A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Audin toyed with the manticore, literally.

He made it look like a simple slap to the face.

The battered manticore tucked its tail between its legs and slowly retreated backward.

Growl.

On the ground lay its sharp teeth, loose fur, and dark blue blood scattered around.

As the manticore tucked its tail, Audin still gestured with a benevolent smile.

“It’s time to go. Brother beast.”

His tone remained the same, but the message was different. It was a kind of death sentence.

The manticore took a step back. Anyone could see it was scared.

It seemed like it would just run away. Most of the watching soldiers thought so, but not Audin.

The manticore was a high-ranking beast, very cunning.

As it stepped back, it suddenly charged forward. It was a surprise attack without any warning or sound.

It raised its claws and stabbed, and its tail swung down fiercely.

Audin anticipated this, parried the claws, grabbed the tail, and added the momentum of the charging force to slam it into the ground.

Bang!

With a loud noise.

Growl!

A painful groan escaped the manticore.

It was a high-ranking beast, a monster that could face an entire company alone, but its opponent was too strong.

When it was slammed into the ground, stone fragments scattered in all directions. The soldiers, initially startled, now turned into a cheering squad.

“Well done!”

“Awesome!”

“Madman!”

Why they called him a madman was unclear.

Audin approached the manticore and slapped it a few more times.

After several slams, he eventually climbed onto its back, grabbed its neck, and with a swift motion, snapped it backward. The manticore’s snake-like tongue protruded.

Its eyes rolled back, and it collapsed, exhaling a thin breath as its head hit the ground with a thud.

The high-ranking beast that had been slapped around became an expensive corpse.

Its teeth, skin, and even its organs were all valuable.

“What are you?”

A voice full of astonishment came from the opposite side of where the soldiers were gathered. To Audin’s right was a group of soldiers, and the voice came from the left.

“I don’t think such a beast would come alone. Where do you come from, brother?”

Audin, with his back to the moonlight, stood up from the manticore’s back.

Where his words were directed, a cultist had climbed up to the gallery at the end of the fortress wall.

Audin had expected this. It was inevitable.

High-ranking beasts are intelligent and clever.

It didn’t make sense for a manticore to recklessly attack a human-made fortress.

Especially to keep fighting after being beaten this badly? That didn’t make sense.

Unless it was extremely hungry.

Even so, it had the opportunity to flee, but it kept attacking until the end.

This meant someone was controlling it.

Audin had been waiting for that opponent to appear.

That’s why the fight dragged on. As soon as he sensed the opponent, he killed the manticore.

It had outlived its usefulness.

“How dare you!”

The eyes of the one who shouted glowed bluish. Audin recognized it.

The mark of a cultist.

He served a God.

“So, you are a brother who serves the cult.”

Audin muttered softly.

These were some of the days spent as an inquisitor, hunting down cultists.

The cultist, with blue-glowing eyes, raised his hand. The motion was in progress.

The soldiers were too shocked to speak.

It was an opening.

Bang!

Audin disappeared. No, it seemed that way. His body, propelled off the ground, closed the distance faster than the manticore.

Boom!

A separate explosion sounded apart from the noise of his takeoff.

To the soldiers’ eyes, they only saw a mass flying and crashing into the wall.

The mass was now a corpse, twitching with a finger pointing into the air.

“God watches over us.”

Audin’s voice, reciting a prayer, echoed softly.

The soldiers’ gazes turned to where Audin stood, a giant, bear-like figure with his right fist extended.

Audin of the Madmen Platoon.

A member of a unit rumored to be forming its own independent company.

Audin’s strike was barely visible to the soldiers.

The event happened, and only the result remained.

Audin lowered his fists and returned to his usual self.

The soldiers inspected the mass that had flown. A body shattered against the gallery wall.

Something was missing from the half-crumpled body. The head was absent.

“Where did the head go?”

They didn’t know. All they knew was that the cultist had been wiped from existence with a single punch from that crazy religious figure.

The blood sprayed radially on one side of the gallery wall was evidence of that.

“…I really peed myself.”

The smell of urine began to waft from between a soldier’s legs.

