A Knight Who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 280

Chapter 280: CHAPTER 278 Chapter 280: CHAPTER 278 ‘Cowardly bastard, filthy bastard, damn you, you son of a bitch!’ The Black Blade Bandits’ Officer cursed Marcus, spitting blood.

Of course, there was a bit of misunderstanding.

This whole affair was started by Sinar, and Encrid joined in and swiftly dealt with it.

However, the more they investigated, the more it seemed the Border Guard Reserve Unit was involved.

So, who could have orchestrated this?

Who was the mastermind behind it?

A name kept coming up that was constantly irritating them.

Marcus.

A noble, with connections in the Royal Palace, and rumored to be eyeing the position of Grand Duke of the North.

“A bitch who should be chewed up and spit out!” Whether he repeated it inwardly or shouted it out loud, the anger wouldn’t subside.

He was so enraged that he felt like lying on the ground, screaming, and thrashing about.

That’s how furious he was.

It was only after considerable effort that he managed to calm down, just a bit.

The Officer gritted his teeth.

But it wasn’t as if he could just go and kill him right away.

Whenever they sent assassins to the Border Guard, they never returned.

Even when they tried to kill Encrid, they never succeeded once.

Did they even leave a scratch?

They had sent men armed with poison, but why had they all been defeated?

Was it because their opponent was skilled?

The Black Blade Bandits considered that as well.

The Officer thought so too.

At least he assumed Encrid was at the level of a Junior Knight.

Encrid’s feats were both exaggerated and underestimated in parts.

However, none of them easily believed that Encrid had truly reached the level of a Junior Knight.

It was unbelievable that someone could suddenly grasp the concept of ‘Will’ while swinging a sword on bare ground.

Sometimes such geniuses do appear, but if he had that much talent, why would he only now come into the spotlight?

Maybe if he had been hiding somewhere, but that wasn’t the case either.

His traces were everywhere.

He was a mercenary who handed over Krona to shabby instructors to learn the sword.

He had been a hunter at times for a few pennies, and also did odd jobs.

If there was no work with the sword, he would even move to help with wall repairs.

He was that kind of person, so how could they believe he had become a Junior Knight?

The Black Blade Bandits were rational.

It was the only conclusion they could reach.

Moreover, Count Molsen had manipulated the information to some extent.

Thus, they could not accurately gauge Encrid’s level.

That didn’t mean they were underestimating him.

It was clear there had been some change, even if it came late.

However, they didn’t truly believe he had reached the level of a Junior Knight.

There was undoubtedly a supporter behind him.

Who could be the most significant name among those supporters?

It had to be Marcus, that devious bastard.

“Now it’s war!” The Officer shouted alone in the study, where no one else was present.

Of course, it wasn’t just his thought alone.

His superiors, the leaders of the Black Blade Bandits, had issued similar orders.

Gather your forces.

Seek the help of the Cult as well.

Burn down the Border Guard.

They were not lords, nor did they have territories, but this abnormal bandit group, with its power and influence, decided to exert its strength.

They used the black gold coins they had amassed and called in their connections.

Members who had been active within the bandit group gathered.

Some mercenaries, who would even kill their own parents for Krona, joined in.

Thus, a force began to gather on a small hill west of the Border Guard.

It was a force of over five hundred.

Could they breach the Border Guard’s walls with this force?

It wasn’t an easy task, but the specialty of the Black Blade Bandits wasn’t war-it was intrigue.

And so they did.

The uprising of the bandit group-ostensibly a territorial war caused by Marcus expanding and seizing neighboring lands-had a significant impact.

It marked the beginning of a civil war and served as a pretext for many to start moving.

For Marcus, who was within the Border Guard, this was completely unexpected.

Just before the uprising of the territorial war, he said: “How many villages are there?

Send troops to take them all.

From now on, we are not just the Border Guard Reserve Unit, but the Border Guard of this territory.” “Who will be the Lord?” “The first Lord will be me.” Marcus confidently pointed his thumb at himself in response to the Company Commander’s question.

Soon after, Tarnin, the Viscount of the neighboring territory and the original owner of the villages, declared a territorial war.

