A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 409: Within the Black Tide

Guuooaaahh!

They let out terrible screams, a writhing mass of horror.

There was no formation, no discipline—just a chaotic stampede.

That was why they weren’t particularly fast.

Unlike a disciplined army marching forward, they were more like an amorphous swarm tumbling toward their prey.

Enkrid observed them and thought of an ant colony.

Of course, these "ants" were the size of humans, and anyone caught in their tide would be torn apart.

Would he be the only one to die?

No.

The soldier behind him, the one scratching furiously at his arm, would die as well.

The one suddenly shouting into the air, as if seeing hallucinations, would die.

"Mother! Mother! Where are you going?!"

The one mumbling to himself in despair, pretending to strangle himself, would die.

"Magenta, I shall join you!"

It was chaos. The Count’s magic—curse, spell, whatever it was—had taken hold.

Not everyone was affected, but many were.

"Hey. Where the hell do you think you’re going, you idiot? Magenta is my sister. You didn’t do anything with her, and she’s alive and well."

One of the sane soldiers smacked the hand of the one choking himself.

"What the hell is happening?"

Another soldier looked around in confusion, his expression full of panic.

He was fine, but why was everyone else like this?

Enkrid didn’t fully understand the nature of the Count’s magic, but he grasped the situation.

Even if the spell encompassed the entire battlefield, there had to be a limit. Those who moved beyond a certain range wouldn’t be affected.

But the longer they stayed here, the worse it would get.

With magic of this scale and influence, wouldn't eliminating the caster be the simplest solution?

It was an instinctive realization.

If they didn’t push through and kill the source, there was no other way out.

That was why they had to advance.

Rem understood this and ordered them to form a formation.

"I refuse."

Ragna was the first to respond. He spoke while staggering slightly—his footing slipped for a moment.

Ragna was not in perfect condition. Overuse of his will had {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} taken a toll on both his mind and body.

"Brother, has something unholy taken root in your head? Shall I extract it for you?"

Audin expressed his concern.

It seemed Rem had succumbed to the sorcery of the mage ahead, so Audin graciously offered his assistance.

His own body bore wounds, the result of facing formidable enemies.

Jaxon wasn’t unscathed either.

He had paid the price for his failed assassination attempt on the Count earlier.

A small hole had been torn into his abdomen. He had hastily applied an ointment and wrapped it with a special bandage, but he wasn’t in shape for prolonged combat.

The wound was in a bad spot, and a cold sensation was creeping up from his stomach.

Rem was no different. Using borrowed sorcery had left his insides churning.

Among them, Enkrid was in the worst shape.

There was no damage from will-based attacks, but his body had been pushed far beyond its limits.

It was only natural.

Rearvart had fused monster muscle into his body in his bid to become a knight.

To counter him, Enkrid had squeezed every last ounce of strength from himself.

Luck had been on his side.

If he hadn’t been able to wield his will—the one named Eye That Sees Ahead—then he would have woken up at dawn, doomed to repeat this day once more.

Even as they spoke, the black tide slithered forward.

It looked like a flood of oil creeping toward them, a sight so repulsive it made one’s skin crawl.

Some wraith soldiers tumbled and fell as they moved, but even then, they clawed at the ground, dragging themselves forward.

Kill.

They existed only to kill.

Above them, tangled limbs formed grotesque clusters of writhing wraiths.

The sight was so nauseating it went beyond revulsion.

Everyone wanted to refuse, but refusal was not an option.

"Let’s take the shortcut."

Enkrid did not waste words.

Rem, ever the nonchalant one, spoke next.

"Boss goes first, I’m second, lazybones is third. The alley cat and the preacher stay behind and cover our rear."

His tone was businesslike. Rem’s explanation lacked kindness, but Enkrid understood.

All those years spent training under him had not been in vain.

"Three-Wave Formation?"

Enkrid asked.

Rem nodded.

It was a formation they had encountered once before.

A tactic used by centaur colonies and horse-beasts.

The first wave would draw attention.

The second wave would deal damage.

