A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 356: Andrew Struggled Desperately

The six nobles said nothing.

They treated Crang and Enkrid as if they didn’t exist.

"Wait quietly. Do not speak unless spoken to. Keep your head down and do not make eye contact. When addressed, answer sincerely. When the Queen summons you, step forward and kneel on one knee."

Viscount Bentra approached and spoke in a low voice.

Enkrid nodded, making no reaction to the faint stench emanating from the man.

Only those with heightened senses or beastkin traits would have noticed such an odor.

Since no one else had stepped up, and Bentra was the only one giving instructions, it seemed he was the type to handle the dirty work.

A sudden thought crossed Enkrid’s mind.

"Are you being ostracized?"

Were the other nobles intentionally assigning him all the unpleasant tasks?

If that were the case, maybe he should tell him to wave a carrot around like Jaxon did.

Bentra didn’t even blink at the question.

His mental fortitude was impressive. No signs of wavering.

Does Count Molsen have a good eye for people?

Through the wide sleeves of his robe, Enkrid could see the man’s muscular arms.

They were the arms of someone who had wielded a sword for a long time.

The calloused palms, too, were familiar.

Hands that had burst open, healed, and then gripped a sword again—just like Enkrid’s own.

"Watch your mouth."

Bentra issued the warning.

Enkrid shrugged.

The interaction must have been interesting, as two of the nobles glanced their way.

But none of them actually spoke.

As they waited, a few nobles whispered among themselves, covering their mouths as they leaned in to speak.

They probably thought they wouldn’t be overheard.

But Enkrid, with his honed senses, caught everything.

"A low-class fool."

"I heard his skills are on par with a junior knight."

"Did the bastard bring him here as some kind of recommendation for the knighthood? As a thank-you for escorting him?"

"Look at the wretch he dragged along, calling him an ally."

"At least his face looks like it would suit rolling under a noblewoman’s skirts."

If Rem had heard that, would he have split their heads with his axe on the spot?

He did have a deep dislike for snobbish nobles.

Enkrid, however, remained indifferent.

How many times had he heard things like this?

It was easier to just ignore idle chatter.

As he let the nobles’ words drift past one ear and out the other, he glanced to the side.

Crang stood motionless, seemingly unbothered.

His posture was straight, yet his expression made it look as if he were lazily leaning against a wall with his arms crossed.

Then, the Queen arrived.

"Her Majesty, the Queen, has arrived!"

Naturally, she wasn’t alone.

A contingent of Royal Guards escorted her, taking their places by the doors and near the Queen’s entrance.

The tips of their spears were painted gold.

A preference?

No, of course not.

It was a show of authority.

The Royal Guards doubled as a ceremonial unit, so their weapons were adorned in gold for grandeur.

A golden helmet, a golden spear—standing in formation, they certainly looked impressive.

Enkrid had a fleeting curiosity about it, but he brushed it aside.

What does it matter?

"You are the one?"

The Queen spoke as soon as she entered, looking directly at Enkrid.

Rather than a ruler governing an entire kingdom, she seemed more like a warm and cheerful woman.

Enkrid was reminded of an old tavern maid who had looked after him when he was young.

One was a monarch.

The other had served drinks and carried beer mugs.

Their social standing was worlds apart, and their appearances bore no resemblance.

Yet, for some reason, Enkrid sensed something similar in them.

"Bow your head."

Bentra scolded him.

Should he?

"Leave him be."

The Queen intervened.

She gazed at Enkrid for a moment before speaking again.

"You have a pleasant appearance."

It wasn’t the tone of a woman admiring a man.

It was a simple, matter-of-fact compliment.

Enkrid had no response.

What was he supposed to say? "Thank you, Your Majesty, for your generous kindness"?

The Queen was indeed on the fuller side.

She was not frail or slender.

She wore a tiara symbolizing the royal crown.

And standing beside her was a familiar face—or rather, a familiar Frokk.

Gurrrk.

The Frokk puffed up his cheeks for a moment.

Was that supposed to be a smile?

Enkrid greeted him with a slight nod.

Lua Gharne.

The Frokk who had accompanied him when he acquired the True Sword Style.

A Frokk who trained him in it.

A Frokk who burned with fury at the sight of cultists.

"You lack basic manners."

One of the nobles scoffed.

That alone was enough to make things clear.

The Queen’s authority was in shambles.

She had permitted something, yet a mere noble dared to rebuke him.

Enkrid noticed this, but let it slide.

"This gathering must be to confirm whether you truly possess royal blood. Speak your name."

The Queen paid no mind to the noble’s words, turning her attention to Crang instead.

Enkrid had no time to step forward and kneel.

