A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

It was said that a single knight could replace a thousand soldiers.

So what would one do when faced with ten thousand?

The Count had deemed his opponent a knight and decided to kill him. Thus, he unleashed ten thousand wraiths.

Die.

Become fertilizer.

Become nourishment.

Become sustenance.

Become a part of me.

The effect of the Count’s magic circle was simple—it manifested his domain into reality.

By doing so, the wraiths gained physical form, transforming into wraith soldiers.

A tide of black soot, pressing forward with corporeal bodies.

Even when knocked down, the wraiths would rise again and continue to surge forward.

Guuooaaahh!

They let out terrible screams, a writhing mass of horror.

There was no formation, no discipline—just a chaotic stampede.

That was why they weren’t particularly fast.

Unlike a disciplined army marching forward, they were more like an amorphous swarm tumbling toward their prey.

Enkrid observed them and thought of an ant colony.

Of course, these "ants" were the size of humans, and anyone caught in their tide would be torn apart.

Would he be the only one to die?

No.

The soldier behind him, the one scratching furiously at his arm, would die as well.

The one suddenly shouting into the air, as if seeing hallucinations, would die.

"Mother! Mother! Where are you going?!"

The one mumbling to himself in despair, pretending to strangle himself, would die.

"Magenta, I shall join you!"

It was chaos. The Count’s magic—curse, spell, whatever it was—had taken hold.

Not everyone was affected, but many were.

"Hey. Where the hell do you think you’re going, you idiot? Magenta is my sister. You didn’t do anything with her, and she’s alive and well."

One of the sane soldiers smacked the hand of the one choking himself.

"What the hell is happening?"

Another soldier looked around in confusion, his expression full of panic.

He was fine, but why was everyone else like this?

Enkrid didn’t fully understand the nature of the Count’s magic, but he grasped the situation.

Even if the spell encompassed the entire battlefield, there had to be a limit. Those who moved beyond a certain range wouldn’t be affected.

But the longer they stayed here, the worse it would get.

With magic of this scale and influence, wouldn't eliminating the caster be the simplest solution?

It was an instinctive realization.

If they didn’t push through and kill the source, there was no other way out.

That was why they had to advance.

Rem understood this and ordered them to form a formation.

"I refuse."

Ragna was the first to respond. He spoke while staggering slightly—his footing slipped for a moment.

Ragna was not in perfect condition. Overuse of his will had taken a toll on both his mind and body.

"Brother, has something unholy taken root in your head? Shall I extract it for you?"