Eternally Regressing Knight Chapter 801

801. Monster Slayer

“Roman, keep fighting. Learn from the fight.”

Encred taught Roman until just before leaving, and Roman asked questions with a serious, if not gloomy, attitude.

“Am I a little mentally weak?”

I’ve been attacked by parasites and even eaten by armor made from Balrog hide. Aside from lofty resolve, knowing your own condition intimately is also helpful in training.
Weaknesses can be strengthened through training.

“If you keep thinking about it and still see something lacking, think about how to fill it.”

Developing a specialty and then moving forward in a circle again. Repeating this process.
While broad concepts are possible, the more intimate aspects require personal reflection. I can help you determine which path to becoming a knight and establish training and practice methods, but beyond that, I can’t help you.
Encred understood this principle long ago. So when he kindly explained it to you, those around him offered heartfelt advice.

“So you thought it was strong?”

Rem speaks from the side.

“You must realize your present to have a future, my weak brother.”

Audin intervenes.

“If you’re weak, you’ll die.”

Saxon reflects on the cold reality.
While Ragnar glances at him and turns away, Fel suggests a training method involving hammering his head, and Lawford advises that this will only make him more incompetent, and that resolve alone won’t solve everything, so always think twice.

“There are flowers that never bloom.”

Roman chuckled as he listened to Shinar’s words. They
say that no matter what you draw, you have to add eyes at the end to complete the painting.

“Did you believe you could win?”

Finally, as he listened to Teresa’s serious question, Roman remembered their names again.

‘Hot crazy kids.’

So, am I angry? I wasn’t. I’d watched their fights from the sidelines.
So, while I couldn’t respect their character, I could respect their skills and ideals.
Roman brushed aside the teasing and exchanged the same greetings he’d given them when they’d parted ways in the city of Oara. He slammed his sword into the ground and spoke.

“My promise still stands.”
“Yes, I haven’t forgotten.”

As Encred answered indifferently and turned away, the leader of the priests of the Cult of Extermination approached.

“Thanks to you, I found some interesting traces.”

His eyes shine so brightly, perhaps because he’s searching for any trace of a cult. At the mere sight of a cult, they’re like beasts starved for three days, rushing forward and fighting without regard for their lives. They might
even be at odds with the Pope of the Legion, but they shouldn’t be targeted by the cult’s extermination priests. While
they display such a benevolent smile, in reality, they’re madmen who wouldn’t hesitate to commit mass suicide to snatch the cult’s lifeblood.

‘That doesn’t mean I’ll fight without thinking.’

If that were the case, I wouldn’t have survived until now.

“Since this is a place where traces of the Red Foot Church remain, there are more than enough reasons to remain here. It is all the Lord’s will.”

The captain expressed his delight, and Encred nodded. “They’re the ones who know how to do their jobs.”
Andrew then approached and reiterated what he’d said several times over the past two weeks.

“I wouldn’t say the atmosphere in the capital is bad, but I would say there’s a strange undercurrent. Anyway, be careful. It’s not the battlefield that kills a knight, but the sword in the back, or a lover’s pillow, as the saying goes.”

The words were received by Sinar and Saxony.

“The lovers’ place is set.”
“That’s nonsense.”

Rem was upset that he couldn’t help Andrew train because his body wasn’t in good shape, so he left a message saying that he would definitely meet him again.

“No. You don’t have to do that.”

Andrew repeatedly shook his head at that. Then, all the residents of the Demon Realm, including Zoraslav, came out to see them off.
Encred turned around, carrying a light backpack. It was a leather bag with a drawstring at the end, and he’d also received it from them.
They decided not to ride horses. They could have borrowed a horse from Andrew, but they decided that walking would be more beneficial for their recovery.

“If you are grateful, it would be better to say thank you.”

Roman, standing next to him, spoke to Zoraslav. But what actually came out of Zoraslav’s mouth wasn’t a thank you. He asked a question.

“With bodies like this, can people like us live any longer? Can we enjoy any longer?”

