A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 329

A hero had emerged—a warrior who had defeated Azpen at Jiraa Border Guard and crushed the cultists.

He might even become a knight.

People debated whether he had the qualities of a true knight.

That alone made Enkrid the most talked-about name in northern Naurillia.

"I need to see him for myself."

Naturally, nobles turned their attention toward him.

A peerless hero from the frontier—his story was captivating.

The public adored him.

Bringing him into their ranks would bolster their prestige.

But was prestige the only gain?

Did they truly believe he would become a knight?

Few actually did.

In reality—

"A knight? Ridiculous."

That was the prevailing reaction.

But it didn’t matter.

Even if Enkrid never became a knight, there were countless ways to make use of him.

Far too many.

His martial prowess alone was undeniable.

Even if he wasn’t officially knighted, his strength was beyond that of a mere common warrior.

He had proven himself.

Hadn’t he saved a frontier village from crisis? Weren’t they planning to engrave his name on the walls?

Among mercenaries, there were the so-called Platinum Mercenaries, an elite group.

People whispered that Enkrid could match them.

Even without a title, his skills were more than sufficient for a personal guard.

And the rumors weren’t just about his strength.

"I hear he’s exceptionally handsome."

His face had its own destructive power.

How could word of his abilities spread without his looks being mentioned?

It was only natural that a few noblewomen became infatuated.

Apparently, just one glance was enough to make people fall for him.

Someone had even dubbed him the Enigmatic Captain.

"I must see him myself."

How could they not be curious?

Besides, Enkrid wasn’t a lord. He was merely a captain.

That meant he could be claimed.

At least, that’s how it seemed on the surface.

All sorts of discussions spread rapidly.

Before long, Enkrid’s name reached the capital.

From a single mention in a noble salon, it had traveled all the way to the queen’s ears.

The Queen’s Inquiry

In the outdoor pavilion of the starlit palace—

"What do you think, Lua?"

At the queen’s question, Frokk Lua Gharne puffed up her cheeks.

A low gurgle followed.

A display of pure delight.

What had caused such joy?

"Have you fallen for him too?"

The queen knew.

She knew Lua had met, known, and fought alongside Enkrid.

At the queen’s words, Lua Gharne opened her mouth.

"I fell for him the moment I first saw him."

Though she was affiliated with the kingdom, Frokk was not human.

No one expected her to adhere to human customs.

That was why she spoke so casually with the queen.

And besides, this was an informal setting.

They were sharing fine wine, touched by fairy magic.

A few attendants stood nearby, but they remained silent, focused on their tasks.

"Because of his looks?" the queen asked, sipping her wine.

Lua Gharne, a Frokk who usually admired human aesthetics, responded with an unusual answer.

"Not his face. It’s what he holds in his heart."

"I see."

The queen nodded.

"Does he have the qualities of a knight?"

"No."

Her response was sharp, but the queen’s expression remained unchanged.

Lua Gharne didn’t try to decipher the queen’s thoughts.

She was the ruler of a nation.

She wouldn’t reveal her true emotions so easily.

Besides, politics was not Lua’s strong suit.

More than anything, she was simply thrilled.

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Is he really going to push forward?

He had no qualities of a knight.

She had seen that for herself.

Yet he moved forward.

He changed.

He grew.

He disregarded the judgments and opinions of others.

Does he truly believe he can become a knight?

Logic said no.

But before she knew it, Lua Gharne found herself rooting for him.

The fact that he had beaten a cultist bishop to death also played a part.

Whenever she heard about the cult, her cheeks puffed up three times their usual size.

For a Frokk, that was equivalent to a human grinding their teeth in rage.

"I see."

Their conversation was brief.

But the news continued to spread.

Marcus’ Reaction

It eventually reached Marcus.

"Wow. This is—"

He was simply cheering Enkrid on at this point.

He even felt guilty for not being able to help.

The Black Blades and the cultists had attacked the Border Guard.

Marcus had wanted to pull Enkrid and a few other key figures out before things got worse.

But they had survived.

And not only that—the casualties had been minimal.

Graham himself had written a letter.

It contained only two things: a complaint about wanting to quit being a lord and words about Enkrid.

If Enki hadn’t been there, everything would’ve been destroyed.

Marcus stroked his chin.

Judging by the political landscape, Enkrid was about to become the eye of the storm.

Why wouldn’t he?

Enkrid wasn’t representing a city, yet he was already being called a hero.

If I secure Enki...

He could extend his influence into the Border Guard.

Only a fool would ignore that opportunity.

