Eternally Regressing Knight Chapter 882

882. Swamp

Cyprus also saw some of the works in the southern part of the Crang.

“But I don’t think they would have sent a whole bunch of knights just to attack the rear.”

Krang’s judgment was this.
While striking the kingdom’s rear and cutting off its supply lines were important, if they lost an all-out war, those sent to the rear would simply be relegated to a roaming banditry.
How many of the so-called Calamity Knights could be sent to such a place? They couldn’t possibly send that many.

“I don’t know that, Your Majesty.”

Cypress shook his head at Krang’s words.

“I’m speaking from a tactical perspective.”
“There’s nothing more mysterious than a woman’s heart in war.”

These were the words of a man who had spent a long time on the battlefield, wielding a sword. The weight they carried was different.
The battlefield is like fire and water. It’s malleable, ever-changing, unpredictable, and unpredictable. You can guide it, but not everything will go as planned.
Cypress knew this truth.

“We only sent one knight, Enki, but what if there are two or more on the other side?”

In response to Krang’s question, Cypress thought quietly about the human named Encrid.

‘Up to two.’

Only someone of considerable skill would pose a threat. Encred’s skill is extraordinary. Having met and fought countless knights, Cypress’s discernment is as exceptional as Prock’s.
While he may not have a theory that defines knighthood like Encred, he possesses a discerning eye, one he has developed through his own methods.

‘Ten years.’

He bases his judgment on how long he can survive within a demonic realm. He intuitively senses everything—his level of physical training, posture, demeanor, and speech—and that
‘s why it can’t be formulated as a theory. It’s based purely on his own experience.
In his view, Encred would survive for over ten years even if he fell into the middle of a demonic realm.
Based on his own standards for surviving within a demonic realm, it was rave reviews.

‘All of them.’

Moreover, there are more than just a few of them. The Mad Knights are a group of men who seem likely to survive even after ten years.
They estimate that a normal knight would survive for one year, or at most five.

“About two.”

Cypress muttered.
Of course, increasing the number of knights to two doesn’t simply mean two more swords to dodge.
The course of the fight becomes more complex. Add in the goddess of fortune, and even if you’re a lifelong swordsman, getting your throat slit by a fifteen-year-old girl who just picked up a sword is a fight.
Even so, that’s the point.

‘I don’t think that guy will be easily defeated.’

His prediction was correct. Encred held no sway against the two knights. He overwhelmed them. Despite flying in a prone position all day, eating and sleeping on top of them before fighting, he still killed both knights.
It wasn’t for nothing that the soldiers watching shouted, “The flower of war is the devil.” A
shiver ran down everyone who witnessed it, making their hair stand on end.
Cypress’s gaze turned to the remaining members of the Mad Knights.
The knights of the South were renowned for their fierce spirits.

“Will that gryphon stop responding after a few blows to its head?”
“Don’t you have the talent to transform into an eagle, savage?”
“My lord, who rules over war, says you have two strong legs.”

This is a conversation between Rem, Ragna, and Audin, in that order. It’s the same story:
a paladin who performed the absurd miracle of proclaiming a sanctuary but ended up exhausted, a barbarian who tried to beat a monster into obeying, a northern-looking swordsman who persuaded a man to turn into an eagle.

‘You’re all crazy.’

Cyprus judged them that way.
Perhaps, after this war, the South’s boasted belligerence will be overshadowed by their madness.
This is the experience gained from living on the battlefield for many years. And my intuition agrees.

“Then what about the three?”

“Krang,” the king of a country asked. When Cyprus didn’t answer readily, Krang asked again.

“What if we face three?”
“Your Majesty, the increase in the number of knights from two to three isn’t simply a matter of increasing the number.”

Cyprus answered. As always, his tone was calm and composed.

“So that’s why it’s hard?”
“You have to fight to know.”
“How many knights do you think there are in the South?”

And this time, the answer came right away when I asked that question.

“At least twenty.”

If it weren’t for the magic blocking, the difference in power between Naurilia and Lichenstein would have been so clear that a war wouldn’t have been possible.

“How many people have you dealt with?”

The man who, along with the demonic spirit, filled the gap in power between the two countries smiled. With the reputation of “somehow do it,” or “doing anything,” Cypress single-handedly bound the hands and feet of five knights. The wound on his chest left a deep scar, and the one who cut him likely still lived.

* * *

Esther looked back quietly. Her eyes saw the sun-drenched walls and the troops arrayed before them.

“Esther, if war breaks out, how many people will die? Ten? A hundred? A thousand?”

That guy named Chrys’s words entered my head and wouldn’t leave. I’d disliked him since he was a leopard, and I still don’t. He
deliberately coaxed me, pushing me from behind. I would have done it anyway. But he insisted on coming and spewing those words. It wasn’t an attitude I liked.
And yet, the will behind his actions and words was genuine.