The leader of the cult-killing priests considers many things to ensure that his brothers don’t die in vain. Those who lead a group should do so.
So, what did the leader of these people, busy barely surviving, offering sacrifices to the Red-footed or Blue-footed Apostles, consider in his life?
Was survival enough? Or should he strive for a better life?
Encred witnessed the efforts of the villagers to ensure their deaths weren’t in vain. He saw them working with leather, herbs, and poisons, all in the hope of improving themselves.
He also heard their songs of hope.
Were any of them desperate for death? Those who didn’t want to live?

“If you have decided to live.”

That’s okay.
If you’ve decided to sing of hope, dreams, and tomorrow, not of giving up, frustration, or despair.
Then, you can live.
There are no standards here for who to save and who not. You just do whatever your heart desires.
That’s why Encred knows he’s not fit to be a king. The standards, rules, and laws are set by the king. A leader rules all people by them.
He’s a swordsman. A mercenary. A warrior. A knight.
Therefore, this is all he can say.

“I swear to protect you at dawn.”

Encred’s words, as he gripped his sword, caused Zoraslav to bow his head. He bowed his head, his legs giving out, and knelt, weeping. All the villagers followed suit.
Old men, men, women, children—everyone looked at Encred. Even the innocent children were swept up in the atmosphere. Most of the villagers knew.
They had struggled to survive, outside the bounds of humanity.
Therefore, even if they were to point their blades at them, accusing them of punishing them, they could do nothing.
Someone had fought purely for them. Someone had offered to protect them. Someone had reached out to them, precariously on the edge.
What would they call someone who saved them without asking for anything?

“O hero of the past who saved us.”

Instead of the slogan of the devilish knight that Luagarne had repeatedly engraved in his mind, they called Encred a hero of the past.

“O hero of the past.”

The majority of the townspeople called him in unison.
Zoraslav had etched the name and face of his hero into his soul. Until his dying moment, if there was any chance of repaying his debt, he would spare no effort.
This wasn’t just Zoraslav’s idea. He hadn’t labored so hard to process the Balrog’s hide for nothing.

“then.”

The sky was azure, though partly cloudy. It wasn’t as if the demonic realm had been completely driven out, but perhaps because of Balrog’s death, the sky was clear. Perhaps the demonic realm’s border was signaling that this place had now become human territory.
The sunlight, peeking through the clouds, illuminated the demonic realm’s inhabitants.
No, now it simply illuminated the people of Naurilia’s border.
They might face discrimination for their purple skin, but at least for the time being, they would live better lives.
Encred recalled the moment he had given up on protecting, then settled for the comfort he felt now.

“You look happy.”

Sinar says.

“It won’t be bad.”

Saxon also spoke, and Lawford and Fel scratched their heads in vain.
The villagers weren’t just expressing their gratitude to Encred. They expressed gratitude for everyone.
Meanwhile, Rem and Ragna even found themselves competing.

“I suffered a little more.”
“No, I was lost in the demon realm and only showed up at the end.”

Rem’s eyebrows furrowed at Ragna’s words.

“You let me pass, even though I was fine.”

Ragna looked around at the villagers and answered calmly.

“Someone like you?”
“Huh, okay, let’s just get together now. It won’t take long to kill you and leave.”
“If you’d like, dig a hole here for me and bury this guy.”

It wasn’t really a fight. Encred intervened appropriately.

“stop.”

They walked without hesitation when they arrived, and the same was true when they left. The group, with their backs to the sun, departed, and a song, a mixture of apocalypse and the end of the war, rang out for a while. Andrew knew they’d slaughtered the monsters, but he didn’t know
they’d killed the Balrog. No, no one had properly explained to them that they’d all been devoted to rest and recovery for a fortnight. Luagarne had offered a few words, but even that Proc was never far from Encred’s side.
So they didn’t know. Even the Order of the Exterminating Cult only learned part of the Mad Knights’ deeds when they discovered the infamous Thornwood Fortress within the
Demon Realm had collapsed. The inhabitants of the Demon Realm only told what they knew: that the monsters had swarmed, killed everyone, then a cave appeared, and they fought.
Andrew and the priests knew something strange had happened, but they didn’t know the full story.

