A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 345

“What kind of person should a king be?”

Marcus suddenly posed the question.

Enkrid didn’t dwell on it for long.

He simply spoke his mind—the kind of response that would naturally come from a man who had lived his life taking what he wanted.

“The one who wants it should take it.”

Marcus didn’t offer an opinion on that answer. Instead, he said something else.

“A few months ago, I would have agreed.”

“And now?”

If not the one who desires it, then who?

“Should I answer that?”

The voice came from outside the dining hall.

Marcus hadn’t come alone.

Enkrid’s gaze shifted toward the entrance.

“My apologies for drawing attention, Marcus Baisar.”

A man called out from outside.

“It was intentional on my part. I rather enjoy being watched, so there’s no need to worry.”

Marcus answered, turning his body slightly.

The man outside came into full view.

The lord didn’t recognize him.

Kraiss thought he looked familiar.

Enkrid knew him.

A blond-haired man.

As he lingered outside, the soldiers standing guard at the entrance glanced at each other, silently asking if they should let him in.

There were no other onlookers.

This wasn’t a duel. It was just a group having tea—nothing worth watching.

Kraiss had even sent away unnecessary people for that exact reason.

They didn’t know what kind of conversation this would turn into, so the fewer ears listening, the better.

Two trusted soldiers had been stationed outside for the same reason.

The man smiled at them.

A gentle, persuasive smile—one that wordlessly asked them to let him in.

His clothing wasn’t that of a noble.

A simple brown shirt and loose-fitting pants.

The guards hesitated.

Should they send him away?

“Let him in.”

Enkrid made the call.

The lord didn’t object—this man seemed familiar to Marcus.

The sound of boots tapping against the stone floor filled the hall.

The blond man stopped in front of Enkrid.

He was of moderate height, with warm, easygoing eyes—his blue irises standing out.

Then he spoke.

“It’s been a while.”

“Did you come here as a noble?”

Enkrid stood up and addressed him formally.

The last time they had stayed in the same barracks, he had been a soldier.

What was he now?

That was the real question behind Enkrid’s words.

“No need for formalities. I’m just a wanderer now.”

“And the same name?”

“Crang.”

The man ran a hand through his blond hair and formally extended his hand for a shake.

A handshake—a sign that neither carried a weapon.

Enkrid grasped his hand, gave it a light shake, and released it.

At that moment, Kraiss finally remembered who he was.

Kraiss rarely forgot faces, but this man—he had seen him only once, a long time ago.

They had crossed paths briefly.

If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t have remembered.

“The medical barracks back then?”

Kraiss asked instinctively.

“That’s right. You have a sharp memory, soldier.”

Crang chuckled and gave the lord a polite nod.

“Who are you?”

Graham, the lord, hesitated as he stood up slightly.

Marcus answered on Crang’s behalf.

“A wanderer, a vagrant... and if you want to add one more thing—”

Marcus paused, raising his teacup to take a sip—

Only to remember how awful it was.

He cleared his throat before finishing his sentence.

“A bastard.”

Marcus didn’t even bother standing up.

Seeing that, Graham hesitated, then sank back into his seat.

Enkrid and Kraiss also sat.

Crang took a seat naturally as well.

The lord didn’t seem to react much, but Kraiss’s expression shifted for a moment at the mention of the word bastard.

Crang took in everyone’s expressions before offering a lighthearted smile.

That same smile as before.

It was easygoing, yet clever—the kind of expression that made people feel at ease.

Enkrid noticed something new.

There was now a faint scar on Crang’s cheek.

But his demeanor remained unchanged.

“This winter was unusually cold. How have you been?”

Crang asked.

The random question made Enkrid respond without much thought.

“When you spend your days rolling in the dirt, you forget about the cold.”

“I heard you had quite a fiery season.”

“And you? Seems like yours wasn’t exactly cold either.”

“I always thought I’d spend my winters wrapped in heated furs and my springs drinking under cherry blossoms.”

Crang chuckled as he spoke.

Enkrid simply found him fascinating.

A bastard, huh?

But whose bastard?

A Baisar family member being used as a diversion?

A bloodline worthy of leveraging a high noble house—one of the five great families of Naurillia.

“You’re royalty.”

Kraiss was the one who said it.

Crang wasn’t trying to hide it.

His words had left plenty of clues.

When he said winter was cold, he wasn’t talking about the weather.

He had been referring to the battlefield Enkrid had survived.

