Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 615: Chapter 615 - A Light Heart and Will
"If that’s the case, what do you stand to gain?"
Enkrid asked in return.
"The next Grand Knight Commander,"
The response revealed a clear advantage.
The man’s eyes glinted with desire, a reflection of why he was in this position.
Of course, not all individuals in the Gray Divine Army were like him.
Azratik, for instance, was an exception, emitting a white flash of brilliance.
There were also martyrs who mistakenly believed their wrong beliefs to be faith.
What Muel had started seemed foolish at first—new gods?
The logic of a heretic akin to the son of a ghoul.
If someone were a typical believer, they might say:
"Gray God? Do you want to become a fallen heretic? Doesn’t it sound like you’re saying you want to be friends with cultists?"
Such would be the typical reaction.
Those who gathered to listen to Muel’s words should have been similar, yet they were not.
Even within the confines of the temple, where believers lived, people interacted and relied on one another.
Some were swayed by the atmosphere or influenced by those around them.
Those who spent their lives in spiritual training or physical discipline often knew little of the world.
Unaware of the world, they were easily deceived.
Some, having convinced themselves that what they were doing was right, took action.
These people had chosen to believe in Muel’s claim that the Gray God had sent revelations in a new form.
Muel had deceived people with lies.
So, was that wrong?
Who would punish him?
Hadn’t the bishops of the past done the same?
Were all the popes spotless?
Even so, there were those who defended them.
The recently notable prophet, Overdier, had served under the pope, who was infamous in his youth for his shady actions.
The man standing before Enkrid was clearly seeking his own gain.
It was obvious from his words.
"Azratik and the other paladins here have already been surpassed. Here, I am the strongest."
He was also arrogant.
He didn’t even bother naming his opponent.
His words, spoken with a smile, seemed to guarantee his victory.
He spoke at length, perhaps enjoying the conversation, but that was now over.
He lowered his spear.
The way he carried its weight with one hand proved he possessed remarkable strength.
The spear’s head, shaped like an axe, pointed at Enkrid’s chest.
The mere presence of it felt like an invisible pressure on his shoulders, but Enkrid brushed it off effortlessly.
The first lesson he had learned in Will was rejection.
After fighting Rem, he had naturally picked up some of the characteristics of the spells he wielded.
Will was an invisible, formless force.
It was a practice in shaping it, manifesting it, and striking it down.
This time, it worked.
The spear, aiming to wrap around him like a chain, was severed by Enkrid’s mental blade.
It was a brief exchange, one of offense and defense without using hands or feet.
This was a trick visible only to those who had mastered Will.
When his opponent spoke as he lowered the spear, it was clear what he meant:
He was claiming to be the best fighter here.
That was true.
He had defeated Azratik, and that was acknowledged by all the paladins present.
From Enkrid’s perspective, this opponent was unexpectedly strong.
And that pleased him.
"I’m just lucky."
Enkrid answered sincerely.
"Fool."
The Paladin smirked and, before his words had finished, leaped toward him, compressing the space.
His movements were agile for a man wielding such a heavy weapon, but it was not an ambush.
It was a clear strike.
Enkrid swung the sword given to him by Aetri.
It was a diagonal cut aimed at his opponent.
Clang!
The blade of the sword struck the base of the spear just below its head, but instead of breaking, it felt as though it had hit something with a rebound.
It was clearly a weapon of engraving—its sturdiness was exceptional.
Yet, strangely, the force of the will imbued in it felt lacking.
Enkrid found the emergence of a strong opponent intriguing, but that didn’t mean it was a life-or-death struggle.
As he parried the spear, Enkrid naturally split his Will and poured it into his strike.
If he could explosively release his Will in a single moment, splitting it was even easier.
Of course, it required constant training and effort, but at this moment, it was within his ability.
He added speed to his sword.
Moving his feet, he demonstrated his learned techniques.
At one point, he even incorporated some techniques from the Valen-style mercenary sword.