* * *

As soon as they left the village, Ragnar tried to lead the way, but both of his arms were grabbed by Lawford and Fel.

“That’s not it.”
“Where are you going if it’s not there?”

Luagarne clung to Encred’s side, telling him to put into words what he had just realized.
Encred, thinking it was time to start training, spoke.

“Stop by Nauril.”

He stated his destination in a concise voice. Everyone nodded. It wouldn’t be a problem, just a stop along the way.
It was Krang’s call, and the route was right. So there shouldn’t be any problems. That’s what he said.

“Callok, carry me.”

Next to him, Shinar forced a cough and made a request. Anyone could tell it was a fake cough.

“Clock, cololock, kellock, clock.”

What’s more, the coughing sound wasn’t even unified. Is this acting? Seeing this makes me wonder if the concept of theater should be introduced to fairy culture.
Of course, that won’t happen. For fairies who don’t lie, theater would be torture.

“Can’t we spar?”

Encred ignored her cough and, showing interest in the martial arts she demonstrated, asked.
It was called Ars Pgnae. Elven martial arts.
He could forget the others, but he couldn’t forget something so deeply engrossed in his own interests.
At Encred’s question, Shinar raised both eyebrows and narrowed his eyes, revealing his displeasure.

“Even if I carry you, it won’t be enough, so why are you sparring with me?”

After that, Sinar continued to sleep.

“Pick me up.”

This is something a four-year-old would do, not a four hundred-year-old. It’s something that would be ignored if it were not for the faint of heart. This was excessive.

“Hey, can you carry me too?”

Rem, who couldn’t stand to watch, intervened.

“I don’t like that.”

The fairy, who did not know lies, shook her head firmly.

“Do you think I asked because I like you?”

Rem was getting irritated for no reason. It seemed like his body was recovering slowly, making him more irritable.

“Haha, then should I do it?”
“No.”

Audin stepped forward, but the same thing happened. Sinar, who had met Teresa’s eyes, shook his head.
A gust of wind blew, ruffling her blond hair, and she looked like a wise sage,
a nod of disapproval to those who questioned the ways of the world.
Of course, the underlying message was simply a declaration of unwillingness to be carried by anyone other than Encred.

“It won’t wear out your back, so please carry me.”

Lawford said. He always found the quickest route. So, he meant the most efficient solution.
Encred’s arms weren’t intact, but her legs were. She’d proven this by subduing Roman.
He had no choice but to carry her. He was still wearing his armor. It still had no effect on him. Cinnar, carried on his back, spoke, the scent of grass wafting from his lips.

“This time, I got carried first.”

First? Without much thought, intuition gave the answer. There was no need, but his thoughts sped up and gave him the answer.
He’d once carried Esther first. That memory came to mind, and Shinar was mindful of it. Therefore, carrying her first was a good thing.
Encred didn’t bother to ponder the meaning of Shinar’s words.
His mind was once again focused on swordsmanship.
He walked silently, training in his head. Those who noticed him simply assumed it was the same.
It was also a time for the others to reflect on what they had learned and practiced this time.

“Good.”

Only Shinar occasionally spoke like that.
They headed to Nauril, and Lawford, Fel, and Teresa mostly dealt with the monsters and beasts that emerged.
Shinar was sometimes carried, and sometimes walked on his own.
When they arrived in Nauril, they didn’t know they’d killed the Balrog, but word had already spread that they’d lured and killed the monsters in the Demon Realm. Meanwhile,
Andrew and the priests had been sending out messengers here and there, requesting supplies and other things, and the rumors had spread.
Words always speak louder than words.

“Demon Slayer.”

The soldier guarding the gate revealed the truth behind the rumors. It was Encred’s new nickname.