A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 390: The Count and Crang

Enkrid caught the smell of blood and the faint stench of decay in the battlefield.

The traces of battle were also clear.

A quick glance around told him everything he needed to know.

The queen sat silently on her throne, lips tightly pressed together.

Beside her, Lua Garne stood with a severed ankle. Despite this, she managed to maintain her balance, though her armor was scratched in places.

‘A sign of a fierce battle,’ Enkrid thought.

It was clear that Lua Garne had fought in a battle that had cost her an ankle.

Yet, she had survived.

The Marquess of Octo, standing just in front of the eight low steps leading to the throne, wore a robe splattered with blood.

His complexion was darker than usual, and he seemed to be deliberately hiding his grim expression.

The surroundings were telling too.

Though the bodies had been cleared away, bloodstains and broken walls remained visible.

Even the white-painted columns that supported the hall bore sword marks.

The stench of decay told him something.

It was the scent of a monster.

Among the dead, there were a few furry monsters. Werewolves.

‘It wasn’t just the Viscount Bentra behind this.’

Though Enkrid couldn’t pinpoint the exact mastermind, the intention was clear.

His conclusion, formed by instinct, reason, and thought, was simple.

‘They tried to kill Crang, seize the capital, and secure the queen's safety.’

But perhaps they had even intended to kill the queen as well? He couldn’t know for sure. One thing was certain, though—their plan had failed. Crang was alive, and the queen appeared to be unharmed.

Enkrid's gaze shifted behind the throne. There, standing behind the magician, was a man.

A man with a square jaw, graying sideburns, and brown hair neatly slicked back.

The way his lips were set made Enkrid feel as though this man wouldn’t say a word in an entire day.

A sword, with a pommel shaped like a sun, hung at his waist, positioned directly behind the queen.

It was the perfect spot to either protect her or strike her.

“I didn’t realize the queen had a knight to protect her,” the Count said.

The man who spoke seemed the least suited for the position. It was Count Molsen.

He casually swept his hair back, gave Crang and Enkrid’s group a cursory glance, then turned his gaze toward the queen.

No, Enkrid felt his attention had only lingered on him for a brief moment.

The remark about "long time no see" wasn’t aimed at Crang, but at Enkrid himself.

Crang seemed to have been completely ignored. The disregard was so profound, it was as if Crang wasn’t even present.

“You don’t need to know about this,” the queen responded, her voice low, filled with a somber mood that replaced her usual warmth.

The magician beside her cleared his throat, causing the queen to raise an eyebrow.

“Do you admit that your intentions were impure?” the queen asked, her anger rising.

“I admit it,” the Count replied, with a smile that was short but confident. He was unshaken, unyielding, like a rock.

The scent of blood and decay seemed to mix with the perfume the Count wore, as if his unwavering confidence had become his weapon.

A weapon forged by the arrogance of someone who believed only in their own will.

“I have one question,” the Count continued, as if no answer was needed, his arms outstretched to show he was giving no room for rebuttal. The queen had no chance to respond.

“How is it that a few nobles turning against the crown has led to all of this? Look at the situation now. The knight orders are divided, and a guardian knight had to step in to protect the queen. Don’t you know that when a guardian knight is summoned, it’s an omen that the country is about to fall? Is this the end? Look outside. If someone had set a fire, the entire palace would have been burning by now.”

He was implying that they could have done it, but chose not to.

In Enkrid’s eyes, the Count seemed to grow larger.

“That’s an absurdity!” one noble shouted, a voice Enkrid had never heard before. Judging by his presence, though, he was clearly a noble of some significance. His voice was loud, but it sounded so much smaller compared to the Count.

The sense of perspective felt warped.

“Don’t dismiss the reality of the situation as absurdity,” the Count responded calmly, though his voice carried an overwhelming authority that silenced the noble.

The noble knew that no matter what was said, he wouldn’t gain any advantage here. It was the instinct of someone who had survived in the political arena for a long time.

The noble snorted, but the Count simply ignored him, effectively putting him in his place without needing to use force.

The Count hadn’t drawn his sword or used his hands, but it was clear he had struck his opponent down in a way that mattered.

“Then, what do you want to say?” another noble spoke up. It was the Marquess of Baisar, an older man resembling Marcus.

His white hair was neatly combed back, and not a drop of blood had touched his attire.

His presence seemed to suggest he was here with a different purpose from the others.

“I want to ask why this has come to pass,” the Count responded.

“Why?” the Marquess asked again.

“What do you think would have happened if the king had gained power?” the Count asked, his eyes narrowing slightly with a soft smile.

