350 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

### Chapter 350 - The Knights Who Choose a King The storm raged on for another day before finally subsiding, just when the characters were growing weary of it. It really was a rainstorm that tested one's patience. "Let's take a break." Enkride suggested once the rain had stopped. Water dripped from his body, and there was a faint glimmer of sunlight teasing between the clouds on the horizon, though it would soon dip in the west. They were transitioning from a bleak, cloudy day into a time of complete darkness. "Let's do that," Rem nodded. The real issue wasn't the Lunatic Company; it was their steeds. Although Krang was holding up well, the horses were wearing out. They still had ten more days of travel ahead, and they couldn't afford for their mounts to be exhausted this soon. Moreover, if they didn't dry off, they would be susceptible to catching colds or other ailments. A single cough could spell disaster. Even if the horses got sick, it would be a significant problem too. Due to the storm, they hadn't had decent rest and had marched non-stop. "You're really going to use this time for a break?" their escort muttered, almost to himself. They had bought this time by eliminating all the men who had come to kill them. Wasn't it time to move beyond the enemy's expectations? Enkride nodded at his remark, almost as if saying, yes, we're using the time here. The escort, with a flick of his whip, offered no further comment. What could he say? His primary duty was to protect his lord. Even if he did complain, it would fall on deaf ears. "He'll manage on his own." He had developed something akin to a respectful trust. "Rem, let's start a fire." "You seem to have a tendency to make me do all the boring tasks; what do you think?" "Is that so? Shall I send Ragnar instead?" If they sent Ragnar to gather firewood, they'd probably see him around this time next year. "Fine," Rem waved it off. "Dunbarkel, come along," Enkride appointed a laborer to aid him. "...Okay," Dunbarkel joined, exuding reluctance. Seeing this, Rem commented: "Do you want to die?" "I'd rather live. Nobody wants to die." Their conversation faded into the distance as the two ventured off the beaten path into the woods. During their absence, Enkride, Saxon, and Ragnar dug into the ground. One-eyed Jack, still dripping wet, assisted them. "Quite a talent you've got there," Krang remarked as he watched. One-eyed Jack used his foot to cleverly dig a hole in the ground. Enkride placed flat stones on the earth. Despite the heavy rains, their baggage wrapped in oilcloth and leather remained dry, though they had no cooking equipment. Instead, they had some salt and spice-infused jerky. Enkride took out the salt and jerky. Flat stones would serve as excellent tools for grilling the jerky. Rem and Dunbarkel returned with surprisingly dry branches, despite the storm. Enkride deftly split the semi-dry branches to make kindling, and using flint from their supplies, he sparked a fire. With the clinking of striking stones, flames arose, and with a gentle blow from his mouth, the fire grew. A few more branches were tossed into the flames. Had the rain not been so heavy, the fire could have been much larger, but this was their current limit. "Let's dry our clothes." With the exception of Esther, Dunbarkel was the only woman present, and she could cover herself with fur when transformed. Which basically meant she'd strip without a second thought, regardless of anyone watching. It's amusing to think of beastfolk being embarrassed about their nudity in the first place. "It's not about you being modest. It's about others' sight. Cover yourself," Enkride advised Dunbarkel. "Am I really that attractive?" she quipped. "Pfft." Krang couldn't help but chuckle at her comment. Dunbarkel didn't make a fuss about it, and Enkride found it oddly intriguing. It struck Enkride how, despite the group's varied backgrounds, Esther got along relatively well with all of the company. Why was that? Was there a reason? There was. It was because of how they treated Esther. They didn't shun her for being a magician. The common perception of witches held no sway over them. Especially to Rem, who dabbled in shamanism, she was practically a kindred spirit. Even though their practices and abilities were different, they shared a bond of understanding. That's why Rem was kind. Ragnar didn't care whether Esther was a mage or a shaman. Audin, who might have once called her a heretic, had changed. Having learned from Enkride, he'd embraced a broader view of the world, treating Esther with