She had smoothly shifted the subject.

That was the real purpose of this meeting.

The noble who had spoken up had no choice but to back down.

Enkrid was no longer the focus.

Crang stepped forward.

The noble who had been glaring at Enkrid now turned his hostility toward Crang.

What a spineless fool.

If you were going to show animosity, at least be consistent.

Enkrid watched as Crang moved forward.

His steps were neither hurried nor sluggish, yet they carried an air of dignity.

As he walked, lifted his head, and met the Queen’s gaze, something remarkable happened.

Though he stood below the throne, it felt as if he was looking at the Queen on equal footing.

He radiated authority and confidence.

Despite his dusty travel-worn clothes.

Despite his unkempt hair.

It didn’t matter.

There was grace and nobility in his demeanor.

"Cradianat Randios Nauril, I am here."

Crang’s voice echoed through the chamber.

It reverberated off the walls, ringing through the air with an almost physical weight.

"Come here."

The Queen gestured.

From behind her, a woman draped in heavy robes stepped forward.

She took a pendant from Crang and compared it with one in her own hand.

"It matches."

Then came the blood verification ritual.

Enkrid simply watched.

"It is true. You are of my bloodline. In the Queen’s name, I acknowledge you. If any ministers have objections, speak now."

The nobles said nothing.

But their eyes spoke volumes.

As if anyone didn’t already know he was royal.

The late King had his vices.

They already knew.

They had sent assassins, after all.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

What would it change to question Crang’s lineage now?

They had even produced a pendant bearing the royal insignia and had it magically verified.

It felt like watching a staged play.

Afterward, the Queen excused herself, citing government affairs.

The nobles quickly dispersed.

Somehow, Crang and Enkrid were the last to leave the audience chamber.

The nobles ignored them completely.

Not a single glance as they exited.

Even the noble who had earlier criticized Enkrid’s lack of manners didn’t bother to speak again.

As they left the chamber, Enkrid finally spoke.

"Odd, isn’t it?"

A new heir had emerged, yet none of the nobles seemed remotely interested.

"None of the nobles who support me were present. Only those who want me dead."

Enkrid grasped the meaning behind Crang’s words.

"They don’t need to talk to a dead man walking."

"Practical, aren’t they?"

Crang chuckled.

Should he really be laughing about this?

His previous regal presence had vanished, replaced by sheer mischief.

Enkrid frowned.

"Don’t get too close to Rem."

Crang smirked.

"I’ll say it again—you’re the craziest one here."

"I’m serious. Avoid talking to him."

He's already been infected.

As they stepped out of the audience chamber—

"Enki."

The Frokk, Lua Gharne, called out.

"Been well?"

With those words, he suddenly swung his hand downward like a blade.

Enkrid raised his arm to block.

A feint.

The downward strike was a distraction.

What really mattered was his footwork.

Lua Gharne’s foot pushed off the ground, sliding toward Enkrid.

A move to close the gap.

The Capturing Sword instinctively activated.

Lua Gharne’s slippery, fluid hands darted around, striking and jabbing in quick succession.

Enkrid blocked every move.

His skin was smooth, making it easy to deflect the attacks.

Not that it mattered—there was no killing intent here.

This was just a playful contest of skill.

The two Royal Guards standing by the audience chamber watched intently.

The level of their exchanges was impressive.

"If we fought seriously now, I’d lose. You’ve improved a lot," Lua Gharne admitted, retracting his hand with a satisfied grunt, his cheeks puffing out slightly.

It was true.

If Enkrid had improved this much, no wonder he had been able to crush the cultists' skulls.

Thinking about that put him in a good mood. He let out two more satisfied grunts.

"Is this really appropriate in front of a prince?" Enkrid asked.

"No one asks a Frokk about etiquette," Lua Gharne replied.

"I agree," Crang added before turning to Enkrid.

"You two know each other?"

"A Frokk who once visited the Border Guard."

Before Enkrid could finish speaking, Lua Gharne moved his cheeks and cut in.

"Is our relationship something you can summarize so lightly?"

"Oh? And what would you call it?"

"I taught you swordsmanship, fought alongside you, and even went relic hunting. We almost got trapped in one, too."

"Sounds like a long story."

Crang provided the appropriate interjection.

"Yes, it is. By the way, where is everyone?"

Enkrid nodded, glancing around.

His entire group was missing.

Had a knight suddenly appeared and hauled them all away?

That didn't seem likely.

They weren’t the type to be quietly led away.

And it wasn’t as if there were any familiar faces in the palace to tell them to rest.

As Enkrid pondered, the two Royal Guards watching them grew increasingly confused.

