A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 805

"Oh."

Marquis Baisar extended a hand.

He was in a state where even getting up on his own was a struggle.

The butler who had been standing by Kin's side approached, took his hand, and helped him up. Just sitting up made the Marquis's breathing a little heavier.

"Keck!"

As the Marquis coughed after sitting up, the butler brought a wide metal basin to his mouth, and the Marquis spat out with a wracking cough.

Black and yellow was mixed with a reddish tinge.

After the coughing subsided, Kin wiped the Marquis's mouth.

"Hah."

The Marquis, having finally caught his breath, let out a sigh.

Although he wasn't right next to him, Enkrid caught the scent of death from the Marquis's breath.

The smell was musty, dry, and thick.

"I have been waiting for you."

"Why me?"

Enkrid didn't bother to drag things out.

Wasting time with trivial talk in this conversation would be disrespectful to the Marquis.

"I'm sure you know my purpose."

For a dying man, the Marquis's gaze was sharp and upright.

It was on a different level from the gaze of the senile old man he had seen before, who couldn't even recognize his own wife.

A giant of a noble house who had taken an era by storm—that was Marquis Baisar.

He was a man who had protected his family to the end, sometimes assisting the king, and sometimes standing at odds with the royal family.

The Marquis's mouth opened, carrying the full weight of that life.

The power in his voice pushed away the god of death who had come to play by his side.

"Please marry Kin. It is my last wish before I die. It would be even better if you gave me a lovely grandchild."

For a moment, Enkrid was almost fooled.

He even suspected that the old man had gone senile, but that was definitely not the case.

Just a moment ago he had been coughing as if to die and spitting up bloody phlegm, but now the corners of his mouth were slightly raised.

"A jest."

Seeing Enkrid flustered by the unexpected blow, the Marquis laughed heartily.

Hearing just the sound of his laughter, one would wonder if this was really a dying old man.

If the Marquis's trick just now were a sword style, it would be the pinnacle of deceptive swordsmanship.

Didn't they say so in the Valen-style mercenary swordplay?

That the spirit of deception, where one even bets their own life, is the pinnacle of guile.

It was to push forward with a presence that made a lie seem like the truth.

Just like this old man was doing now.

It was an unexpected blow indeed.

All the more so because he had thought he was inured to this kind of joke.

Though it was a brief moment, Enkrid discovered a weak point in himself from the situation just now.

'If Jaxen had seen that, he would have nagged me a bit.'

Was it said that the one most confident they are never off guard is the easiest to kill?

Had he become too overconfident due to recent events?

Not to the point of feeling omnipotent, but had he been confident that he wouldn't be pushed back by most things now?

Still, one cannot predict everything.

That was the same in a fight as in a normal situation.

A thorn that pierces the gaps in one's insight can always stab one's heart.

'If I'm fooled, then I'm fooled.'

That is to say, sometimes one must admit that they can be fooled.

One must recognize that they can be hit by an unexpected blow.

Even in such moments, one just has to respond.

Even if flustered or surprised, one just has to react.

'What is needed is training.'

Knights were beings called calamities.

Through this kind of training, they gradually progressed from the ordinary to the extraordinary.

And that was the same even after becoming a knight.

'To avoid becoming a half-measure, one can't just be good at swinging a sword.'

In a way, it was just a small, light joke, but for Enkrid, it brought an epiphany.

It was likely thanks to the experience he had accumulated from the battle at the Thorn Fortress and against Beelrog.

His conversation with Luagarne would have had an influence as well.

The concept of combat arts surfaced in Enkrid's mind.

It was also an extension of his previous realization.

Static, Centered, Circular, Fast, Flowing—in the end, the one who uses them is a person.

"You regain your composure quickly." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

The Marquis said.

Enkrid's thoughts were different from an ordinary person's.

The seemingly long train of thought had ended in the blink of an eye.

"I was surprised."

At Enkrid's answer, the Marquis nodded his head.

It wasn't a joke thrown just to lighten the mood.

The Marquis had wanted to see the change in the man called Enkrid.

He wanted to see if he was still the same as before, going his own way without a care for power or anything else, or if he had changed.

He had attempted that by shaking his opponent's emotions.

Enkrid was inwardly impressed.

As they say, even a worn sword can have a sharp edge.

He was not a knight, and in a fight, Enkrid could kill him with a single finger, but the true strength of a man who had lived his entire life as a noble holding power was not to be underestimated.

He had seized the moment Enkrid was flustered, and then noticed him regain his composure.

