356 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

356. Andrew Desperately Screamed Six nobles did not utter a single word. They ignored Kran and Enkerid as if they were not even there. "Wait quietly. Do not speak until spoken to. Do not lift your head to make eye contact, and answer sincerely when questioned. If the queen summons you, step forward and kneel on one knee to respond." In the midst of this, Viscount Bandtra came closer and spoke. Without showing any sign of disdain, Enkerid nodded. Such a subtle hint of condescension was something that one without beast-like senses or honed sensory skills would find hard to detect. Seeing that only Viscount Bandtra stepped forward when all others remained silent, it seemed like he was accustomed to handling the dirty work. Suddenly worried, Enkerid asked. "Are you being bullied?" Were the other nobles deliberately assigning him mere menial tasks? If so, should I pass him some leverage, like Saxon does with the carrot? Despite the inquiry, Viscount Bandtra did not flinch. His mental fortitude was exceptional, showing no signs of distraction. Was Count Molson capable of discerning people correctly? Through his loose sleeves was a glimpse of his well-trained arm muscles. Arms that must have wielded a sword extensively. Even his calloused palms, exposed while speaking, were much like Enkerid’s own—hands that gripped a sword until they were bloodied and blistered repeatedly. "Do not speak recklessly." Viscount Bandtra continued in a warning tone. Enkerid shrugged in response. The freshness of the conversation drew the eyes of two nobles, though no one dared to speak. After waiting a while, a few of the nobles began whispering to each other with their mouths covered, their gestures suggesting words exchanged closer to their ears. They might have thought their words were unheard, but not to one with honed sensory skills like Enkerid. With focus, he could listen to their dialogue. “He seems like quite the lowly one.” “I heard his skills are almost knightly.” “Did they bring that illegitimate yet capable man with the intent of recommending him to the order of knights? Or is it just gratitude for escorting him here?” “His appearance for an ally is something else, isn’t it?” “That face suits more being under noblewoman's skirts.” Would Rem have immediately split heads with his axe upon hearing such remarks? He subtly despises minor nobles like them. Enkerid was unfazed. How many times had he come across such remarks? Ignoring babble was enough. Casting aside the noble chatter with a mental shrug, Enkerid noticed Kran, standing there unperturbed. Despite maintaining a composed stance, his expression suggested nonchalance, as if casually leaning with crossed arms. The queen appeared soon after. “Her Majesty, the Queen, approaches!” Naturally, she was not alone. Royal guards accompanying her entered and stood before the audience chamber and the entry where the queen came from. Were the golden-tipped spears a matter of style? A sudden thought flashed. Naturally not, it must be a demonstration of authority. Acting as a ceremonial unit, the royal guards carried flashy gold-trimmed armaments. Ceremonial parades adorned in gold helmets and spears would undeniably look splendid. A surge of idle curiosity was quickly quashed. What did it matter? “Is it you?” Upon arriving, the queen addressed Enkerid. She seemed more like a warm, amiable woman rather than a ruler of a nation. It reminded Enkerid of the elderly tavern waitress who cared for him as a child. On one side, the nation’s ruler. On the other, a waitress serving beer mugs. Despite their distinct social standings and lacking resemblance in appearance, Enkerid found an unconscious similarity between the two. “Bow your head.” Viscount Bandtra reprimanded sternly from the side. Should I? “Leave him be.” The queen intervened. Then, she observed Enkerid’s face briefly and commented. “Blessed features, indeed.” The tone was more of a pure admiration for his looks rather than longing for a man. Enkerid had no suitable words in reply. He couldn’t exactly say, ‘Your Majesty, you are kind-hearted.’ The queen was neither slender nor fragile. She had a right amount of substance and wore a tiara symbolizing her crown atop her head. Besides, there was a familiar face, no—more of a familiar frok. Guruk. The frok puffed its cheeks. Was that a smile? Enkerid greeted with his eyes. It was Rua Garne, who had assisted him in acquiring the Nameless Sword Ceremony, helping hone its practice and always getting worked up at the sight of religious followers. "Do you not understand etiquette?" A noble interjected again. Just this much was ample indication. The authority of the queen was in shambles. The fact that a mere noble dare speak up despite the queen's permission showcased it blatantly. Enkerid noticed as much, but let it slide past one ear. “To confirm if you bear the royal bloodline—is that not the reason for gathering here? State your name.” The queen, oblivious to the interjecting noble’s speech, turned her gaze upon Kran. There was hardly a chance for Enkerid to step forth and kneel on one knee. Naturally, the subject and focus shifted, and the noble couldn’t pursue Enkerid any further. Enkerid stepped aside from the spotlight. Kran advanced a step further. Now the noble who had glared at Enkerid fixed his eyes on Kran. A spineless one, it seemed. Once malevolence was shown, it shouldn't waver. Enkerid thought so, watching Kran step forward. His stride was—how to say?