355 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

**Chapter 355: Scolding and Teasing** "Don't stop the real combat training." Rem believed that Encrid grew stronger through actual battle experiences. To any observer, Encrid's talent had clear limits. Rem saw it no differently. It was only natural for someone to eventually hit a ceiling in their growth. How many times had they seen people who stop advancing, whether they were knights or anyone striving upwards? The limits of talent silently creep up, settle in, and gnaw away at a person. So, was there no way to break through those limits? There was. In Rem's view, the best method was to risk one's life. Limits stem from complacency. One of the best ways to avoid complacency was to put everything on the line. It's not confined to just brandishing a sword. Writing poetry or singing with such intensity would lead to growth. That was Rem's philosophy. "Throw yourself into the battlefield with your life at stake." It was the best advice Rem could give to a man constantly seeking to push forward. Encrid recalled and pondered over his conversation with Rem. This place wasn't a battlefield. Yet, in Encrid's eyes, he saw someone fighting desperately as if their life depended on it. That someone seemed to be Crang. It appeared like Crang was putting all he had on the line, which gave Encrid a kind of realization. Above all, it made him want to observe even more closely. "Why don't you take a tour of the royal palace?" Marcus suggested. "If I make a request here, I'd probably come off looking like a bandit, wouldn't I?" He added, but Encrid neatly ignored him. He was too busy watching Crang at the moment. Esther squinted and surveyed the interior of the royal palace. As a mage, her intuition detected the magical artifacts and spell devices lined throughout the palace. Esther had an odd feeling. It was only natural for a country's royal palace to be littered with spell objects and relics. That was to be expected. Thus, it was not just because of the relics. A mage doesn't get surprised by things within their scope of prediction. 'Then?' There was something sinister there. Something standing on the opposite side of order. Magic, by its nature, doesn’t conform to order, but she sensed a certain malice. "Grrowl." Esther muttered softly, almost like a whimper. The peculiar form captured her interest somewhat. While the palace seemed fraught with danger on the surface, from the perspective of a mage at a certain level, it was surprisingly lax. It was unclear how it came to be this way, but the defenses seemed lacking in several areas. No, it appeared as though someone had intentionally left gaps. "Have you come seeking your death?" The escort, a lone figure wearing a dark gray helmet, spoke. It was on the path leading to the palace. They did not pass through the central part of the capital but headed toward a corner. The words, paired with the route they took, came off as a threat. People around them steadily decreased. Matthew reacted to those words. "Do you know who stands before you as you say that?" "If he's an idiot relying on his lineage, he'll be angry; if not, he'll hold back well." Concise, Encrid thought to himself, admiring the man's unyielding demeanor. Instead of blatantly measuring him like before, Encrid discreetly observed the so-called Royal Guards. There were twenty soldiers escorting them. Among them, a few seemed like well-trained elite soldiers. They were the type who would instinctively stab their spears into something shocking without hesitating. But some were far from competent. They didn't even know how to march in step. Formational discipline is fundamental for soldiers. Anyone who couldn't manage that wasn't fit to be called elite. Could this truly be the standard for the storied Royal Guards meant to protect the royal family? Yet, the one wearing the dark gray helmet maintained an appropriate balance at the forefront of them all while walking. Encrid respected that demeanor greatly. It was an attitude of taking responsibility for everyone, regardless of their skill level. 'I wish they'd just attack.' Just observing their stance, it was clear that was something this person would never do. Sometimes, you can tell a lot just by watching how someone walks. This man was the type to insist on facing things head-on. Instead of talking in circles, he spoke directly, waiting even for his opponent to look back rather than sucker-punching them from behind. You could see traces of that in his walk, posture, speech, and attitude. A man who wouldn't fight without justification. 'The opposite of Jacques.' Thinking this, Encrid glanced at Jacques and locked eyes with him. "It seems like you're thinking something unpleasant." Jacques remarked. "No, not at all." Encrid deflected. It was his specialty. This wasn't lying. Nor was it contrary to his principles. It was simply withholding speech out of consideration for the other party. "Doesn't seem that way to me." "I agree." "My eyes must be lost." Jacques tilted his head slightly in doubt at Encrid's words, joined by remarks from Rem and Ragna. "But will they at least provide a meal?" Dunbakel chimed in with another thought, and Encrid quickly responded. "I'm sure they will." "You don't think they're planning to just pounce on us?" "I doubt it." Would their conversation not be overheard by those encircling them? Of course, it was overheard. Loud and clear. "You're arrogant." A member of the Royal Guard of lesser skill spoke. One who couldn’t even perform formations. He