Why does this man speak so casually to the prince, yet formally to the Frokk?

And why is no one questioning it?

"I knew you'd end up here one day, Captain."

A sudden voice.

Enkrid turned toward it.

"Hmm?"

This was unexpected.

He hadn’t thought he would run into anyone he knew here, apart from Marcus or Lua Gharne.

And if he did, he certainly hadn’t expected a pleasant reunion.

"You."

"Calling a noble 'you'? How improper."

The man smirked, amusement in his voice.

"And yet, standing before you is a prince," Crang cut in.

"Ah, Your Highness, I trust you’ve been well?"

"Thanks to you."

It was a rapid exchange, smooth as a well-practiced routine.

"Let’s move elsewhere. I’ve invited everyone to my estate."

The familiar face spoke.

"Andrew."

Enkrid called his name.

"Andrew Gardener. A noble."

"And I'm a prince," Crang countered.

"Your Highness, have you always had such a sense of humor?"

Andrew blinked.

From Enkrid’s perspective, it looked as if Crang and Andrew knew each other.

And that was correct.

Andrew had once dreamed of restoring his family's power.

Instead of aligning himself with an established faction, he had placed his family's fate in the hands of a different figure.

That figure was Crang.

Since parting ways with Enkrid, Andrew had gone on his own adventure—though it was more political than anything else.

Now, he was Baron Andrew Gardener.

And he owned a residence in the capital.

"Surprising," Enkrid said in an even tone.

"Your face says otherwise."

"I’m really surprised."

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"Then, shall we head to Baron Gardener’s estate?"

Lua Gharne asked.

Before Enkrid could answer, Andrew spoke first.

"Let’s. It’ll be better than staying at an inn."

There was no reason to refuse.

"Then I’ll see you later. I have a lot of work to do," Lua Gharne waved with his rounded fingers.

It was a human-style gesture. Enkrid returned it.

"The rest can be discussed on the way. What about you, Crang?" Andrew asked.

"I need to remain in the palace. There’s a celebration in a few days to mark my return, so there’s a lot to prepare."

A party.

Something that didn’t suit Enkrid’s tastes at all.

Before waiting for an answer, Crang withdrew.

Enkrid studied Andrew carefully.

He had grown.

The traces of a beard were more pronounced, and a new scar lay beneath his right eye.

He was alone now.

No need for a guardian anymore.

Both of them had disarmed upon entering the palace, leaving them equally unarmed.

"What about Mack?"

"He’s at the estate."

Maybe he had stopped playing the role of a caretaker and had become a «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» steward instead.

"Alright. Let’s go."

Andrew summarized his recent life concisely.

"I reclaimed my noble status through a life-threatening contract. But since then, the opposition has been relentless. I’m still in the middle of that fight."

Enkrid didn’t need the details.

Andrew must have accumulated quite a bit of krona over the years.

While the estate didn’t have a garden, it was still an impressive home in the capital.

A three-story building.

The first floor housed the reception hall and dining area.

The second and third floors contained over ten rooms.

It was a large, spacious residence.

Inside, Enkrid found his group.

"Well, would you look at that? This bastard Andrew actually made it big."

Rem sat in the middle of the reception hall, chewing on biscuits.

The capital was the center of commerce.

Naturally, its cuisine was highly developed—especially its desserts.

Rem chewed thoughtfully, nodding to himself.

"Still the same old Rem."

Andrew’s voice came from behind.

Esther was dozing on a wool cushion.

The others were loosely gathered in the reception hall.

Near the window, Ragna stood watching a group of men practicing with wooden clubs.

"Mercenaries?"

Enkrid asked.

"Private armies are illegal within the capital," Andrew replied.

"Then?"

"They’re students learning swordsmanship."

"From whom?"

"From me."

"Who?"

Even Rem, still eating, turned to ask.

"What are you even teaching?"

Ragna also glanced back.

Jaxon remained silent but studied Andrew intently.

"If you see how much I’ve improved, you’ll be shocked."

Enkrid nodded.

He must have improved. That was inevitable.

Andrew had talent.

"Then I suppose you have."

Enkrid’s tone lacked enthusiasm.

Andrew noticed.

A smirk formed on his lips.

His eyes did not smile. Only the corners of his lips curled.

Enkrid had accomplished great feats, but Andrew had overcome his own trials.

"How about a spar?"

Andrew was the first to suggest it.

Enkrid nodded again.

Andrew had greeted him, invited him, and witnessed him meeting the Queen.

Yet, none of that pleased him as much as those words.

"Are you okay with losing in front of your students?"

Enkrid asked, ever so considerate of his former comrade.

"Shut up and fight."

Andrew struggled desperately.