Not seeing clearly made it more terrifying. How could such a person exist?

The dead manticore and the cultist.

Most of the soldiers couldn’t properly grasp the situation.

Only a Platoon leader, who arrived late on the gallery, began to take control.

“Attack, uh, eliminated? Seeing the commotion outside, it seems like others are here too, so everyone should go down and support…”

“There’s no need, brother.”

Audin, who had been idly looking down from the wall after his prayer, spoke.

“Huh?”

“It’s almost over.”

Audin saw his Company Commander fighting below.

Though he knew from their training, seeing the commander in actual combat was different.

‘You’ve improved, brother.’

There were things he saw in his movements and swordplay that he hadn’t seen before—confidence and faith.

Knowing him from the start, it was a truly remarkable improvement.

It was satisfying. How could he not be pleased to see him doing well?

‘My lord, I wonder. Is this your will? Have you guided him?’

His lord still did not answer.

However, answers were no longer necessary. Audin had also found a small enlightenment here.

It began through Encrid.

‘Needing an answer is evidence of my weakness, so I will go forward without proving or doubting.’

There was someone living like that. Someone who, according to the teachings of the scripture, faced and overcame adversity without yielding to anything.

How could watching such a person not bring joy?

Audin wished blessings upon Encrid, who was burning through his life.

But Encrid was claiming blessings for himself.

Therefore, he would pray for him but not beg God for anything more.

“Good.”

The Platoon leader blinked, puzzled by what Audin meant by ‘good’.

But was it really okay not to go down?

The commotion outside still bothered him, so he moved his feet. As he went down, he saw a soldier with a hole in his stomach and another bleeding from his thigh.

“That guy’s a spy.” said the soldier clutching his stomach, pressing it with his clothes to stop the bleeding.

The Platoon leader spoke to the soldier who had followed him.

“Detain him.”

The Platoon leader picked up the spy that Encrid had left behind and checked outside the open side gate.

From the top of the wall, the battle hadn’t been visible.

Now he could see someone in black clothes cutting down and stabbing a group alone.

It was a familiar face. The most notorious figure among the Border Guard right now, the so-called Madman Platoon Leader.

* * *

The Black Blade Bandits were in disarray. Especially Dunbachel, who found this experience completely new.

“A Knight? No, a member of a Knightly order?”

Dunbachel spoke, her hand resting on her scimitar. Was their opponent too strong?

Or had they unknowingly walked into something?

Five of his companions were already corpses.

Two had lost a leg.

Even if a high priest arrived and poured divine power into them immediately, they would still end up crippled.

Not that such a priest would come, and even if they did, they wouldn’t use their divine power on them, so they were doomed to be crippled.

And that was if they were lucky. From the amount of blood loss, they would soon die.

The person who had caused this situation was now inspecting his sword, nodding slightly.

He wasn’t even acknowledging Dunbachel’s words. He seemed utterly at ease.

“Who the hell are you?”

Dunbachel asked in disbelief, and Encrid just shrugged again.

It wasn’t like he was going to explain that his dream was to become a Knight and that he wasn’t one yet to someone with murderous intent.

Instead, Encrid examined the sword, specifically the blade.

‘It’s unbelievably sharp.’

He had swung it, intending to cut near the thigh, and it had cleanly sliced through the thick leather pants.

The cutting power was exceptional. Was it because the blacksmith had sharpened the sword well, or was the sword itself excellent?

He decided it was both.

The balance when held by the pommel was good, and the leather-wrapped handle fit comfortably in his hand. The sword’s cutting ability and overall strength were impressive.

It felt solid just by looking at it.

Though it didn’t seem to be made of Valyrian steel, it was a high-quality, superior sword.

For Encrid, this was his first time owning such a fine weapon.

He’d never had a sword of this caliber before.

“Are they not coming?”

Encrid murmured into the wind.

He wanted to use the sword more. And, of course, the techniques he had recently mastered.

He had once considered Rem to be just a frustrated soul.

‘Am I the same?’

How could he be so eager to fight?

Dunbachel frowned at his opponent’s words.

