Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 482 - How to Face a Mage

Chapter 482 - How to Face a Mage

Narai, Garam, Maru, Fortune-Teller, Cloud, and Hani—these were the six main tribes of the Western region, excluding minor clans.

The Western tribes were a collective of numerous smaller tribes, each initially nameless, eventually gathering to form larger entities.

This created a duality where both smaller offshoots and the parent tribes shared identical names.

For instance, a single elder could decide to leave their tribe with their family.

If they were from the Narai tribe, they might simply be called "Little Narai."

Over time, the largest faction became known as "Big Narai," which was Rem's tribe.

The Western tribal society functioned under this framework, with titles like chieftain, chief warrior, and eldest shaman serving as both positions of power and symbols of strength.

Big Narai, being the largest, was regarded as the "parent" of all tribes.

Enkrid, piecing together tales he'd heard of the Western tribes, understood this structure well.

Many came to share their stories with him—whether they were from the Narai tribe, or a Maru warrior who visited often. After sparring matches, some sought his teachings. And during moments of rest, conversations flowed freely.

It seemed gossiping was one of the Westerners' favorite pastimes.

Finding someone reserved was a rarity.

Enkrid thought back to his upbringing in a similar environment, in a small settlement born of refugees from war.

There, everyone knew each other—if not by blood, then by shared struggles.

The village was a patchwork of the wounded and weary from across the continent.

There was the apple seller who skillfully carved away rot, the old woman who roasted potatoes over the fire, and the foul-mouthed crone who once sold her body.

It was a place where mercenaries, fleeing battles and monsters, found a fragile sense of home.

"It'll be repaid in kind."

Before setting out, Geonnara grinned broadly, his sharp teeth glinting. His laughter carried a solemn resolve—one only someone prepared to risk their life could exude.

'Retribution.'

Even in his own village, a similar concept existed: if you didn't retaliate, you became a target.

Enkrid understood it instinctively.

Geonnara donned a wolf-shaped headdress.

When draped and crouching, he could easily pass for a wolf. Despite the violet veins visible on his arms—a remnant of a curse—he showed no signs of retreat. As Big Narai's chief warrior, backing down from this fight was never an option.

The Western tribes weren't passive victims.

They gathered their warriors and worked to resist the curse.

Leading them was the chieftain of the Narai tribe, who stood beside Geonnara with a calm facade masking his unease.

He whispered a prayer to the Sky God.

Yet beneath the surface, he knew their position was precarious.

Suppressing the curse had already taken a toll, especially when both the eldest shaman and the chief warrior had been afflicted.

Still, their intervention had spared most of the tribe.

It was like holding back a flood with a boulder—buying time to build defenses.

The plan relied on shoring up their barriers before the water could seep through again.

However, their plight worsened when two giants appeared, threatening the coalition of five tribes led by Big Narai. In the chaos, Maru's chief warrior was slain.

"I'll hold them off! Everyone, retreat to Big Narai!"

The Maru warrior, who once taught festival-goers how to wield clubs, stood resolutely with three others.

Even Rem had learned from him in the past.

Yet against two giants, it was a losing battle.

Those giants were slain by an outsider who arrived with Rem, shocking the Western tribes—especially the Maru.

"Hero!"

The exclamation from a member of the Maru tribe echoed the awe that rippled through them.

It was justified.

The Narain chieftain continued to rally warriors.

Their goal was to reclaim the sacred ground and eliminate the giants, the Fortune-Teller tribe's curse casters, and their mysterious orchestrator.

They had no time to consider their chances of victory.

Delay would mean succumbing to the curse.

And though the giants' hesitation had bought them time, it was unclear why they hadn't launched a full assault earlier.

At the sacred ground, the gathered warriors prepared for battle.

***

"Coming with us?"

The Narai chieftain turned toward the voice behind him.

The speaker was a relaxed yet commanding figure—black-haired, clad in black leather armor, carrying three swords, and armed with a collection of enchanted gear.

Despite his heavy equipment, it all seemed necessary and never cumbersome.

The man's question was answered by Rem, standing nearby.

"He says he's coming as her companion."

Rem's words drew a response from Ayul, standing by his side.

"Of course he is."

The chieftain, both Ayul's father and leader of Big Narai, looked at his daughter.

He couldn't tell her to stay behind, not when others were expected to risk their lives.

As chieftain, he bore the responsibility for all.

"Let's break them all."

The chieftain shouted once more, masking his unease.

Geonnara gave a half-hearted response with a simple gesture. The warriors nodded and strode forward with determined steps.

Enkrid glanced at the chieftain, who was constantly muttering something.

Why is that person even coming along?

"There might be cultists as well, not just giants," Enkrid said.

"Seems likely."

"You knew?"

When asked, Rem lowered his voice considerably as he replied,

"Did you really think I was just out picking flowers?"

I guess I did.

"Your eyes look strange."

"They're not," Dunbakel interjected from beside them, tilting her head.

"So there are a bunch of giants gathered? Will we be enough?"

In an uncharacteristically sharp observation, she pointed out the concern.

"First, we assess their strength," Luagarne interjected appropriately.

"We're not charging in for a full-on battle right away. We're going in to gauge the enemy's scale, set up a nearby camp, and proceed systematically.

