WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 600: Walking Fire

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What is Walking Fire?

A Forbidden Sorcery, a spell that must never be cast.

So why was it banned?

Spells could be cast by borrowing the power of beings from other worlds, or they could be shaped from magical power drawn out of one's own World of Spells and then used.

The former were called Borrowed Spells and the latter Creation Spells. Walking Fire belonged to the Creation Spell category.

It all began with an incident sparked by a creature of unprecedented nature: the Salamander.

"Everything that burns is beautiful."

A genius had been seized by flame, and became consumed with manifesting a particular form made entirely of fire.

Walking Fire was one such spell, the most corrupted and most failed of them all.

What the spell required was sacrifice, and the caster's own lifespan.

The number of sacrifices required: one hundred people, regardless of race, who could suffer and die in burning agony.

The caster's lifespan was consumed as well, and in theory, the caster was required to die the moment the spell manifested.

It was not called Forbidden Sorcery for nothing. Walking Fire drew its inspiration from the summoning of the Salamander, an unknown entity, so while it fell within the Creation Spell category, it also brushed against Borrowed Spells.

The genius had resolved the spell's deficiencies by borrowing the name of a demon god that commanded the flames of the Cursed Ground.

One might wonder whether it would work to brainwash a mage of moderate skill and have them cast the spell instead. The answer was no. That was not possible.

Walking Fire was so difficult that anything short of exceptional talent meant not even being able to attempt it.

From controlling magical power to the incantation itself, a single mistake anywhere would incinerate the caster or blow them apart.

Only someone with real talent, willing to bet their life, could succeed.

That was why no sane mage would ever manifest it, but if someone did succeed, it was just as lethal as promised.

Walking Fire would not vanish until it had fulfilled its purpose.

It moved by drawing on the magical power flowing through nature itself as fuel.

Esther was a witch, an explorer and scholar of magic.

When Enkrid's question reached her, she gave a single nod, and knowledge of the spell Walking Fire ran through her mind.

A few more details surfaced as well: it was a spell from which control had been stripped away in favor of expanding destruction, and if someone encountered it and became its target, escape would be near impossible.

What would she do?

Esther came up with several answers in an instant. But every one of them was only possible because she was a witch and an explorer of the stars.

There was nothing a mere swordsman could do here.

"Why?"

Esther asked. The mirror she had given him could only reflect Enkrid's face, and any conversation they shared was bound to be fragmented.

She had made the spec object herself, but it held little magical power, it was not a tool built for long exchanges.

"I need it. Tell me what you know."

The man on the other side of the mirror spoke, and Esther caught the urgency buried in his tone. She stopped asking why and condensed what she had just recalled into as few words as she could.

"What if someone stands in front of it and holds out until its magical power is exhausted?"

Enkrid cut in partway through. He was clearly in a hurry, obvious just from the way he had stripped away all context and gone straight to the question.

Esther understood that too. "Even if it were possible, I wouldn't recommend it."

No matter how she looked at it, he seemed to be saying he would step in himself, and if it came to that, he would either burn to death or survive half-burned and ruined.

Naturally, her opinion got no traction.

"That could work."

Enkrid murmured from the other side of the mirror and was gone. The mirror soon returned to its usual dull surface.

Esther got to her feet.

His words and the shape of the situation settled into her mind.

If he had already seen Walking Fire, going there herself might be too late. But she had learned something from Enkrid.

If you stop because you think you are too late, nothing happens at all.

The moment she understood, she moved. That was the fastest way. Esther lifted her foot and went.

* * *

The mirror Esther had given him was a spec object that responded when he held it in both hands and thought of her.

Enkrid let go of the mirror, his next steps already forming in his head, and the mirror went back to what it was.

There was no time for leisurely goodbyes. He set the mirror aside and started with the scale armor, pulling it off.

If he was going to hold out, this armor would only get in the way. He stripped off the navy cloak and everything else, then pulled on only a thin short-sleeved shirt and strapped on his sword belt and weapons again.

He had removed and re-donned his gear so many times that his hands moved faster and more precisely than any soldier who had served for twenty-odd years.

"What are you doing?"

Ruagarne asked.

"Hot."

Not much of an answer at the start of early winter, but.