The third wave would break through.

Each wave grew stronger than the last.

Rem intended to rotate their positions repeatedly, continuously repeating the Three-Wave Formation.

"Let’s go."

Enkrid didn’t hesitate.

Explaining the strategy a hundred times wouldn’t help now.

There was no time for practice.

More than that, the wraith horde was already upon them.

Guuooaaahh!

The howls sounded like ghouls screeching from the depths of a well.

Real combat is the best training.

Enkrid recalled something Rem had once said.

And so, he swung Silver.

Pivoting on his left foot, he executed a greatsword technique—Crown Splitter.

Whoosh.

The blade carved through space and fell.

"Loosen up!"

Rem shouted from behind him, but the strike had already been delivered.

Thwack!

The first wraith that lunged forward had its skull split in two.

Though it had limbs, it was nothing more than a black mass with no discernible features.

As Enkrid’s sword cleaved through its head, a burst of black mist erupted from within.

Dead.

He could feel it.

And yet, another wraith was already upon him.

They didn’t stop.

They didn’t care if their comrades fell before them.

"Left!"

Rem’s voice rang out.

A wraith had formed something resembling a blade and was swinging it toward Enkrid.

He wouldn’t be able to dodge by simply stepping to the side.

But he did anyway.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Only someone with immense trust could move so boldly.

Immediately, a hammer-like mass shot out from the right.

Crash! Crunch!

Rem’s warhammer crushed the wraith’s skull.

Then, without missing a beat, he swept his axe in a horizontal arc, slicing through several more wraiths.

He didn’t hack at them with brute force.

He used momentum—shifting his balance, channeling strength through his core, and leveraging the push from his legs.

A fluid motion designed for uninterrupted advancement.

After two attacks, Rem stepped aside.

The empty space he left was immediately filled by more wraith soldiers.

Grrraaahh!

A jagged blade swung down.

Of course, it was Ragna’s sword.

Whoosh.

With a single vertical slash, he bisected three entangled wraiths.

One of them reached out, trying to grasp his collar.

But its fingers never touched him.

Ragna swung his sword and stepped back.

"Again!"

Before Rem even shouted, Enkrid had already recognized the pattern.

How many times had they sparred together?

Hundreds, if not more.

They filled in the gaps, covering each other seamlessly.

Relaxing their grip, deflecting instead of blocking, focusing on avoidance rather than brute force.

A spear flew in from the side, impaling a wraith and sending it tumbling backward.

"Advance, brother."

Audin’s voice.

Behind him, Jaxon moved with swift efficiency, skewering and slicing any wraith that tried to encircle them.

Their roles were clear.

Enkrid, Rem, and Ragna led the charge.

Audin provided support.

Jaxon covered the gaps.

Encircled by darkness, they moved as one.

Five warriors, carving through the tide of wraiths.

***

Krank saw it. Marcus saw it.

Bell and Aisia were also overcome by a sense of foreboding.

Anyone who witnessed the black wraiths, the soot, and the sky blotted out by dark clouds would feel the same.

Even more so when they saw the tide of wraiths crashing down upon Enkrid and his company.

To any observer, it looked as if Enkrid and the Mad Platoon were doomed.

"It's a spell! It won’t last long!"

Aisia deliberately shouted in a cold, steady voice, as much to convince herself as the others.

She was a knight-in-training.

She didn't wield spells, but she had fought against mages more than a few times.

She forced herself to stay rational, to think carefully.

How long could such large-scale magic be sustained?

Not for long.

That was true. But even if it lasted only as long as a candle burned, both armies would suffer catastrophic losses, and the soldiers tainted by the wraiths would no longer be human.

Aisia could not foresee that part.

"We must cut a path through and escape," she said.

Yet Krank was still staring at the spot where Enkrid had vanished.

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Was he truly dead?

"Damn it, Your Highness!"

Marcus shouted. The battlefield was spiraling into madness.

The Count was clearly possessed by something. No matter how powerful a mage was, could he really do this?

Should they have summoned the knight order?

Bell gripped the Idol Slayer tighter.

