A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"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 research he offered were valuable, precious resources for any mage.

In contrast, what he requested was trivial.

This man understood what was important to a mage.

The two mages standing beside the illusion assumed Esther would nod without hesitation.

Count Molsen had factored that into his calculations as well.

Esther had stayed by Enkrid’s side to lift her curse. But at this point, Enkrid’s presence was no longer essential.

She had already begun using a portion of the curse to forge a new path.

That was the current reality.

And so, the offer was indeed tempting.

A chance to expand her world and gain the resources to advance.

There was no reason to refuse.

It was irritating that Count Molsen seemed so certain of that fact.

But it was also irrelevant.

Even if he was scheming, she had the power to ignore him.

Her struggles with the curse had carved those lessons into her world.

Esther met the eyes of the illusion in silence.

Being an illusion, there was no color in them.

She locked gazes with the colorless projection.

Then she laughed.

With a smirk, she let out a bright, unrestrained laugh.

The two mages at her side flinched, startled.

They had been prepared to make a move if things didn’t go their way.

As Esther lifted her arm, the front of her coat shifted, revealing the snug outfit beneath.

Lust flickered in the eyes of the two mages.

Gazing at the illusion and the spellcasters who acted as mere limbs of another’s will, Esther reminded herself who she was.

She was a witch who wielded the flames of the black world.

A witch who fought, struggled, and carved a path through existence.

A witch born to seek truth through fire.

She did not submit to the will of others.

And so, this was not for Enkrid’s sake.

"Tsk."

The Count spoke first.

In Esther’s eyes, a flicker of flame was reflected.

"I’ll burn you just the same."

She spoke, and for the first time since falling under the curse, she summoned fire from within her own world.

The sun was nearly set, having drifted lower as she moved further away.

"A shame."

The illusion spoke just before vanishing.

His tone was so neutral, it was impossible to tell if he truly meant it.

"Do you believe he’ll survive?"

He asked.

There was no doubt about who "he" referred to.

Esther sneered.

"If he was the kind to die from something like this, he’d have died long ago."

Would he really die just because she wasn’t there?

Just because?

But was it right to describe herself as just anything?

Esther considered it briefly but found her body moving on its own.

Flames erupted.

The two mages attempted to resist, chanting spells, but it was futile.

A meaningless rebellion.

They and she stood on different levels.

They possessed different worlds.

They had walked different paths.

***

Rem ran, thoughts racing.

That bastard was hiding something.

Should he just stand there and take it?

That could be fun.

But flipping his opponent’s plan upside down sounded even more fun.

So, he decided to do both.

As he ran, he pulled out his sling.

Placing a rounded stone into the leather cradle, he lifted the connected strings above his head and began spinning it.

Whing, whing, whing.

At first, it spun lightly.

Then—

Wiiiiiiiiiing!

A sharp, piercing sound split the air.

It was like running with a spinning disc above his head.

The Undying Madman bolted straight into a narrow alley without looking back.

But Rem didn’t give chase.

Instead, he stepped onto the protruding eaves of a nearby shop, leaping upward.

His body soared.

Landing on the rooftop, he sprinted forward.

The spinning disc above his head moved in sync with his motions.

The moment he gained a clear line of sight, he launched the stone.

Hitting a target while standing still was difficult enough.

Doing so while running?

But Rem was Rem.

Whunk!

The stone flew so fast, its trajectory was nearly invisible.

It struck the back of his opponent’s thigh.

Boom!

But the sound was wrong.

Why did it sound like an explosion?

Behind his target, a spear shaft had snapped in two.

"...Magic?"

No—high-level sorcery.

Where had this bastard learned that?

He must have obtained it by slaughtering his own kind.

"You’re dead for real."

Rem muttered to himself.

Even though his opponent couldn’t hear, he still spoke the words.

That was how absolute his resolve was.

He fired several more stone bullets.

Each time, a pursuing spear shattered in midair.

Splinters of wood scattered through the air.

The Undying Madman never stopped, weaving through alleys before emerging into an open space.

It was what the backstreets called a plaza.

Not particularly large—perhaps a quarter the size of the capital’s central plaza.

The main square of Naurillia had a fountain, a space of grandeur and refinement.

This was the opposite.

Still, it was just the right size for about twenty men to brawl.

Thud!

The next bullet struck the ground.

Dust burst upward, shards of stone flying in all directions.

The Undying Madman rolled across the floor, barely evading.

But the next bullet struck true—hitting the back of his thigh.

If not for his layered leather guards, his leg would have been pierced or torn apart.

Instead, he merely staggered, letting out a stifled groan before rising «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» with a limp.

Rem tossed aside the sling with its broken string, looking down at the gathered men.

From his perch on the rooftop, he naturally looked down while they looked up.

"Wow, is this some kind of reunion?"

He said with admiration.

Scanning the crowd, he saw they were all from the West.

He didn’t recognize any faces, but their air made it clear.

They were all exiles.

The Undying Madman clenched his thigh, standing after a long moment.

It must have hurt like hell.

"You’re not leaving here alive."

His very existence was a threat to them.

So they had gathered to kill him.

All twenty of them—each one a former candidate for a Western warrior.

Rem crouched, glancing at the trash gathered below.

Then, he pulled out a fresh sling.

He loaded a bullet into it.

And then—

He drew another sling.

Holding them both, he stood—

And spun them.

WIIIIIIIIIIING!

Two circular disks appeared in both of Rem’s hands, catching the sunlight behind him.

Like wings, they spread diagonally to his left and right.

As Rem kicked off the roof and leaped, it almost looked as if those wings were keeping him aloft.

Of course, that wasn’t the case. Just an illusion.

The moment his arms snapped forward, bullets fired at a speed too fast to follow with the naked eye, accompanied by the sharp perpuck! of impact.

Whoosh!

Half of the western fugitives raised shields.

Some carried thickly reinforced leather shields, while others had smaller bucklers strapped to their wrists.

The ones with small shields were the ones who trusted their skill—capable of deflecting hits by shifting the point of impact, they carried nothing more than face-sized bucklers.

And yet, the two fools who dared to wield such light shields had their skulls split like crushed pumpkins.

Pop! Pop!

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. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

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.