"Fire!"

"Aaaagh!"

"It walks! The fire walks!"

"Drriiie!"

Between the wordless shrieks and scattered screams breaking through, hot did not sound so out of place after all.

"Hm? What is this?"

While Ruagarne puffed out her cheeks, Enkrid was already on his feet.

"Right then."

He shot out the door. He had not even crossed the plaza before Walking Fire came into view. Same as before. When it reached out and extended something like a long, thin finger, a rod of flame, people burned to death and buildings caught fire.

Boom!

An explosion ripped through the section where oil had been stored, and black smoke punched into the sky. The acrid smell hit first, then visibility went.

With nothing to see, people would only panic harder.

"What the hell is this thing."

"It burns, it burns!"

"Aaaaah!"

Through the screaming, a knight's senses locked onto the enemy, the thing that was also a spell. No need to open his eyes to confirm it.

Enkrid dropped his left knee into a half-bend and did what he could.

Thud!

He kicked off the ground and cut a horizontal line. The blade honed from hardest iron carved through part of Walking Fire's outer surface. All those deaths had not been for nothing.

Cut through the body and it explodes. Cut deep enough and that happens. Sever a piece large enough and that happens too.

The explosion that followed would pull everything around it into a shockwave, and after that shockwave, another explosion would scatter embers in every direction, at which point everything in sight would burn.

Each one of those embers was roughly on par with a fire spell from a middling mage.

Not cutting. Holding out. Until the magical power ran dry.

The moment he shifted to that strategy, Enkrid saw this was going to be a fight of endurance.

In that case, what did he need to do right now?

Slice it thin.

Shave away at its flames without cutting deep enough to trigger an explosion. Drain its power a little faster. Pull at least a fraction of its attention toward himself, since no matter how loudly anyone screamed, it never turned around.

While he did that, people could run.

That was what Enkrid did.

Was it close to acrobatics? Yes.

Dangerous beyond measure? Yes.

But it was not something he could not attempt.

Five senses sharpened through everything Jaxon had taught him. A body built to its limit through Audin's Isolation Technique.

Both combined, and then Focus Point activated, and the sword work crossed into something like art.

Through the black smoke, two blue flames traced lines like an artist drawing with light.

Those lines carved away at pieces of Walking Fire's body, slicing and separating.

The cut embers and severed flames scattered into the air and disappeared.

A fight that had started as a holding action was beginning to look like it might tip into something more.

He shifted his grip and focused. The boldness from Heart of the Beast let his instincts feed entirely into the fight.

Heart of the Beast was not only about boldness.

Its greater value was stripping away every reflex that would make a person close their eyes or flinch at an incoming blade.

What did that mean? The time he would have spent blinking or shrinking back became time he could spend deciding. He could set the direction of his next move in the gap between instincts.

The improvised axe-splitting technique Rem liked so much worked on a similar principle.

Enkrid did the same. Even so, Walking Fire did not react to him at all.

"Walking Fire!"

Ruagarne's startled shout came from behind, and as he kept shaving away, another voice reached him shortly after.

"You fools! Get to the manor!"

A voice he had heard many times throughout every version of this day. Lord Lui had charged out and was bellowing.

The surge of people moving registered in the net of Enkrid's senses. Walking Fire's arm turned toward them.

If he did not cut this, dozens of people would burn to death.

"Baby, baby!"

In the middle of it all, someone must have stumbled, a running figure folded to the ground and threw herself over a child. He did not need his eyes to picture it.

A child had fallen while running. The Mother had covered the child with her own body.

To save everyone, all he had to do was keep going as planned. But if he did, that child and the Mother would die.

Sacrifice some to save the rest?

There was nothing to deliberate.

The hardest iron blade flew from below to above, swift as a swallow.

The blade cut through Walking Fire's arm.

Whoosh!

The flames surged and an explosion punched through the air.

Enkrid grabbed the thing, a ball of fire with legs and arms and something like a head, and rolled sideways with it.

Burning should have meant blisters, fluid-filled welts rising on the skin. But there was none of that. His entire body simply started to burn.

Clothes caught. Skin caught. Terrible pain crashed in all at once. No matter how great his endurance, his mouth went slack and his whole body shook. Not that he had the presence of mind to notice the saliva. It all evaporated before it fell.

