372 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

### 372. Squire Loford Kraang pondered over his mistake. From the start, the plan had many loopholes. Thus, it wasn't the mistake itself that was crucial. Rather, he needed to comprehend what was necessary at the moment and verify what needed to be done. And that's exactly what he did. What was needed immediately was time, and he required an action that could buy it. "Marcus Bysar." "Yes, sir." "Can you escape and call for help?" "...It seems I must." Kraang was trapped in the assigned reception room. The small personal reception room was part of the palace's outer annex. While guests were accommodated in this area, it wasn't equipped with defensive measures. Since Kraang wasn't yet a duke or anything, the reception room connected to his bedroom was his entire domain. And thus, he was now trapped here. As soon as Kraang finished speaking, Matthew, the guard with the whip, hurled a stool at the window. The window shattered with a clatter. Matthew then smashed and cleared away the remaining shards of glass with the handle of his whip. The window was wide. It was large enough for a person to slip through. "My guards are outside," Marcus said, moving towards the window. It was three floors high. Not low, but with the large garden tree in front, as long as he grabbed onto the branches while descending, he wouldn’t be killed. Kraang sat in his chair, arms crossed. His mind wasn't muddled. In fact, it had become clearer. Viscount Mernes had staged a rebellion. A reckless move without a second glance back. "It is a strategic move, though." Kraang acknowledged. He realized that Viscount Mernes, whom he half-considered a fool, was actually quite sharp and perceptive. "Will they deploy all their resources from here?" A move that thrust a keen dagger under his throat. All that Kraang had done since arriving at the palace for the duke appointment ceremony had been for one simple purpose. A clear and straightforward tale. To gather and eliminate the trash. This was also how he intended to solve the problem set by the Queen. "Turn all ministers into your allies." Kraang muttered, with one knee pulled up towards his chest. It was a quiet murmur, aimed only for his own ears. Interpreted oppositely, it meant to gather and eliminate those who weren't on his side. If convincing each one individually proved impossible. "Then clear them all out." By doing so, the opposition had united as one. The faction under Viscount Mernes had risen to challenge him. "I expected the factions to continue clashing amongst themselves, thinking they’d pay attention here later." Still, this wasn't the time to deliberate over reasons. From the beginning, it had been a battle requiring risk, and Kraang had taken that gamble. Now the results of that gamble were unfolding. "I'm going." Marcus flung himself out the window. Kraang sprang up, leaned out the window, and watched Marcus leave. Marcus grabbed the branches before him to slow his fall and rolled upon hitting the ground. His fall was a clean, practiced maneuver designed to disperse impact. He was also a trained soldier. Once on the ground, those guarding the annex charged at him. Clad in golden helmets and wielding golden spears, they were the Royal Guards. Those meant to guard the Queen were here instead. "Kill him!" "Traitor!" Who’s calling whom a traitor here? Speartips aimed at Marcus came flying. Marcus rolled once more on the ground. Leaves and grass adhered to his cheeks and back. As he completed his roll, he leaned against a tree. His shirt sleeve was torn and dangled from his arm. Collecting his breath, Marcus scanned left and right. His escort was nowhere in sight. They were likely in the lobby on the first floor of the annex and would arrive soon. As he considered this, he drew a short dagger from his waist. "Come on, you bastards." Marcus, eyes shifting left and right, muttered. He resolved to take down the first to approach, no matter what. "Surround him in a circle." Then, the commander of the Royal Guards, wearing a dull gray helmet, stepped forward and spoke. None rushed forward. Instead, the Royal Guards surrounding him formed a perfect circle with their spears. A flawless encirclement. "Damn it." In a condition like this, striking in unison was the Royal Guards' forte. To fend off ten synchronized speartips with just a dagger, one would need to be at least a semi-knight. Marcus began to sweat as cold perspiration dripped down his back. "Is that the right path?" Kraang, sticking his head out the window, spoke. Though isolated and cornered, his dignity and authority remained undiminished. Kraang’s authority and dignity stemmed from personal character, conduct, and actions. He raised one foot onto the window ledge and leaned out. Although a stray arrow could end him, merely hiding and raising his voice would be of no help here. One of the waiting Royal Guards subtly raised his spear, changing his grip to prepare for a throw. It was a distance he could easily hit. Seeing this, the commander in the dull gray helmet waved it off. It was a signal to hold. The soldier frowned from within his helmet. "It's a sign." "Hold your tongue. Disobeying orders means instant execution." The