WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS
Translator: Hydrogen B
Editor: Abstract
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES
Chapter 297: [Teresa and the Bishop]
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"Maybe I don't know you, but do you know this?"
"Beg the One God for forgiveness, you bitch."
The Wolf Bishop spoke.
At his gesture, the pack of Magic Beasts moved.
With two huge wolves leading left and right, more than ten wolf-type Magic Beasts shoved their heads forward.
Yellow eyes gleamed, drool dripping from their jaws. Their bared fangs looked sharp enough to pierce any flesh, giant or not.
Teresa did not move.
She held her shield in her left hand, her right arm hanging loose.
"There are so many truly interesting things in this world."
Teresa said what she wanted to say.
"You barren whore, apostate whore, let's see how pretty your guts are."
He also said only what he wanted to say.
The Wolf Bishop sneered.
He would rip that barren apostate apart right now.
He would cut off her limbs and pull out her entrails one by one for her to see.
The bishop knew he could do it. He knew the blade called Teresa. He had been the one to recognize her talent and make use of it.
"I like fighting."
Like a madwoman.
Inside her mask, the corner of her mouth twisted. A smile. Not for anyone to see, just an expression that came naturally.
The Wolf Bishop sneered naturally as well.
He did not listen to a word from that apostate bitch.
Even so, Teresa kept talking.
"Have you ever seen a giant who fights with joy?"
No, he had not.
The Wolf Bishop's eyes slowly began to turn yellow.
"You rotten bitch."
The bishop remembered Teresa looking at him from beneath him, face blank.
"Don't think you'll die easy."
"I'll show you."
A short sentence shone like pure will.
Since when had it started? After Enkrid cut her hair? Or after that?
Teresa did not lower her voice.
But did the thing in front of her deserve respect? If bastards like that had not existed, escaping the Cult's embrace would have been harder.
They had made her sick of life.
If she had only met decent people, she might have found faith instead.
No, maybe she should call them benefactors.
And if they were benefactors, she should repay them properly.
With her sword and shield.
She would give him an Audin-style blessing.
Prrrrrk.
Beside the Wolf Bishop's yellow eyes, fur began pushing through his pores.
It sounded vicious, even the sound of fur tearing through skin.
"Grrrgh."
The bishop groaned. Transformation came with pain. He was a rational werewolf. That was his true identity.
Coarse fur burst out across his body, and his nails stretched long.
Like pointed daggers, four on each hand. Eight dagger-claws in total.
Sharp and hard enough to slice through even well-forged steel blades.
Awooooo!
The transformed bishop threw his head back and howled.
The howl a Lycanthrope spat out rattled the organs. It shook the mind. It planted fear.
Teresa had been expressionless then, and she was expressionless now. Whether the bishop took off his clothes or tore hers off, she had shown no expression.
She held no grudge. She did not even resent his twisted lust toward her. Back then, that had been her life.
Then what was it now?
"This is going to be fun."
A rough, hoarse, but pleasing voice rang out.
She liked fighting Enkrid. Swinging a sword under him also made her happy.
Her blood boiled. Giant blood surged fiercely through her veins.
'Ah.'
Some people lived for power, money, success, or love.
Teresa had found the reason for her life.
That was why she left the Cult.
"I was born to fight."
The moment she finished, two wolf Magic Beasts lunged from both sides at once.
Teresa swung her shield to the left, and on the right she slammed down with her sword pommel like a club.
Thud!
"Hm?"
The Wolf Bishop thought Teresa's movement looked different. Faster, cleaner than the Teresa he knew.
Her specialty used to be endurance fighting. Shield up, using her inborn stamina as a weapon.
Now it was different. She had become a mixed-blood giant in a form he had never seen.
Of course she had. Who had Teresa been with all this time?
"I never fought at full power, Bishop."
Teresa said it while killing two wolves.
"What the fuck are you saying, apostate bitch?"
Even as a werewolf, the bishop's words were clear.
He charged together with the wolf Magic Beasts.
Teresa grinned and swung her sword.
Whooom!
The pressure from her thick blade forced the approaching beasts to recoil.
In that opening, Teresa moved with her shield held flat and horizontal. She kicked off the ground.
Boom!
The earth gouged out. Falling sleet whipped after the path she took.
As she rushed forward, she raised the shield diagonally and swung.
Whack!
