Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 572 - The Reason for Running

Chapter 572 - The Reason for Running

Five individuals were sent from the Holy Kingdom to track the Saintess.

The key figures among them were three: the Paladin Alma, the Priestess Shilma, and the Inquisitor Bert.

The actual combat duties were handled by Alma and his two disciples, with Alma's strength being overwhelmingly powerful.

Naturally, the strongest representatives of the church were the Paladins.

They were considered to possess the same level of strength as the knights of the continent.

That said, the Holy Paladin Order was not weak either.

Within their ranks, there were individuals whose abilities rivaled those of knights.

Moreover, they had the backing of the Church itself.

This alone meant that the Holy Paladins would be well-regarded wherever they went.

However, not all Paladins were like that.

In the Order of Prosperity, if one did not prove their strength, they were not given a name, merely referred to as someone's disciple or an apprentice warrior, like Alma's disciples.

The reason they were nameless was because once they pledged themselves to the Church, they were considered like fallen fruit or leaves—those who abandoned everything in the material world to dedicate themselves entirely to serving the divine.

Therefore, gaining a name meant receiving the baptism of Prosperity, a sign that divine power had descended upon them and a testament to their abilities.

As such, the Paladin named Alma could stand proudly among those who revered him, wherever he went.

And it was Alma who had been sent on this tedious chase.

The reason was to prepare for the possibility that force might be required in case of unexpected situations.

***

"So, where is the Saintess?"

Alma's brow furrowed deeply.

His scowl was a clear sign of his displeasure.

In truth, he was very unhappy.

He resented the fact that he had to personally involve himself in such trivial matters, and it further irked him that they had to cross the border and come all this way because they couldn't resolve the issue quickly.

"Did you not know that the Saint Child had such abilities?"

A priestess, standing about three steps away from Alma and his disciples, also spoke up.

Her name was Shilma, the head of the recent monastery.

She didn't particularly like Alma's impatient temperament, but she was equally in a hurry, so she shared the same feeling now.

She was eager to capture the Saintess quickly.

The man who would answer the question was Bert.

Although he had an ordinary appearance, Alma and Shilma were listening intently to his words.

Bert's combat abilities were not exceptional, but he was a specialist in chasing people.

He alternated between looking at Alma and Shilma as he spoke.

"Yes, Brother Alma. I believe we will catch her by today. Priestess Shilma, after the incident, we discovered that the Saintess had been raised alongside an independent ranger from a young age."

Alma's brows twitched at that statement.

Nothing had been to his liking, and now hearing something he didn't know about added to his discomfort.

His two disciples observed his reaction.

They knew well that their master had been unable to satisfy his desires for several days now.

If the runaway Saintess were caught, it was unlikely she would return with her limbs intact.

They knew their master's tendencies all too well.

His favorite thing was to deal with heretics who resisted.

More specifically, he liked beating those who defied him.

His hobby involved breaking bones and crushing bodies.

Bert quickly added a brief explanation as he noticed Alma's frown.

"They are also called independent rangers..."

The term "independent rangers," or self-reliant combatants, was a term used by some who had knowledge of them.

Some scholars called them Highlanders, as they believed their lifespan differed from that of ordinary humans, considering them a different kind of being.

In fact, most people simply referred to them as Highlanders or Mountain People.

The name likely stemmed from their tendency to stay within their territory, rarely leaving.

Regardless of their origins, their existence was quite unique.

Even in a world full of monsters and beasts, they lived alone or in small groups, rarely more than a few.

They did not desire work, nor did they have anything they particularly wished for.

What they wanted was simply to continue living on their land.

"Are you talking about Highlanders?"

Shilma interjected during the explanation.

"Yes, that's correct."

Bert responded, rubbing the brooch on his chest.

It was adorned with seven grapes, a symbol of the god of prosperity and a tribute to the seven martyrs.

Holding it seemed to ease some of his anxiety.

If this mission failed, while death might not be an immediate risk, there would certainly be significant losses.

"Highlanders have skin as white as snow, and their eyes resemble those of beasts, don't they?"

Shilma recalled reading that Highlanders, having lived in the wild for long periods, had undergone a form of convergent evolution, resulting in features resembling those of beasts.

Their eyes were said to pierce through the darkness, seeing even without light.

Shilma had been close to the Saintess for several months, and she noted that her eyes were just like any normal human's.

"The Saintess doesn't seem to be of Highlander blood. It seems another Mountain Person raised her, and trained her as well."

Bert's conclusion was just that.

While still a guess, it was likely close to the truth.

Highlanders were experts in the mountains and masters of tracking.

They were nearly impossible to catch within their own territory and were not the type to be easily pursued.

They were skilled in setting traps and creating snares.

After gathering information, Bert had shifted his focus on the Saintess's origins.

He, too, was an excellent tracker.

Like Enkrid, he could trace the movement of someone not by points, but by the line they moved along.

"Is she just running aimlessly?"

Highlanders were individuals who laid hundreds of traps in their territory and memorized their locations.

To chase someone blindly was foolish.

If one only followed the traces left behind, they would surely fail.

That's why Bert had directed his people to push her into a corner, predicting where she would move next.

Until now, he had been in the dark about her nature, but now he understood.

The Saintess was like a monster from the mountains, capable of remembering the location of every stone after spending just three days in one spot.

"What if we still miss her?"

The fear of failure added to Bert's unease.

If that happened, there was no choice but to go back to the place where they first discovered the Saintess and search again, but in that case, Bert knew his position would no longer matter.

He had to catch her here.

"It's better to finish this here, if possible."

He had no desire to enter the mountains where the Highlanders lived.

Those who fought with traps, arrows, and poisons would be virtually unstoppable within their own territory.