‘Where did this guy come from?’

The scent was different. For a beastman, a keen nose often served as a gauge of an opponent’s level.

More precisely, it was an instinct for self-preservation.

Dunbachel was starting to get a sense of things.

‘Looks like this is my grave.’

So, should she run?

She didn’t want to.

After all, she’d lived a life half-dedicated to dying. So closing the book of life here wouldn’t be the worst thing.

She wanted to die fighting, which was why she was here, Dunbachel was ready.

Most importantly, his last opponent wasn’t bad. Both his appearance and skills were to her liking.

‘More than enough.’

Dunbachel thought, laughing without realizing it. It was an inappropriate laugh given the situation.

The only remaining member of the Black Blade Bandits glanced at him.

There was a distinct smell of fear coming from him.

A smell similar to urine.

“Hey, do you want to live?”

Dunbachel asked his remaining comrade, a thief whose name she didn’t even know.

“What?”

What the hell is this crazy woman saying?

“Never mind.”

Before he could finish speaking, Dunbachel’s fist, made of bulging muscles, struck the man’s face.

Bang!

A heavy sound accompanied it.

“Aaagh!”

The man let out a brief, peculiar death rattle as his feet lifted off the ground.

With one punch, his right eyeball, which had been jammed inward, popped out, blood splattering, and broken facial bones jutted sideways.

Some of the bone fragments even flew off in all directions.

The man, who had been tensely watching only Encrid, now had one side of his face caved in and was, of course, dead.

“It’s a good grave site.”

Dunbachel said, still holding her fist out. She didn’t explain her actions. Instead, she revealed her true nature.

“Hey, let’s have a real fight.”

The moment Dunbachel spoke, her eyes changed. Her pupils elongated vertically, becoming like those of a beast.

Growl.

What distinguishes a lycanthrope from a beastman?

The appearance was different.

Typically, a beastman has a human form with some beastly features.

They don’t transform dramatically.

Even if something wild within them altered their form slightly, they wouldn’t get a wolf’s head or anything like that.

They might grow fangs, their eyes might change, and their hair might grow a bit, but they wouldn’t drastically deviate from a human shape.

That’s how most beastmen were.

But Dunbachel was different.

With some humanity remaining, as beastly blood coursed through her, she began to transform.

Shhh.

Long, white fur started to sprout all over her body.

Her facial bones cracked and shifted, taking on a leonine structure.

Encrid had seen several beastmen in his life, but this was a first.

Why is she transforming?

Though the explanation was long, the transformation happened in an instant.

“A monster?”

Encrid asked, wondering if the creature could speak.

Its form resembled that of a lycanthrope.

However, the appearance was more like a lion, a white-maned lion, and the aura it exuded was vastly different.

Honestly, it looked more like a guardian from a legend or myth, guarding a heavenly temple, rather than a monster.

At least, that’s how Encrid felt, although the first word that came to mind was still ‘monster’.

“Growl, I’ve heard that a lot.”

Dunbachel growled. It was a habit that came with transforming.

Encrid sensed something strange in his opponent’s demeanor, attitude, and speech.

It seemed like when Dunbachel mentioned a grave site, it wasn’t for Encrid but for herself, as if she wanted to die.

Well, that wasn’t the most important thing.

“Are you coming?”

“Of course! Growl!”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the white lion charged with a powerful burst, pushing off the ground.

She slashed with claws that had extended from her left hand and swung a scimitar with the other, aiming at Encrid’s chest and waist.

Encrid saw all of this and raised his sword, slashing forward twice as if shaking off the attack.

Both slashes were precise and powerful, infused with the strength of the Heart of Great Strength, a defensive technique that left no room for binding.

He parried with force.

Clang!

Bang!

He deflected the claws and the scimitar.

Even so, the beastman did not retreat.

It was an unyielding charge, a rush prepared for death.

Encrid was momentarily taken aback.

They were close, and the white lion had seemingly anticipated her attack being blocked. She then tilted her head back and headbutted with her forehead.

‘The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique?’

A familiar attack: a headbutt following a charge.

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