soldier's eyes glistened, but he eventually lowered the spear. The commander in the dull gray helmet turned his gaze upwards, towards Kraang. "Then what is the right path?" He asked. Standing still with his spear raised, his subordinates gathered around him. There were fewer than ten. The palace interior was already in chaos, with screams and skirmishes erupting everywhere. "Right and wrong are not for others to decide." Kraang spoke slowly, enunciating each word. To these Royal Guards, what constituted right? It was the duty of protecting the royal family. The commander in the dull gray helmet pondered deeply. What was the right path? Kraang, hair billowing in the wind, entered the commander’s vision. Even though death would be the end of everything, he risked his life for a brief respite. For what purpose? To save Marcus Bysar, a person Viscount Mernes had deemed a traitor. Could there be meaning in that action? Would a small delay make any difference? He didn’t know. It wasn’t an action born of calculation. It was done because it was believed to be right. That was how it appeared. At least to his eyes, that was all it seemed to be. He had met with Kraang and talked with him. That must have had an impact. Even he hadn’t expected to make such a decision in this moment, but he chose a side. "...Reverse formation. Turn the spears." "Are you crazy?" shouted the soldier who had been holding his spear in reverse, but the leader in the gray helmet remained silent. He had chosen to stand here to protect the Queen. He believed this was a more honored position than being part of the knight order. But now, what was it? A place merely to safeguard the lives of a few lowly nobles? A position where he had to raise a spear for them? He didn’t want it. To be honest, he wanted to tell them he didn’t care and then smash their faces in. Soon, the Royal Guard splintered into two factions. It had been a divided group to begin with. A spear was hurled toward the leader of the gray helmet. It was the man who had frowned earlier. He twisted his body sideways to reduce the area the spear was aiming at. He dodged it and used his own spear to knock it away, then stepped forward with his left foot and brought his spear down like a club. Thwack! Crack! "Agh!" The soldier who had raised his arm to block the blow cried out. As he staggered back with a broken arm, others filled his place. "Are you insane?" Another soldier questioned him. "It seems so." With a nonchalant reply, his followers cleared a path for Marcus to escape. "Thank you." Marcus acknowledged, escaping without a backward glance. The gray-helmeted leader guarded his back in lieu of a response. Marcus didn't once turn back, racing for Andrew's estate. That was his final sanctuary. Even his own Bysar family couldn’t be considered allies right now. --- Kraang, left isolated, shouted from where everyone had departed. "Do you know who my friend is? None other than the lone shining star of the Border Guard, the Adversary of Azphen, the Enraged Maniac Encrid." No one replied. Matthew raised a question. "...Will that work?" "Right? It still doesn’t work, huh?" Even with a failed plan, Kraang laughed. He responded with a broad grin to Matthew’s comment. "Open the passageway." They had at least secured a secret passage. It was a tunnel that sloped downwards—a courtesy from the Queen. "Maybe if we hold out for half a day." Then they could clear out the gathered trash. In essence, the opposition had acted half a day sooner than he'd predicted. "To be dealing with this mess in broad daylight." Kraang instinctively knew. That for him to survive and for this endeavor to succeed, a variable was needed. The opposition had likely prepared their variables too, but so had Kraang. It was time to confront the end. --- "There!" Rem reacted. The severity of Marcus’s wounds astride the horse, and the appearance of the figure chasing him. At that sight, Encrid’s mouth opened. "Take him out." That pursuer was someone Rem himself had marked for death. The one chasing was the madman of the west. The figure who had once fled reemerged here. Rem leapt from the wall’s edge. The pursuer chasing Marcus abruptly changed course, pushing off the ground and turning around to retreat without hesitation. The spear that had been hurled into the air also turned back. It was a flawless retreat, and Rem quickly gave chase. The two sprinted across the flagstones, faster than the horses. "Kyah!" A woman, absentmindedly standing by the roadside, let out a scream. Seeing this, a man, presumably her partner or husband, held her protectively and pressed themselves against the wall of a building, likely a shop. In that brief moment, the two figures disappeared from view. Rem’s form vanished between the buildings, impossible to track with the eyes alone. Encrid watched as Marcus approached him. On horseback, Marcus was bleeding profusely from one arm and was panting with an unprecedentedly urgent expression. "Help me." Encrid concluded it was time to act. As he was about to descend from the wall, a voice called out from behind. "If you run away now, it’ll only make things worse!" It was the Squire. Encrid replied, looking back over his shoulder. "I’m going to the palace.” The Squire