‘I’ll do anything.’

Christ will do so to protect the city as it is now.

‘Then what about me?’

Their presence changed her perspective on the world of my orders.
Julie, who sold marmalade, Vanessa, who built a library, the woman who grilled seasoned jerky, the former soldier who specialized in sewing.
The presence of people instilled in her a new sense of emotion.

“Protect everyone.”

She muttered, her voice thick with awkwardness. Was such a fitting remark for a witch of struggle? What would her master say if he were alive?
Fortunately, I knew from the start what she was going to say.

“Do as you please, Esther. What about the Star Child? Witches are naturally good at living as they please.”

He was a truly wonderful teacher.

“Master, I am ready.”

He called her from behind. Now Esther heard him called her master. This, too, was awkward. Unable to teach spells using the methods he had learned, he had to learn everything anew, like a baby. Only then could he teach.
That was the magic unit he had created.
What had started with just a few talented soldiers now numbered over twenty.
Some were gifted, but others, despite lacking such talent, diligently walked and ran, opening up parts of the magical world.
But even with such a world, he would never reach the stars. He would remain a mediocre wizard for the rest of his life. That was why he had asked him why he had gone to such lengths, and the soldier had answered.

“I don’t regret it. This is how I protect my wife.”

He had a fiancée in the city. They were getting married next month, I guess.
Esther wondered. Had his answer led her to where she is today?
If Encred was the beginning, then these others were the process. Every word they spoke had an impact on who she was today.
Where had the witch gone, ignoring the opinions of others and forging her own path?

“I have to welcome an uninvited guest.”

At least now, a different witch stood here. I don’t know how she’ll change tomorrow, but for now, that’s how she was.
The witch who had been captivated by the human named Encred now cared for people. Her actions from now on were for that very reason.

“I pray to Rutraratra, who was born and raised in the swamp and ruled the world.”

The witch, whose usual spell would have been “Dumuller’s Scythe,” chanted a long spell. Her voice echoed through the air, overlapping.

“I will give you that land in exchange for your power, your miracles, and your magic.”

As she had taught them, the twenty soldiers gathered their magical power and offered it to her. They were channeling the magical power
they had condensed into the world of spells as a form of worship for someone. Every soldier rolled their eyes, drool flowing from their mouths. Several trembled.
If a wizard who had created their own world of spells were present, they would have been terrified.
Among them, the relatively righteous wizard would have been the first to say something like this.

“No alcohol!”

The magic my magical unit just displayed was a forbidden spell. It was a spell that enriched its own world by sacrificing those who had built similar magical worlds. Its name was “Worshiping Corpse.”
Anyone who engaged in this spell would die. They would become corpses, kneeling, foreheads pressed to the ground, palms facing the sky. Hence the name.
Any wizard who values ​​practicality over justice would click their tongues and gape in shock.

“Twist the magic?”

Esther didn’t take the lives of those she personally raised.
She was a genius. She deciphered the spell system of the yin yang, grasped its structure, and then redesigned it.
An outsider might say, “That could be possible,” but to those engaged in magic, it was terrifying.
It’s like guessing a person’s birthplace and date just by looking at their appearance. No, it’s more than that: it’s like dissecting and reassembling the elements that make up that person, creating a similar but different person.
Of course, Esther couldn’t guess a person’s birthplace or date just by looking at their face.
Her innate talent for perceiving spells through senses allowed her to do this only in magic.
She used yin yang to twist worship. She changed the structure of borrowing spells, and even borrowing power from otherworldly beings, requiring a price.

‘Borrowing is power.’

The price is a piece of land.
With that, the contract is complete. This is the highest order of borrowing. An otherworldly being wields this power.

Kururur-

The soil in the area she designated with her borrowed power became muddy. Moisture seeped into the dry soil, and within it, bubbles of clay burst.

* * *

One of the Loess Legion’s strengths is marching. They are an infantry-only force, lacking any cavalry or anything else. This tradition has made their marching training several times more intense than that of other units.
For such a unit, the safe roads of Naurilia were more like walking trails.

“Did you pave the way for me to die?”

The Yellow Army marched along without hesitation. Then, with a thud, the ankles of the scouts at the front sank into the ground.

“What?”
“A swamp? It’s a swamp!”
“Hey, bring me the rope!”

Magic is a miracle, a paranormal phenomenon. So, to the average person, it’s a series of seemingly absurd events. The soldier who first stumbled didn’t think much of it.
On the surface, the dirt floor turning into a swamp—isn’t that just normal?
In the realm of the demon world, there are even more rugged terrains. The convict unit’s scouts are inherently mercenaries who gamble with their lives.
Through this process, they’ve developed a keen sense of danger.