The shield edge smashed into a beast's skull.
The shattered body slammed into Teresa's thigh and dropped to the side.
There was no impact to speak of. Her body itself was already a weapon.
"Where do you think you're going!"
In the gap as she swung her shield, the bishop stabbed from behind with his claws.
She felt the plunge clearly, a sharp warning ringing through the back of her head.
The Wolf Bishop's claws dug toward her back. Teresa stamped the ground, caught her balance, twisted her body, and swung her sword in a horizontal cut.
Whooom!
The bishop stopped his stab and sprang back.
Advance, retreat. Just by rushing in and pulling out, the bishop showed absurd athletic ability.
Still, Dunbakel's movement had been more dynamic. This lacked the same snap as Beastfolk movement.
And the ferocity of those claw strikes was below Rem's axes.
The wolves charging from the side were also below Audin's fists.
"Hahaha!"
Teresa burst into loud laughter mid-fight, then slammed her sword straight down.
Boom!
The blade struck the ground, dirt exploded, and sleet was flung upward.
Dust and sleet mixed, surging like a wave.
The Magic Beasts lost sight of Teresa for a split second.
Bang!
Teresa, gone from sight, kicked another beast's skull.
Black blood and brain matter sprayed from the burst head.
"Let's keep going!"
She smashed and cut whoever blocked her way. Nothing was more fun than that.
It pleased her even more because this was a fight for Enkrid.
Teresa followed her instincts.
The bishop realized something was wrong.
He urgently called for a Dire Wolf, but there was no time for that side to come.
"What is this bitch?"
Teresa's ability was beyond the level he knew.
Teresa also realized her skill had clearly grown.
Most of all, her mind felt at peace.
Struggle. Fight.
Fight with everything.
Pour everything into it.
She did it because all of it felt good.
After several exchanges, the number of Magic Beasts dropped.
Thrust!
The bishop, now a werewolf, hurled three Magic Beasts and pierced Teresa's side.
Teresa took a clean hole through her body and smashed the bishop's skull with her fist.
Whack!
The bishop tucked his chin and softened the impact.
"Fuck."
Even so, part of his skull caved inward.
One eyeball burst.
Blood streamed from Teresa's side. Red blood.
Dark red blood flowed from the bishop's head and nose.
It was the blood of a demonized man, one who had taken Lycanthrope blood into a human body.
"Fine, let's die together."
The bishop said it.
Even as he spoke, he trusted in something.
That mercenary bastard who used sorcery was approaching from behind.
And he saw one more strange thing. Maybe because one eye had burst.
Behind that guy, he saw another figure.
One that did not look like an ally at all.
* * *
'Ah, it's been a while.'
Injuries like this had been rare for a long time.
Even when he killed that noble brat and got hunted, he had not pushed his body this hard.
Was it because he was next to Enkrid, or because everything around him had gone to shit?
'I was trying to live quietly.'
Rem truly thought that. Of course, no one looking at him would ever believe it.
For someone trying to live quietly in hiding, he was violent, loud, and far too unruly.
Enkrid knew it, and so did the nearby troops, that Rem still swung his axe first whenever he saw someone he disliked or when things turned that way.
Rem denied it.
Anyway, he slipped into the forest and hid. To erase tracks, he stepped on thick branches, watched the wind, and moved with the wind at his back.
'Feels like he's chasing me?'
He did not need to check with his eyes. His instincts told him. The back of his neck kept prickling.
'Persistent bastard.'
Should he turn around and risk his life in a straight fight?
Temper-wise, he wanted to.
But if he killed the guy here, then what?
This was enemy ground. Could he make it back alive to the main force? Could he win without prep? Would he take even worse injuries in the process?
Ah, should he just take him head-on and be done with it?
No. Couldn't do that. Why make it easy for someone else?
If he died, that sneaky alley-cat bastard might grin ear to ear.
That bear bastard would get excited and start funeral prayers.
That lazy bastard might just sprawl out and sleep.
Though lately that asshole had not been sleeping, just swinging his sword. Weird bastard either way.
By the time he finished thinking, he was deep in the forest. If he decided to run, he was sure he would not get caught.
Since childhood, whether badlands by the desert, forest, or swamp, he had never been caught once.
There was a game in the western tribes, chase the runner.
Simple game. One side chased, one side ran. Rem had never been caught.
