Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 631: Chapter 631 - Fantastic
Fairies are trained from a young age to control their emotions, making it difficult to detect any intensity in them.
Enkrid recalled that even when Shinar lost an arm during the moment he became a knight, her expression remained calm.
’It wasn’t just her age making her composed—it was extreme.’ It was the characteristic restraint of fairies.
And her parting words from that moment had never left his memory:
"Go on ahead."
Similarly, the fairies he observed now were no different.
Rather than proving themselves with passion, they relied on action.
For a fairy knight to enter a place of certain death spoke volumes.
’Mass suicide?’
A term that didn’t align with the rational and logical nature of fairies.
They weren’t always devoid of emotion or unable to address problems otherwise, but they aspired to be as practical as possible.
Yet the situation had pushed them to the brink.
Despite knowing they would die, they chose to fight—all of them.
’They must have been cornered that badly.’ Enkrid saw it clearly.
Even if he hadn’t come, they would have entered the cave, intending to fight until none were left alive.
Shinar had chosen to become the demon’s bride to prevent this tragedy.
It was a misfortune brought on by the cursed lands, and their suffering was ongoing—a battle to honor the dead and a requiem for those they would lose.
Knowing they would die, they marched forward.
But if no one lived to remember their noble resolve, would their sacrifice hold meaning?
It wouldn’t.
Without power, their voice wouldn’t be heard.
Protests from the powerless seldom brought about change, and even when they tried, transforming reality required immense effort.
It was an age dominated by swords, blood, steel, and war.
Memories whispered to him like malevolent spirits from the past:
"Will you protect them?"
It was the voice of a grieving wife who had lost her husband—a face Enkrid no longer remembered.
Inside, he bore many wounds.
They weren’t scars, for they still bled, refusing to heal.
"What have you protected?" The spirit whispered again.
Protests from the powerless didn’t change outcomes.
Without talent, he lacked the strength to wield power, leaving him unable to protect much.
He had lost too much.
Regret and remorse lingered.
Yet he had no intention of giving up.
Bleeding didn’t mean he couldn’t walk.
And if he couldn’t walk, he would crawl.
He would become a knight.
That was his dream.
To protect those behind him.
This resolve reminded him of his past.
"Not bad," Enkrid murmured.
He wouldn’t water the tree of peace with the sacrifice of Shinar alone.
That kind of expression might be how the fairies saw it, though it seemed to be Shinar’s unique trait to joke in that way.
Or perhaps, the situation left no room for such levity.
"If you’re planning on joining us, I thank you in advance," came a voice.
It was Bran, the tree giant.
His root-like feet scraped against the ground, stirring up dust as he approached.
A cigar still hung from his lips.
"Doesn’t the smell bother you?" Bran asked amicably—a rare attitude from the stoic treant.
"It’s tolerable. Were you planning to enter today?" Enkrid replied, checking his sword belt, adjusting his weaponry, and ensuring his equipment was in proper order—a basic habit for both soldiers and knights.
"No, not necessarily. But at most, we would’ve gone in by the end of the month."
"Then why now?"
"A signal, perhaps. Seeing you arrive might be the gods’ way of saying the time is now." The fairy knights seemed to have taken Enkrid’s arrival as a sign to act.
But it wasn’t just the fairies.
As Ermen declared the end of the demon’s truce and Bran exchanged a few words, a pungent stench wafted from the cave, followed by a low growl.
From within the shadows, a monstrous head emerged, its dark silhouette accentuated by even deeper shadows.
Its body remained hidden, with only its lion-like mane visible, seemingly floating in midair.
"Everyone, prepare for battle," Ermen ordered as Bran and several treants moved to the front.
The treant, with its massive frame and sturdy body, served as a shield.
From a human perspective, it was a role fit for such a giant.
The sight of the hovering head was brief.
A moment later, a beast crawled out on all fours.
Its lion-like head was accompanied by a snake-headed tail, which swayed through the air before striking the ground with force.
Thud!
The impact stirred up clouds of dust.
A manticore.
And not an ordinary one.
’A unique variant.’
Enkrid’s intuition observed the creature, analyzing its traits before his eyes confirmed the details.
’Poison at its claws.’
The blackened tips of its claws left traces of a viscous substance on the ground.
’Scorch marks near its mouth.’
Its whiskers were gone, its lips cracked and leathery.
’It can breathe fire.’
No, it
would
breathe fire.
Luagarne had taught him that every battle began with observation.
His past masters had echoed similar wisdom—Jaxen had often emphasized the importance of seeing clearly before fighting.
As Enkrid assessed the manticore, the fairy warriors began their assault.
The treant, initially thought to be a shield, bent its legs slightly as several fairies leaped onto its shoulders and head.
The fairies moved with remarkable agility, taking positions with practiced ease.
Eight archers nocked their arrows, their muscles flexing as they drew back the strings.
Snap!
Eight arrows flew as one, their aim precise.
Two targeted the manticore’s eyes, two aimed for its shoulder joints, and four sought its tail.
The coordination and marksmanship were extraordinary.
The manticore’s response was simple.
Thunk, thunk!
It closed its eyes, swayed its tail, and twisted its body.
That alone was enough.
Its hide was too tough for arrows to penetrate.
"Wind spirits, lend me your aid," one of the fairies called out, invoking a spirit.
Esther had once explained that this was a type of spell—drawing upon the power of otherworldly entities.
Fairies were particularly adept at such techniques.
One archer’s body seemed to ripple as a breeze surrounded her, lifting her green attire in a fluttering dance.
