A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 385

"Step back. If you do that, you can have everything."

Esther stood before the illusory figure projected in front of her.

She had followed this trail out of curiosity—wondering what kind of trick was at play. If they dared attack, she intended to show them the difference in their standing.

But the response was unexpected.

They did not pick a fight.

Instead, they activated a magic circle, casting a spell that displayed the image of someone far away.

An illusion.

'Quite the trick, isn't it?'

It crossed her mind that this was no simple feat.

Summoning an illusion here required considerable resources.

This was on the level of spatial transmission magic.

Making something visible as an illusion was entirely different from showing an actual reflection.

Some mages were said to achieve this with water-mirrors, but such magic was rare.

It wasn’t Esther’s field of expertise, nor had she ever witnessed it before.

Despite her thoughts, she remained utterly composed, not even blinking.

A breeze swept past. She had left the capital and reached the nearby forest.

Two mages stood beside the magic circle with their hands clasped respectfully.

And from within the illusion, the figure of her adversary appeared.

Count Molsen—the one she had seen by Enkrid’s side.

"The most important thing for a mage is a world that aligns with their will. What I offer is clear. What do you say?"

The illusion exuded confidence, as if rejecting this proposal was out of the question.

He wasn’t asking for her help.

He wasn’t demanding betrayal.

He wasn’t even instructing her to do anything against Enkrid.

All he wanted was one thing—

For her to take a step back and simply watch.

There was no need to weigh the scales.

The man before her wielded high-level magic. The artifacts and re

The sound was disturbingly crisp.

Blood and brain matter sprayed through the air, mixing into the grimy gray canvas of the ground like splattered paint.

Faster than expected—far faster than the bullets that had struck the Undying Madman earlier—these shots carried twice the force.

Two western fugitives died before they could even react.

Thud. Thud.

Their bodies fell backward.

Rem landed on the ground and spun his slings once more.

Whoosh, whoosh! WIIIIIIIIING!

“Block it!”

The Undying Madman shouted.

‘Bullshit.’

Rem had already drawn the battle from start to finish in his mind.

The beginning with the sling. The ending with his axe.

The Undying Madman was going to die here.

That was an undeniable fact.

Ever since their encounter, time had passed—and in that time, Rem had suffered a loss.

To that mad bastard Ragna.

Not even Enkrid knew how deeply that loss had burned into him.

That wound had pushed him forward.

Made him train harder.

Made him swing his axe until his arms nearly fell off.

He had even secretly stolen glances at Enkrid’s Isolation Technique, adapting parts of it into his own training.

There was no time to be picky—no room to separate hot stew from cold stew.

It didn’t matter if the meal before him was made by a ghoul or a man.

What mattered was devouring it.

‘Damn bastard Ragna.’

Even now, just thinking of him filled Rem with energy.

Fueled by rage, he unleashed that power upon his enemies.

He hurled two more bullets at the charging men, but the ones carrying large shields had already closed the distance.

Boom! Boom!

The shields—reinforced with thick layers of leather and processed rubberwood—held firm.

The bullets failed to penetrate, lodging into the surface instead.

“This crazy bastard…”

One of the shield bearers muttered, face pale.

The force of those bullets was far beyond anything he had imagined.

But that didn’t mean he could afford to hesitate.

If his resolve wavered, neither his magic nor his martial arts would be of any use.

Whether the enemy hardened his will or not—it didn’t matter.

Rem watched the approaching shield-bearers and dropped both unbroken slings from his hands, reaching toward his waist.

His fingers wrapped around the handle of his axe.

One of the men, seeing the long-handled weapon, immediately lunged forward.

It was a speed that couldn’t be ignored—so fast that he was already upon Rem in the blink of an eye.

It was the Lightning Step spell.

Rem had expected it.

Without hesitation, he pulled his axe free and thrust it forward.

It wasn’t as fast as Lightning Step, but the timing was perfect.

It looked as if the opponent had charged straight into the blade himself.

The man who had launched himself forward became the first offering to the axe.

Thunk.

The upright blade split his skull in two.

And a man with two halves of a head couldn’t possibly live.

Yet, unaware that he was already dead, his body continued moving toward Rem.

His fingers wrapped around Rem’s thigh.

Originally, his specialty had been grappling and breaking limbs.

He died clinging to Rem’s leg.

And Rem, with the corpse still latched onto him, began swinging his axe.

Whoosh, crack, BOOM, thud!

None of them were on Enkrid’s level.

The only real threat here was the Undying Madman.

He threw spears designed to mimic falling weapons and wielded them in direct combat.

Dangerous, yes.

‘But he’s nowhere near that bastard Ragna.’

After dancing through Ragna’s swordplay, this was nothing.

By the time Rem had split five heads and severed the limbs of the sixth and seventh men, the mood had completely shifted.

These fools had never been prepared to die in the first place.

That’s why they were fugitives.

“He’s a goddamn monster!”

One of them screamed.

The Undying Madman finally realized the truth.

The moment he even thought of running, he threw every remaining spear in his arsenal.

Then, he grabbed one of his so-called disciples and hurled him forward.

Magic surged through his body, infusing him with the strength of a bear.

“Masterrrr!”

The disciple’s scream was pitiful.

Rem swung his axe.

WHOOOSH! CRACK!

With Heart of Might surging, the strength in his arms rivaled that of a giant.

He held his breath, tensed his muscles, and swung diagonally.

The incoming human projectile was perfectly bisected.

Through the axe blade, he felt the sensation of flesh, muscle, and bone being severed.

The weight of the corpse pressed against him as it was cleaved apart—

And the moment he cut through it, an overwhelming sense of release washed over him.

The axe had passed clean through.

Thud.

The disciple, now in two separate pieces, fell past Rem’s shoulders.

Blood sprayed over him, drenching him completely.

His gray eyes, now stained crimson, glowed in the dimming light.

And in his vision—he saw the fleeing back of the Undying Madman.

If someone were to ask what he had trained the most after meeting the Undying Madman, Rem would answer without hesitation.

Leg strength.

That was the reason he had stolen Enkrid’s Isolation Technique.

“If I let him escape again, my mother’s a ghoul.”

Muttering the phrase he had picked up from Enkrid, Rem pushed off the ground.

The Undying Madman fled.

Rem gave chase without hesitation.

Some survivors remained, blinking in shock.

They had survived only by chance.

They watched as the chase began anew.

It had been a pursuit before—but in the last round, traps had been set, and one side had knowingly walked into them.

This time was different.

There were no traps.

And the one pursuing was dead serious.

They knew it wouldn’t take long.

No more than half a day.

The Undying Madman would be caught.

And he would die.

Those left behind saw his future clearly.

And they moved.

If they stayed, they would die meaningless deaths.