A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 352: A Sense of Peace

Crang found the experience to be quite novel.

Is this what it feels like to be under a knight’s protection?

It was a peace unlike anything he had ever felt while wandering the continent.

Despite facing more assassination attempts than in any other situation before, he still felt secure.

The ambush by those disguised as merchants was crushed before it could even begin, but that was just the start.

Later, they entered the city of Midpool.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

The son of the landowner wept with joy.

Despite the pain of his shattered ankle, he seemed ready to kiss the ground in gratitude.

Of course, he didn't actually press his head against the filthy earth, but the emotion was evident.

Having escaped death, then enduring the harrowing journey in a state of perpetual tension, his reaction was only natural.

“Even if that man had been an assassin, no one would have been harmed.”

One of Crang’s escorts remarked upon the situation.

“I think so too,” Crang whispered, nodding in agreement.

Had they harmed or ignored the landowner’s son, the assassination guild would have framed them for murder.

Thus, it was clear that the landowner’s son had no direct ties to the assassins.

Even so, no one let their guard down.

That was the core of what Crang’s escort meant.

Throughout the journey, the landowner’s son remained at the center of their group—placed where he could do nothing even if he attempted any tricks.

At the same time, Crang himself maintained a deliberate distance from him, while Enkrid treated his injuries and rifled through his belongings.

His touch was meticulous, though the recipient barely seemed aware of it.

How could he, when he was in excruciating pain, on the verge of losing his ankle?

Enduring such agony without complaint would have been stranger.

For an ordinary person, maintaining composure in such a condition was nearly impossible.

If he were weak-willed, he would have sobbed and begged for his life.

Even if he was resilient, for someone experiencing such suffering for the first time, remaining calm was an unlikely feat.

Thus, Enkrid’s group carefully observed him as they made their way into Midpool.

The city's walls, reinforced and expanded over time, were constructed from stones of various colors, giving them an unusual appearance.

It was a defining trait of Midpool.

Cities in Naurillia often took pride in mimicking the grandeur of the capital’s walls—an understandable aspiration, given the capital's overwhelming splendor.

With monsters and beasts running rampant across the continent, even bandits couldn't operate in small numbers.

As a result, there were no isolated homes or small villages on the continent.

Humankind had survived by building massive cities, evolving in that manner.

This, in turn, had rapidly advanced construction techniques, traces of which were clearly visible in Midpool.

Even now, a new wall was being erected alongside the existing fortifications, with workers stacking stones layer by layer.

“Truly, I am grateful!”

Because the city was built around farmlands, the landowners had traditionally served as its lords.

At the same time, the noble overseeing this region held the largest expanse of land in the kingdom and was known as the Marquis of Fertile Soil.

There was some back-and-forth as one of the marquis’ subordinate landowners expressed his gratitude and offered to host them.

Then—

“What if these people are the ones who set a trap for your son and staged this entire act? Do you still intend to invite them in?”

With that single question, Enkrid dismissed the landowner.

People of his stature were far from naïve.

He immediately understood that these individuals were not ones to accept his hospitality.

Perhaps, subconsciously, he even agreed with Enkrid’s skepticism.

“I will repay this debt in the future.”

With that, the landowner withdrew.

He would undoubtedly hunt down those who targeted his son, pursuing them to the ends of the earth if necessary—possibly even enlisting the marquis’ aid.

But that was no longer Enkrid’s concern.

Afterward, they secured an inn, where their meal was laced with poison.

“It’s poisoned.”

Jaxon immediately detected it, thwarting yet another assassination attempt.

Later, as they made their way to another eatery, a dagger came flying at them from a nearby alley.

Naturally, it was coated with poison.

Enkrid caught it with his gloved hand and returned it—at twice the speed.

“Ack—”

A death rattle echoed from the alley.

“If you can’t even dodge your own thrown dagger, why bother?”

Rem grumbled, clearly annoyed by the persistent attackers.

Whenever the streets emptied, more would come for them.

He slung his collapsible spear over his shoulder, resting an arm atop it.

Though his posture seemed lazy, it was anything but.

A poisoned dart aimed at him was intercepted with nothing but a slight tilt of his waist—his spear handle knocking it aside effortlessly.

The assassin, rat-like in their movements, kept repeating the same pattern: throw and hide.

Rem found chasing them a hassle.

And understandably so.

The assassins continued their harassment.

Whenever they had the chance, poisoned daggers, bolts, and darts would fly at them.

They didn’t just target Crang—everyone in the group was fair game.

But it was pointless.

The attacks held no meaning.

Some attackers even emerged for direct confrontations.

But they weren’t skilled assassins—just desperate vagrants.

The lack of independent settlements meant that all people had to live in cities.