"Ops, Wigor, Inhabito."
Beneath him, Druius extended a finger and murmured something.
While the meaning of his words was unclear, their intent was evident.
From her hand, a green light emanated, reaching the arrowhead, which began to glow with a verdant hue.
The archer, blessed with the power of the wind, drew the bowstring again, though it seemed unnecessary to exert the same force as before—it was effortless this time.
Without giving anyone a moment to breathe, the string was released.
Whiff.
The sound of the wind breaking echoed as an arrow, surpassing the usual speed, aimed straight at the manticore’s forehead.
To Enkrid’s discerning eye, it was clear that the speed made it unavoidable.
The arrow would pierce the manticore’s forehead—it was a predetermined outcome.
That arrow possessed enough power to penetrate the creature’s hide, its force amplified by the wind spirit’s aid.
Moreover, its tip was imbued with life’s essence.
Surely, the fairy’s eyes must have harbored hope.
Not that there was time to confirm it.
Perhaps the restraint of their emotions kept such things concealed.
Even so, there must have been an expectation deep down.
But their hope was in vain.
The arrow halted just a fingertip’s distance from the manticore’s forehead.
"Telekinesis, is it?"
Ermen muttered, his voice calm despite the situation.
While a hint of surprise lingered within, the fairy’s innate discipline masked it completely.
The manticore snorted, releasing a fiery breath that incinerated the arrow shaft.
With a burst of flame, the charred arrow fell to the ground, crackling as embers scattered amidst the pungent stench of burning wood.
Then, eight fairies wielding swords stepped forward.
"I wish I could have seen it before I die." "Agreed," two of them remarked.
What they wished to see remained unclear.
Among the eight was the fairy who had previously spoken of glory while looking at Enkrid—a fairy taller by a head than the others.
His blade was broader than most, resembling a naiade—a spring blade whose form varied slightly among fairies.
Some weapons weren’t naiades at all, but instead resembled long, single-edged swords.
Growl.
The manticore didn’t seem to pay them any mind.
Its demeanor radiated arrogance—a confidence befitting a superior predator.
It wielded telekinesis, breathed fire, and had venomous claws.
As a guardian of demons, it was impeccable.
This single manticore alone could potentially annihilate all the fairies gathered here.
Of course, the fairies weren’t fools; they had prepared in their own way.
Their measures included arrows empowered by the wind spirit and spells imbued with life’s essence.
"Three will die, at least."
This was the prediction of a frog gifted with the ability to assess talents and evaluate situations based on environmental factors.
"Shall I go?"
To this, Fel inquired.
"No."
Enkrid responded as he took a step forward.
The truth was, the manticore had been aware of him from the beginning.
When it blocked the arrow and even when the eight fairy swordsmen advanced, part of its attention was directed at him.
Instinctively, it recognized him as a threat.
Enkrid walked forward slowly.
His steps, now reminiscent of the fairies, were quiet and devoid of emotion.
Shing.
As he walked, he unsheathed his sword.
Amidst the foul air, the unsheathed sword reflected sunlight, its blade radiating a subtle golden glow.
"Step aside, beast."
Enkrid spoke as he approached, walking between the eight fairies.
None tried to stop him.
To them, any opportunity—be it a straw or a dried twig—was worth seizing.
Why hadn’t Shinar spoken to him?
The reason was clear.
"She didn’t intend to transfer the demon’s curse."
The conclusion was simple—she judged that what lay inside the cave was beyond his ability to handle.
"Or perhaps..."
It might also have been genuine concern.
While Enkrid was capable of slaying demons, failure was also possible.
The outcome was uncertain.
Should the situation spiral out of control, the demon would kill them all—or at the very least, inflict grievous harm upon Enkrid. Such an injury could obstruct their aspirations entirely.
"If I must bear it alone, then so be it."
Shinar’s imagined voice spoke, though it was nothing more than an illusion.
How she would actually respond remained unknown.
So.
"I have someone to meet inside. Step aside." The details could be asked about later.
Though the manticore couldn’t understand Enkrid’s words, his aura alone forced it to take a step back.
Realizing its mistake, the beast opened its maw wide in defiance, as if to say,
I’m not afraid!
Roar.
The manticore’s bellow echoed—a roar meant to inspire fear.
Yet, now it sounded more like a scream born from desperation.
The roar wasn’t all that emerged from its maw.
A fireball blazed forth, though it was little more than a flicker compared to a walking flame.
The golden light of his Silver Blade cleaved the fireball in two.
Bang!
The divided fireball fizzled out without leaving a mark.
Flames, overcome by will, consumed nothing.
Telekinesis bound his limbs, but the
Will of Refusal
activated automatically.
The remnants of power were cast aside effortlessly.
Next, venom-coated claws came slashing toward him.
While ferocious, the manticore’s claw strikes were nothing compared to the four-season swordsmanship Shinar had demonstrated during their sparring.
With a single motion, the faster and stronger human’s blade cleaved the beast from head to tail.
Even the snake-like tail coiled to strike was cut as the blade’s trajectory swept through its head.
If the fairies had displayed finesse in targeting small marks with their arrows, Enkrid had achieved the same precision with a sword.
It wasn’t something he could have done before, but now he could.
So he simply did.
Squelch.
The manticore’s black blood pooled on the ground as its entrails scattered carelessly across the floor.
"Magnificent."
Ermen spoke, his words still dry, yet a glimmer of admiration could be discerned in the fairy’s tone.

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