A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 269: Preparation and Caution

Two young members of the militia guarding the village entrance exchanged glances before turning their gaze back ahead.

One of them, holding a leather coif askew in his hand, casually placed it atop his head and muttered, his posture exuding a sort of nonchalant looseness.

“Well, he’s not wrong...”

The other, whose sharp eyes gave off a more serious demeanor, stepped in. “We’ll have to ask inside. Please wait a moment.”

With that, one of the two headed into the village while Jaxon, undeterred, kept his mouth running.

“Come on now, there aren’t even any monsters around the village, and isn’t there a delicious smell in the air? Dinner time already, eh? It’s been four days since I’ve had anything but jerky! If you could spare me even a bit, I’d be most grateful.”

Jaxon spoke in a way that coaxed and comforted the remaining young guard, who had big, innocent eyes. The young man hesitated for a moment, nodding slightly, though he still didn’t allow them entry.

“That’s not... possible... but... if you wait here, someone inside might come out to talk to you...”

His habit of trailing off at the end of sentences was frustrating, but Jaxon didn’t seem to mind.

“Understood!” he said brightly, nodding as if the guard had told him something wonderful.

Enkrid, observing from the sidelines, felt his admiration growing with every passing moment.

‘How is he this good?’

It felt as if Kraiss himself had taken on a new face and was standing here. But was it normal for a village to be this strict about controlling who entered and exited?

There were instances where it made sense—if the village was in a dangerous area or at war with neighboring settlements. But this village didn’t seem to fit those criteria.

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“It’s because of... some trouble caused by a traveling swordmaster... and there was also that Frokk...” the hesitant young guard muttered. Though no one had asked, he volunteered the information, glancing nervously at the group, clearly quite timid.

Enkrid had a good idea who that “Frokk” might have been. Someone who acted as if they were simply passing through but ended up causing a commotion.

As the young guard continued to stammer, news came from within. The sharper-eyed guard returned, striding briskly out of the gates and shouting, “Come on in!”

With permission granted, Jaxon broke into a wide grin. His performance was truly remarkable, almost unsettlingly so.

In hindsight, it made sense.

‘He’s always been the one scratching everyone’s itches in the squad, hasn’t he?’

But at some point, he had deftly distanced himself from others, almost as if cutting them off entirely. And he did it quickly.

Rumors had spread that he spent all his earnings on the brothels in town. He was often seen loitering in the market, rarely returning directly to the barracks.

But Enkrid didn’t buy the rumors. If Jaxon were infatuated with a prostitute, he’d have brought her back already. And yet, all he did was quietly frequent those places?

It was something only those close to him understood. To outsiders, he appeared to be another soldier recklessly pouring his earnings into the red-light district.

Of course, Jaxon’s actions weren’t so simple. Sometimes, he’d spend an entire day at a teahouse or sip beer while watching a gambling den. He gave off the impression of an idle man with nothing better to do.

That was the image he cultivated, at least to outsiders. But was there more to his actions? Was he doing something entirely different under the surface?

Enkrid had long since noticed but chose not to dwell on it.

‘He probably has his reasons.’

The skill to perform as he did, to change his expression in an instant, and to mimic Kraiss so perfectly—it was all part of his talents. His silent footsteps, his movements without warning, his blade devoid of killing intent—all of it was Jaxon.

Enkrid reaffirmed what he already knew. There was no reason to push Jaxon away or question his motives. He was the commander of the independent company, and Jaxon served under him. As long as Jaxon carried out his duties, that was enough.

In that sense, Jaxon was an exemplary subordinate and, in many ways, a mentor. If Jaxon ever turned his sword against Enkrid, he might even allow it once, out of gratitude.

For now, though, Enkrid was less concerned about Jaxon and more intrigued by Shinar, who was marveling beside him.

“Oh my, what a talent,” Shinar said, awe coloring her voice.

Enkrid couldn’t help but wonder how this fairy had failed to discover such an obviously suspicious village, reeking of medicine and secrecy.

As they stepped inside, the young guard offered a final warning. “Don’t cause any trouble. Just because you can use a sword doesn’t mean you should pick fights... unless you want to bleed.”

Most villages maintained some level of defense—a small militia or a few hired mercenaries. This one was no exception. Signs of careful maintenance were evident everywhere.

