A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 355: Scolding and Mocking

"Don't stop the real battles."

Rem was convinced that Enkrid grew stronger through actual combat.

Anyone could see that Enkrid's talent had a clear limit. Rem saw it too.

It was only natural that he would stop growing at some point.

How many people had climbed upwards, only to stop halfway? Knights or otherwise, it was the same.

The limits of talent crept up silently, settling in and gnawing away at a person.

Then, was there no way to break through those limits?

There was.

In Rem's view, the best way was to stake one's life on it.

Limits were just complacency in disguise.

One of the best ways to avoid stagnation was to put one’s life on the line for everything.

It didn’t necessarily mean just wielding a sword.

Writing poetry, singing—if done with one's very being at stake, one would grow. That was Rem’s philosophy.

"Put your life on the line and roll across the battlefield."

It was the best advice Rem could give to a man who refused to stop moving forward.

Enkrid recalled and mulled over that conversation with Rem.

This wasn’t a battlefield.

Yet, Enkrid’s eyes caught someone who fought as if their life depended on it.

Crang.

It seemed as if he was throwing himself into it, fully prepared to die.

And that gave Enkrid something resembling an epiphany.

More than anything, it made him want to watch a little longer.

"Just enjoy the palace tour," Marcus said.

"If I were to place a request here, I'd probably look like a highway robber, wouldn't I?"

He followed up with that remark, but Enkrid ignored it cleanly.

Right now, he was too busy observing Crang.

Esther narrowed her eyes, scanning the inside of the palace.

As a mage, her instincts immediately picked up on the abundance of magical artifacts and enchanted tools lining the halls.

A strange feeling crept over her.

It was natural that a royal palace would be filled with spell objects and relics. That was to be expected.

So that wasn’t what unsettled her.

A mage wasn’t surprised by things within their range of expectation.

Then what is it?

Something insidious lurked here. Something that stood on the opposite side of order.

Magic, by nature, did not conform to order. However, she could feel a distinct malice.

"Rrrrr..."

Esther let out a quiet, rumbling growl.

Something about the unusual nature of this place piqued her interest.

On the surface, the palace seemed fraught with danger, but to a mage of her level, its defenses were laughably inadequate.

She had no idea how it ended up this way, but the security measures were severely lacking.

No, rather, it seemed as if someone had deliberately left gaps.

"Have you come to your death?"

The speaker was a lone guard, wearing a dull gray helmet. They stood on the path leading to the palace.

They had not taken the central route through the capital. Instead, they moved along a secluded side path.

With the way things were going, that remark sounded more like a threat.

The crowd around them thinned.

Matthew responded to the words.

"Do you know who you're speaking to?"

"If he were some fool riding on his bloodline, he’d get angry. If not, he’d endure it well enough."

Blunt, Enkrid thought, quietly assessing the man. Not an easy one to deal with.

Rather than overtly sizing them up, he subtly observed the so-called Royal Guards.

There were twenty soldiers in total.

Some of them had the air of well-trained elites.

They carried themselves in a way that suggested they would not hesitate to thrust their spears, no matter the situation.

But some were utterly worthless. They couldn’t even march in step.

Drill and discipline were the foundations of any army.

Those who lacked even that could never be called elite.

Was this really the level of the Royal Guards, the so-called Shields of the Royal Family?

And yet, the man in the dull gray helmet maintained a careful balance as he led them.

Enkrid appreciated that stance.

Regardless of skill level, he carried himself as if he bore responsibility for them all.

It would be nice if he attacked first.

But judging from his stance, that was never going to happen.

There were people whose nature could be read just from the way they walked.

This was someone who insisted on fighting head-on.

Instead of speaking in circles, he was the type to talk straight.

Even if given the chance to strike from behind, he would wait for his opponent to turn around.

His gait, posture, speech, and demeanor all revealed that trait.

A man who wouldn’t fight unless he had a legitimate reason.

The opposite of Jaxon.

That thought crossed his mind just as his gaze flicked to Jaxon.

Their eyes met.

"You seem to be thinking something unpleasant," Jaxon remarked.

"Not at all."

Enkrid brushed it off. It was a specialty of his.

This wasn't even a lie. Nor was it a betrayal of his principles.

It was merely an act of consideration—holding back words for the sake of the other party.

"I doubt that."

"I think so too."

"Your eyes have lost their way."

Jaxon tilted his head slightly, dismissing Enkrid’s excuse. Then, Rem and Ragna added their own comments.

"But will they at least feed us?"

Dunbakel threw in a different concern. Enkrid was quick to answer.

"They probably will."

"Rather than ambushing us outright?"

"They won't."

Would their conversation go unnoticed by the soldiers surrounding them?

Of course not. Every single word was heard loud and clear.

"Arrogant bastards."

One of the weaker Royal Guards muttered. The one who couldn’t even march properly.

