Eternally Regressing Knight

Chapter 329 – Enkrid’s Rising Fame
A hero emerged from the Border Guard, defeating both Aspen and the cultists.
He might even become a knight!
The qualities of knighthood were being debated.
Just this much made Enkrid the hottest name in the northern region of Naurilia.
“I have to see him for myself.”
Naturally, every noble in the vicinity turned their attention to him.
A legendary hero born in the borderlands—it was a tale people loved.
The public adored him.
If a noble could claim him, it would be a great way to bolster their prestige.
Would the benefits stop at mere reputation?
Was it just because they believed he could become a knight?
Few truly believed that possessing the qualities of a knight would guarantee one becoming a
knight.
In reality, only a select few genuinely acknowledged Enkrid.
Most reacted differently:
“A knight? How ridiculous.”
But it didn’t really matter whether he became a knight.
Even without the title, there were countless ways to utilize him.
His combat prowess alone was undeniable.
While not a knight, his strength surpassed that of most squire-knights, proving himself far above
ordinary mercenaries.
There were even talks of naming a fortress wall after him for saving a frontier village from a
crisis.
Some compared him to the platinum mercenaries—renowned warriors of the highest caliber.
Even without the knightly title, his skills made him more than suitable as a bodyguard.
And the rumors didn’t stop at his strength.
“Isn’t he also incredibly handsome?”
His looks were another devastating weapon.
How could the rumors be only about his skills?
It was no surprise that a few frivolous noblewomen were already captivated by the idea of him.
They said one look at him was enough to sweep them off their feet, earning him the nickname
“The Enchanting Commander.”
“I must meet him personally.”
How could curiosity not follow?
Moreover, Enkrid wasn’t a lord or even a high-ranking official—just a mere company
commander.
It made him all the more enticing for nobles to bring into their fold.
At least on the surface, it appeared so.
Rumors of him spread swiftly for various reasons.
Before long, his name reached even the capital.
From casual mentions in a salon to reaching the queen’s ears—it didn’t take long.
Under a starry sky, in the queen’s outdoor private chamber:
“What do you think, Lua?”
At the queen’s question, Frog Lagarne puffed up her cheeks.
Gurururuk.
It was an expression of boundless joy and delight.
What could have pleased the Frog so?
“Have you fallen for him too?”
The queen knew that Lua had already met and worked alongside Enkrid.
At her question, Lagarne spoke:
“I was captivated from the very first meeting.”
Though Lagarne belonged to the kingdom, she was not human.
No one forced her to adhere to human etiquette.
This was why Lagarne could speak casually with the queen.
Moreover, this was a private moment.
The two were conversing over an expensive elven wine, with only a few attendants nearby,
silently attending to their duties.
“Was it because of his looks?”
The queen sipped from her glass and asked.
From Lagarne, who rarely commented on human aesthetics, came an unusual reply:
“Not his looks, but what he holds within.”
“I see.”
The queen nodded.
“And his potential as a knight?”
“He has none.”
Despite the blunt response, the queen’s expression remained unchanged.
Lagarne made no effort to read the queen’s thoughts.
She was the ruler of a kingdom, not someone who would reveal her inner feelings easily.
Besides, deciphering others’ intentions and leveraging them politically was not Lagarne’s
specialty.
Most of all, she was simply wrapped in pure joy at the moment.
“Will he truly advance?”
He lacked the qualities of a knight—that much Lagarne knew.
Yet, he pressed forward.
He changed, evolved.
He dismissed others’ views and opinions.
“Does he believe he can become a knight?”
Her rational mind said no.
But before she realized it, Lagarne found herself rooting for him.
Part of this sentiment came from the news that he had beaten a high-ranking cultist to death.
Whenever the cult was mentioned, her disdain would swell her cheeks threefold compared to
now.
That was akin to how humans would grind their molars in frustration.
“Is that so,” the queen remarked.
***
Their conversation was brief, but the news quickly made its way to Marcus as well.
“Wow, this is something else,” Marcus exclaimed, his admiration for Enkrid pure and untainted.
He even felt a tinge of guilt for not being able to assist.
Given the Black Blade’s movements and the rumors of a cult invading the Border Guard, Marcus
had half a mind to whisk Enkrid and a few other talented individuals away. But against all odds,
Enkrid had prevailed—with minimal casualties, no less.
A letter from Graham, penned personally, expressed only two sentiments: frustration with his
role as lord and immense praise for Enkrid.
“If not for Enki, everything would have been destroyed.”
Marcus rubbed his chin, deep in thought. With the state of affairs, it seemed Enkrid was
becoming the eye of a storm.
Why wouldn’t he? Though Enkrid didn’t officially represent the city, he was already being hailed
as a hero.
“If I could secure Enki’s loyalty…”
Such an outcome would undoubtedly bolster Marcus’s influence over the Border Guard. Anyone
who ignored this potential would be a fool.
But how to ensure that? The more tools at his disposal, the better.
For starters:
“Deal with that bastard Molsan.”