acted as if he was deliberately slacking off, but that merely highlighted how inadequate his mental resilience was. Confronting strangers, especially for the first time, for the prestige of the group, he should carry himself properly. Yet he didn’t. So, he was a fool. The fool provoked them, and Encrid worried about his group's reaction. What if they all reacted explosively? But someone stepped forward before anyone else. "Are you trying to make me out to be an idiot with that one comment?" Crang raised his voice from the front. "That wasn’t my intention." The one with the dark gray helmet replied. "Then shut up." Crang responded almost immediately after the other's statement. It was fiery. "And the one in the back mumbling about arrogance—it's best to shut up before I cut your tongue off." The Royal Guard’s shoulders flinched. Was it fear? No, it was anger. And they made that clear too. This guy was someone whose true colors showed easily. Anyway, even though Crang identified himself as royalty, it seemed nobody acknowledged it. "Those who claim to be the guards of the palace have loose tongues and hands. It's deplorable." Crang continued, chastising them further. "You are not yet qualified to discuss our stance." The commander spoke. Crang scoffed. "I'm speaking as a mere royal, not the king." "Then you must prove that royal lineage, mustn't you?" "That's none of a mere swordsman's concern! If you've been given orders, just carry them out!" Crang suddenly shouted, scolding once again. His words were correct, and the commander couldn't find a retort. He mulled over the words several times before closing his mouth. Encrid felt compelled to look back. "Bleh." Rem stuck out his tongue, taunting the Royal Guard from earlier. Ah, this audacious madman. This was something Encrid didn't expect. More so, Rem wasn't the only one behaving this way. Jacques clicked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head. Ragna offered advice. "You need to understand the constellations to know where you're headed. You must lie down knowing your place." Encrid was so taken aback he couldn't even speak properly. Where did that guy who once mumbled about looking south while facing north go? Of course, what Ragna said wasn't wrong. It's the same as saying one should extend their feet only after measuring their bed. It was a metaphorical proverb. Only, since it was coming from Ragna, it lacked weight. Grrrind. A Royal Guard ground his teeth. His face turned red. Left unchecked, he seemed ready to transform into a ripe tomato. 'If someone transforms into fruit or vegetables, they're not a beastman, so what would you call them? A "fruit-man"?' Encrid idly pondered, mumbling under his breath. A tomato human, technically. Naturally, he adjusted his voice so only the Royal Guard could hear. "My mistake." He then brushed off his remark as a mistake. The Royal Guard's teeth grinding grew twice as loud, and his face turned even redder. Meanwhile, Matthew felt like he was walking a tightrope over a cliff, unable to hide his bewilderment at the chatter from behind. These lunatics. What on earth are they doing? Crang stifled his laughter, and Marcus was in a similar state as Matthew. Nobody expected such antics while they were surrounded by Royal Guards in the capital. As they say, a pitcher that leaks inside leaks outside as well. The madmen were no saner outside the border than they were within it. "You all..." The leader glanced back, intending to say something, but clammed up. The party reached the outskirts of the city and boarded carriages. Specifically, Crang, Matthew, and Marcus boarded a carriage. Marcus's guards intended to follow, but he sent them back. "With heroes who have shaken the Royal and Border Guards in tow, what danger could possibly arise, especially within the heart of the royal palace?" His words seemed to carry some underlying tone, but it wasn't Encrid's concern. The rest of them remounted the horses they'd been riding. Had they walked, they'd reach their destination by sundown. Hence, the carriage and horseback combo advanced at a leisurely pace. The path to the palace skirted around the city's outskirts. A few makeshift outposts were constructed along the way, stationed with soldiers to potentially block the path to the palace with gates and obstacles if needed. For now, everything was wide open. From horseback, a light-absorbing castle wall was visible to the left, and parts of the cityscape to the right. This wasn't the market but a district lined with mansions. "The capital is indeed vast. Have you been here before?" Rem asked, to which Encrid nodded. When Encrid last visited the capital, his circumstances resembled that of a beggar. On top of that, various incidents occurred. Some people ignored him. Others tried to kill him. If he were to recount everything, he could go on for half a day, or fill half a book. He provided a brief summary instead. "Last time here, I was too busy getting thrashed to enjoy any sightseeing." "Sounds just like a captain." Rem chuckled and nodded. Ragna silently observed his surroundings. It was his first time in the capital, after all. In a large city, losing one's way is all too easy. The alleys twisted like a labyrinth. "Traveling from the palace to the castle gate must be quite a task." Technically, it was a straightforward path, but Ragna was already enamored by the labyrinth-esque alleys. He pondered how to navigate through them. Jacques followed quietly. He had been to the capital before and had visited the royal palace. "Avnair." It