The outer fence was tall and reinforced with thorny brambles, grown and woven for added defense. It stood in two layers and showed signs of regular upkeep. The narrow entrance was only wide enough for a single cart to pass through.

To the untrained eye, it looked like an ordinary village. But to Enkrid, it was anything but.

An ordinary person might think Enkrid was nothing more than a swordsman with no eye for subtlety. But those who truly knew him—like Kraiss—understood otherwise.

“The commander’s sharp, no doubt about it. He just doesn’t use his brain often.”

That was true. Enkrid’s intuition and instincts were second to none. His honed senses allowed him to perceive unease in the air and pick up faint scents. It was one reason he had survived for so long despite his limited skills.

And now, his eyes, sharpened through countless battles, could assess the strength of others and the environment with precision.

As he scanned the village, something felt off. The villagers didn’t farm. The settlement was perched on a high plateau with no signs of slash-and-burn agriculture.

So, what did they survive on?

He spotted a few goats, but for a village of several hundred people, that wasn’t nearly enough. By his estimation, the population exceeded three or four hundred, with over half being able-bodied adults.

No farmland, few livestock, and an unusually high number of middle-aged and older villagers. And wasn’t the village chief supposed to be a young and beautiful woman?

Nothing about this place was normal.

And yet, there were no rumors about this village. Surely a few traveling merchants would have mentioned it?

If a village wanted to keep itself hidden and avoid rumors, how would it do so?

Enkrid considered this as Jaxon, still channeling his inner Kraiss, continued his chatter.

“Ah, they sell goat milk! If you make cheese from this... oh, they have cheese!”

Goat milk cheese, with its rich brown hue, had a distinct sweetness and heavy flavor when preserved properly. Jaxon, emphasizing this point, pulled out several fine silk bolts—props he had brought to sell the act of being a merchant.

As Enkrid watched, his thoughts wandered back to the question of the village’s secrecy.

‘If anyone who comes is dealt with...’

Those who couldn’t be overpowered could be bribed and sent on their way. That might explain why the village’s location remained a mystery.

Though it was far west of Modergard and not a shortcut through the mountains, could it truly be safe from bandits and marauders?

‘Unlikely.’

The militia here was unusually skilled. Enkrid’s eyes followed a passing woman in a wide skirt.

‘What’s she hiding under that skirt?’

Her gait gave it away—the weight on her right leg was different from her left, and her stride was uneven. A blade, long enough to pierce a torso, was strapped to her right thigh.

“What an interesting place,” Enkrid murmured.

“Here, try this.”

Before he could react, Jaxon tossed something into Enkrid’s mouth—a small piece of cheese.

Despite his heightened senses, Jaxon’s movements were impossible to catch. The cheese, brown and creamy, melted on his tongue, leaving a pleasantly sweet aftertaste.

Whoever had made it was skilled.

“A fine village indeed!” Jaxon declared.

Kraiss—or rather, Jaxon—gestured dramatically as he spoke, and the merchant selling cheese in front of him laughed in response.

“Is that so?”

The merchant’s laugh came with a sharp hiss as air whistled through the gap where a front tooth was missing.

Though his smile was disarming, Enkrid immediately recognized that this man wasn’t ordinary.

The calluses on his hands, visible even as he gestured while speaking, were thick and rough. These were the kind of hardened hands one only got from years of wielding a weapon.

Enkrid pretended not to notice, averting his gaze. Beside him, Shinar muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with her usual sarcasm.

“Enki, it feels like we’re on a honeymoon to celebrate our sacred union.”

On the continent, such a journey was called a "honeymoon." Of course, there wasn’t even the slightest sense of romance in the air. Shinar seemed incapable of speaking without a needle’s edge of humor in her words.

Enkrid took her comment in stride, understanding her quirks. Outwardly, everything seemed normal. But anyone with a sharp enough sense could tell otherwise.

Shinar, with her exceptional sensitivity, was undoubtedly aware. There were eyes watching them—discreet but present. Hidden figures occupied alleyways, rooftops, and the gaps in windows.

“There’s a drink made from goat milk at the inn. You should try it. There’s only one inn in the village, so you won’t get lost,” said the merchant, his tone friendly but sharp.

“Thank you,” Jaxon replied cheerfully, handing over a few coins. The merchant’s toothless smile grew even wider.

