other response, like an unspoken promise.
For now, there was nothing they could do.
Even if they went to the Grand Magic Realm, it would be hard to find such a monster.
But one day, when Enkrid climbed to the top of the knights, when he had become a true knight and continued to move forward, he would meet Balrog again.
"I'll go first."
Roman said, understanding Enkrid's words.
"I'll become a knight.
And then I'll kill Beelrog."
Enkrid adorned his dream with a new piece.
The requiem for the hero would be played then.
The song of encouragement that had never been heard, the dance never shown, would be expressed by killing Beelrog.
The blue flames flickered silently in the background, never to extinguish, as Luargarne observed with unwavering eyes.
"It's dangerous."
When Enkrid didn't reply, she added,
"You won't listen if I try to stop you, right?
Just don't forget it's going to be difficult to become a knight.
Don't forget that."
Enkrid had never dreamed of just becoming a knight from the start.
The knight in the song was the 'End of War,' and the meaning behind those words was a force that brought an end to all battles.
That had always been his goal.
Not to simply become a knight, but to be the kind of knight who could do anything he set out to do.
He had glimpsed some of the power of the gods.
Enkrid knew that the dream was within his grasp.
Only the act of reaching out to seize it remained.
He thought this, knowing the path ahead would not be easy, just as it had never been easy before.
But he would not be afraid, nor would he stop.
He had never stopped before.

Comments

Loading...