The noble who had previously shouted couldn’t hold back anymore. “How dare you insult the royal family!”

The Count seemed unbothered, turning toward the noble who had spoken out.

“Enough. Or was this task given to you by your master?” The noble’s hand trembled, his fingers brushing the hilt of a short sword at his side, as if he might unsheathe it at any moment.

Ignoring the noble, the Count continued, while the Marquess of Octo gestured for the noble to quiet down.

The noble shut his mouth.

“What if I could bring Lord Cypress here with a single word?” the Count continued, his smile still unwavering.

“And what do you think would happen if you left the south unguarded?” the Marquess of Baisar shot back, now questioning the Count's actions.

The Count answered with his characteristic calmness, “Does it matter?”

“It is the sword that protects the palace. If that’s not important, then what is?”

The Marquess of Octo spoke up, his tone serious.

“Power, the throne, authority, and the act of consolidating it.”

The Count made his intentions clear: he wanted the throne first, to gather power, then everything else would follow.

“Who gives the orders to the knight orders?” the Count asked, raising his clenched fist high.

“Is it the knight they call master? Or the king? Or the throne? Or maybe it’s just the game of honor they love so much?”

The queen clenched her jaw, her muscles visibly tightening.

The Count’s words cut through the air like a knife.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“What matters is the throne. The king. The power. Consolidating that power is the first step,” the Count said, his voice echoing with certainty.

“The queen should hand over the throne. That’s the only way to save this country,” the Count declared, his tone unwavering.

He had crossed a line. He had gone too far. Yet, his words carried an undeniable weight, as if his logic was unassailable.

The Marquess of Baisar, in contrast, calmly posed a question, his tone soft and serene, as if the Count’s words meant nothing to him.

“If you were king, what would change?”

“It would change,” the Count replied with a smile.

“How so?”

“I would gather power and strengthen the throne. Those who dare to push in, the lost territories? I would reclaim them within a few years.”

His response made it clear he was speaking of a different path, one that would start by consolidating his strength before taking action.

“And how would you do that?” the Marquess pressed.

“I am a magician. And in my domain, I have the strength of a knight order,” the Count replied, the threat clear in his words.

Enkrid couldn’t help but feel the weight of that challenge.

The two marquesses had nothing more to say. Even the queen had fallen silent.

“Do you think your guardian knight will protect you forever?” the Count asked, his tone filled with an arrogant certainty. “If you’re confident, show me. I’ll show you the strength of one born and raised in the land of Molsen.”

Arrogance. That was the word that described the Count perfectly in that moment.

Despite the failure of the plot, the Count did not apologize, nor did he resort to underhanded schemes from behind the scenes.

He stood tall and spoke directly.

He was going for a full frontal assault. He believed he could take what he wanted by force.

“Bring in the knights. I’ll make them all kneel, kill them, and then I’ll personally declare that this kingdom belongs to me.”

Killing all the knights? Ridiculous. Yet, it seemed possible. The Count’s words carried weight.

The Count’s words pressed down on the room. They pulled everyone lower. It felt like they should kneel.

Of course, Enkrid would never do that.

The Marquess of Octo and the Marquess of Baisar felt the same way. But a few other nobles were clearly shaken. The fight was over. It felt as if it was coming to an inevitable conclusion: the Count’s victory.

“Magic,” a voice whispered beside him.

Enkrid turned to see Esther, who had quietly approached without him noticing.

“So that’s what he’s up to,” she said.

Enkrid didn’t answer but simply continued to watch.

Magic? So that’s what the Count was using to manipulate the situation.

Should he cut him down? It wasn’t like Enkrid had any affection for the man.

As if reading his thoughts, Ragna spoke from behind. “Shall we cut him down?”

Could it be done? Enkrid thought about it for a moment, but then Crang raised his hand. His face was smiling brightly. Even the Marquess of Baisar’s calm demeanor felt out of place now, almost as if Crang were the one who had completely lost his mind.

Not just his demeanor, but his words and the way he addressed the situation.

“I have a question, sir.”

He sounded unusually cheerful. The title he used seemed to mock the man. It was clear Crang had no intentions of backing down.

The mocking title made the Count’s disregard impossible. The Count couldn’t ignore Crang anymore.

He turned his gaze directly at the queen and spoke.

“Are you really trusting such a reckless child? A child with no power and nothing to offer?”

Crang wasn’t a child. He had a decent beard, after all. But when the Count spoke like that, it made it seem as though Crang was a mere child.

Crang ignored how the Count referred to him.