the respect befitting a sister. As for Theresa, it was self-explanatory. She'd seen plenty of magicians in the cult. Compared to them, Esther was a social butterfly. Dunbarkel, too, held no ill will towards Esther and found her quite attractive. She just didn't like how Esther sometimes monopolized the Captain's attention. Still, Dunbarkel was fond of Esther's long, soft hair. Even Esther didn't mind when Dunbarkel occasionally stroked her hair. It wasn't a look of fear, nor was it one of mere curiosity. It was simply how they all recognized and respected her as one of them. With such acknowledgment, what's not to like? "Am I viewing people more favorably?" It was rare for Esther, but she accepted this as a good sign. Mages inherently exist to explore and discover. Every moment with them was worth studying for Esther. How would these relationships influence her magic? It was worth the research. "Esther, you should dry your fur too." At Enkride's suggestion, Esther calmly settled near the fire. Everyone dried their clothing. They were down to their undergarments, thin and easily dryable. Their journey, potentially a month long, got off to a rocky start with an attack by thirty assassins on the very first day. Far from an auspicious beginning. "Care for a drink?" Rem had located some liquor, and Saxon was already sipping from a flask. Enkride inquired whether they'd share any of it. They all seemed unbothered by concerns. "Got any booze?" Krang asked, seemingly caught in the moment's ease. The escort shook his head. Drinking in such a relaxed manner was indeed something he found astounding. Saxon handed a small bottle to Enkride. He took a sip and nodded in approval. "Apple wine." "I met a master brewer during my travels." "Impressive." Enkride expressed his admiration. "Are you going to drink it all by yourself?" Rem approached Saxon with his hand outstretched. Still seated, Saxon drew his dagger and waved it in the air, causing Rem to pull back his hand. "What are you doing?" "Weren’t you offering your wrist to be cut?" Saxon teased. "Captain, do you mind if I kill one alley cat?" Enkride took another sip of the apple wine, watching the two argue. Then, he capped the bottle and tossed it to Rem, who caught it. Saxon had no objection to the captain distributing what was his. With that, the quarrel ended, and the two turned away from each other with feigned indifference. Rem didn't grumble any further. "Hey, want to share?" Rem said, approaching Dunbarkel, who was savoring some spice-rubbed jerky, gently grilling it atop a stone. "Sure, why not?" Dunbarkel agreed. The special seasoning kept the jerky tender. For Dunbarkel, it was the best meal they'd had on the road. Enkride also enjoyed it, thinking the same. Krang nodded vigorously after tasting a piece, as if considering bestowing a reward to whoever crafted this jerky, should he ever become king. The storm reminded Ragna of a distant past when rain had been so relentless that visibility was nonexistent, and the heavy drops beat down so forcefully it felt like they bruised the skin. Recalling such a time, Ragna turned toward the direction of his birthplace, using the stars to align himself northward. "What are you doing?" Enkride asked, approaching Ragna, sensing something unusual in his demeanor. "I'm looking toward the north," Ragna replied calmly, turning his thoughts to his homeland and the people, the place of his ancestry. Was it longing, attachment, or resentment? Gazing north, he felt as though he could sense the spirit of his kin beyond the horizon. "That's south," Enkride pointed out. Ragna quietly repositioned himself. That was enough reminiscing for one day. Marching through the storm had stirred his appetite. It was time to eat. "Don’t venture out alone, even for a short trip," Rem couldn’t resist commenting. Ragna paid him no mind. As the night deepened and it was time for rest, Enkride assigned the watch order: Saxon first, followed by the Whip Guard, Rem, Enkride himself, and finally, Ragna. Even if their opponents tried manipulation through spells, it would be risky with Esther alert and vigilant. Meanwhile, the leopard had settled in beside Enkride, dozing off with a soft purr. Enkride wrapped his arms around the leopard. If anything were to go awry, it would wake up naturally. Krang observed this and spoke, "A magician who turns into a leopard." Even now, the Whip Guard occasionally flinched at the sight of Esther. Initially, it was her transformation that surprised them, and later her appearance. Despite these surprises, their determination seemed unshaken. "Not bad," thought