“Wait a minute, that’s weird.”

A few soldiers spoke.

“What the heck?”
“When?”
“Huh?”

The surrounding area had turned into a swamp. He ordered them to bring ropes, and as they listened, some of the soldiers began to move back and forth, sinking their feet until they were submerged up to their calves.

“This is a swamp too!”

Even on ground that had been perfectly clear just moments before, feet began to sink. Several soldiers were submerged up to their calves and waists.

“What’s with the fog all of a sudden? Huh?”

Suddenly, a fog descended upon the land. It happened amidst a clear sky, with no lakes, and a warm sun shining down. Light filtered through the fog, reaching the swampy ground.
Normally, sunlight should dispel the fog, but that normal process wasn’t happening right now.
Esther offered up land in exchange for the illusion-inducing fog.
The command staff wasn’t as flustered as the soldiers. Only a small portion of the advance scouts were missing.

“Who wrote the order?”

These were the words of a wizard who had joined the Yellow Legion. Naturally, there were spellcasters in the south, and among them, three had joined here at the Grand Emperor’s command.
They were known as the “Blood Discerner,” the “Mole Master,” and the “Corpse Collector.”
All three possessed considerable skill, so they had a rough idea of ​​what their opponent had done.

“Huh, did you sacrifice your life?”

It’s a spell of such magnitude that it could envelop an entire unit. The wizard who cast the spell would be barely able to breathe, groaning in agony.

“It must be the work of a star child.”

The blood tester spoke. They knew of Esther’s existence. The South knew more than they thought. They listened closely to the rumors and didn’t dismiss them lightly.
If they knew, it was only natural to prepare.

“Gurpin Panicia.”

The third wizard was a mountain tribe living in the western corner of the south. His face was adorned with black and red dye, and he muttered incomprehensible words. This was familiar to the remaining two wizards.

“The law of destruction.”

The commander suddenly appeared among them and asked.

“You just have to kill the wizard.”

The blood tester said, “He’s a vampire.” His bright red eyes looked like they were filled with blood.

“Pustis, kill him and come back.”

The captain immediately dispatched one of his knights. A wizard would be vulnerable to swordsmanship, wouldn’t he?

“What about you three?”

Then he asked the wizard.

“I’ll go with you.”

The Mole’s ruler spoke and immediately moved.

“What about turning that swamp back?”

The commander asked the remaining wizard.

“Don’t be a mob. I would have sacrificed my life.”

The vampire answered.
The commander nodded and said.

“Then go and see to it. If you kill the person who ordered it, it won’t stop even if it doesn’t return to normal, right?”
“There’s a high probability of that.”

The blood tester said the same thing and followed the other wizard. The one who had been babbling strangely followed, waddling behind them, holding a spear adorned with eagle feathers.
The three wizards had just left the commander’s line of sight. Each was about to use their special
abilities to their advantage. Well, you could say no one had even prepared themselves.
Within the Mud Knights, even Fustis had not yet set out.
Of the three greedy wizards, the ruler of the moles had a hole in his throat before he could even utter a single spell.

Phew-

It was a quiet noise, compared to the distant screams of a soldier who had fallen into a swamp and was crying for help. A
transparent blade, blood-soaked, slipped past the vertebrae. The blood made the blade’s shape barely visible. It was a sharp, skewer-like blade.
A wizard was dead. Considering what he could do, it was absurd.
Even though this was the typical assassin’s activity, it was still something I couldn’t help but be surprised by.

“……Ugh!”

The startled vampire jumped in place. So did the wizard wielding the eagle-feathered spear. The wizard, with a hole in his throat, fell to the ground, but the one who had done it was nowhere to be seen.
It was a strange sight.

“He’s an assassin!”

The vampire shouted. He closed his eyes and performed a trick. It was a technique that allowed him to detect sound waves. Also known as echolocation, it was a skill suited to detecting the invisible.

“floor!”

He shouted urgently.
The eagle-feathered wizard and sorcerer, without even a moment to shout, struck the ground with the blade. The blade struck the ground with a thud. Only then did he see a human figure.
It was clad in brown leather, the same texture as the earth. He spun around, still lying down, and stood up.
The spear slipped through his side. He couldn’t tell if he had dodged it or if he had stabbed absentmindedly and missed.
The man who had risen was covered in a hood and mask, obscuring his face.

“Durdur!”

The sorcerer immediately drew his spear and thrust it forward again. For a wizard, he possessed remarkable skill with weapons.
Of course, to the author, who specialized in assassination and possessed the strength of a knight, the attack seemed a bit clumsy.