"Idiot! Enki!"

Ruagarne came running from behind.

Through the agony of burning alive, Enkrid thought this was still the better outcome.

The winter flower had burned, but Delma had not yet burned, and Ruagarne was not yet dead.

Whoosh.

One more version of today came to an end. After the dark, the Boatman appeared. The mood was similar to the last time.

Sometimes he shifted like a twelve-year-old in a temper, flipping between dispositions without warning, but this time the same atmosphere had held for quite a while.

"Ambitious dreams you have," the Boatman said.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you didn't like running away alone, so I let you bring the people you wanted to protect with you, and you said what? You'd protect tomorrow? Arrogant. So arrogant."

"Mm. I suppose so."

Enkrid gave a vague reply and sank into thought.

When he woke up, there was never enough time to think. Even pushing his reasoning to its limit left him short.

Repeating today over and over had built up experience and bought him time, but why not make use of moments like this too.

"You cannot get past it that way."

The Boatman finished speaking, and today started again almost immediately. When he opened his eyes, he was back at the same moment, waking from a nap.

That way?

The Boatman's words snagged on something, but Enkrid had things to try in this version of today, so the moment his eyes opened, he ran.

Walking Fire had entered the city on foot, burning everything around it as it came. He woke when the sense of dread hit him. The flames would start rising right after that.

Question: what if he intercepted it before it entered the city?

Enkrid formed that hypothesis and ran. What he found was Walking Fire already inside. And this time he had trouble even mounting a proper holding fight.

Should have taken the armor off before leaving.

He had tried to move faster and missed that step. Stripping armor while running was not easy.

He pushed off the ground and ran across rooftops to shave off time, but the result was the same. The hypothesis was wrong. Walking Fire had already passed through the gates.

He did catch a glimpse of how it all began, though.

It had burned a cart at the gate, then set the horse feed and a couple of horses in the stable beside the gate on fire, but no one had died yet.

Some people stood staring at Walking Fire, trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

Some screamed at the sight of the horses dying.

An old man who looked like the stablehand was swinging a pitchfork at Walking Fire.

Whoosh!

Silence.

Not even a scream escaped. A cage of flame swallowed the old stablehand whole.

Watching that, Enkrid had one thought.

He needed to know more.

After that he fought with his armor heating up and searing his skin, and then he died.

"What a fool."

He left the Boatman's scolding behind and came back to today.

Was stripping scale armor while running a trick on par with snatching arrows from the air? Easier than that, but the person actually doing it still needed just as much finesse. Getting it off was the hard part. He needed a different approach.

Don't take it off.

Enkrid cut the armor straps with the shortsword he had received from Aetri.

"Kraiss said that was expensive," Ruagarne said.

True, but that was not what mattered right now.

Up the moment he woke, running, cutting the straps, charging in, dying again.

"Thick as a post."

He took the Boatman's jab and met another version of today.

Let's also trim the time spent on the sword belt.

He dropped the idea of cutting the straps and pulling on a shirt too. He grabbed only the hardest iron sword and ran.

A few versions of today passed with nothing particular gained.

Information.

On the next today, he pulled out the mirror while running.

By this point, Enkrid had become a Master at stripping clothes while in full sprint.

He never could have guessed this particular skill would reach that level from repeating today over and over.

"You know Walking Fire, right? Forbidden Sorcery, burns until its magical power is exhausted. Tell me more about what you know."

Esther on the other side of the mirror was briefly caught off guard, then told him what she knew. A few words exchanged while running. He repeated today and repeated it and stacked those exchanges up.

That was how he learned something else.

He had noticed while fighting that the thing seemed to grow larger the longer it went on.

It grew its body by absorbing the magical power around it. The way it did that was by killing living things.

It was a spell manifested through sacrifice, so it continued consuming sacrifice in the same way.

In other words, it was weakest before it killed anyone. Each life it took added to its power.

He had learned that, and still Enkrid failed again.

"I thought you were only arrogant. Turns out your head is just decoration too."

The Boatman was outright irritated now. He was a Boatman who ought to be pleased whenever Enkrid was trapped in today, yet from all appearances, his mood had soured.

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