"Pathetic trick?"
The knight’s temper flared, his forehead vein bulging as he tried to pressure Enkrid.
Feigning exhaustion, the Paladin tried to seize the initiative.
That momentary struggle disturbed the flow of divine power within him.
This Paladin was not particularly seasoned.
Sure, his techniques with divine power were excellent, but that was all.
He was worse than Rem, worse than Ragna, and comparing him to Oara would be an insult.
Even when compared to the knights Enkrid had faced from Aspen, this opponent seemed lighter.
Honestly, his skill level wouldn’t have been something Enkrid could easily defeat before meeting the walking fire.
But now, something felt different.
’I don’t think I’d lose even if I met him back then.’
"Try to block this!"
The Paladin unleashed his special technique.
His body twisted as he struck with a powerful blow.
It seemed like some kind of hidden move.
Normally, Paladins preferred prolonged battles, but this one broke that mold with a single overwhelming strike.
The axe-like head of the spear arced behind him and then descended with a mighty force.
To Enkrid, it felt like a lightning strike.
But before the Paladin’s shout reached his ears,
Enkrid had already predicted the blow.
He had seen the Paladin’s intent, and everything—the steps, muscle contraction, grip, arm angle, and weapon position—was within the realm of his insight.
A moment of focus ignited, and his thinking accelerated.
Enkrid knew exactly what to do in the split second of opportunity.
Will, being a formless power, was not bound by speed.
He already knew how to pour his Will out in a single burst, making it as easy as emptying a cup of water in one go.
Zing!
The sword, forged by Aetri, vibrated.
That resonance traveled from his hand throughout his body.
Though it was not a weapon of engraving, it seemed to reflect its will.
It was as though the sword were saying it would not be defeated.
Enkrid stepped forward, lowering his knee, and there was no dodge.
Despite the man’s talk of profit, Enkrid did not underestimate his skill.
On the surface, the spear seemed many times heavier, but the sword Enkrid wielded carried a different weight.
Though his movements were light and agile, the weight within them was different.
Crash!
The rising blade cleaved through the spear’s axe head. In a flash, Enkrid moved his foot forward and followed up with a strike from Oara’s sword.
A silver flash not only cut through the axe head but also continued, slicing through the Paladin’s skull.
The extended sword strike, using his foot to guide it, was longer than the spear’s range.
As a result, the Paladin’s skull was split open, and his eyes trembled.
Blood and brain matter spilled down his face.
From the bisected skull, things no one should see were visible.
Gasping for his final breath, the Paladin spoke.
"What is this?"
Without blinking, he accepted his fate.
His training told him that death was near.
That was why he said it.
"After a lifetime of training, can’t I at least expect something more?"
As death approached, he seemed to feel unjustly robbed.
Living like a monk didn’t necessarily make one pure.
Similarly, becoming a Paladin didn’t mean that everyone possessed noble intentions.
Becoming a Paladin was a matter of talent, effort, and luck.
And when the heart is light, so too is the Will.
Enkrid thought that was only natural.
Even among knights, the weight of Will differed.
As his body slumped, the man collapsed, his body as light as his will.
Enkrid thought it had been a bit easier than expected to defeat him.
Rem watched Enkrid’s ability to pick his opponents well and saw the crazy individuals around him.
He couldn’t understand what was so enjoyable about fighting with a smile.
"That crazy ax-wielder, why is he laughing?"
As Rem pondered, his opponent spoke.
"Did I laugh?"
Rem replied.
"Crazy bastard."
It was the Paladin’s final words.
Despite his innards spilling out, he held on, healing himself with gray divine power.
Divinity, after all, was a power suited for endurance. Rem’s opponent had done the same.
One of the apostles of abundance had been the same.
"Originally, my nickname was "The Immortal," for I could not die."
He used a strategy of wearing sacred armor and tiring out his enemies with defense, healing the minor wounds with the light from the armor as they appeared.
