Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 485 - Breaking Chains and Advancing

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Chapter 485 - Breaking Chains and Advancing

"Rise, warrior's leg," one of the cannibals muttered as he extended his foot. He appeared weaker than the previous caster, a cannibal adorned with a colorful headband and chaotic patterns smeared across his face. His filthy leg turned black and began to crumble.

Crack.

The magic backlash had begun.

"Ugh," the cannibal grunted, clenching his teeth to endure the agony. His muscles, bones, and leathery skin twisted unnaturally, emitting a chilling sound that would make anyone's skin crawl. Below the knee, his leg detached, turning into a black mass that pooled on the ground. From this black pool, a muscular black leg regrew.

After producing one arm and two legs this way, one of the casters collapsed, bleeding profusely from his eyes and nose. His body imploded inward, forming a pool of black blood, from which a dark, grotesque figure emerged.

The creature had thin arms and legs but no head. Instead, it bore a single newly-formed arm and two legs attached to a soot-like humanoid body. Its lone hand gripped a long, rod-like weapon—a spear, to be precise. It was a dark warrior born of death itself, perhaps best described as a Death Knight, the pinnacle of necromancy.

The sorcery used to create this creature was of a lesser degree, yet it still yielded a formidable result. It began with capturing a skilled warrior, tearing out their heart, and keeping them suspended in a state between life and death for seven agonizing days. Though their body was dead, the sorcery deluded them into believing they still lived.

"Whose heart is that?"

While their body succumbed, their mind remained intact. Once they believed themselves alive, necromantic rituals completed the transformation.

A death-born warrior emerged, incapable of understanding the words of the living or speaking them. Only the primal urge to fight remained—fight, kill, and pierce their enemies.

Luagarne lashed her whip at the dark warrior's head.

Snap!

The warrior countered, twirling the shaft of their spear to intercept the whip's tip, causing it to coil around the shaft. Without hesitation, Lua lunged forward, swinging her loop sword horizontally in a sharp arc, intending to cleave through the enemy's torso. However, the black warrior drew the spear back, using its strength to parry the blade.

Clang!

The whip unraveled from the spear as Lua retreated, reclaiming the whip's handle. With a calm voice, she muttered, "Ignite." Flames erupted from the whip's center, their heat intensifying the surrounding air.

Even with the advantage of a magical weapon, her combat instincts warned her of looming defeat. It wasn't just the Death Warrior; more enemies were approaching. Among them, figures stood out—a half-fairy with a mutilated ear and a half-giant whose angular face resembled a stone slab. These were no ordinary westerners; their appearance and clothing suggested a foreign origin.

Lua's combat intuition spoke one word: death.

The ominous presence of an enemy with black hair, featureless white eyes, and unsettling tattoos beneath each eye—a teardrop on the left and a dagger on the right—only deepened her foreboding.

"Even so," Lua resolved, "these cultists are my enemies. Whether I win or lose doesn't matter. My anger is justified."

With a mix of grim determination and defiance, Lua puffed her cheeks, ready to unleash everything she had. Victory or not, vengeance was the only path.

"Did you think giants were all I prepared?"

The Apostle of the Sacred Demon Cult, cornered and silenced by a relentless barrage of blades, bristled with anger.

"I divided the West and created giants. You have no idea how many seeds I've sown over the years. You think you can stop this?"

Their ultimate goal was to turn this place into a demonic sanctuary by summoning demons and harvesting the fear, despair, and futile hopes of the westerners. The Apostle sought to turn the very land into a cursed domain.

But the constant flurry of strikes prevented them from focusing, their lips unable to chant, and even forming hand seals was thwarted.

"Curse you."

Though enraged, the Apostle recognized that succumbing to anger would only worsen the situation. They closed their eyes and began to pray silently:

"Within the sanctuary lies our slumbering god..."

"Awaken him to govern this land.

Deliver divine retribution to all the fools.

Hang and kill all who dare to falsely claim kingship.

Split the hearts of those who insult the one true god slumbering in the demonic abyss with their misguided faith.

Die and be reborn anew.

Thus, the world will answer the true god's call."

While delivering this declaration, the soothsayer tribe joined the fray, and two hidden warriors began approaching him. They were meant to handle the one continuously swinging their blade toward his mouth and hands. Once the adversary was restrained, bound, and brought to their knees, he would speak.

"Why do you wield such power to walk a misguided path?

Stand beside me and feel true joy as we honor the god of the abyss.

If you refuse, I will have you die and be reborn to stand beside the apostle.

Regardless of your will, I will make it so.

That is my duty, my path for the god."