And then the Marquis spoke.

"Do not forget that the seditious movement currently happening in the capital is the work of the south, and that they are always preparing for war. I have told His Majesty as well, but I felt that you, sir, would be even less likely to forget my words."

It was as if he had predicted that Enkrid would ask why he was being told about war preparations.

Was it the insight born from the intersection of perception and intelligence, or was it an intuition built from experience?

The Marquis led the conversation with an answer that skipped the process of asking and answering.

The undercurrent of seditious movement was the work of the south, and in the south lay the great nation of Lihin-Stetten.

Lihin-Stetten was a country that, bordering the Demon Realm, had fought against countless more monsters and beasts than could even be compared to the central continent.

And Enkrid could no longer smell the scent he had caught from the Marquis a little while ago.

The thick, dry scent of death was gone, and the Marquis spoke with a gaze that was reminiscent of his robust younger days.

"Do not be beaten by those damn southerners. I think my pride would be wounded."

The man who had once been famous as a noble of the royal family spoke.

It seemed the story he wanted to tell was longer and had more to it, but the Marquis stopped there.

"You can watch from the afterlife."

It was a counterattack to the joke he had thrown earlier.

At those words, Kin looked at Enkrid in surprise.

Was such a joke appropriate for a dying old man?

Was this bastard even human?

Her gaze was one that wondered if Rem hadn't come wearing Enkrid's mask.

On the contrary, the Marquis laughed heartily once again.

"My eye for people is second to none."

Then, he dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand.

"You may go."

He had come because the Marquis had wanted to see him before he died.

Now, there was nothing more to say.

That should have been right, but Enkrid opened his mouth before turning to leave.

"Is it a grudge? Or protection?"

Was a knight's feeling sharp, or was the intuition of the man named Enkrid simply extraordinary?

The Marquis thought he had not revealed his inner thoughts, but Enkrid had read something and spoken.

The Marquis chose his words.

"Let's say it's both. I am a greedy man. I would also like to add that I have many lovely daughters besides Kin."

Had Marquis Baisar always been this eloquent?

Come to think of it, Marcus was not a man who was lacking in words either.

As they say, a tiger does not father a dog, so this must have been the Marquis's true self.

Or perhaps how he was in his younger, more spirited days.

The droplet of time pierces rock and changes people.

As the years passed and he had more to protect, the Marquis would have become more cautious, unable to speak carelessly.

And yet, in crucial moments, he would have reached his current position through bold choices.

What was the Marquis like, having shed such pretenses?

It was hard to define in a single word.

Enkrid felt a strange emotion as he left the room.

The Marquis looked outside with an indifferent face.

It was literally just greed, but looking at Enkrid reminded him of someone who had died a very long time ago.

"I will protect it."

It had been the dead man's favorite phrase.

He was the sword that protected the Marquis's house, and a friend with whom he had spent his childhood.

He had been born with an innate talent for the sword.

Their personalities were different, their appearances were different, but why did he remind him of that friend?

'He doesn't give up.'

That friend had been like that too.

Had the house of the Marquis never faced a storm before?

It had.

Far too many.

One harsh wind had shaken the family's businesses, and a fierce wave had swallowed people.

At the center of that storm, his friend had gone out to fight with a single sword.

It was an event from over 50 years ago.

The front line with the south had been pushed back, and the royal family had mobilized even the private soldiers of the nobility to fight.

His friend had died in that battle.

If it had been a fair and honorable battle, it would not have been so unjust.

"This was a duel."

The sword of Baisar had said.

"No, this is war."

The opponent had replied.

One couldn't even call it cowardly.

The actual defeat was due to a lack of skill, a lack of national power, and a lack of talent.

It was an era where everything was lacking.

If it weren't for the unprecedented genius named Cypress, Naurillia would have collapsed then.

The damage sustained at that time had caused the Kingdom of Naurillia to slowly wither, and in time, Aspen came to covet it.

The years were cruel, but.

'The scales are always fair.'

At the end of those cruel years, the goddess of fortune had placed a heavy weight on one side of the scales.

Having now faced that weight, the Marquis lay down with a satisfied face.

He would be able to sleep soundly today.

He had revealed a part of his inner thoughts that he could not tell anyone.

The Marquis lay down, his heart at ease.

He relaxed his tension.

"Father."

Kin called to him.

"Go to the Border Guard. And do not return."

It is said that no matter which of the ten fingers you bite, they all hurt, but there was a finger that hurt more.