“How dare you act without the permission of the Royal Family!

Your greed knows no bounds, and you have no shame!

Marcus, you must beg for forgiveness at once!

If you do not repent, I shall cut off your head and offer it to the Gods!” The words spoken after gathering the troops were nothing short of ridiculous.

Since they didn’t bother to hide it, the news quickly reached Marcus’s ears.

“That pig bastard must have taken the wrong drugs.”  Marcus remarked, his voice calm as he leaned on his office desk, resting his chin on his hand.

His intention was clear.

It was the beginning of a civil war.

Of course, that didn’t mean fighting would start immediately.

As with most territorial wars, Viscount Tarnin sent a messenger first.

These wars typically began with arguments, leading reluctantly to battle.

“But what is that bastard trying to pull?” This time, however, the situation was a bit different.

Viscount Tarnin had gathered mercenaries and some skilled fighters from somewhere to provoke and challenge Marcus.

It seemed as if he was ready to fight immediately.

But instead of attacking, he just dug in and held his ground.

Why?

Who benefits from holding out like this?

Who stands to lose?

Marcus wasn’t a fool.

He knew that letting Tarnin and his supporters waste their resources was more advantageous than attacking right away.

Marcus tried to unravel and probe the intentions of his opponent.

He analyzed the situation.

What was Tarnin’s specialty?

– Eating.

What was the fool Tarnin’s strength?

– His skin is so thick that blades barely penetrate.

What power did Viscount Tarnin’s territory possess?

– Absolutely nothing.

What was that bastard relying on?

– The Black Blade Bandits.

Marcus evaluated the situation and the order of events.

But why was Tarnin behaving like this?

Gathering troops obviously costs money.

You have to take care of their food and lodging.

And there were mercenaries.

You had to pay them their wages too.

If you don’t pay them while avoiding combat, some of the mercenaries might just turn around and put star-shaped holes in Tarnin’s belly.

‘But why?’ Even after assembling his forces, Tarnin didn’t seem eager to fight.

He only made excuses about training and other nonsense.

Marcus decided to wait.

There was nothing he could do immediately.

It was true that he had encroached on Tarnin’s territory.

His plan had been to quietly take a few villages, establish something resembling a domain, and then seek permission from the Royal Court.

‘It seems like someone is backing that pig Tarnin.’ But who could it be?

The maneuver orchestrated by the shadowy figure behind Tarnin was a heavy blow.

It hit Marcus like a strike to the back of the head.

“…Huh.” [Due to the growing chaos in the north caused by the territorial war, Marcus, a loyal friend of the Royal Court and a pillar of the Centerpole family, is hereby commanded…] That was how the letter began.

Marcus was a gambler.

He knew how to seize the moment.

But the content of the letter bound his hands and feet before he could even start.

It was a scheme to keep him from participating in the decisive moment, leaving no way out.

“Huh.” All Marcus could do was let out a hollow laugh.

He had been utterly outmaneuvered.

* * * “Did you all have fun without me?

Huh?” As soon as he returned, Rem greeted him.

Encrid thought to himself that this guy never changes.

“I was on a mission.” “Oh, I had a blast.

While you were out having fun, I was stuck here, huh?

Teaching some beastfolk that someone just left behind, huh?” What a long-winded way to say he wanted a sparring match.

From the side, Dunbachel could be seen standing with her eyes swollen and bruised.

It seemed like she had been through a lot.

It made Encrid feel a bit sorry for her.

If he ignored it, Rem would probably just keep beating Dunbachel up today as well.

Besides, Encrid was only feeling a little fatigued, with no injuries to speak of.

“Come on, you big-mouthed barbarian.”  Encrid joked.

Rem grinned widely.

“Let’s settle this grudge!” With that nonsense, the sparring began.

“You haven’t changed a bit!” Rem said, swinging his axes in a cross pattern.

He then suddenly displayed an intimidating aura.

He claimed to have learned it from watching the Rapier Swordsman, but just hearing that was absurd.

Could someone really imitate that just by watching?

Of course, the way he implemented it was completely different.

Not that he would know.

Encrid refused to be intimidated, and then they spoke with their swords.