knew whose hands currently controlled the palace. Going now meant, in effect, putting one's life on the line. For what? The Squire scowled, furrowing his brow. His nose crinkled. Suddenly, he questioned why he was here, what he was here for, under whose orders he was here, and whether he had any will of his own. The words of his mentor, a semi-knight, came to mind. "It’s not about right or wrong. It's about where your will lies." Recognized for his talent with the sword, he became a Squire but was always criticized for his disposition. "So, what do you think?" Even when choosing a lunch menu, he considered his companions' wishes. His nature typically led him to be pulled here and there. That was partly what had brought him here now. It wasn’t his own will; he was upholding someone else’s. While there was self-reassurance in following orders. “Is that all there is? Is it satisfying?” He didn’t know. "Why am I here?" In response to Encrid’s unexpected words, words from the person he originally intended to capture, the Squire found his resolve. A peculiar and strange feeling moved his mouth. “The army of Viscount Mernes will soon launch an assault.” Speaking impulsively, Encrid blinked, glancing back at him. He wondered why he was being told this information. “The person leading them, unifying all factions, is as skilled as a semi-knight in the order.” “What are you talking about?” The constabulary chief hurriedly spoke, grabbing the Squire’s arm. The Squire gently shook free and continued speaking. "Please, help us." Encrid scratched his head. It was odd for someone who came to capture him to ask for help. Yet, it was hard to ignore someone who spoke with such earnestness. The Squire bowed his head. Next to him, the captain of the Southern Gate Guards, wearing a feathered hat, also stepped forward. "If we stand idly by, even the citizens of the capital will suffer greatly." Would the army that advanced on the capital simply stay encamped? Especially one cobbled together from fragmented factions? Among them were likely mercenaries sold for gold and those driven mad by bloodlust. Even with nobles unable to be choosy in these times, infamous figures were surely part of their ranks. For the safety of the citizens. To protect the capital. Both bowed their heads, beseeching. “Ragna, can you hold them off?” Ragna didn’t need to ask ‘really.’ He merely looked into Encrid’s eyes. “Go and block them. Dunbakel, accompany him.” With Ragna and Dunbakel, they should be able to stop the elite soldiers pressing forward. “What’s your name?” Encrid asked the Squire. “Loford.” “Go gather the remaining forces and block the incoming enemies. Hold by the city gates, and my troops will handle any duels requested.” Saving Kraang but then getting surrounded by enemy forces would also mean the end. Encrid sensed and logically understood the situation. The instincts he had developed from being trapped amidst enemy troops and having to relive the same harrowing days hundreds of times shone through. Through intuition, he understood what needed to be done. Block the external army and organize the inside. Unless Kraang was utterly clueless, what they needed was time. Encrid realized where he needed to be. “Let’s go.” Hearing Encrid’s command, Ragna spoke. It wasn't a request but an order. Ragna and Dunbakel turned without a word of complaint. Marcus was panting to the side, his skin a pale blue. Jacksen had moved closer to Encrid. Upon vaulting over the wall, the remaining troops turned their heads, bewildered. Should they follow Ragna? Or should they hold onto the departing Encrid? They saw the fallen constable and next to him, the sweating chief. "Weren’t those spears raised to protect the capital? At least, that’s why I did it. Those staying can remain behind." Squire Loford stated. There comes a moment for everyone when they grow and realize something significant. For Loford, that realization came with Encrid’s simple statement about going to the palace. “Let’s go.” He was the first to follow Ragna; the captain of the Southern Gate Guards followed, then the soldiers who had already resolved themselves. The remaining constabulary chief, muttering curses, finally spoke up. “Let’s go, to fulfill our duty.” At least his words carried weight. Naturally, Andrew also stepped forward. Even if he went to the palace alone now, he wouldn’t achieve much, so he decided to help defend the walls. He told the five trainees to stay behind. “We trained like our lives depended on it.” A freckle-faced female trainee said. The five trainees stuck by Andrew’s side, and when Mack tried to follow, Andrew shook his head. “You’re a butler now. Stay here.” Saying so, the six joined the party that left earlier. Leading the group was Ragna, stumbling a bit as he walked forward, Dunbakel close behind. “This seemed more fun, didn’t it?” Ragna nodded casually. Squire Loford walking beside them shook his head internally. Fun? This wasn’t the time for that. After walking for a bit, he spoke. The direction was wrong. “We must go to the Western Gate.” Loford said. “Hmm, this way?” “No, that leads north.” Loford told the lead swordsman, stepping to the front to guide them himself. He seemed to have a poor sense of direction.