He had taken in the child left by his friend's wife and embraced her into the house of Baisar.

Though he had treated her the same as his own children, that in itself may have been a wound.

How could the Marquis not know?

He was a man who had aged wisely.

He knew everything, but he also knew well that was all he could do for her.

"Go, Kin. My daughter."

Tears welled up in Kin's eyes.

She could see her father's breath growing faint.

In place of the robustness that had momentarily chased away the god of death, all that remained was an old man who had accepted death.

"Yes, Father."

The Marquis closed his eyes.

Today, he would have a very pleasant dream.

As he closed his eyes, pitch-black darkness rushed in, and then soon, bright sunlight and a meadow, white clouds, and a single thatched hut in the distance appeared.

In front of the meadow, as he had wished, his friend had come out to meet him.

"Have you been well?"

"Can't you treat me like when we were young?"

"Shall I?"

Besides him, the Marquis met everyone he had lost.

His wife, who had died of illness long ago, appeared and smiled.

It was an expression that seemed as if it would serenely accept any complaint.

A benevolent smile.

She, who had always listened to his stories at any time, was there before him.

The Marquis walked between his friend and his wife.

***

Enkrid turned and thought about Marquis Baisar and his house.

'To establish oneself as a noble, military power is essential.'

There was also a story Marcus had let slip.

"Even now, the private soldiers of the Marquis's house possess excellent skill, but it's not their golden age. Rather, it's a period of decline. The real golden age was when my father was young."

It wasn't difficult to deduce the meaning of those words.

'They had a knight-level force.'

It couldn't have been a common thing.

But it was because of that knight-level force that the house of Baisar would have become a Marquis's house.

Perhaps the reason for the regret Marquis Baisar was showing now was because of the death of that knight?

It was purely a hunch, but he had hit the nail on the head.

Of course, Enkrid himself, who had made the deduction, hadn't thought about it deeply.

And there was no one besides Krais who could have seen into Enkrid's inner thoughts.

And if Krais had been here, he would have been extremely frustrated.

"Why do you stop using that good head of yours halfway? Huh? You have to use it to the end, take what you can, and prepare for what you must."

Of course, if Krais had said that, Enkrid would have serenely retorted like this.

"That's what you're here for."

It wasn't wrong, so Krais' mouth would have shut.

Drip, drip.

It was a walk back from the residence, getting hit by the falling raindrops.

"Please take the carriage."

A servant approached and said.

"It's fine."

Enkrid refused and continued his thoughts as he walked.

The house of the Marquis has its pain.

In reality, who doesn't?

Those who live on the continent always have war, monsters, and beasts by their side.

'The end of an era and the end of war.'

It was the song the residents of the Demon Realm had sung before.

Enkrid hummed the song as he walked back to the training grounds.

Though it was past noon, the sky was dark.

It was a cloudy day.

"So busy, so busy. You didn't go to meet a woman, did you?"

Aishia greeted him as he entered the training grounds.

"Please grant me a lesson, Commander Enkrid."

Aishia continued, bantering.

Enkrid nodded.

His arms were more or less fine now.

It wasn't a life-or-death battle, so a sparring match wouldn't be too much.

"A woman? Hmm, is that the scent of an old man and a woman?"

Shinar, who was sitting on a chair in a corner of the training ground, looking as if she had recovered a bit, said while pretending to sniff the air.

"Yes, we know you went to the Marquis's residence."

Ropord said from a corner of the training grounds.

The elf with keen ears heard that and looked at him with indifferent eyes.

That was a glare.

"Useless weed."

And that was an insult.

Ropord heard it and mostly ignored it.

Fel, hearing that, issued a challenge to Ropord.

"Hey, weed, come at me."

"Who are you calling a weed?"

"If an useless plant is a weed, is it grass?"

The pouring rain was still the same.

A thin but long and seemingly endless rain.

It was a humid day where sweat would flow on its own even if one stood still.

Even on a day like this, be it the knight order or the Royal Guard, everyone was engrossed in training.

In the time when he used to swing his sword alone, everyone was now together.

"You shouldn't overexert yourself yet."

Audin said, standing by Shinar's side.

Enkrid replied as if it were nothing.

"Aishia is a Junior Knight. There will be no overexertion."

He meant that a light sparring match would be fine.

Sometimes, a simple fact can become an act of violence.

Grit.

Aishia clenched her jaw tightly.

The resolve etched on her face, with its jaw muscles showing, looked truly fierce.