A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"Send the Chimera Battalion."

At Count Molsen's command, Rearvart raised a small flag. The messenger, seeing the flag in his hand, ran forward and shouted.

"Deploy! Deploy!"

At the messenger's cry, the second sword, prepared by the Count, surged into action.

The Count had sent a pack of werewolves as part of the Border Guard. These were true werewolves, beings that had transformed from human to monster. Naturally, the Border Guard wasn’t the only force he dispatched.

The main force was still here.

The cavalry had been pushed back, and the mounted archers had been caught by the knights, led by Aisia. The infantry was also struggling in the formation fight.

It was the unexpected forces, outside the planned arrangements, that caused the disruption.

To be precise, it could be said that it all started because of one reckless, foolish swordsman.

Rearvart, though, watched calmly.

Despite the mismatch between the forces and the poor state of the battle, it was a situation where things were being overwhelmed.

No, they were being truly overwhelmed.

Yet the Count merely observed, seemingly unconcerned.

The movements dictated by his commanders were leading to increasing losses in the Count’s army.

In short, people were dying. And in the midst of this, the Chimera Battalion surged forward.

It seemed like an appropriate decision. When things go awry, sending in another force is the basics of strategy, right?

Those who ran forward were clad in tattered leather armor, some of them wearing ragged cloths with holes torn in them.

They began charging toward the battlefield, their appearance mismatched with the scene. Up close, their eyes were dull, and they were creatures of pure instinct, following the simple command to advance, showing no trace of reason.

At some point, they started running, and they transformed.

Feathers sprouted from their bodies, thick manes and fur like that of a lion grew, and their bodies swelled in size.

Their claws grew sharp, and their cloudy eyes were filled with murderous intent.

Thus, they were transformed into monsters born solely for slaughter.

A combination of owlbears, werewolves, and bear-beasts.

Three kinds of monsters, all charging forward while screeching loudly.

Hooowwww!

Auuuuuhhh!

Grrrraaaaahhh!

A howl so chilling that anyone hearing it would feel a primal terror deep within them.

Accompanied by the howling, the monsters targeted the right flank of the kingdom's forces. The monstrous horde, easily surpassing a hundred in number, would have left the soldiers on the opposite side in despair and utter frustration.

It was then.

A shout rang out from one side, aimed at the monstrous horde. The voice was human, but it carried a different kind of resonance.

Oro-ro-ro-ro-ro!

A voice full of guttural growls and deep breaths, spreading like a wave.

"Chase the wolves!"

"You beasts, you've taken the wrong path!"

Oro-ro-ro-ro-ro!

The shout mixed with a growl echoed across the plains. Then, from one side, appeared a group of soldiers running with unbelievable speed—fast enough to rival even the cavalry's charge.