Krang, recognizing the company of a respectable person. Enkride was a man of integrity, as one would expect. Though it crossed Krang’s mind to worry about their delay, he chose not to voice it. Was it because trust in Enkride had swelled suddenly? It could be partly due to witnessing one fierce battle, yet it was more about respect. Acknowledging Enkride's competence, respecting him because his lord did, Krang found him genuinely likable. Pushing aside unrelated thoughts, Krang's inquiry reached Enkride’s ears. "What do you think about becoming a knight?" "It’s fun." "Fun?" To Krang’s question, Enkride’s answer was simple: "Fun." Nodding, Enkride skewered branches into the ground at a slant to hang his clothes to dry. Saxon stoked the fire with a long stick, embers scattering as undried branches crackled in the flames. They watched the flaring flames, felt the comfort of drying out, and faced each other across the fire. Krang’s eyes appeared red due to the glow of the fire, and Enkride locked eyes with him. Maintaining this gaze, Krang spoke. "Why do you help me?" Enkride had spoken of friendship and shared his dreams, yet nowhere did he explicitly ask for Krang’s help. Krang was sincere in his query. When he spoke with such conviction, it carried a palpable weight. It was as if his words had the compelling force of the dragonkin’s spellbinding speech. ‘This is interesting.’ Enkride felt a sensation akin to facing overwhelming authority, but it didn’t trigger an impulse to refuse. This wasn’t a technique based on intrinsic magic. Above all, Enkride wasn’t daunted by Krang's intensity. "I heard someone say you’re too good to die here." He responded with calm assurance. "I won't die just because you don't help." Krang declared, seemingly unfazed, his confidence unshakable. There was no denying his words. Even if it took the long way, Krang would find his path to survival. Without that kind of foresight, he would not have survived this long. Before deciding to help Krang, and after his choices were made, even on that night when he spoke to Krais, Enkride pondered: ‘Why am I helping?’ Was it the desire for combat? Because being by Krang's side seemed to invite assassins and danger? Enkride’s spirited nature was indeed part of him but not the whole. There was something more profound, something innate, driving him to step forward. He desired to become a knight. A knight is a protector. Then, what is he protecting? He protects those behind him. So, who does he place behind him? Enkride did not serve Krang, nor did he pledge an oath to him. Yet, he understood full well that Krang was someone worthy of protection, not just in the immediacy of the moment. "Whether you're worth protecting..." Enkride stood firm, unaffected by Krang's overbearing intensity. He met it with ease. "I don't know yet." His paused words were followed by an explanation. It's the uncertainty that prompts his assistance. Does helping him once change much? He doesn't know. Time will tell. That's the entirety of why he helps—to know him better through protection. Across the campfire, Krang's expression shifted from his prior boisterous laughter to a soft smile. Enkride remained indifferent. "The knight who chooses a king." Neither was a king, nor a knight, yet. "To be chosen by such a knight would indeed mark the beginning of my royal journey." The escort, having listened to Enkride's words, momentarily frowned, but quickly restored his face to its usual calm. There was not an ounce of discomfort in his lord’s demeanor as he spoke sincerely. He discussed the beginning of a king's path. If the man before him were that beginning, then watching over the progression was all he could do. He had already made his own choice. "And there's a part of me that wants to choose actions that would irritate Count Molsen." Enkride candidly admitted his tiny sense of vengeance, remembering how Molsen had failed to send reinforcements and instead played some deceitful games. "That Count Molsen?" "Yes. A man like a stray dog's... endowment." Enkride managed to express something vulgar in a refined manner, a skill if there ever was one. Krang chuckled this time, genuinely amused. "A stray dog's endowment..." He found it rather fitting. The night's conversation was nothing more than a light-hearted farce. Rem, Ragna, Saxon, and Dunbarkel remarked that there was amusement in watching their chat, but that was all. The following day, Krang's escort continued their journey, only to encounter a horde of monsters. Ka-at! It started with a pack of humanoid-looking dogs, assembling into a monstrous gift set of varied kinds.