And in every large city, vagrants were a problem.

A handful had been paid to attack, but they too were dealt with easily.

Thud. Crack. Smack.

Ragna stepped forward and sent them flying with punches and kicks.

“A monster!”

One of the vagrants screamed and fled, but no one in the group bothered to give chase.

“They were probably paid a few krona. Same with the poisoned food,” Jaxon commented.

He had identified the inn’s serving girl as the one who laced their meal.

However, Enkrid did not interrogate her.

Jaxon had advised against it.

“This is a common trick. They convince outsiders to do it by lying about the substance. They say it’s a medicine, not poison.”

Crang listened intently—this was new to him.

He had nearly died once from a powerful toxin, never figuring out when he had been dosed.

There had been no obvious suspect.

Could this have been why? It seemed likely.

“They claim someone in the group is a runaway fiancée or a noble relative they are secretly following. They persuade people by saying, ‘We’re only trying to help them. Please add this to their food, but do it discreetly. They must not know we’re watching.’”

A ridiculous ploy, but one that worked surprisingly well.

And if the serving girl or the innkeeper had secretly consumed the powder themselves?

Would the assassination guild care?

Unlikely.

Instead, they’d probably use a slow-acting poison—one that took a day to trigger rather than working immediately.

Fortunately, the innkeeper and the serving girl had a conscience.

They didn’t pocket the powder for themselves but had actually sprinkled it into the food.

The serving girl had kept sneaking glances at them, and now Crang understood why.

Of course, the group's striking appearances had likely drawn some of her attention as well.

Even inside the inn, keeping their hoods up would have been more conspicuous, so they had exposed their faces openly.

Naturally, this attracted eyes.

And because they displayed utter indifference toward any potential pursuers, it irked certain assassins.

Which led to—

“Above.”

Jaxon’s warning came just in time.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

In a dimly lit alley, en route to their next meal, an assassin descended from above.

By then, they had gathered a pile of thrown daggers large enough to fill a stall.

Rem, Enkrid, and Ragna moved simultaneously.

Their weapons cleaved the air.

The fae assassin who had attacked from above was sliced into six pieces before they even hit the ground.

Blood rained down, splattering across the alleyway.

Chunks of flesh, severed limbs, and entrails tumbled onto the filthy [N O V E L I G H T] stone path.

Had they done this in broad daylight on the main street, the guards would have swarmed in.

“Kh...”

That was the assassin’s dying breath.

Their unnaturally pale face reflected the moonlight as it struck the dirt.

More ambushes followed.

But—

“They all fall before they even begin,” one of the escorts remarked.

Crang saw it too.

And yet, even that wasn’t enough.

“Wait a moment.”

Once Jaxon stepped away, the attacks noticeably subsided.

In the meantime, Enkrid found a restaurant.

“They say the roast chicken here is excellent.”

“Hm?”

Crang tilted his head. Was now really the time to be looking for good food?

“Do you not like chicken?”

Enkrid questioned.

Of course, that wasn’t the case.

It had simply been so long since he’d had a proper meal.

After being subjected to so much poisoned food, eating had become something done purely for survival rather than for enjoyment.

With that thought, Crang followed them inside the restaurant.

“Be careful.”

His escort warned him, though they did not stop him. Even they seemed to think that things had settled enough for a proper meal.

And so, they ate.

For the first time in a while, Crang loosened his belt as he ate to his fill.

The place served nothing but roast chicken, but the cooking method was exceptional.

Each whole chicken was skewered on a long spit and slow-roasted over a wood fire, turned carefully for at least half a day.

“This recipe has been in my family since my grandfather’s time. It’s my pride and joy.”

The chef and owner spoke with pride.

And rightly so. The chicken was so tender it melted in the mouth.

A light glaze of salt, pepper, and a thin marinade had been applied, crisping up the skin perfectly. It was better than what most nobles ate.

Crang stabbed his fork into the meat, cutting through with ease. The flesh was firm yet tender, coming apart in juicy chunks.

Without pause, he brought another piece to his mouth.

“You eat well. How many days have you gone without food?”

The owner chuckled, pouring them a juice he had created from some kind of fruit.

It was just as delicious—sweet and tart, perfectly cutting through the richness of the meal.

When people clustered together in cities, cuisine was often the craft that developed the most.

A city was naturally a hub for goods and supplies, giving it access to a variety of ingredients.

In a place like Midpool, where agriculture thrived, livestock farming was just as viable.

That was part of the reason why the city’s walls were constantly being expanded.

While outposts and villages existed outside the walls with stationed guards, raising livestock in such areas was a different matter.

After all, not everyone could become a beast-slaying warrior like a shepherd from the wilds.