Among the nearby nobles, Count Molsan stood out as the most dangerous—not just because of
Marcus’s personal bias. He was a self-proclaimed “King of the Outlands,” an ambitious figure
whose presence always came with whispers of imminent civil war.
But Molsan wasn’t the only issue.
Determined, Marcus resolved to leverage his family’s strength.
One of the family’s most beautiful daughters was currently positioned nearby. If she could form a
connection with Enkrid, that would be ideal—but Marcus wasn’t counting on it.
For now, countering Molsan would suffice.
“If only I had a stash of gold coins,” Marcus muttered wistfully.
If the Border Guard were strong enough to manage their own affairs, many of these issues would
resolve themselves.
His mind, famed for its cunning despite his reputation as a “warmonger,” spun rapidly.
How could he ensure that none of these scheming nobles—or anyone else—dared to lay a finger
on Enkrid?
“Achievements.”
While Enkrid’s accomplishments were already impressive, future feats would carry even more
weight. Each would serve as another brick in the fortress that protected him.
For that, Marcus needed the central authorities’ support. The conscription of mercenaries
presented a perfect opportunity.
“If I personally commission a task and the royal palace acknowledges its success…”
This would send a clear message: Enkrid had royal backing, so any underhanded attempts to
exploit him would be discouraged.
Even better, if the Border Guard grew more self-reliant in the process, all the better.
“Not just a lord, but a true liege,” Marcus envisioned as the ultimate outcome.
Having laid out his plans, Marcus rose to his feet.
“I’ll seek an audience with the head of the family.”
He was determined to provide all the necessary support from behind the scenes.
“Enki, run wild to your heart’s content.”
With a sense of exhilaration, Marcus strode forward. After all, this was shaping up to be the most
entertaining task he had undertaken in a while.
Even Aesia, the quasi-knight, heard the news and was astonished.
“A curious fellow, to be sure…”
A knight’s qualities? Was he truly that extraordinary?
While Aesia had found Enkrid’s ability to resist intimidation impressive, the notion that he could
become a knight seemed a bit far-fetched.
Still, she couldn’t help but feel a peculiar sense of anticipation.
“Will he ever stand alongside me here?”
The idea of seeing Enkrid within the knightly ranks wasn’t unwelcome. Though their encounters
had been few, Aesia recalled him fondly.
***
Unlike Luagarne and Marcus, the leader of the Black Blade felt like his stomach was about to
rupture.
“Enkrid.”
The name of the man he needed to eliminate was spreading like wildfire. How could he possibly
remain calm?
The leader began mobilizing his remaining subordinates. He also enlisted a nobleman, one of his
former pawns, whose business ventures had been ruined.
Letters were dispatched—to Count Molsan and several others.
And it didn’t stop there. Anticipating that Enkrid would eventually be summoned to the capital,
the leader resolved to take every measure possible before that happened.
***
Golden hair, radiant skin, and a mustache graced a muscular frame draped in fine fur.
“It’s been a while,” said Count Molsan with a nonchalant smile.
He appeared as if visiting an old friend, exuding calm confidence.
Enkrid mused that if thick-skinned individuals were ranked continent-wide, this man might top
the list.
“Ah, but there’s Rem,” he corrected himself.
Perhaps Molsan would be second.
But wait, Ragna, Jaxen, Audin, and even Krona could give him a run for his money. Krais, too,
would certainly rank among the continent’s most brazen if caught in the mood.
Not once did Enkrid consider himself in that list, believing such thoughts to be perfectly
reasonable.
His subordinates might have felt otherwise and been tempted to brandish weapons over such an
omission.
Regardless, Molsan’s boldness was undeniable.
After all, he had previously sent an assassin—the one so-called Elite- ending Blade—to ambush
Enkrid, only to have the plot fail miserably.
He had also withheld support during a recent battle.
Yet now, here he stood, claiming with a straight face:
“I should thank you. Thanks to you, I avoided a great deal of trouble.”
Molsan smiled as he spoke, his neatly groomed mustache a testament to some extraordinary skill.
Enkrid, meanwhile, considered how long it had been since his own hair and beard had been
trimmed.
“Thank you, you say?” Enkrid replied.
“Has wielding a sword dulled your wits?”
Molsan half-dismissed the man beside him, a representative of the Baisar Marquessate.
Not that he had much reason to treat the marquess’s envoy with respect—the person present was
merely a member of a branch family, not the marquess himself.
Still, outright disregard was unusual and highlighted Molsan’s arrogance.
“Even if his Excellency didn’t come, a representative from the marquess’s house did. Isn’t that
enough?”
Enkrid was acutely aware of the increased attention his name had garnered. Even while holed up
in his barracks, he had heard no end of it—especially from Krais, who relayed every word and
added his own commentary.
“Well, it’s hard to greet you properly,” interrupted the representative from the Baisar
Marquessate. “I waited two days, only for you to steal the spotlight, Count.”
Molsan responded coolly, “Is there a problem?”
