371 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Title: Persuading the Constable "How dare you!" Encrid observed the speaker with a reddened face, a man whose name, Polman Berthes, he had unintentionally learned. The speaker was a constable, implying he was an official—a noble, of course. Encrid mused, wondering if the palace produced nobles from an endless pocket. 'Isn't it too much?' It felt as if every stray dog and cow was titled a baron or viscount or had noble blood. 'Did they just distribute titles willy-nilly?' Such useless thoughts briefly surfaced, then faded away in his mind. Whether there were many nobles or few, it was not Encrid's concern. Still, he couldn't help but think that perhaps it was time to trim their numbers. "Look here." Lem spoke, while digging at his ear, to Polman, who was fuming. "Listen carefully." "This wretch, how dare you act up here!" It appeared as though he was a captain of a guard division responsible for another gate. Thud! When he roared with anger, the guard captain of the South Gate gave himself a facepalm. He seemed to wonder why Polman was causing a scene. Encrid, knowledgeable of the military, pondered how many of these soldiers had come by their own will. The quick-witted soldiers cast uncomfortable expressions, well aware of the deeds performed before them—protecting their families, citizens, comrades, and friends by dealing with the Moonlight Beasts. These were people who had done the guard's work for them. The soldiers' eyes and expressions were uneasy. Particularly around the South Gate captain, there were many such soldiers. Ignoring Polman's obnoxiousness, Lem continued his argument. "The Moonlight Beast killed and threatened citizens. And since no resolution was in sight, even the knight recruits joined the hunt only to find out what? That the beast was none other than Bentryne, or as I call him, Froggy McSquat! And now you accuse us of murder?" "You rascal!" One guard captain, in a fury, brandished a spear taller than himself, seemingly ready to attack at any moment. Lem stopped poking his ear, turned, and eyed him, ready to slice him down if he dared charge. "A hold on, just a moment." The South Gate captain hurried forward. If left unchecked, this would lead to disaster. He had seen Encrid and his group in action. While Polman, fueled by jealousy, saw this as an opportunity and rushed in, the captain refrained. He knew that if this complex situation spiraled out of control, maintaining his position would become impossible. Yet, nothing had changed for him; he too was summoned here and had to comply. It’s not like he wished to die for insubordination. Despite knowing the poison he'd be consuming, he had come feeling like licking a ghoul's blood. He could not stand idly by either, for it meant the death of his subordinates. He could not watch his comrades being decapitated by axes or swords. "There is a misunderstanding here." Polman, seeing the South Gate captain step forward, demanded. "Get back, how dare you interfere!" Where does authority and dignity stem from? Looking at Krang, one could see it emerged from the person alone. The way he walked, the manner he spoke—the weight behind his words was unique. Trust and integrity attained through actions reinforce his words. "Kneel immediately!" Did the man before him possess authority and dignity? The air of his command felt akin to a mosquito's whine. Before them stood someone blinded by jealousy, resembling a petulant child mimicking authority with a pitched voice. Indeed, Polman's mere presence felt like a childish tantrum. ‘Perhaps I’ve become too accustomed to dealing with truly remarkable figures.’ Figures like Krang, the Marquis Octo, Rua Garne, and Eysia. Even the Whip Guards had come to face the Moonlight Beast. While protecting their lord was their primary duty, they moved knowing it was first to honor their lord's intention. Their actions showed courage, duty, intent, and conviction. They appeared as individuals possessed of choices, not mere tools for Krang. When compared, the whining man before Encrid seemed utterly pathetic. Encrid, with keen ears, heard rumors that the constable, out of sheer jealousy, had been grinding his teeth against him for attending a party. “If you’re not here to talk, it seems we might as well get started.” Ragna stepped forward from the back, suggesting. Thud. The South Gate captain facepalmed once more, inwardly exasperated by the situation. The constable believed he had tolerated enough. Were these wretches not blatantly disregarding the grandeur of a noble? He wasn’t acting out because the lady he cherished had been smitten by Encrid at first glance. As a