He was acting like he was deliberately holding back, but that only proved how lacking he was.

They were outsiders. Strangers. In such a situation, maintaining proper discipline was crucial for upholding the dignity of their group.

Yet he failed even in that.

That made him an idiot.

An idiot who was now picking a fight.

Enkrid worried about how his party might react.

Would they explode?

But before anyone else could step in, someone already had.

"Are you trying to make me look like an idiot with just one sentence?"

Crang raised his voice from the front.

"That wasn't my intention."

The man in the gray helmet answered.

"Then shut up."

Crang cut him off before he could finish.

Blunt and to the point.

"And as for the one whispering 'arrogant' back there, it’d be best if you shut your mouth before I cut off your tongue."

The Royal Guard flinched. Fear?

No. He was angry. And he made that obvious.

Which meant he was easy to read.

More importantly, no one seemed to treat Crang as royalty despite his claim.

"The so-called guardians of the palace have loose lips and even looser hands. A disgrace."

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Crang continued, scolding them.

"You are not yet in any position to lecture us."

The captain spoke.

Crang scoffed.

"I'm speaking as a mere royal, not a king."

"Then you should prove that you're royalty."

"That’s not for a mere swordsman to worry about! If you were given orders, then just follow them!"

Crang suddenly roared.

And he was right. The captain had no retort.

He chewed over those words a few times before clamping his mouth shut.

Enkrid had to turn away.

"Bleh."

Rem stuck out his tongue at the Royal Guard from earlier, openly mocking him.

Ah, this lunatic.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Somehow, he hadn’t expected that. And Rem wasn’t the only one.

Jaxon clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

As for Ragna—

"You must read the stars to know where you're going. One must know where to lie down before stretching out their legs."

He offered them a piece of advice.

Enkrid was too dumbfounded to speak.

Where was that lunatic who once mumbled nonsense about looking south while facing north?

Of course, Ragna’s words weren’t wrong.

It was a proverb about knowing one's place.

But it lost all weight coming from him.

Grrrkk.

A Royal Guard ground his teeth. His face turned beet red.

Left alone, he might as well ripen into a tomato.

If a person turns into a fruit or vegetable, what would they be called?

Not a beastman... A fruit-man?

Enkrid mused idly.

And then, in an appropriately controlled tone, he whispered it.

"Tomato man."

Naturally, he made sure only the Royal Guard could hear.

"A mistake."

He followed it up, feigning innocence.

The sound of grinding teeth doubled, and the guard's face burned even redder.

Matthew, who was practically walking on a tightrope, was appalled by the nonsense happening behind him.

These lunatics... what the hell are they doing?

Crang held back his laughter, while Marcus looked about as bewildered as Matthew.

Even surrounded by the Royal Guards in the capital, they still acted like this.

There was a saying—a leaking jug will leak no matter where you place it.

The madmen of the Border Guard were just as insane outside of it.

"You lot—"

The Royal Guard captain turned to say something but shut his mouth instead.

The group finally reached the outskirts of the city and boarded the carriage.

To be precise, Crang, Matthew, and Marcus got on the carriage.

Marcus’s escort attempted to follow, but he waved them off.

"I'm traveling with the hero who shook both the Royal Guard and the Border Guard. What danger could possibly arise—especially in the heart of the palace?"

There was a subtle edge to his words, but Enkrid didn’t concern himself with it.

The rest of them mounted their horses again.

Had they chosen to walk, they would have arrived around sunset.

For that reason, the carriage and riders advanced at a steady pace.

The road leading to the palace followed the city’s outer perimeter.

Every so often, there were small outposts, manned by a few soldiers, with gates and barriers that could block access to the palace if necessary.

Naturally, for now, the gates were wide open.

From horseback, Enkrid could see a massive stone wall to the left, absorbing the light, while the right side revealed a section of the cityscape.

It wasn’t the market district. This area was lined with grand mansions.

"The capital is really big. Have you been here before?" Rem asked.

Enkrid nodded.

The last time he had come to the capital, he had been little more than a beggar.

A lot had happened back then.

Some had ignored him.

Some had tried to kill him.

If he were to recount it all, he could talk for half a day. If he wrote it down, it would fill half a book.

So he summarized briefly.

"The last time I was here, I was too busy getting beaten up to do any sightseeing."

"That’s fitting for you, Captain," Rem chuckled, nodding in amusement.

Ragna quietly surveyed the surroundings.

It was his first time in the capital.

Big cities were easy places to get lost in if one wasn’t careful.

The alleys twisted like a labyrinth.

Even just getting from the palace to the city gates must be a difficult task.

In reality, it was a straight road, but to Ragna, the web of alleyways already looked like a maze.

He was already thinking about how to navigate through them.

Jaxon followed silently. He had been to the capital before. He had even been inside the palace.

Abnaier.

The name of Azpen’s strategist came to mind.