Should I go in?

A thought crossed his mind as he gazed at the wraith tide.

It seemed possible.

No. For now, enduring was the answer.

Even after engulfing Enkrid’s group, the wraiths still overflowed, surging toward the rest.

Bell had already cut down a few, and the Idol Slayer was immune to their corruption.

That meant it was just a matter of cutting them down one by one.

Aisia gathered her squires into a tight formation and stepped forward.

A leftward slash, a pivoting thrust to the right.

Two precise strikes, and two wraiths fell, dissolving into mist.

Without pausing to watch them vanish, Aisia flipped backward.

It was an acrobatic move unsuited for someone in full plate armor, but she wore a partial set, allowing her to execute near-impossible feats.

As she landed—

Boom!

A wraith leapt down, crashing into the spot where she had just stood.

Aisia had no time to catch her breath.

She immediately jabbed her elbow sideways—

Thud!

It was like striking solid rock.

Even their bodies weren’t soft.

She used the impact to pivot and drove her sword downward in a vertical slash.

Another wraith fell.

She was beginning to feel lightheaded.

How long can I keep this up?

If this was a battle of endurance, was holding out really the best option?

If Krank and his men could last—

But the ordinary soldiers?

"Help me!"

"Aaagh!"

The wraith soldiers, with their fully corporeal bodies, threw themselves at the living.

Individually, they weren’t particularly strong.

But their numbers never seemed to end.

They kept coming, wave after relentless wave.

Wraith soldiers knew no fear.

But crisis often called forth opportunity.

Across the battlefield, individuals emerged—warriors who could truly be called heroes.

Aged commanders with experience.

Young soldiers with unwavering courage.

They rallied those around them, forming pockets of resistance.

But how long could they endure?

How long did they have to last before survival became possible?

A shroud of despair loomed overhead.

The darkened sky seemed to speak of their fate, as if foretelling their end.

Either they would be consumed by wraiths, or they would be torn apart and impaled by wraith soldiers.

***

In the midst of darkness, Enkrid abandoned all thought, all distractions—

He simply swung his sword. Again. And again.

Tiring.

The thought came naturally, the exhaustion creeping in.

But it wasn’t unbearable.

As he fought, he found ways to conserve his strength.

Instead of brute force, he twisted his sword to deflect attacks, minimizing the strain on his arms.

When his strength fell short, Rem covered for him.

And when Rem wasn’t enough, Ragna took over.

At times, they were forced back—two steps, three steps.

But in the end, they advanced.

For every two steps they lost, they gained three.

For every three steps they retreated, they surged forward four.

Rem’s adjustments to their formation were crucial.

Enkrid no longer dodged the falling wraith hands—he let them glance off the flat of his blade.

Parry and counter.

Ordinarily, wraiths were immune to mundane steel.

But with physical form, they had weaknesses.

Regular swords could cut them.

So Enkrid stabbed and slashed, over and over.

Around him, only blackness remained.

Soot-black wraiths.

The tide of wraith soldiers.

Shadows upon shadows.

Darkness that filled every inch of space.

Malicious hands grasping for his throat.

And yet—

"Ah."

A sigh of joy escaped him.

He could swing his sword.

He could keep swinging.

"Are you insane?"

Rem’s voice cut through the darkness.

He had clearly seen Enkrid’s face.

Smiling.

How can you smile in a situation like this?

But they hadn’t stopped moving forward.

And soon—

The darkness broke.

Enkrid swung his sword once into empty air and stopped.

There were no more wraiths.

No, that wasn’t quite true.

Behind them, the battlefield was littered with corpses—wraith bodies bleeding mist, countless and broken.

Enkrid finally realized—they had cut straight through the heart of the wraith horde.

And ahead of them—

A black throne.

The Count sat upon it, eyes wide with shock.

From one side, a gaze calm and composed, worn from battle.

From the other, eyes filled with disbelief.

When faced with the incomprehensible, humans often had the same reaction.

"How...?"

The Count was no exception.

Something had happened that defied his understanding.