was the name of the Azpen strategist. He crossed Jacques' mind. The words spoken by that strategist had seemed truthful. If so, whatever Jacques needed to do was somewhere within the palace. Jacques spotted the tall towers at the end of the path. Three lofty spires represented the three swords symbolizing the royal palace. Three knights who defended the previous king and forged the founding myth. Though a national crisis arose during the next succession, a divine beast called the Solar Asura appeared and protected the country. A founding myth, a legend, and an actual part of history. Dunbakel was starting to feel hungry. Encrid was inwardly eager, wondering if he would encounter a knight within the palace. And if he did, he pondered over what questions he might ask. "We've arrived." The commander of the Royal Guards announced. Indeed, they had arrived at the palace's entrance. Guards protecting the inner castle gates were visible. Soldiers in identical uniforms. Collectively, they were referred to as the Royal Guard that protected the inner sanctum. Four soldiers guarded the gates, each saluting the commander. They scanned the group with their eyes while exchanging nods with the Royal Guards who had accompanied them, something that gave Encrid a sense of uneasiness. 'A rift.' It seemed they were familiar with some of them, yet there was a noticeable estrangement from others. So, the internal division they mentioned seemed to extend to the Royal Guards as well. "Just you wait." Right before parting, the mocked soldier gritted his teeth and spoke. "This fellow taunted you." Encrid pointed to Rem. "Wow, now I'm the scapegoat. Tell him yourself; it wasn't just me, was it?" Rem asked the Royal Guard, subtly testing the limits of his already strained patience. Yet, it seemed that patience was a trait that got him selected as a Royal Guard. He held his composure in the end. "Enough." The commander pulled his subordinate back by the shoulder. "Take it easy," the commander warned. Encrid, however, continued to point at Rem as if to say he was the sole troublemaker. "Hey, that's unfair," Rem protested, feeling wronged. Without acknowledging the response, the commander turned away, and another figure stepped forward to greet the group. "Her Majesty has summoned you to the audience chamber." It was an unfamiliar face. He gave Crang and the party a once-over and introduced himself. "I am Viscount Vantrella." Ah. Encrid recognized the name. A nobleman under Count Molsen. He was the one who had sent troops to the Border Guard insignia. His well-built physique, paired with golden hair and broad shoulders, spoke of a body well-trained. "Marcus Visar," Marcus responded. "It’s been a while." Officially, Marcus held a baron's title—granted at the discretion of the Visar Marquisate, one of the privileges granted with royal permission. However, titles weren't handed out to just anyone. Marcus was someone who had proven his capability. They were familiar faces to each other—Vantrella and Marcus. To be precise, they were rivals within the confines of the royal palace. Ignoring the rest of Encrid's group, Viscount Vantrella led them only through the path, not even properly glancing at the others save for Encrid and Marcus. As they walked, Crang used ventriloquism to speak again. "Don't tease the Queen." What on earth does he—no, what does this royal bastard—take him for? To tease the Queen would amount to treason against the royal family. Why wouldn't he know not to do that? They had planned to wait in front of the audience chamber anyway. "You may enter. The rest of you, wait." That was the plan, but Viscount Vantrella stopped Encrid. "Her Majesty wishes to see the face of the hero who saved the Border Guard." Encrid had expected to be briefed on etiquette or to change clothes first, but circumstances were different. After all, the royal family's illegitimate scion had suddenly appeared. Though significant nobles might already know the story, outwardly, they must feign ignorance, right? It’s not like the one who sent assassins would openly confess. So they were acting as if surprised by a sudden meeting, using the opportunity to see the hero of the Border Guard, Encrid. "I'm afraid I might breach protocol," Encrid said hesitantly. "Do not worry—I shall guide you myself," Viscount Vantrella assured him. Yet, Encrid felt more anxious at those words, devoid of emotion, meaning they neither conveyed malice nor comfort. Though he had no grounds to refuse. Did Viscount Vantrella not wash often, or did he enjoy raw meat? An unsubtle musky odor lingered around him. From behind, Dunbakel pinched her nose, indicating she had also noticed. For those with undiscerning senses, it might just be unpleasant, but for a trained nose or a beastman, the scent was sharply unsettling, enough to set the nerves on edge. Encrid only briefly wrinkled his nose before responding. "Thank you for your consideration." Soon, they reached the audience chamber, and Rem signaled encouragement from behind, reminiscent of a Southern phrase implying arduous work ahead. The others stood idly by. Encrid took his step forward into the audience chamber. The intricately patterned doors swung open. The guards stationed at the entrance gave him a thorough once-over. His weapons had already been relinquished. Once inside, the door closed with a growling sound as it scraped the floor. The Queen hadn't arrived yet; only six nobles occupied the chamber. It was a hastily arranged gathering, attended only by those who could make it on short notice.