A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Swoosh, smack, zip, boom!

That’s all it took to describe the battle with the harpies.

In the end, Rem tore through two slings and fired nineteen rounds.

Kyaa! Kyaa!

The harpies cried as their heads exploded. They kept coming, crying out while casting spells.

They compressed the wind into something like a barrier. If you looked closely, you could see the space distort, clumsily warping. Even if you couldn’t see it, you could feel it.

So what? A barrier? Who cares?

Whoosh, boom!

The harpies' spells couldn’t stop the overwhelming force of the sling. The whirring sound of the spinning sling was followed by a round that pierced the barrier without hesitation.

Kyaaah! Kyaaah!

By then, the harpies’ cries started sounding like laughter.

Laughing while dying?

Ah, they wanted to die all along. They were just miserable because there was no one to kill them.

Well, your friendly neighborhood barbarian has arrived.

Brought my pebbles with me, yes I did.

Murmuring an old rhyme passed down for ages, Enkrid didn’t even get a chance to step in.

“So many of them.”

He placed a hand on Acker’s hilt and looked up, spotting the chittering baby harpies flying out.

Flapping wings, scattering feathers, the stench of rot and blood filled the air.

There were over thirty harpies.

‘Might hit fifty at this rate.’

While Enkrid watched, even more emerged from the stone tower. They were going to pass fifty.

Zip! Smack!

Another round tore through the air.

It moved so fast it was hard to follow with the eye.

When a rock pierced the chest of a female harpy with swaying breasts, black blood sprayed through the air like rain.

A harpy with a gaping hole where her chest should be crashed to the ground like a meteor.

Boom!

Dust exploded on impact.

But the harpies didn’t just sit back and take it.

Three male harpies, built with solid pecs, swooped low and flung their wings forward, launching feathers.

Dozens of blade-like feathers rained down on the group—sharp as knives.

Enkrid pulled out a round shield, about two handspans across, read the trajectory, and blocked the attack.

Thunk thunk thunk.

The feathers couldn’t pierce the oiled shield and embedded into its surface.

Blocking it wasn’t hard.

All he had to do was stop the ones aimed at him, so it wasn’t a big deal.

He dodged the rest by predicting their arcs.

‘Should’ve just cut them down with my sword.’

Even that wouldn’t have been too difficult. In any case, he blocked them. No need to dwell on it.