constable and a noble, he was confronting nothing more than mere soldiers. Rumors escalating around Encrid, spurred by those jealous of him, were growing like an avalanche. Moreover, the constable, selectively listening, ignored praises of Encrid being the hero of the Border Guard. Claiming that Viscount Bentryne had transformed into a monster? Setting aside the truth, for the constable, it was an opportunity. Even the Marquis Mernes had covertly urged him to see this through. Hence the pandemonium now, leading to his reckless order. "Apprehend them!" Upon the constable's command, two guardsmen-level commanders and several cavalrymen dismounted and approached, their demeanor ominous and menacing. Regardless of the nonsensical rumors, Encrid’s achievements were nothing short of legendary. Even if part of the tales were true, these individuals couldn’t contend with such prowess. Even so, taking action indicated how rampant the baseless rumors about Encrid had spread. Encrid observed the approaching crowd indifferently. Should he comply? No, he should not, not by mere words. Encrid instinctively realized, ‘Trouble has already brewed.’ Otherwise, why would they dare try to arrest him in Krang and Marcus's presence? "Arrest Sub-Baron Andrew as well. He's an accomplice. If he resists, kill him." "Hmph." Andrew snorted, showing his disdain, challenging them to try. Polman's eyes scanned the armament of Encrid and his companions, trying to assess the situation. It was almost as if Polman was praying for a fight to break out, and his wish was promptly granted. No grand battle was necessary. Encrid, ignoring the advancing guards entirely, issued a simple command. "Dunbakel, capture and bring them here." There was no need for Ragna or Lem to step forward. A beastwoman charged ahead, her white silhouette stretching and expanding. Her short white hair appeared as a long streak. One of the guard captains instinctively thrust his spear forward. Skilled in spear techniques, he was a formidable fighter among ordinary soldiers. Yet, Dunbakel was a beastwoman acknowledged even by Aysia. As she ran, a mere flick of her claw deflected the spear’s trajectory before she seized the shaft and tossed it aside. "Ugh!" The thrusting guard captain was flung sideways, still clutching his spear. Several more soldiers blocked her path, but Dunbakel didn’t even draw her scimitar. Instead, she tripped them with a swift kick to the shins and landed a punch near the jawline. Their helmets offered no protection to the jaw. Especially vulnerable were those standing too close, and her upward strike from beneath was devastating. With a succession of thuds and cracks, the guards blocking the constable's path crumpled to the ground. Dunbakel didn't stop there; it was merely a step in the process. As she pressed forward, the constable grabbed for the sword at his waist—a broad-bladed sword. As he reached for the grip, Dunbakel swiftly closed the distance to the constable, who was still mounted on his horse. She seized his arm, twisting it securely. Startled, the horse reared up with a loud whinny, and the constable, with his wrist captured, was unceremoniously yanked down. His feet tangled in the stirrups as he fell, causing his right foot to twist awkwardly with a sickening snap. "Aargh!" The constable let out a scream, torn from his mount, the pain overwhelming him. Dunbakel's strength brought him crashing down before Encrid. She had taken down five soldiers in an instant and now presented the captured constable. The capital’s guard chief, second only to the constable, hesitated. "What in the...?" Honestly, he hadn’t dared to intervene. Standing beside the constable, he had barely managed to draw his sword. The metallic ring of the blade being unsheathed sounded empty to him, as if reflecting his lack of confidence. He held his sword in front of him, questioning whether he should even wield it against the formidable beastwoman before him. Recognizing her caliber was beyond ordinary, he realized they should have brought a knight. At minimum, a squire was needed. In reality, he himself had a squire's background and had indeed brought one along, but this inadequate response was apparent in the unfolding chaos. "Can you handle this?" the chief quietly asked. The squire beside him, eyes wide with unease, responded. "She's out of my league." Though the phrase didn’t capture the vast disparity, the squire instantly recognized the difference. Experience indicated it wasn’t merely about the outcome of a confrontation; in an instant, he could see the gap in skill. Her movements alone were revelatory—akin to those of a top-tier squire, on the brink of knighthood. There