It was said that the famous Glacier Rangers, known as the Guardians of the Glaciers, had learned their techniques from the Highlanders.

If Bert went that far, it would mean the end for him.

He would have failed the mission, and would have to report the failure to Alma.

The thought of that consequence filled him with dread.

Therefore, Bert was determined to finish the task here, no matter what.

Fortunately, he had the support of cronies and enough strength, as well as information on the Saintess's movements.

With that, he had hired several local hunters familiar with the area to guide them, bringing along Shilma the priestess and Alma the Paladin.

After passing through Felheim and setting up camp near the northern woods, Shilma used divine prayers to conceal their presence with a sacred spell.

"The Lord watches over us, so please shield us from the sun's gaze for a moment."

The incantation darkened the color of the shadow that had been protecting them.

That darkened area was now the zone of the spell.

"If we stay within this, they won't notice us right away," Schilma said. It was an invisible barrier, but it existed.

Alma waited with a dissatisfied look on her face. The battle with the monster they had encountered earlier had not satisfied her at all, and her anger was still unresolved.

Bert, on the other hand, was contemplating where the Saint might have gone if she had escaped.

He would need a self-defense strategy in case the worst came to pass.

Time passed, and even while holding in his need to relieve himself, Bert continued to wait.

Then, at a distance, he spotted a shadow and let out a sigh of relief.

The shadow drew closer, revealing the figure beneath.

The shabby cloak reached her calves, and even without seeing her face, Bert knew exactly who it was.

It was the Saint.

'Thank goodness.'

Bert felt truly grateful to the Saint for coming. He no longer needed to prepare excuses, and since it wasn't sunset yet, he assumed they could have dinner inside the castle that evening.

The pursuit was the main issue, but once they met, the problem would be solved.

"Saint Child," Schilma called, and as she did, the black curtain that had hidden them began to fade and disappear.

Alma and the two other disciples, including Bert, now realized what had been in front of them—something they had not noticed earlier.

It had only been a slight sense of unease until now.

The spell had been lifted, and with it, Schilma had recognized their opponent.

The Saint responded, and a standoff began.

Alma, who had no intention of waiting, swung her battle hammer with a casual grip.

As predicted by her disciples, she intended to break the Saint's legs and take her away.

The Saint's divine power would heal her, right?

Alma thought the whole ordeal seemed far too easy for someone who had caused so much trouble, much like a frog.

The crime was far too great.

Enkrid had simplified the situation in his mind.

North, pursuers, Saint.

With only these three pieces of information, he quickly formulated his next steps.

"Run."

He ignored the rolling hills, monsters, and anything else in his way, running in the autumn sunlight.

Finding traces would be helpful, but luck wasn't on his side.

As they say, ignorance makes your feet suffer.

Enkrid readily accepted that he was ignorant.

His heart and organs were burning from the exertion as he ran, and soon, sweat began to drip.

Just because he had become a knight didn't mean he had transcended human limits—he was still sweating and gasping for breath like everyone else.

However, compared to ordinary people, he could run for much longer and breathe far more deeply.

Some knights trained in the art of breathing could stay submerged for over an hour.

With strong legs and an unwavering stride, Enkrid zigzagged across the terrain.

For now, he didn't need to hold his breath for long.

He just focused on running, feeling his speed increase as he exhaled freely.

Boom!

Each time his feet struck the earth, it shook, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

He didn't care about the direction.

When something was missing, he would simply hit it with his feet.

"I'll be tired out when I need to fight," he muttered.

In fact, Enkrid knew a far easier way.

If the paladins who had captured the Saint were headed somewhere, it would probably be to a nearby city.

After all, they couldn't go on a long journey without supplies.

When that happened, it would be much easier to ambush them.

But he didn't want to do that.

His gut told him that it would be wrong.

It was like when he had split the monster's skull and seen the remnants of the battle.

"There's a nasty piece of work involved here."

Schinar had said something similar before.

Just from looking at the traces of the fight, Enkrid could tell.

Someone stubborn and vicious was involved.

There were also witnesses.

Deutsch had said that someone looked particularly angry, and the others seemed to be wary of that person.

The one who was angry and belonged to the order wasn't likely to just grab the Saint and walk away, he thought.

So, he ran, driven by the certainty that if he ran a little further, he could lessen someone else's suffering.

A faint sound from a distance caught his attention.

"Here."

Schinar pointed with his right index finger, having found the source of the noise and the traces of movement.

Beyond a short stretch of faded yellow grass, the towering peaks of the Gigant Mountain range rose in the distance.

Above them, clouds lingered, and below, the remnants of the battle were clearly visible.

"It's the mark of divinity," Audin remarked, furrowing his brow.

Enkrid wasn't concerned with Audin's thoughts.

Instead, he pressed forward, acting instinctively as his feet pounded against the ground.

Boom!

The earth trembled as Enkrid continued to run, pushing past his limits and closing the distance, ignoring everything but the Saint.

When he reached the location, he saw the Saint, her right leg broken, wielding a small dagger with determination.

In the split second that followed, the dagger missed its mark, and a man stepped back, sneering as he watched her futile attempts.

All of this unfolded before Enkrid in a flash.

With a thunderous crash, he skidded to a halt, kicking up dust that obscured his vision.

Through the dust, his blue eyes locked onto the five figures standing before the Saint.

In front of them stood a girl with a grim expression, her broken leg clearly visible, yet she held the dagger in a reverse grip without so much as a scream.

Enkrid took it all in.

Without hesitation, he moved forward, making a sharp, fluid motion.

A man with furrowed brows raised his hammer, and before he could swing, Enkrid grabbed him by the face and with a swift kick, sent him crashing into the ground with a resounding thud.

The collision was brutal, the sound of it echoing through the air.

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