He didn’t care about that. With a casual dismissive attitude, he spoke again.

“If you defeat the knights, but leave out the knight orders, the southern kingdom of Rihinstetten will expand. What about the magic circles? I’m sure you know they won’t be stopped.”

Crang had stepped into the Count’s game. He leaned into the atmosphere, acting as though it meant nothing to him. He still smiled faintly.

“So?” the Count asked, finally meeting Crang’s gaze.

“Then many will die, and it won’t end with losing land. As the territories shrink and people are pushed back, countless lives will be lost. And what happens after that? The merchants will slow down their trade, won’t they? And when the merchants stop, what do you think will happen? Gold coins won’t circulate as much. The country might struggle financially for a while. But I’m sure if there’s a surplus of gold coins, the Count can fix all of this with his own funds. Yet, no matter how much power you have, you won’t be able to stop Rihinstetten or the magic circles in the south, will you?”

The Count looked at Crang like a little pup, with a sneer of disdain in his eyes. Crang stood firm, unwavering in his challenge.

“Sacrifices are inevitable. If it’s necessary, it must be done.”

“Really?” Crang responded.

“Then how else would you move forward without sacrifices?” the Count asked, his voice demanding.

Crang spread his arms wide. “Do both.”

“Both?”

“Don’t make sacrifices. Grow the royal family’s power and strengthen the foundations of the kingdom.”

“That’s an absurdity.”

“Don’t dismiss what will happen as absurd. Just because you can’t do something doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“I see. So your only weapon is pretending you can do what can’t be done.”

“No. My weapon lies elsewhere.”

“Then show me.”

“I’m good at making requests,” Crang replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Requests?”

“For example, if I were to ask you right now to have your head chopped off, I know there’s someone who’d gladly do it for me.”

“Go ahead,” the Count sneered.

Crang smiled and looked at him with the same gleam in his eyes. It was as if he were speaking to a close friend.

“Do you want to die?”

“You can’t kill me.”

How certain he was.

Enkrid, who had been listening to the conversation, was now ready to step in.

“May I?” Crang asked, his voice light, his gaze full of playful energy.

It might have seemed like an unexpected request. It felt «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» like the wrong moment to step in, but everyone was already weighed down by the tension between the Count and Crang.

Even Ragna hadn’t been able to act so decisively before.

In the midst of it all, Enkrid stepped forward.

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“Of course.”

He said the words naturally, slipping into the atmosphere as he stood beside Crang.

The mood shifted awkwardly. Enkrid had become the sword that Crang wielded.

“Ah, a friend who always wants more,” Count Molsen commented, watching Enkrid take his place.

“He’s not your friend, he’s mine. Right?” Crang responded confidently.

“Now, turn this way. You’ll understand once you see it. Even a seven-year-old child knows they need to stand with the winning side,” Crang added.

The Count, unfazed, glared at Enkrid.

It seemed that whoever could bring Enkrid to their side would be the true victor.

Enkrid took a step forward, standing beside Crang and lifting his wrist with a decisive motion.

“Victory.”

It was a final judgment.

“Just as expected,” Crang nodded, smiling.

Watching this, the Count let out a dry laugh.

“Good, good! This is very good! It will be the queen’s choice, won’t it?”

“There’s nothing to discuss with a traitor,” the queen responded coldly.

At last, the queen spoke.

The Count glared at Crang, his eyes filled with fury.

“You said you wouldn’t call the knights and would focus on strengthening your position? Then you’ll have to block the arrows I shoot first. Without those knights, of course.”

“Are you concerned? Thanks. I’ll beat your troops even without the knights.”

Crang mocked the Count, but the Count didn’t retaliate with mockery. Instead, his body began to make a faint whistling sound, and white smoke started to leak out from his body.

“I wasn’t even the real one,” Enkrid heard Esther whisper, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Ah, I sent some of my forces ahead as a border guard. If a beautiful flame rises in that city, I hope you’ll change your mind.”

The Count, his body shrinking as the smoke poured out, said, “We’ll meet again.”

With those final words, the Count’s body crumbled.

Enkrid looked at the fallen figure. He didn’t recognize the face. But Crang did.

“Viscount Mernes.”

He had disappeared earlier, only to meet his end here as the Count’s messenger.

Crang sighed deeply.

The two marquesses watched him closely, or rather, they were watching both him and Enkrid.

“Well then, Your Majesty. I’ve kept my promise.”

Crang spoke, his tone as cheerful as ever.

“The noble factions are gone, and only my people remain.”

He immediately began to discuss his promise with the queen. There was no time to relax and tidy up the situation.