The apostle, known for his verbosity, had countless thoughts and words tangled within him. Yet every time he tried to speak, a blade would slice through the air. The incorporeal spell allowed him to let the blade pass through harmlessly; otherwise, he would have perished long ago. However, staying in this state made it frustratingly impossible to cast proper spells. Still, he thought there might be a way to utter his voice amidst the chaos.

Desperate to speak, the apostle resorted to trickery. If he could convey his will, then surely he could also cast his prepared spells. He decided to open a gap through unconventional means.

"I!"

"Will!"

"Make!"

"You!"

"Listen!"

"To!"

"Me!"

Clever.

The apostle, unable to speak continuously, broke his words into single syllables.

Enkrid, wielding only Aker, pressed the mage relentlessly, occasionally adding bursts from spark to the mix.

This approach ensured the mage couldn't chant or use intricate hand signs.

"By blocking their chants and signs, the mage would need to rely solely on willpower to cast. But that is no easy feat for any mage. So, cut their hands and silence their voice."

Esther's teachings were sound, and Enkrid followed them faithfully. The opponent still couldn't properly cast magic.

But how long could this go on?

Even if Enkrid slashed away tirelessly for three days and nights, would the mage relent?

He wasn't sure.

With their mouth silenced, the mage began attempting communication through their eyes.

Their rolling, expressive gaze made it seem like they might even conjure a spell with their eyeballs.

'Would Audin make such an expression if he lost his mind?'

No, probably not.

Enkrid dismissed the thought and focused on slicing through his opponent's incorporeal form, which felt like cutting through mist. Despite the lack of resistance, Enkrid persisted.

"Re!"

"Born!"

After several more strikes, the mage's intent shifted. Instead of spewing meaningless demands, they began a new chant. Enkrid's instincts flared as the resonance of magic reached him.

Even with Enkrid's interruptions, the mage managed to chant syllables between slashes. What kind of people were the apostles of the Demon Abyss Church?

They were said to be geniuses, after all.

The apostle accounted for Enkrid's interference and manipulated their magic accordingly.

There was no need for a lengthy incantation—preparations had already been made.

"Re!"

"Born!"

Six syllables formed the spell. Beneath the earth, sacrificial offerings responded to the apostle's call.

Thanks to Rem and Dunbakel, the number of giants had been significantly reduced. Yet at the apostle's command, the dead giants began to stir.

Grrroooarrr!

Shattered flesh reassembled, severed heads regenerated atop necks, and writhing masses of muscle and sinew formed new eyes, noses, and mouths. It was grotesque, enough to induce nausea.

Despite their muddled gazes, the resurrected giants moved again, exactly as they had before their deaths.

What kind of monstrous regeneration was this? Even trolls or Frogs couldn't replicate such recovery.

"Awaken!"

The apostle continued their incantation, and before Enkrid's eyes, a creature materialized—a towering beast with a crimson comb larger than an average human's head.

Below it was the head of a chicken, a body covered in steel-like feathers, yellow legs with razor-sharp talons, and a serpentine tail slithering across the ground.

Enkrid quickly recalled the scene moments earlier.

A crimson magic circle had appeared on the ground, and from beneath, the creature emerged.

A Cockatrice—a creature that shot petrifying beams from its eyes.

The beast wasted no time. It aimed its deadly gaze at Enkrid while preparing to peck him with its beak and slash with venomous claws. But before the Cockatrice could act, a streak of light flashed, severing its neck.

The cut was so swift it seemed the beast had offered its neck willingly, though this was merely an illusion created by the difference in speed.

Ssslice!

Thunk.

The beast's head soared into the air, its glowing eyes dimming. The summoned Cockatrice perished without unleashing a single attack or cry.

However, its death bought its summoner a brief opening.

"Chains of Gulak!"

The apostle dispelled their incorporeal state and cast a spell. Green chains shot up from the ground, coiling around Enkrid's calves and forearms.

"Trying to slash an incorporeal opponent? How crude."

Enkrid heard a faint, mocking voice, but he ignored it along with the chains binding him.

What was willpower? It was the desire to act. Enkrid poured his intent into advancing and slashing. Chains tightening around him and phantom whispers didn't matter.

Snap! Bang!

The chains shattered under the force of his movements, unable to withstand the strength of his well-trained muscles.

If Audin had witnessed this, he might have prayed fervently, asking for his father's guidance.

"You!"

The apostle, preparing another spell, cried out in shock. They were visibly startled.

Who wouldn't be? What kind of lunatic breaks magic with raw strength?

The apostle's hybrid subordinates—a half-giant and a half-fairy—rushed forward to intercept Enkrid. Both aimed to hold him down, and for a brief moment, they succeeded.

But only for half a breath.

Enkrid, unfazed, moved his arms. His blades swung in half-tempo, striking at irregular intervals to slice and pierce.

Boom! Crack! Stab!