After taking a quick tour of the village, they headed toward the inn. Along the way, Jaxon expressed his admiration.

“Such a lively village for its size!”

Enkrid mentally translated Jaxon’s remarks into their true meanings.

Despite its small size, the village has a large population, and its people are physically trained.“And this is how houses are built here? The architectural style is fascinating.”

The inn’s location makes it an easy target for an ambush.“Even the women here exude health and vitality!”

The women here are trained as well.“It’s already getting dark. If we want to start early tomorrow, we should sleep early. But the people here don’t seem to sleep much at night.”

Moving around at night would attract attention. It’s better to act at dawn.Jaxon’s continuous chatter, laced with subtle cues, kept anyone from suspecting his true intentions.

“If Rem were here, things would’ve escalated quickly. These people seem polite, but they wouldn’t tolerate someone rough.”

Causing a commotion would only complicate things. The villagers are watching us closely.Though not coded language, Jaxon’s words functioned as such. Only Enkrid could fully understand the layered meanings hidden in his casual remarks.

Once they reached the inn, they requested a dinner of goat-milk liquor and prepared their room. Two men sharing a room, though a practical arrangement, drew a grumble from Shinar.

“Why divide the rooms like this?” she complained, but Finn gently tugged her arm, leading her to the adjacent room.

Jaxon stood by the wooden-framed window. The creaking hinges cried out for oil, a sound that grated against the quiet.

He paused at the window, staring outside for a moment, before turning back.

When Jaxon turned, the spirit of Kraiss that had inhabited him was gone. The transformation was complete. Even from his expression, it was clear that the “possession” had ended.

Jaxon’s demeanor was entirely his own again.

“Hmm.”

Once again, Enkrid found himself impressed. Jaxon’s performance could rival that of lead actors in the capital’s grand theaters. A playwright would kill to recruit him.

“Why are you staring at me?” Jaxon asked, noticing Enkrid’s gaze.

“It’s nothing.”

There wasn’t much more to say. What could one tell someone who performed so perfectly on their own?

But Jaxon had plenty to say.

He had observed far more than just a few things.

Though his words carried their usual indifference, Jaxon’s conclusions spoke volumes about the level of preparation the villagers had undertaken.

“They’ll lace the food with a sedative.”

Enkrid was skeptical but didn’t dismiss the idea outright. Even if they did, it wouldn’t harm them to be cautious.

“Should we let the others know?” Enkrid asked.

Jaxon shook his head lightly.

“There’s a fairy with them, isn’t there?”

Fairies were sensitive to everything—taste included. Their meals were often far blander than most people’s because they could detect the subtlest flavors and savor them fully.

That didn’t mean they weren’t connoisseurs. Their heightened senses made them deeply appreciative of good food and music.

“They’ll take care of themselves,” Jaxon added.

He then inspected the bed, pulled a small vial from his pocket, and applied oil to the squeaky hinges. It was a careful preparation to ensure no creaks would betray their movements later.

Every action was deliberate. Quiet walking and stealth weren’t just about physical skills; they required careful forethought.

“Preparation and caution.”

In the back of Enkrid’s mind, where his thoughts often lingered on swords, knighthood, and dreams, a whisper rose.

‘Isn’t this what swordsmanship is about?’

The thought resonated. It wasn’t an epiphany, but it prompted him to briefly reflect on the art of the blade.

While Enkrid was lost in his musings, Jaxon finished his meticulous inspections. He oiled the hinges, checked under the bed, and tapped the ceiling with his fingernails, scanning for hidden dangers.

Finally, he spread a large cloth over the bed, securing its corners with needles.

Enkrid didn’t bother asking what Jaxon was doing. He was too engrossed in his thoughts, immersed in his own world of swordplay.

Jaxon, relieved not to have to explain every detail, felt at ease.

‘Are we surprisingly well-matched?’

In the line of duty, understanding how well one worked with others was often critical. Jaxon knew this better than anyone.

‘Then again, who wouldn’t work well with him?’

Enkrid fit seamlessly with everyone—Audin, Rem, even Shinar. He was that kind of person. The kind of commander who could adapt to any situation.

Though this wasn’t quite Enkrid’s element, Jaxon thought he might still manage to pull it off.

As Jaxon moved, his mind was already visualizing the events to come. Not as abstract ideas, but as things he knew from experience.