The marquess’s representative, a woman named Kin Baisar, shook her head.
“Of course not.”
Though laced with subtle barbs, the exchanges thus far were laced with mutual caution.
“So,” Enkrid interjected, indifferent to their rivalry. “You sought me out?”
Both Kin Baisar and Molsan turned their gazes to him.
Kin had come here with two objectives: one, to ensure that Molsan did not strong-arm Enkrid
And two, aimed to bring Enkrid into their fold if possible.
The first was at the request of the returned prodigal, Marcus Baisar.
The second was a resolution passed during the family council.
Yet, based on Marcus’s attitude, shouldn’t this Enkrid fellow be favorably inclined toward them?
From what she could see, however, he appeared utterly indifferent.
Not discourteous, but also not particularly concerned.
“Ah, so it’s not just about swordplay, is it?”
The count spoke again.
Enkrid felt a flicker of impulse to shrug but suppressed it.
There was no need to overtly express his feelings to someone like this.
Would a simple shrug unsettle such a brazen man?
Hardly.
It was an instinct and a certainty he held.
“The local nobility covet me,” Enkrid began.
“They dream of seizing Border Guard, believing it would grant control over this rapidly
developing region and make it the largest city around. Is that not the vision they’re entertaining?”
“Sharp, isn’t he?”
Kin mused silently.
He had accurately gauged the surrounding dynamics.
Hadn’t they said he’d locked himself away for two days, deep in some realization?
Of course, this insight came from Krais, who had undoubtedly briefed him in advance.
Even without time to analyze, hearing such things made understanding simple.
Enkrid continued.
“I’m not interested.”
“Not interested?”
“Yes.”
“Are you pledging loyalty to the palace, then?”
“Does it appear so?”
“I sincerely hope not.”
The small reception room seemed to shift.
The count’s eyes gleamed as he adjusted his seated posture, uncrossing his legs and sitting
upright.
To Kin, it appeared as though the count’s demeanor had transformed.
Enkrid, on the other hand, didn’t care much.
It felt the same.
The air had shifted, and the aura had intensified.
The count rested his hands atop his thighs and adopted a straight-backed posture.
“There are threats to the kingdom, and they must be crushed. If they are not, who bears the
blame?”
The count’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried weight, as though piercing the skin and seeping into
the room.
The atmosphere shifted in an instant.
“Those killed by beasts, those felled by monsters, and those left behind.”
The count’s voice persisted.
“Can you truly claim to feel nothing upon witnessing them?”
For a moment, the imagery of the dying and the surviving seemed to blur and overlap behind the
count.
There was the child dreaming of becoming an herbalist, the woman crafting spiced jerky, the
mother who sent her child to the army, and the soldier wielding a spear to protect his family.
That soldier collapsed, bleeding from his eyes, ears, and nose.
“So, I must ask: if I were to win you over, what price would it take?”
The count’s words were compelling.
Kin found herself speechless, unable to interject even as she observed.
If he desired, he would give anything.
Moreover, if Enkrid sought to walk a righteous path, this felt like the right road to take.
And the count seemed to radiate conviction, body and soul, asserting this to be the way.
It wasn’t entirely wrong, Kin thought.
She knew the count’s territory was wealthier than any neighboring lands.
He was a man who stood by his words.
Listening to him, simply speaking, had a way of moving those around him.
“If your goal isn’t to save people, can the path you’re walking truly be considered correct?”
The count’s voice filled the reception room, saturating the space.
Being in that room felt as though one had to agree.
Kin felt the tension mount, cold sweat trickling down her back.
The count, normally composed, now radiated an unmistakable charisma.
It seemed as though there was no choice but to provide the answer he sought.
To affirm his correctness, to pledge adherence to his word.
That appeared to be the only option.
And then, Enkrid spoke.
“Well, you fucki… Ah, forgive me. My mind wandered for a moment.”
Did he just mutter something profane?
Kin thought she heard such a remark.
Though he hadn’t said it outright, it sounded as if he had.
Enkrid found the count’s manner distasteful, vexing.
His insincerity grated on him.
This was the speech of someone concealing their true motives.
Wasn’t this the epitome of hypocrisy?
Perhaps someone like Rem would have brandished an axe and created a scene, but Enkrid was
not such a person.
Instead, he responded with courteous words, though laced with a deliberate undertone.
He hoped it would create even a small ripple in the count’s composure, a minor disruption that
might slightly soothe his own mood.
Sometimes, one needed to indulge in such moments of self-satisfaction.
Moments like these, where one’s inner balance had to be maintained.
After all, chivalry wasn’t merely a trivial term but a commitment to protect what needed
safeguarding.
This included Enkrid’s own convictions, which also required preservation.
Now was one such moment.
However, outright conflict was out of the question. Thus, Enkrid’s approach was to cloak his
sentiments in formal language.
As soon as Enkrid spoke, the illusion woven by the count’s charisma unraveled.
Meanwhile, the smile on Count Molsan’s face deepened.
Kin held her breath for a moment, stunned by the shift.