Same thing when he got older and went on real hunts.
There was even a time he fought a neighboring tribe and had to hide and endure for fifteen days.
How did he survive then?
He survived by chewing and swallowing larvae. He survived by gnawing bark.
He hid, killed them one by one, and stayed alive. That earned him the nickname Death Shaman.
Shaman, my ass.
He really was a halfwit. He ran away before fully inheriting proper sorcery.
Fragments of old memories surfaced.
The one who used to run around with him.
The one who followed him everywhere for no clear reason.
The ones who believed they were superior.
The one who stabbed him in the back in the end.
The betrayer, the one who got fooled.
The sudden chaos, all the things he had to throw away when everything fell apart.
'Bastards.'
Among them, Rem remembered the ones he had chased down and beaten senseless.
Even then, his body kept moving through practiced motions.
He climbed a large tree, plucked a few leaves, crushed them, and scattered them. Thick green liquid beaded and smeared over his body. It was how he erased scent.
'If he's tracking with sorcery...'
He could not run halfway and call it done. The enemy would not chase human traces, but traces of the soul.
'Then I just run until he can't see me.'
That was all. Being an eye of sorcery did not mean seeing everything. If distance opened up, that was enough.
He had finished preparing to evade human tracking. Now it was time to shake the eye of sorcery.
Rem moved quickly.
After opening enough distance, he dropped to the ground and sprinted.
He knew forests well.
Only after he shook the pursuit did the prickling at the back of his head disappear.
If they came again, he would just run again.
He got a brief moment to breathe and sat against a large trunk. Only then did he properly check his body, and it was a mess.
'My side took a few hits too.'
His side was covered in deep blue bruises. He could tell from the pain without even touching it.
His ankle was swollen too. Not broken, but for now, doing anything at full force would be hard.
Well, pushing himself a few times was nothing new.
The moment he checked his injuries, Rem redrew his fighting approach in his head.
No matter what anyone said, Rem was a genius too.
He was already planning to start next time by throwing a stone at that bastard's face.
'Been a while since someone called me a halfwit.'
Not wrong, but not pleasant to hear.
Still, I never lost even at half.
Well, this time was dangerous.
Rem looked around and moved again. He walked slowly, calm steps that would not strain his body.
First, he needed to patch up this wrecked body.
As he walked, he swept the ground, gathered leaves, and tore off bits of bark by hand.
"Pain. This hurts."
He muttered to himself, then crushed leaves and smeared them thick over his wounds.
Mixing spurge with a citrus-scented herb made skin sting like hell, but it worked well on broken bones.
To endure the pain, Rem asked in his head.
"Captain, hear me out. What should we do with that bastard?"
Enkrid answered.
'Why are you asking me that?'
'I can ask if I want. Why so prickly? Feels like you're only prickly with me.'
'Crazy bastard. Do what you always do.'
'Then that's what I'll do.'
He would answer, snicker, and that would be that. Captain Enkrid would probably smirk back.
What a strange man.
A fun man to watch.
That Ageless Madman looked like he had come to die to that man, so Rem should handle him while he was at it.
Besides, he was the guy several western chiefs once put bounties on.
Though now, it meant nothing.
'The one meant to die should die.'
Rem tended his wounds and gathered leaves to make a temporary camp.
He roamed around, caught a few hibernating snakes, and lit a fire.
Crackle.
He struck flint a couple of times to make sparks, then blew gently to feed the flame.
From crackling tinder, the fire quickly grew and burned hot.
It was all deeply familiar.
After skinning the snakes, he held his axe short, used the long spear tip on the head to dig out the poison sac area, then chopped off the heads.
He wet his throat with blood, split the bodies lengthwise, stuck them on suitable branches, and roasted them.
"Cold as hell."
He hated the cold. The warm hide at his side was torn, so cold air seeped in there.
No matter how tightly he wrapped up, it was still cold. He just hated the cold that much.
Fat dripped from the well-roasted snake meat.
He chewed it down quickly, then while he was at it, he caught a few more overnight with stone throws.
It would have been better to pluck feathers, drain blood, and rinse them with water, but he was too lazy to go to a stream, so he put up with the smell and roasted them anyway.
He filled his stomach and slept hard.
For two straight days, Rem rested the same way.
He slept in broken shifts, kept the fire going, curled up his body, ate well, and rested well.
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