There had been no deception in his words.

Which meant the task Jaxon needed to carry out was somewhere within that palace.

His gaze drifted toward the towering spires in the distance.

Three tall spires, representing the three swords of the kingdom.

Three knights who had defended the founding king and forged the kingdom’s legend.

Later, during a national crisis, the divine beast known as the Sun Guardian had descended to protect the land.

A myth of the kingdom’s foundation. A legend, and a part of real history.

Meanwhile, Dunbakel was starting to get hungry.

Enkrid found himself wondering whether he would meet any knights inside the palace.

And if he did, what questions would he ask them?

"We have arrived."

The commander of the Royal Guard announced.

And indeed, they had reached the entrance to the palace.

Guards stood at the inner castle gates.

They wore identical uniforms.

All soldiers responsible for guarding the inner castle were called the Royal Guard.

There were four soldiers stationed at the gates, and they all saluted their commanding officer.

Then, they briefly exchanged glances with the Royal Guards who had escorted the group.

Enkrid sensed something was off.

A division.

Some of them seemed friendly with each other.

But there was a clear distance between others.

It seemed the factional disputes within the capital had extended to the Royal Guard as well.

"Just you wait," the guard who had been mocked earlier gritted his teeth.

"This guy’s the one who mocked you," Enkrid pointed at Rem.

"Wow, that’s unfair. Tell him, was I the only one?"

Rem turned the tables, forcing the guard to wrestle with the last remnants of his patience.

Still, he must have had enough self-control to have been chosen as a Royal Guard, because he ultimately held back.

"Enough."

The captain grabbed his subordinate’s shoulder.

"Let it go."

He warned him.

Enkrid, however, still kept pointing at Rem, as if insisting he was the sole culprit.

"I’m innocent, I swear."

The captain didn’t even wait for a response and simply turned away.

Another figure was approaching them.

"The Queen has summoned you to the audience chamber."

A man they had never seen before.

He swept his gaze over Crang and the others before introducing himself.

"I am Viscount Bentra."

Ah.

Enkrid knew that name.

A noble under Count Molsen.

The one who had sent the Border Guard their supposed reinforcements.

He had neatly combed blond hair, a broad frame, and muscular shoulders.

"Marcus Baisar."

"It’s been a while."

Officially, Marcus held the rank of a baron.

It was a title bestowed upon him at the discretion of the Baisar Marquisate.

One of the privileges of a marquis, permitted by the royal family.

That didn’t mean they could grant titles to just anyone.

Marcus had proven himself.

He and Viscount Bentra were familiar with each other.

To be precise, they had crossed paths in palace affairs before.

Bentra, however, completely ignored the rest of Enkrid’s group and simply led the way.

He barely glanced at anyone besides Marcus and Enkrid.

As they walked, Crang once again spoke through ventriloquism.

"You mustn’t tease the Queen."

This bastard... No, this royal bastard, what did he take Enkrid for?

Mocking the Queen was a crime of lèse-majesté.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that.

Besides, he had already expected to wait outside the audience chamber.

"You shall enter. The rest will wait here."

That was what he thought—until Viscount Bentra singled him out.

"Her Majesty wishes to see the hero who saved the Border Guard."

Enkrid had expected to receive some instructions on court etiquette before entering.

Maybe even to change his clothes.

But the situation was what it was.

A royal bastard had suddenly emerged.

The major nobles probably already knew about it, but they had to pretend not to.

The one who had sent assassins wasn’t about to come forward and admit it.

So now, they were rushing a meeting to feign surprise.

And at the same time, they had decided to take a look at the so-called hero of the Border Guard.

"I fear I may act improperly."

"Do not worry. I shall personally guide you."

Viscount Bentra reassured him.

Which only made Enkrid feel more uneasy.

There was no emotion in his voice.

Which meant there was no detectable malice.

But it still felt off.

Not that he had any grounds to refuse.

Then again... did Viscount Bentra not bathe? Or did ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) he have a preference for eating raw meat?

There was a faint stench.

Dunbakel pinched her nose behind him, so she had caught the scent as well.

To an ordinary person, it might be a mild odor.

To someone with a trained sense of smell—or a beastkin—it was pungent enough to put them on edge.

Enkrid only wrinkled his nose slightly before responding.

"I appreciate your consideration."

They soon reached the audience chamber.

From behind, Rem flashed him a hand signal.

A southern idiom. Something along the lines of Good luck getting through this mess.

The others simply stood still, waiting.

Enkrid stepped inside.

The heavy doors, engraved with intricate patterns, swung open on either side.

The guards at the entrance gave him a once-over.

He had already been disarmed.

As he entered, the doors groaned shut behind him.

The Queen had not yet arrived.

Inside the audience chamber, there were six nobles.

It was a hastily arranged meeting.

Only those who had the means to respond quickly had made it in time.