So how could he prevent others from making a move?

The more options he had, the better.

First—

That bastard Molsen needs to be dealt with.

If he had to name the most dangerous noble in the region, Count Molsen was the first that came to mind.

And that wasn’t just his own bias.

Molsen called himself the King of the Borderlands.

There were constant rumors of impending civil war because of him.

But Molsen isn’t the only problem.

Marcus decided to use his family’s influence.

One of the most beautiful women of their house was already stationed nearby.

If she and Enkrid hit it off, that would be ideal—but he wasn’t holding his breath.

For now, the priority was keeping Molsen in check.

"It would’ve been nice if we had a pile of gold lying around."

He muttered to himself.

If the Border Guard were strong enough to sustain itself, many problems could be avoided.

The so-called warmonger—that was the nickname Marcus used to mask his political mind.

His brain worked fast.

How could he ensure the other nobles didn’t touch the Border Guard?

More precisely—how could he make sure no one dared to interfere with Enkrid?

Merits.

He already had plenty.

But past accomplishments and future ones held different weight.

Each achievement would build walls of protection around Enkrid.

To do that, he needed to involve the central government.

The military conscription system was the key.

If we request an official mission from the capital and have it recognized—

It would be an endorsement.

A message to lesser nobles: Don’t even think about touching him.

And if the Border Guard grew on its own in the meantime?

Even better.

He’d be better as a lord than a mere commander.

Marcus had finished drafting his plan.

He stood up.

"I’ll go see the family head."

He would take care of things behind the scenes.

Enki could do as he pleased.

Marcus grinned.

This was the most fun he’d had in a while.

His steps felt light.

Aisia’s Perspective

Aisia, the knight-in-training, also heard the news.

She was surprised.

He was certainly an interesting man...

Knightly qualities?

Was he really at that level?

The way he had withstood her pressure had been impressive.

But assuming that meant he could become a knight was a stretch.

Still, she felt an odd sense of anticipation.

Will I see him here one day?

Would he stand beside her as a fellow knight?

She wouldn’t mind.

She had only met him a few times, but her impression of him was a good one.

***

Enkrid.

The leader of the Black Blades felt as if his stomach had been torn apart.

A man who must die was running rampant. How could he possibly remain at ease?

He mobilized his remaining subordinates.

One of the nobles who had lost their business in a previous incident became his pawn, acting as his hands and feet.

A letter was written.

It was sent to Count Molsen and a few others.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

Enkrid would inevitably be summoned to the capital sooner or later.

Before that happened, every possible measure had to be taken.

***

Golden hair, clear skin, a neatly trimmed mustache, and now, a fine fur coat draped over his well-trained body.

"It’s been a while."

Count Molsen.

He spoke with a casual smile, as if he were meeting an old friend.

Enkrid thought to himself—if there were a ranking for the thickest-skinned men on the continent, this man would surely be at the top.

Ah, but Rem exists.

Then, second place.

No, if he really considered it, Ragna was just as shameless.

Jaxon and Audin weren’t far behind, and if Krona got involved, even Kraiss could contest for the title.

Enkrid excluded himself from the thought entirely and found that perfectly reasonable.

If his subordinates heard his inner monologue, they might have drawn their weapons.

In any case, Count Molsen was indeed thick-skinned.

He had secretly sent an assassin—a so-called elite slayer—though the man had died in just a few swings of the blade.

During the recent battle, Molsen had also refused to send reinforcements.

He had ignored everything.

Yet here he was, smiling, as if that was all in the past.

And the first words out of his mouth were truly absurd.

"You should be thanking me. Thanks to me, you managed to avoid quite a bit of trouble."

Molsen chuckled.

Who took care of that mustache of his?

The way it was always neatly trimmed suggested they were exceptionally skilled.

Enkrid, on the other hand, realized his own hair had grown long, and he should probably trim his beard soon.

He replied.

"I should thank you?"

"Has swinging your sword made your head dull?"

Molsen half-ignored the person from the House of Baisar standing beside him.

It made sense.

The Marquess himself hadn’t come.

The representative ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) from the House of Baisar was merely a member of a branch family.

But dismissing them outright?

That was just Molsen’s arrogance.

"Even if Your Excellency had not come, a representative from the House of Baisar has. I believe that should be sufficient."

Enkrid was well aware that his name had drawn attention.

Even while he had been resting inside the barracks, he had heard all sorts of talk.

Kraiss had kept him updated—constantly.

Of course, Kraiss had added his own commentary in between.

