363 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

**363. Forced Circumstances** “Continue what you were doing.” The marquis spoke as he took his seat, two guards assembling behind him like statues. The tense atmosphere was fleeting. The guards neither displayed smiles nor discontent. It was as if they were simply carrying out their duties. Ragna noted that the guards' demeanor was commendable. They weren’t overly stiff nor arrogant. They seemed capable of exerting the right amount of force at the right moment. This caught Ragna’s eye. While Ragna gauged their posture, Rem assessed their presence. The severity stemmed from being in a perilous place, not out of displeasure. That’s how it seemed. Thus, Rem anticipated no conflict with the guards. The next observation fell on the marquis, who appeared to be an idle old man. ‘Doesn’t seem like he has much to do.’ He refrained from speaking. Having come to observe Enkrid, it wasn’t his place to intervene. Rem couldn’t help but find humor in his lack of involvement. ‘Is this right?’ Was it awkward? No. It felt too natural, which struck him as odd only in thought. Respect Enkrid’s guest? Rem realized he had subconsciously started to follow Enkrid. And it wasn’t an unpleasant realization. He had begun to follow naturally, even before consciously noticing. Esther sensed a magical presence from the other party but judged that there wasn’t a mage present. ‘An artifact.’ A mage’s desire and curiosity briefly surfaced but were quickly suppressed. Acting impulsively could place Enkrid in a difficult situation, after all. Hmph. Right next to him, Enkrid was forcefully planting his halberd into the ground. Without responding to the marquis’s words, he resumed his training. “If you lack the power to drive it down, maintaining balance doesn’t matter much, does it?” Rem stepped back a bit, offering advice. The axe hanging from his waist bobbed, tapping his thigh. One guard glanced over but spoke no further—a standoff wasn’t on the horizon. Rem focused entirely on Enkrid. “Then?” “Your foot.” It meant to shift more weight forward by stepping with the left foot. But wouldn’t that tip him forward? ‘Where has the heart of superhuman strength gone?’ It wasn’t directly expressed by Rem, but if questioned further, that might have been the response. In a short exchange, Enkrid gained a small realization. ‘If you have strength surpassing limits, you can attack utilizing that strength.’ Strength beyond limits, tremendous power. To think such would be solely his ability was arrogance. He had to acknowledge the opponent might possess it too. What Rem was teaching was a technique called “Giant’s Slash.” Although termed “Giant's Slash,” it was essentially about handling weapons wielded with the strength of a giant. Rem’s original technique and training method. Recently developed. Turning unique experiences into techniques. Enkrid had already showcased it before his eyes. The captured sword technique was a joy to behold. Rem did likewise. He laid down the foundation of experience, then materialized what was gained based on it. The systematic arrangement of steps and sequences was done to internalize the ‘outcome’ once concretized. Experiments? They were conducted through Enkrid. While teaching, Rem learned and enhanced himself as well. Enkrid also knew what Rem was doing. Suddenly, he realized this friend, whose head seemed faulty, was a genius. Yet, nothing changed because of it. That was just how it was. Learning and mastering the new was enjoyable, so whether this guy was a genius didn’t matter. Thus, there was always earnest learning, training, and repetition. For Rem, watching this was a delight. “Stronger.” Rem spoke, and Enkrid moved his body exactly as advised. To counter a giant’s attack, one must understand their capabilities. Strength beyond limits is called superhuman strength. What can one with such strength do? The marquis found it fascinating that someone was so intently engaged in training in his presence. Zaxen observed the marquis intently. No menace, intensity, or trace of intention was present in his gaze. Zaxen considered the probability that the head of the Black Blade might be one of the nobles. ‘But probably not the Marquis of Octo.’ If they were of that rank, perhaps the head of the Black Blade would have already acted. Except for Count Molsen, they were, in essence, the most powerful figure within and outside the royal palace. Knowing that the internal palace intrigues had already been investigated, it was a known fact. ‘Not him.’ He was a man of the noble demeanor that could only be exuded by someone born and raised as a noble. The marquis couldn’t be the head of the Black Blade. The leader of Black Blade having infiltrated the royal court as a bandit leader would likely not have discarded all his past habits. While observing the marquis, one of the guards turned to face Zaxen. Even though he hadn’t leaked any presence, he was noticed? They must have some means. Not akin to his realm. Well, there should be someone of that capability to be free from assassination threats. All those maintaining positions within the capital find themselves under assassination threats. ‘A connection.’ If they haven’t mastered sensory skills nor emit a similar scent yet catch his sight, it must be a connection. Although there’s a way to conceal oneself even further, it was unnecessary now. Zaxen withdrew his sight. While a tangible tension flowed without reaching a full confrontation, the marquis opened his mouth. “Will you not offer a cup of tea, Baron Gardener?” “What? Oh, yes, I should.” Caught in the middle, Andrew wiped his sweat and had tea and snacks prepared. There were few servants or staff within the mansion. A maid recognized the marquis of Octo and approached with trembling hands. For a young maid, the grand noble before her was unlike Andrew. Andrew, too, could cause her harm if aggravated, but he was the master she saw daily. With familiarity, and knowing that Andrew wasn’t such a person. But the person seated now was a grand noble. Literally, with a wave of a hand or a word, he could ruin her life, her family’s, casting them into despair. **Higher Than Andrew** A higher status than Andrew meant that her master couldn't protect her. Although the maid didn't fully understand this, she instinctively trembled in fear. Inevitably, the trembling maid spilled tea, with the liquid trickling off the edge of the table and dripping onto the marquis’s knee. The marquis nonchalantly rose and moved to a chair beside him. Unable to utter a word, the maid, pale and shivering, knelt down. “P-please forgive me.” Enkrid had just finished his training. “Your hands are not yet steady,” the marquis remarked. Mack reached for a handkerchief, but one of the guards was quicker. Quickly, he produced a clean handkerchief from his coat and wiped the water from the marquis’s knee. Enkrid's gaze met the marquis’s. The marquis, unphased by the attention, continued speaking. “Baron Gardener.” “Yes.” “It would be prudent to pay attention to the maid’s training.” “…Understood.” Mack tidied the table in the meantime. The maid continued to tremble. Andrew guided her inside. She stumbled towards the mansion, her legs wobbling, but remarkably kept her balance. Once Andrew personally served the tea, the marquis nodded. He neither showed particular kindness nor reprimanded harshly. The marquis took a sip from his teacup, and Kin Vaisar sat silently beside him. “Could I also get a cup?” Kin asked. “May I request one as well?” added the Marquis of Octo. There was no room for refusal. “Of course.” Andrew nodded. Meanwhile, Enkrid walked over and sat on the opposite side of the table. The minor commotion had ended. Enkrid demonstrated neither excessive courtesy nor rudeness. He just sat, in a casual manner. Observing this, the marquis brought the teacup to his lips. The steaming tea moistened his lips. “What if I had comforted the maid earlier?” The marquis asked, holding the teacup aloft. A smile played on his lips, yet his eyes remained serious. Enkrid found it difficult to discern what kind of man the marquis was. He had encountered many types of people, but individuals like this were rare. If K'raan was a solitary blazing sun, the marquis was like a flowing river. A river unpredictable in its direction and transformations. “Could be one of two things. She might feel relieved or become anxious.” Enkrid wiped his sweat with his forearm and placed his hands on the table. “Oh? Why anxiety?” “Because while being consoled on the surface, she might fear harm later.” “Are you suggesting she views the world pessimistically?” “Or perhaps when recounting the incident, someone might say, ‘He comforted you for spilling tea? You should be careful.’ Something along those lines.” Enkrid conjured an imaginary acquaintance of the maid. Though a poor mimic, his meaning was clear. Many aging nobles feigned benevolence but lusted after maids behind closed doors. Therefore, it’s often better to pretend mild displeasure than to offer comfort. After the incident passes, the maid would likely feel relieved. She would feel she had atoned for her mistake. The marquis hadn’t shown anger but had faulted her unsteady hands. That was all. “You’re quite considerate.” “I often hear that I’m not very noble-like.” “…Is that so.” Kin Vaisar nearly spat her tea at the marquis's statement. She merely tightened her grip on the teacup instead. What could a man, acclaimed as the noblest of nobles, possibly mean? Here, his words were closer to a playful jest. Could a noble flying off the handle over a maid’s minor mistake truly be called noble? “What brings you here?” “Why do you ask?” Even though a marquis asked, to question him was bold. Kin Vaisar’s heart raced. Instinctively, her eyes fell on Enkrid. “I wish to know what kind of person you are; can you answer?” And what answer would he provide? Kin knew how Enkrid came to be here. She could mostly surmise why he was present. His answer seemed predetermined. He could mention aiding someone’s path to the throne or say he came because he was commissioned. Or admit he came for a good laugh at the unfolding drama, and Kin would nod in agreement. ‘He might say just that.’ For someone like Enkrid, it was quite possible. But would the marquis appreciate such an answer? Probably not. The marquis neither expected nor delighted, yet his presence felt oppressive. Enkrid opened his mouth. “I came to create a world where children don’t walk onto battlefields.” A response none anticipated, leaving Kin and everyone else silent. Enkrid continued plainly, as though reciting a poem. It was a calm, serene declaration—a statement of intent and will. “I came to reduce the monsters and beasts. To protect those who value their people. To punish those who oppress others with force. To shield the weak and ensure those with dreams can pursue them.” It seemed like empty words. Idle chatter. Nonsense spoken on a whim. No, it held meaning. Words of conviction, filled with sincerity. Spoken from the heart, not the mouth. In that moment, it was as though Kin, the marquis, the guards, Rem, Dunvaker, Andrew, all were caught in the whirlwind that was Enkrid. Words lack power. Anyone can say them, after all. Yet, words hold power. For they carried will and conviction. While others remained silent, the marquis set his teacup down with a decisive clatter and spoke. “Are you saying a knight is your dream?” His dream, not widely known, must have reached the marquis’s keen ears. Enkrid nodded. “Yes.” “I’ll cheer you on.” “Yes.” The marquis stood up. Why did he come here? It certainly wasn’t just to confirm that dreaming of being a knight was Enkrid's aspiration. And now he's leaving? Kin was surprised. However, years of experience as a captivating woman had taught her how to maintain a composed expression. The marquis rose, having concluded what seemed like a shorter conversation than expected, and began to turn away. He took only a few steps before pausing and turning back. “Oh, by the way, is a person who aims to be a knight and protect the weak content just watching people die in the capital? Trouble brews every night, doesn’t it? Do you only move when commissioned?” The marquis's tone and movements were somewhat awkward. It was as if he had suddenly remembered to say this, yet his words and actions were premeditated. He made it obvious on purpose. You don’t utilize your chivalry, your convictions, unless there's compensation or recognition involved, do you? Enkrid perceived the marquis’s words as blunt and bare-faced. It felt forced. The issues in the capital were the domain of local law enforcement. As part of the Border Guard Reserves, Enkrid could potentially face reprimand for interfering here. Should he accept this forced challenge? Enkrid looked into the marquis’s eyes. And saw a faint smile there. ‘Ah.’ It was a provocation. A blatant one, unmistakably felt. Can you do it? It’s not something you have to do. You’re aware of that, right? But is that truly your chivalry? What was your dream again? A knight? Kniiiiiight? Honestly, are you stepping back because you think you can't handle this situation? The marquis’s unsaid words swept through Enkrid's mind in an instant. Though he didn’t actually vocalize them, Enkrid heard them clearly. The noble marquis wouldn’t express himself that way, yet Enkrid felt he’d heard it all. He had to take up this challenge. To prove himself. For his words to carry conviction, actions must follow. If words come first, no one will follow and stand behind them. “I’ll investigate and resolve it starting tonight.” “Please do.” Their eyes locked, and the marquis smiled. His eyes crinkled softly. Enkrid mirrored the smile.