And his own words had hinted at a battle of his own—one fought not in the open, but in the shadows.

Crang simply smiled in response.

Graham, the lord, was now wondering if he even belonged in this conversation.

“Graham, did you prepare good tea in your office? We should go have some proper tea.”

Marcus saved him.

“Yes, I did. You’ll find it quite to your taste.”

He had specifically ordered high-quality tea leaves, thinking they might one day be useful to Marcus, who had entrusted him with the lord’s seat.

At Marcus’s suggestion, only the guard with the whip remained behind.

The rest rose to leave.

“What the hell is this, Marcus?”

Graham whispered as they walked.

“What does it look like?”

“I think it’s best if I pretend not to know anything.”

“Good idea.”

Graham knew his place—and Marcus respected that.

He was a man who wouldn’t bend or break, even with someone like Enkrid under his command.

“Just serve the tea.”

“Understood. Let’s go.”

Graham stopped asking questions and walked ahead.

Once Marcus, the lord, and the guard left, Kraiss remained in his seat.

Even if he left now, his captain wouldn’t say anything rash.

He might say something strange, or do something reckless, but he wouldn’t pick a side.

But what if?

What if he did?

The moment Kraiss realized this man was a royal bastard, his mind raced through dozens of scenarios.

He thought of contingency plans immediately.

Would he try to recruit Enkrid?

Would he try to invite him into the knighthood?

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Would he demand loyalty to the royal family?

Or would he offer a pile of gold?

‘Wait. Would that actually be a good thing?’

If there was enough gold, wasn’t it worth selling a little loyalty?

What if it was enough to open five salons in the capital?

‘No. Wrong move.’

Kraiss’s mind was as fast as Enkrid’s blade, as simultaneous as Rem’s multi-weapon technique.

His decision came instantly.

“Never trust a politician.”

This royal bastard had Marcus behind him.

And he was using one of the five great noble houses as bait.

The way he dressed and acted—

‘He’s hiding his identity.’

Why?

‘Because he’s being hunted.’

If he was in danger, then Enkrid’s sword, hands, and army would be tempting.

So what did that make him?

If this was truly a civil war, was this bastard another pretender to the throne?

Which side should they take?

What was the most profitable option?

For now—wait.

No matter what he offered, no matter how much gold—refuse.

Or maybe...

Take the upfront payment and disappear?

No.

His captain would never do that.

So Kraiss made his decision.

He was ready for whatever came next.

And then—

“Our kingdom has lost its ‘words.’ Do you know that?”

What kind of statement was that?

It wasn’t a question that demanded an answer.

It was cryptic, layered, and difficult to read.

No, Crang wasn’t posing a riddle.

He was simply speaking—smoothly, effortlessly.

Kraiss found himself unconsciously analyzing the man’s voice.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

It was strangely captivating.

A tone that sank into the ears, lodged itself in the mind.

His pronunciation, his rhythm—it was refined, intentional.

As if he carried a natural talent for speaking in a way that drew people in.

Kraiss had encountered a few people like this before.

‘Innate talent.’

There were people who knew how to seize the attention of those around them.

Crang was one of them.

It wasn’t just his voice—it was the way he moved his hands, the way he carried himself.

With a light thunk, he tapped the table with his fingers and continued.

“Why is it that the entire continent speaks the same language?”

Kraiss had been thinking on his feet ever since he was a child.

That was how he survived—how he made a living, how he earned cronas.

But this?

This was something he had never once thought about.

It was such a simple question that, had he pondered it even once, he might have come up with an answer.

Yet, he never cared enough to ask.

He knew only as much as everyone else did.

“The same language?”

Enkrid muttered to himself.

“Yes, the same. It’s a little frustrating, really.”

Crang leaned back, then smiled.

“Shall we take a walk? The sky is clear today. Being constantly hunted by assassins, I find it rather wasteful to stay indoors on a day like this.”

Enkrid rose without a word.

Assassins.

That word was all too familiar now.

He had already faced their malice countless times.

And the first assassin he had ever encountered?

That had been because of Crang.

So, if they were still chasing him, then someone out there wanted the royal bastard dead.

But wait—wasn’t the current ruler a queen?

Who the hell had given birth to this guy?

A trivial curiosity.

He pushed it aside.

That wasn’t what mattered.

“Have you ever thought about why the entire continent speaks more or less the same language?”

“No.”

“Exactly. No one does.”

Crang turned his gaze toward the training grounds as he continued.