was something more disconcerting—the one commanding her and the onlookers were unfazed. The soldiers felt their spirits crushed, silenced by the gravity of the situation. All fell quiet, the capital’s highest-ranking officer now captured and incapacitated, the constable dripping cold sweat onto the ground before Encrid. "How dare you!" Even humbled, the constable resisted to the end. Though lacking authority, he had grit—perhaps some level of stubbornness was necessary for his position. Encrid regarded him and asked, "Is Sir Aysia, the novice knight, also implicated in the murder of Viscount Bentryne?" "Novice Knight Aysia? Did you think invoking a knight’s name would let you off the hook? This is treason! What are you doing? Arrest these traitors!" Blinded by jealousy, the constable dismissed the reality of the situation entirely, screaming in vain. At this juncture, a squire stepped forward. Someone needed to articulate the truth. The chief seemed disinclined to speak up, and the squire’s purpose there clarified in that moment. "Indeed, Sir Aysia, the novice knight, denied all allegations." The squire declared loudly. "So, was she apprehended?" Encrid’s gaze shifted to him, blue eyes locking onto the squire. "She is a member of the Order." The squire swallowed hard, the intensity of Encrid’s stare heightening the tension. Nonetheless, he maintained a calm exterior. Encrid pondered the squire’s words. Was it that the Order could not be held accountable for such matters? It implied Aysia had not been apprehended. What about the rest of the situation? Clearly, something within the palace had escalated as Encrid pieced together the scenario. "What are you doing? Arrest these traitorous scum immediately!" The constable, stubborn to the last, shouted defiantly. Tear stains on his cheeks lessened the impact of his words. For someone crying in pain, he certainly maintained his rhetoric. The only advantage he had over a ghoul, apparently, was his eloquence. Encrid opted for a simple, persuasive method to silence him—one that was frankly overdue. Thwack! A swift kick to the jaw left the constable unconscious, a move executed with indifference to whether the man lived or died. A nasty crunch suggested his neck twisted, yet fortune or misfortune had left him alive. His neck twisted to the side, drool seeping from his lips as his face planted into the ground. A quick glance confirmed he was merely unconscious. "If you're gonna off him, at least give me a heads-up," Lem chuckled from behind, his laughter echoing. "You forget my nickname?" The Noble Hunter—he sure had peculiar hobbies. Encrid, leaving the unconscious man aside, spoke up. "Who's next in charge? If you're planning some mass charge, think it over carefully. I have no intention of turning Andrew's estate into a graveyard." He was offering a bit of courtesy. After all, the South Gate captain was present. This person had fought for the people and the safety of the capital—surely that deserved some respect. Choosing the right path, that was what Encrid saw, and he used it as a basis for judgment. He couldn't know everything, so basing choices on what he had heard and observed was only logical. That's how Encrid approached it. "It would be useful if we could get an explanation of what's happening in the palace." He continued. Clearly, something significant was unfolding. Without that, none of this chaos would be happening. Was it merely the constable acting on his own? If that were the case, he would have found any excuse to make a move long ago. The fact he came now indicated authorization had been given. Krang had mentioned that Viscount Mernes was the main issue. A disquieting tension prickled Encrid's skin. His gaze shifted as he was speaking. The sound of urgent hoofbeats rang out. The rhythm of galloping hooves told of a hurried approach toward the estate. "Help!" A cry was interwoven with the hoofbeats. Encrid sprang into action, kicking off the ground and leaping onto the estate's wall with ease. Lem followed quickly behind, effortlessly bounding up the wall by kicking off it with practiced grace. His parkour skills were exceptional. Some of the constabulary jolted at the sight, considering action. "Stay put." Ragna stopped them. The sheer weight of his authority was palpable, causing them all to pause. From atop the wall, Encrid saw someone running desperately along the cobbled path below. It was Marcus. He was the one crying for help. Someone pursued him closely from behind. The pursuer's attire was unusual. It seemed like several layers of leather cloaks were draped over him, and spears floated ominously around his shoulders as if accompanying him.