Fighting isn't just about running in blindly swinging your weapon.

At least, not for normal fights."

He was right. Enkrid knew there were still plenty of warriors left behind. The twins, Hira, and other shamans hadn't joined them.

This group was more like a reconnaissance unit in preparation for a larger confrontation.

People call Westerners savages, but that doesn't mean they're thoughtless brutes who fight without any strategy or tactics.

Ten warriors mounted on Velopters accompanied them. In addition, there were just over fifty other fighters, but fewer than twenty of them seemed truly capable by Luagarne's standards.

"The rest will have to stay sharp if they want to survive," Luagarne said, her tone slower and her gaze deeper, as if she had reached some profound understanding.

There was no need to ask what it was.

Life tends to bring various realizations over time, and they can often be helpful.

If they became a hindrance, Luagarne would quickly snap out of it—she was that kind of Frog.

Enkrid trusted that much.

The journey ahead didn't feel particularly tense; it wasn't the time for that.

His instincts weren't issuing any warnings either.

When they encountered the enemy, they would fight.

That was all there was to it.

The giants could present danger or unforeseen threats, but for now, Enkrid wasn't anxious.

They said the sacred site was a cliff with over a hundred caves.

"A long time ago, bears, tigers, wolves, foxes, and all sorts of animals were blessed by the Sky God in those caves and became humans. Or so the myth goes," Rem had once said.

As they walked, Rem casually picked his ear while Ayul scolded him to stay alert, reminding him there were more enemies than just the giants.

"The enemy knows nothing.

They'll have to take a lot of hits before they figure things out,"

Luagarne muttered, her tone oddly changed.

"What don't they know?"

For a brief moment, Dunbakel displayed sharp intuition, but she soon seemed to know less than the enemy themselves.

Recently, she appeared to have given up thinking altogether.

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Aside from sleeping, training, and reluctantly bathing after being nagged, she didn't seem to do anything.

Swiping at butterflies with her claws was the most effort she put in.

Enkrid, overhearing Luagarne's remark, agreed.

What didn't the enemy know? They didn't know him, nor did they know Rem.

Two giants were dead—would they increase their vigilance? Probably.

So what?

Luagarne had mentioned being somewhere between a squire and a knight.

What did that even mean?

Enkrid didn't know, nor did he need to.

He simply did things his way.

He found the idea of categorizing swordsmen amusing.

Sure, does a mid-level soldier always defeat a low-level one?

Does a knight always beat a squire?

Fights don't start on perfectly leveled ground with formalities.

The battlefield is a place where lives are at stake, and one must always be prepared to die.

A knight can fall to a squire if they're careless.

Complacency leads to defeat. Defeat leads to death. Thus, one must always give their best.

"Well, maybe I can ignore their spells a bit."

They said Ferrymen's curses devoured everything.

Walking with such thoughts, Enkrid refocused his mind. This ability to steel himself was one of his strengths.

Even against a child, he wouldn't let his guard down.

After all, once you've been stabbed in the gut by a twelve-year-old, you learn your lesson.

When they arrived at the sacred site, they saw small hills ahead, flanked by tall ridges that formed a canyon.

In the wide-open space, dozens of giants gathered, looking almost like an army.

At a glance, there were over thirty heads.

They weren't in perfect formation but stood in crude ranks.

Even so, the sight of these towering figures was enough to instill immense pressure.

Several Westerners gulped audibly.

Damn, they're all ready to fight.

"So, it's you, the outsider," came a voice.

Before the giants stood an old man, unnoticed at first due to the towering figures around him.

A line of humans stood behind him, all filthy and disheveled, as though they were Dunbakel's kin. Their unwashed faces were pitch-black, making their eyes stand out starkly.

One of them smacked his lips, revealing blackened teeth.

Among them, the elderly man in a long cloak holding a wooden staff looked like the stereotypical wizard.

Enkrid dug his toes into the ground.

While Luagarne had immersed him in the Lake of Experience, Esther had taught him how to handle mages.

How to handle mages?

"Strike them down before they can utter a word."

Enkrid did just that.

He planted his left foot, driving his thigh muscles into the ground. The force propelled him forward.

It was a charge adapted from a knight's strike.

Far faster and more explosive than the squire from the Crimson Cloak Knights had ever displayed in Aspen's battlefield.

Most of the Westerners couldn't even follow Enkrid's movements.

Boom!

The ground burst, dirt spraying like a fountain.

Crack!

Aker's blade was already slicing diagonally through the mage's body.

The sound was like wood splitting as it tore through flesh and bone.

The strike had cut the mage's mouth mid-sentence. He couldn't finish his words, yet his eyes lacked the shadow of death.

Instead, his form blurred, and another identical figure emerged behind him.

"You filthy—"

Before he could finish, a spark shot from Enkrid's left hand, piercing the mage's face.

Rule number two for handling mages: never give them a chance to speak.

"Impatient, aren't you?"

Behind him, Rem also leapt forward, pushing off the ground.

There was no time for astonishment or hesitation—the brawl erupted instantly.

Rem knew it was generally unwise to engage giants in such chaotic melee combat.

But honestly, it didn't matter now.

Seeing Enkrid and Rem, Geonnara joined in as well.

They'd come to fight, so what was the point in talking?

Now was the time to settle scores.

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