“Then have you heard of the faction that seeks to reclaim the lost language of the royal family?”

“...In passing.”

Indeed, Enkrid had seen some wandering scholars holding strange dictionaries in the market before.

Kraiss had seen them too.

According to Gilpin, they weren’t particularly troublesome.

Just a group of eccentrics, keeping to themselves.

Crang stood and stepped outside.

As he had said, the weather was beautiful.

“The outside could be dangerous,” one of the guards warned.

“But it’s suffocating in here.”

Crang pulled a canteen from his waist and took a long sip.

That small action revealed something.

Even eating and drinking weren’t things he could do freely.

He only trusted what he prepared himself—nothing else.

Enkrid walked beside him, matching his pace.

“Don’t get too close.”

The guard warned.

“Stand down.”

Crang silenced him instead.

“...Are you coming along?”

He turned to Kraiss, who hesitated, glancing at his captain first.

“Follow us.”

“Yes.”

His actions made it clear whom he followed.

Only with Enkrid’s approval did he move.

“Don’t {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} worry too much, soldier. I’m not here to coerce anyone.”

Crang’s eyes softened, his lips curling into a smile that suited him perfectly.

If he wasn’t here for Enkrid, then why was he here?

“I’m here for a visit.”

He still wore that same smile as he spoke.

Enkrid said nothing, and Kraiss nodded as if he understood—

But deep down, his suspicions only grew stronger.

A royal bastard. A key figure in the civil war.

Was someone like him really here just to visit?

But for now, Crang’s actions matched his words.

He strolled casually through the barracks, circling the drill yard on the right, talking idly as he went.

And not once did he say:

"Join my side."

“It was the Empire. The Empire buried the language of the royal family.”

“They erased it.”

“...But unifying the language of the continent was considered one of the Empire’s greatest achievements.”

Kraiss naturally voiced the obvious argument.

After all, the unification of language was regarded as a glorious accomplishment.

And that was true.

But if they were going to do that, they should have at least preserved the language of the royal family as well.

“What is language, soldier?”

“Language is... words... speech... uh...”

Kraiss paused, frowning slightly.

But thinking deeply was his specialty.

His mind worked differently from others.

Just like so-called sages, his thought process operated on a different level.

“...Culture.”

“A part of culture has been erased.”

“Exactly, soldier.”

Crang’s smile deepened.

Kraiss looked at him and thought:

If he weren’t a prince, he’d be a damn good salon host.

The language of the royal family had been buried by the Empire’s tyranny.

Why?

To strengthen their control.

And why was the Empire so obsessed with that?

To unify the continent?

No.

They let kingdoms fight amongst themselves, reaping profits from the chaos.

Rather than uniting the continent, they had something else in mind.

And that something else?

Kraiss didn’t know for sure.

But he could see the structure of it now.

Eliminating a language?

That was a way to manipulate the kingdoms at will.

Politically speaking—it was brilliant.

“This is a pain in the ass.”

Crang muttered.

And that was when Kraiss felt a sense of unease.

Because this meant—

‘He’s already assuming he will be king.’

He had already decided the Empire was his enemy.

And that meant...

Crang was certain of his victory.

He had already accepted that he would inherit the throne.

And if he failed?

Not his problem.

What happened to the royal family after his death?

Who cares?

“Count Molsen is pretty fierce, though.”

Enkrid pointed out the obvious.

Wasn’t he at least a little worried?

“Well, things will work out.”

...Was that really his plan?

Kraiss stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Things will work out?”

His voice dripped with disbelief.

And then—

Crang stopped walking.

He turned slightly, raising his palm toward them.

Seeing that, Enkrid, the guard, and Kraiss halted as well.

Then, taking a single step forward, Crang put two paces of distance between himself and the others.

“The kingdom fights itself.”

“There are those who want to become king.”

“The continent is overrun with monsters and beasts.”

“Within the royal family, the voices of nobles rise above the queen.”

“And there are not enough hands to put them in their place.”

“The knights—those who should be its protectors—are too busy sealing the rifts of the Demonic Lands.”

“And those who have abandoned their loyalty for personal gain? They are everywhere.”

His voice carried across the open training grounds, spilling into the bushes beyond.

It cut through the air, as if he had gathered all the light in a dark theater and focused it on himself.

It was a gravity that pulled people in.

Crang had achieved that effect with just a few steps, a few gestures, and a few words.

And after drawing every bit of attention to himself—

He spoke again.

“My job is to ensure—that doesn’t happen.”