—neither fast nor slow, yet possessing a confident air. There was a progression where Kran lifted his head to gaze at the queen. In that instance, despite standing below the throne, it appeared as if he was meeting eyes with the queen on the same level. Such was the presence and dignity, filled with confidence. His attire, dusty from travel, and unkempt hair from inadequate grooming mattered not at all. He bore grace and majesty. “Krianaat Randios Nauril, present here.” Kran voiced, his baritone resonating throughout the grand hall. A voice that almost seemed to quake the chamber as it reverberated from its walls. “Come here.” As the queen spoke, an elderly woman, clad in a voluminous robe, emerged from behind the queen. She received a pendant from Kran and matched it with the one in her possession. "Indeed." Following this, there was a process involving some incantation to verify Kran's bloodline. Enkerid merely observed. "Correct. You are my kin. In the name of the queen, I acknowledge this. Should there be any objections, let the chancellors speak now." The noble ensemble did not contest. Yet their eyes spoke volumes. 'As if we didn't know he was of the queen's blood.' 'It's the late king's notorious habits that brought this about.' They were privy to it all. After all, dispatching an entire cadre of assassins—who would dare question Kran’s identity or authenticity? A pendant inscribed with the royal family’s insignia was displayed, and a sorceress confirmed it. It felt akin to watching a prearranged play. Shortly after, the queen excused herself, citing pressing official matters. The chancellors too dispersed quickly. Somehow, the last ones remaining in the audience chamber were Kran and Enkerid. The noble gathering treated Kran and Enkerid with the same indifference one might have toward cattle. As they left, they didn’t even spare a glance. The one who had criticized Enkerid for lack of etiquette was also silent. Leaving the chamber, Enkerid voiced his thoughts. Not that it mattered, but wasn't the atmosphere oddly apathetic? "It seems no one is particularly interested." Despite the emergence of a new successor and the display of majesty, why did the nobles show no interest in Kran? "The ones recognizing me aren't present today; only those wanting me dead are." Understanding the underlying sentiment in Kran's words, Enkerid asked. "Considering you a soon-to-die figure, not worth engaging with?" "Pragmatic individuals, indeed." Kran chuckled. Is it right to laugh so lightly about something that concerns his life? The dignity from earlier had vanished, leaving only a mischievous demeanor. Enkerid advised out of concern. "Don’t get too close to Rem." "As I've said before, I think you’re the craziest of us." "I mean it. Avoid mingling with Rem." He's definitely influenced, no doubt about it. Stepping outside of the audience chamber: "Enki." Frok, Lua Garné called to Enkerid. "Have you been well?" Frok's hand came down in a swift, vertical chop. Enkerid raised his hand to block, sensing Frok’s movement. A feint. The critical aspect wasn't the descending hand; it was the footwork. Frok slid on the well-fitted carpet toward him. A strategy to close the gap. Involuntarily, the Capturing Sword responded. In line with footwork, the slippery hand moved, bending, thrusting, and striking. Enkerid blocked them all. Frok's smooth skin made deflecting easier. It wasn’t a deadly duel but a playful contest of skill without any malicious intent. The two soldiers guarding the chamber's entrance watched the exchange with sparkling eyes. The level of skill on display was notably high. "If we fought now, I’d lose. You’ve improved alot." Lua Garné remarked in awe, puffing his cheeks. He meant every word. Indeed, having improved this much, he could’ve crushed the heads of those religious cult members who dared to attack. The thought brightened his mood, making that satisfying guruk sound echo twice more from his cheeks. "Is this appropriate behavior before a prince?" Enkerid remarked. "No one questions Frok’s manners." "I agree." Kran chimed in, then turned to Enkerid. "Are you two acquainted?" "It’s the Frok who visited the Border Guard before," Enkerid replied, prompting Frok to puff his cheeks again. "Are we just casual acquaintances now?" "Then?" "We trained in swordplay and fought together. We even explored relics and nearly got trapped." "It sounds like quite a story." Kran interjected appropriately. "Yes, indeed. By the way, where has everyone gone?" Enkerid nodded and asked. His entourage was nowhere in sight. Had some knight carted them all off? Even so, they wouldn’t simply let themselves be taken quietly. Unseen familiar faces in the royal palace were not ones to rest easily. Despite Enkerid’s concerns, the two Royal Guards watching the trio, including Frok, appeared perplexed. Why was Enkerid addressing the prince with ease yet speaking formally with Frok? And why did no one question this? "I anticipated seeing you here sometime. Leader." A sudden voice rang out, and Enkerid turned toward it. "Eh?" He was truly surprised. He hadn’t expected anyone other than Marcus or Lua Garné he recognized to appear here. Even then, he hadn’t expected it to be a favorable acquaintance. "You." "Calling a noble 'you' is audacious." The individual responded amusingly, a hint of mischief in his tone. "But the one in front of you is a prince." Kran interjected again. "Yes, Your Highness. Have you been well?" "Thanks to you." 