So, within the walls, they raised cows, horses, chickens, and sheep.

In the poorer districts, some people even lived among their livestock.

During winter, having animals nearby was useful for warmth.

For that reason, chickens were readily available in the city, as they were widely farmed.

If a city was properly managed by its rulers, it was only natural for surplus grain to be used for livestock.

And that was why restaurants like this existed.

“We should take this chef with us.”

Rem gave high praise, causing the man—who was just about to serve them roasted potatoes—to freeze in terror.

“What?! This restaurant is backed by the landowners. Don’t even think about it.”

In this city, the highest authority belonged to those who owned the land.

Enkrid reassured the man, saying it was only a joke.

At some point, Jaxon had returned and was now quietly gnawing on a chicken leg.

“You damn stray cat, stop sneaking around.”

“You’re just slow.”

As always, the two bickered.

Outside, the wild horse was also eating chicken.

“That’s not some kind of beast, is it?”

A freckled boy working at the restaurant asked nervously.

“It doesn’t bite.”

Enkrid replied, trying to reassure him.

Of course, the boy still refused to go anywhere near the horse.

And who could blame him?

After all, who would willingly approach a creature that was crunching chicken bones between its teeth?

“Let’s have a drink.”

Rem suggested.

“Drink, then take some for the road.”

Enkrid agreed.

The group sat scattered around the tavern, looking completely disorderly—no discipline whatsoever.

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

Not a single one of them was truly relaxed.

Crang observed, listened, and experienced it all.

And, strangely enough, he felt at peace.

It was their composed demeanor that made him feel that way.

So, he continued eating and sipped on a cherry-infused liquor.

It had a unique and rich flavor.

Had he not been with this group, he would have suspected poison.

But there was none.

“Owner, can we buy a few bottles?”

Enkrid purchased some bottles of the liquor, and after satisfying their hunger, they returned to the inn.

“Get some rest.”

With that brief farewell, they washed up, cleaned their teeth using fine-bristled tools, and rinsed their mouths with brine made from coarse salt.

The cotton-filled mattress felt luxurious compared to what Crang was used to.

A night spent on a bed that wasn’t rough or stiff—

If that wasn’t a luxury, what was?

“This is unbelievable.”

His escort commented. Crang couldn’t help but agree.

One night had passed, and miraculously, there were no more ambushes.

It’s because that red-haired friend of ours disappeared earlier.

Crang’s insight allowed him to see the situation clearly.

Once Jaxon had vanished, so had the assassins.

What exactly had he done?

Curiosity flared, but he wouldn’t ask.

There was no need.

One look was enough to tell that he wouldn’t get an answer anyway.

Eventually, they departed the city.

Yet the assassin guild’s desperation persisted.

That’s what it was—desperation.

“You shall not pass!”

A so-called champion from some fighting arena tried to block their path.

“I’ve got this.”

Dunbakel, the beastwoman, stepped forward and shattered the man’s face with her knee.

She deflected his spear with her scimitar, then lunged forward, finishing the job.

She kicked off the ground with her left foot, driving her right knee into his skull.

It was an excellent technique.

The champion collapsed, his face caved in.

“What kind of arena is this? Do they only train chicks to fight?”

She scanned the crowd with an unimpressed gaze.

The gathered thugs scattered in fear.

The storm of attacks that had plagued them seemed like a distant lie.

The skies were clear.

The group rode at a steady pace.

Managing the horses' stamina properly was the key to faster travel.

Keeping a controlled, steady pace was fundamental in mounted travel.

Then, an arrow suddenly flew toward them.

It was aimed directly at Crang.

Naturally, Enkrid caught it.

Thud. Tremble.

Crang stared at the trembling arrow shaft that had stopped right in front of him.

He wasn’t particularly surprised.

After all, it had been stopped.

Enkrid held the arrow and gazed into the distance.

“This one looks real.”

It marked the end of the amateurish tricks.

The enemy’s final resort was long-range sniping.

And this time, it wasn’t just some half-baked attempt.

Crang hadn’t seen it, but Enkrid had—

Far away, a mounted archer had fired and was already retreating.

Could they catch them by chasing on horseback?

No, that would be difficult.

Then?

The only option was to keep deflecting the incoming arrows.

The assassins had disappeared, replaced by a mounted sniper.

A more challenging threat—

But still, not a real danger.

That was Crang’s conclusion.

Even if dozens, even hundreds of arrows rained down, he would not die.

Not with Enkrid by his side.

That was why he felt at peace.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

And so—

Neigh!

The wild horse cried out, approaching Enkrid.

“You want to chase him down?”

Hearing Enkrid’s response, it seemed the archer wouldn’t be left alone after all.