"Ah, thanks for the compliment."
Rem grabbed his axe.
It had been a while since he had called upon his strength, and his body felt stiff.
The Paladin, who had been trying to hold his ground, could not withstand the onslaught of Rem’s axe.
Looking around, it was clear that the tide of battle had already been decided, with the Paladin’s defeat being imminent.
Rem noticed Audin fighting in the distance.
’That bastard.’
Now that he had become a glowing stone—Rem often referred to it as "Divinity"—facing him would certainly be a challenging task.
However, it didn’t seem like he would lose.
The sun, which had been high in the sky, began to set.
"What is this?"
Muel was too surprised to speak.
"What should we do?"
His adjutant and disciple asked.
Although his divine power was weak, he had been skilled at manipulating those around him.
He was quick-witted, but in his flustered state, he failed to consider Muel’s mood when asking.
Muel’s eyes fell upon the woman standing in front of the barricade.
She was a witch, wearing nothing but a black robe despite the cold.
Muel, who had some expertise in magic himself, couldn’t fathom imitating what she had done.
This was why Muel had refrained from assisting his underling’s magic in the past.
The fear brought by the man wielding a large sword froze the entire army, and the trusted Paladins began to fall one by one.
The Madmen Knights Order’s infamous reputation spread across the continent, but the full extent of their abilities was not widely known.
One had to experience it firsthand to truly understand.
Muel was only now realizing this.
’Why is such an overwhelming force being able to just roam around like this’
His mind was in chaos.
"Saint!"
His disciple called again.
He had asked to be called "Pope," but the old title slipped out.
"Advance!"
Muel muttered.
"Advance, advance!"
Muel’s voice grew louder.
He began chanting divine spells.
It was a precautionary spell he had prepared in advance.
Those who had fought against the Holy Kingdom before spoke in unison about the most terrifying thing about their soldiers:
It was their fanaticism.
Even if their arms or legs were severed, they would continue to fight.
This was the terrifying power of the zealot warriors.
The spell made enemies appear as demons to the soldiers, causing them to become martyrs in service to the god.
"Lord, I beg for your power. I beg for your power."
As Muel fervently cried out, two groups slowly approached from different directions.
Since they had been approaching from a distance, Jaxen, Shinar, and others were already aware of their presence.
Even Enkrid, having finished his fight, noticed them, as did some of the soldiers.
Muel and those with him, however, only noticed them too late.
Both groups were sizable.
Flags were visible—one bore the symbol of the Holy Kingdom: a winged spear, the standard of their army.
The other group carried a black flag with diagonal stripes.
A nameless crusader from Noah’s monastery had once said that even victory in such a battle would leave nothing behind.
He warned that those who were possessed by demons could be led astray even after victory.
Enkrid didn’t care much about that, but he could not ignore the possibility of these two armies becoming enemies.
Both groups were now clearly visible to Muel as well.
He ceased his chanting.
Suddenly, people from both groups surged forward, and the one from the Holy Kingdom was someone he recognized.
The other was a face Muel had seen before, a nameless crusader.
"Why is the leader here?"
He muttered in surprise.
The group with the diagonal stripes was from the Heretic Purging Priesthood.
This meant they were comrades of the nameless crusader.
They had likely come to punish a betrayer.
"Stop!"
The leader of the Heretic Purging Priesthood shouted as they rushed forward.
"You’re late!"
"Leader!"
The nameless crusader greeted him.
Enkrid, upon seeing him, immediately felt the weight of the situation, far greater than what he had felt with the previous foe.
The man was scarred, his forehead and cheeks covered in marks.
The one from the Holy Kingdom also arrived on the battlefield.
Who else could it be but the prophet Overdier?
The two representatives of each group faced off, and the situation came to a halt.
Enkrid didn’t care if they called him a demon; he would fight if necessary, just as he had planned.
As they all looked at each other, Overdier spoke first.
"Pathetic bastards."
His tone was filled with fury.

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