'You' was used and quickly a conversation unfolded. "Let's relocate. I invited everyone to my estate." The familiar figure suggested. "Andrew." Enkerid uttered his name. "Andrew Gardner, a noble." "And I’m a prince." "Your Highness, have you always enjoyed such jesting?" Andrew blinked as he spoke. To Enkerid, it appeared Kran and Andrew were indeed acquaintances. It was true. Andrew aspired to revive his family’s status, and rather than aligning with existing factions, he placed his family's fate with someone else. That someone was Kran. Since parting with Enkerid, Andrew too had encountered adventures, leading him here. Currently, Andrew Gardner held the title of Baronet and owned an estate in the capital with pride. "Surprising." Enkerid commented in an unremarkable tone. "Your face doesn’t look surprised at all." "Truly, I'm surprised." "Then shall we head to Baronet Gardner’s estate?" Lua Garné, who had been listening, inquired, but before Enkerid could respond, Andrew answered first. "Certainly. It’d be better than staying at an inn." There was no reason to refuse. "Then, see you later. I’ve got things to handle too." Lua Garné said, waving his round fingers in a playful manner. It was a typical human gesture. Enkerid returned the wave with a playful flick of his hand. "Shall we discuss the rest on the way? What about you, Kran?" "I must remain in the royal palace. There’s much to prepare; there will be a party soon in honor of my return." A party? It wasn’t exactly to Enkerid's taste. Before Enkerid could respond, Kran had already turned on his heel and was gone. Enkerid studied Andrew for a moment, realizing how much the man had matured. His beard was thicker, and a scar had appeared beneath his right eye that wasn’t there before. It seemed he no longer needed a nanny and was now an independent figure. Upon entering the palace, Enkerid had disarmed, and so had Andrew—it was a shared state of readiness. "And Mac?" "She’s at the estate." Perhaps she had abandoned her previous role to become Andrew’s housekeeper. "Alright then, let’s go." * * * Andrew summarized his life so far with simplicity and clarity. "I reclaimed a noble title through a mission that risked my life, and now I’m being scrutinized heavily, so I’m still kind of on an adventure." There was no need to delve into the specifics of that adventure. He must have managed his finances well during that time; although the estate wasn't lavish with gardens, it was a proper home in the capital. It was a three-story building. The first floor hosted a reception room, dining facilities, and more, with over ten rooms spread throughout the second and third floors. The mansion was large and spacious. Upon arrival, Enkerid's comrades, including Rem, were there. “Andrew really got somewhere, didn’t he?” Rem commented, munching on some biscuits right in the middle of the reception room. The capital was a hub of logistics. Naturally, its culinary culture was thriving, especially dessert culture. Rem nodded approvingly as he continued snacking. “Rem is still the same,” Andrew remarked behind Enkerid. Esther snoozed on a wool-lined cushion. The rest of the group was loosely assembled in the reception room. Near the window stood Ragna, watching several men wielding wooden sticks in training. “Private soldiers?” Enkerid asked. “Having private soldiers within the capital is forbidden.” “Then?” “They’re students learning swordsmanship.” “From whom?” “From me.” “Who?” Rem, still eating, perked up to ask. “What do you teach?” Ragna turned his head to query as well. Saxon, though silent, fixed his gaze steadfastly on Andrew. “You’d be surprised to see how much I’ve improved.” Enkerid nodded, likely he had improved. It was certain. To him, Andrew had always possessed a degree of talent. “Well, it seems you must have.” Enkerid’s voice had an inexplicable lack of enthusiasm. Andrew’s lips curled into a smile at that sound. His eyes devoid of laughter, but his lips twisting upward—Enkerid had achieved significant feats, but Andrew too had maneuvered through notable challenges. “A sparring match?” Andrew was the first to suggest. Enkerid nodded again. Despite all that had occurred, from reconnecting with Andrew to receiving an invitation and meeting the queen, no suggestion was as welcome as this one. “What if you start crying after getting hit in front of your students?” Enkerid teased, concerned for a fellow soldier he hadn’t seen in ages. “Bring it on, damn it,” Andrew replied, his voice filled with determination.