Clang, clang, clang!

Steel met steel, and golden sparks flew between them.

Teresa, uncharacteristically quiet, sat with her legs together, patiently waiting her turn.

This was just another day.

The next sparring match would be Teresa’s turn.

She had been refining a few techniques, practicing and honing them with Audin.

She was curious if they would work against Encrid.

Her heart was pounding.

While he was gone, nothing had felt enjoyable.

Even though she had been sharpening her skills and building her body, a sense of emptiness crept in.

It was like becoming a landlord with an empty granary.

“Why do you seem so down?” Noticing her somewhat listless demeanor, Audin asked.

Teresa took a moment to reflect on her own feelings and then asked, “What if the Commander doesn’t come back?

What will happen then?” Audin chuckled.

“He will return.” Audin, who always spoke of everything in the name of the Gods and showed deep contemplation rather than certainty, was strangely confident when it came to Encrid.

There was no doubt.

The moment Teresa saw Encrid return, her heart raced like never before.

Her face flushed.

Why wouldn’t it?

‘The techniques…’ She finally had someone to test them on.

Someone who would meet her fighting spirit.

The one who had pulled her out of the Cult.

The only one who would match her sword and shield.

Others could spar with her, but it wasn’t the same.

Encrid was different.

Teresa didn’t try to understand what it was that made him so.  What mattered to her was the process of fighting him.

The process of sparring with him.

It was about raising her sword and shield in front of him.

For this, she could set her life ablaze.

And with that fire, she would slash and kill any enemy that stood before Encrid.

She would make sure no enemy stood before him, so he wouldn’t just keep looking forward.

She would make him turn around and face her.

With this sudden realization, Teresa knelt on one knee and began to pray.

She steeled herself and engraved this purpose in her mind.

It wasn’t in the way of the Cult, nor did she invoke the name of any God, but it was certainly a prayer.

“Are you asleep?

Aren’t you coming next?” The Commander, who had been knocked down by Rem, quickly got back up and spoke.

Teresa, who had been kneeling, stood up.

With her shield raised to cover herself, Teresa smiled.

“Wanderer Teresa is stepping in now.” You could call it a pleasant sparring session.

At least, that’s how Encrid felt.

Rem enjoyed it, Teresa was eager to challenge him, and even Dunbachel, who insisted on fighting with two swords, was a pretty interesting opponent.

“Still sloppy.” “I know!” Dunbachel was aware, yet she insisted on using two swords.

Watching her, Encrid couldn’t help but wonder why she was so adamant.

“She’s a crazy one, crazy as they come.

If you run into a high priest while wandering around, kidnap them and bring them here.

Everyone here needs healing.”  Rem said.

Apparently, Dunbachel had been so impressed by Rem that she decided to use dual weapons.

Encrid let it be.

It wasn’t his place to interfere.

And so, Encrid returned to his routine.

“But why haven’t you improved at all?” Rem asked, a hint of dissatisfaction in his tone.

Had Encrid’s skills stayed the same?

That was possible.

So had nothing changed?

Not exactly.

Encrid had spent two months traveling and had plenty of time to think.

Climbing cliffs, riding horses, walking, running, and entering villages.

The battles were brief, and the marches were long.

Along the way, Sinar cracked jokes in the way of Fairies, Finn shared trivial stories, and Jaxon occasionally said strange things like: “Do whatever you desire.

Holding it in will only make you sick.” ‘But I’ve never held anything back.’  Encrid thought sincerely.

But others might have seen it differently.

Despite his abilities, Encrid didn’t dwell on worldly rewards.

So, what was it that he truly desired?

Jaxon’s question touched on that very point.

Encrid knew what he wanted, and he was walking the right path, following the markers.

During those two months of walking and more walking, his mind seemed to work sharper than ever.

Encrid reflected on his training methods.

What he had, what he needed to cultivate, and what he could gain through honing his skills.

Previously, he had been too busy absorbing and processing what was around him, but now, things were different.

Over those two months, Encrid had refined his training methods during his journey.

It was time to put them into practice.

“I think I’ll need some help.” And the first person to start with was that stray cat, Jaxon.