"It’s quite difficult to even exchange greetings. I waited two days, and yet Count Molsen gets to speak first," the woman from the House of Baisar cut in.

"Do you have a complaint?" Molsen asked.

The woman shook her head.

"Of course not."

It was nothing but a power struggle.

Their exchange was tense.

"So," Enkrid said, uninterested in their bickering. "You were looking for me."

Both sets of eyes turned to him.

The woman from the House of Baisar was Kin Baisar.

She had come here with two objectives.

One—to ensure that Molsen could not pressure Enkrid.

Two—if possible, to bring Enkrid into her family's fold.

The first was at the request of the prodigal son, Marcus Baisar.

The second was decided in a family meeting.

But considering Marcus’s attitude, shouldn’t Enkrid be friendly toward them?

Yet, right now, he seemed indifferent.

Not impolite, but also not particularly invested.

"So you can do more than just swing a sword," Molsen spoke again.

Enkrid considered shrugging.

But he held back.

There was no need to express anything to this man.

Would shrugging his shoulders really deal any damage to this shameless bastard’s mood?

Of course not.

He knew that.

"The nobles surrounding me covet me," Enkrid said. "They believe that by securing me, they can take control of Border Guard, which is rapidly developing into what will soon be the largest city in the region."

Is he smart? Kin thought.

He had assessed the political landscape with pinpoint accuracy.

Hadn’t he supposedly been locked away in some sort of epiphany for two days?

Of course, Kraiss had already briefed him.

Even if there was no time to analyze the situation himself, listening and understanding was easy enough.

Enkrid continued.

"I’m not interested."

"Not interested?" Molsen echoed.

"That’s right."

"Do you swear allegiance to the royal court, then?"

"Do I look like I do?"

"I hope you don’t."

They were seated in a small reception room.

Molsen’s eyes glinted.

He was sitting on a sofa, one leg crossed over the other, but now he uncrossed them and straightened his posture.

Kin felt it.

The Count’s demeanor had shifted.

Enkrid was reminded of Krang.

It was the same.

The atmosphere had changed.

Molsen rested his hand on his thigh.

He sat upright.

"There is a threat to the nation. And yet, despite that, it remains unchallenged.

Tell me—whose fault is that?"

His voice was not loud.

Yet it carried weight.

A shift in the air.

"People die to monsters.

People die to beasts.

And those who remain—"

Molsen’s voice continued.

"When you look at them, do you feel nothing?"

For a moment, behind Molsen, Enkrid envisioned them.

The ones who had died.

The ones who had survived.

A child who dreamed of becoming an herbalist.

A woman who made spiced jerky.

A mother who had sent her son to the military.

A soldier, gripping a spear to protect his family.

The soldier collapsed, bleeding from his eyes, nose, and ears.

"So I ask you this—if I wished to claim you, what must I offer?"

Molsen’s words carried persuasion.

Kin watched, but she did not speak.

If he wished, Molsen would give anything.

And if Enkrid truly wanted to walk a righteous path, then this was it.

At least, that’s what Molsen’s very being conveyed.

And he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Kin knew that Molsen’s lands were wealthier than most.

He was a man who took responsibility for his words.

He was someone who influenced those around him just by speaking.

"If you truly wish to save people—can you say that the path you are walking is the right one?"

His voice filled the reception room.

It swallowed the space.

Just being here made one feel the need to agree.

Sweat trickled down Kin’s back.

Cold sweat.

Molsen, for once, was not his usual easygoing self.

He was showing his will.

It felt as though the only possible response was to acknowledge him.

To say, You are right. I will follow you.

It had to be.

And then—

"Jiraa—ah, my apologies. My mind wandered for a moment."

Did he just say Jiral?

Kin thought she had heard that.

Though he didn’t actually say it outright, it sounded like it.

Enkrid found the entire act revolting.

It was disgusting.

This was the speech of someone hiding their true nature.

This was what deserved to be called vile.

If it were Rem, she would have already swung an axe and turned the place upside down.

But Enkrid was not Rem.

So instead, he responded in polite words.

If it caused even the smallest ripple in Molsen’s mind, that would be enough.

Some moments simply called for indulging one’s mood.

To reaffirm the path one walked.

Chivalry was not just a matter of words.

It was about upholding something.

And in this moment, Enkrid was upholding himself.

This was his moment.

A fight would be meaningless.

So instead, he turned his thoughts into words—words wrapped in courtesy.

The moment he spoke, the illusion woven by Molsen’s charisma shattered.

And on Molsen’s face—

His smile deepened.

Kin held her breath.