Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 158 - 158 - Gratitude from a Mother Raising Her Son Alone
Chapter 158 - Gratitude from a Mother Raising Her Son Alone
Aspen had been defeated.
But it had not collapsed.
Winning and losing were things that repeated.
No matter how thorough the preparation, problems would arise.
Defeat was simply a problem to endure.
'Losing can happen.'
That was how he saw it.
But to lose like this?
To have everything he had prepared shatter one after another?
The strategy he had carefully laid out seemed to be working at first, only to be completely overturned.
Even if the battlefield had shifted, did it make sense for everything to be invalidated so thoroughly?
Aspen's genius strategist, Abnaier, had been confident.
He hadn't expected a perfect victory, but he also hadn't thought they would be so easily pushed back.
He had put numerous measures in place.
They had brought in giants.
They had concealed their forces.
They had even lured the enemy into complacency and fed them misleading strategies.
The core of the plan had been simple: win the flanking battle and split Naurilia's main force.
Dividing their main force was the fundamental goal, but it had gone wrong from the very start.
A defeat in a battle that should not have been lost—this was the beginning of everything unraveling.
Like a single falling bookshelf causing a chain reaction, everything had come crashing down.
"This is absurd."
The ridiculousness of it all made him mutter aloud.
Abnaier ran a hand through his green hair.
Through the bright sunlight, he saw a child playing outside the window.
A few attendants were chasing after the child.
The child suddenly turned and waved toward the window.
Abnaier opened the window, resting his elbows on the sill.
After returning the wave, he basked in the warmth of the sunlight.
It was a pleasant day.
The season was warming.
The child climbed onto a swing hanging outside.
While his eyes followed the child, his mind was retracing the start of the operation.
That was how Abnaier worked.
'Why?'
Why had they lost?
The entire defeat had begun with the flanking maneuver.
A few reports flashed through his mind.
Tracing back the cause of the failure.
The beginning of the beginning of the beginning.
'The duel between the soldiers.'
That was the first crack.
Then Mitch Hurrier had died.
And in the end, unexpected forces had displayed overwhelming strength in the flanking battle.
At the center of it all—who had been there?
Abnaier had seen the name in a report.
It was sent just before one of their commanders had died.
The Madmen Platoon.
Platoon Leader Enkrid.
The name wasn't unfamiliar.
As he recalled, he was the one the Hurrier family had sent assassins after.
Just a mere platoon leader?
Had such a man been the origin of this entire battle?
He didn't know.
At this point, it was just a gut feeling.
The intuition of a strategist.
The instinct of a commander.
'It won't be a loss.'
When the Hurrier family had sent assassins, it had seemed like a useless act.
But perhaps they had been right.
For the sake of the future—more precisely, the next war after this peace—Abnaier decided to employ assassins.
Once again, he targeted a mere platoon leader.
Aspen had an ancient assassination guild.
Using them would ensure there were no traces left behind.
With that decision made, he moved.
He stepped away from the window and immediately sent orders to summon the assassination guild under the name of the royal palace.
"If they cross the border, the pay triples. Any unreasonable request will be refused."
The guild's reply was swift, and Abnaier responded with a simple note marked with the name 'Krona.'
"A single platoon leader? You're spending this much Krona on just one man?"
The amount was enough to purchase a mansion in Aspen's capital.
The assassination guild had no reason to refuse.
It wasn't like they were being asked to kill a noble of high standing or a key military official.
Just a platoon leader.
The only risk was crossing the border, but otherwise, it was an easy job.
The assassination guild accepted and sent three assassins.
"Failure?"
The guild master realized he had underestimated the job.
"Send in mid-level assassins."
After all, hadn't the half-blood fairy failed before?
She had been mid-level as well.
That's why three were sent this time.
"Send two more."
More assassins were dispatched.
"Boss."
"Another failure?"
No, this was getting strange.
Why did every assassin they sent keep dying?
"Two mid-level assassins?"
"Yes."
What was going on?
Would they have to send a high-level assassin?
At this point, it was time to start considering the losses.
"Send a high-level assassin."
They always completed the jobs they accepted.
More importantly, this was a direct order from the royal palace.
While the assassins operated under the guise of an independent guild, the 'Swamp of Monters' was, in reality, owned by the royal family.
The guild master knew this well.
If they turned against the palace, their business of killing for profit would be finished.
Thus, the high-level assassin was dispatched.
"What the hell?!"
One of the top ten assassins in Swamp of Monters had failed.
They had lost contact entirely.
Unless a kind mage had conveniently appeared and removed the tracking magic engraved into their body, they were dead.
Sure enough, two days later, the assassin's severed head was delivered.
It arrived at one of Swamp of Monters' secret hideouts.
"Send word to the palace."
If they continued, the losses would be too great.
The enemy had something.
A high-level assassin hadn't just failed to escape; they had been cut down.
And their location had been exposed?
A superior force was involved.
"That's my conclusion."
The guild master personally entered the royal palace.
He explained everything that had happened.
He declared that they could not continue the operation.
Abnaier let out a quiet laugh.
'The assassination guild failed?'
Even he was baffled.
There was no more room, or reason, to push further.
"Let's leave it be."
Abnaier gave up.
There were too many pressing matters within Aspen.
If that man truly had something—
If he truly was something—
'We'll meet again.'
And with that, Abnaier put the name Enkrid behind him.
If they were fated to meet on the battlefield, then he would simply accept that fate.
A man like that would not be ended by mere assassination.
A shadow had been lurking around the barracks for days.
Their movements were skilled—disguises so well-crafted that a casual observer wouldn't recognize them as the same person.
Jaxen muted his steps and held his breath.
He erased his presence completely to disrupt his opponent's senses.
'What's this?'
An assassin.
He recognized it instantly.
They were from the same trade.
From Jaxen's hand, a thin thread unraveled.
A thick, blackened wire coated in special ink and oil to prevent light reflection.
It wrapped around the assassin's neck.
Before they could react, Jaxen pulled.
His elbow slammed into their back, adding force to the pull.
Crack.
Their neck twisted unnaturally to the side.
A broken neck meant death.
That was a fact.
Jaxen examined the corpse.
If it hadn't been him, would they have been difficult to handle?
The people stationed at Border Guard weren't fighters; they were intelligence agents.
Not defenseless, but not soldiers either.
'The third one.'
Three assassination attempts in the past three months since the battle ended.
This one had spent three days lingering near the barracks wall, disguising themselves as a beggar, an old man, a merchant.
'A capable one.'
People like this entering his city—
Their target was inside the barracks.
If they had been after a company commander, a battalion commander, or a noble, their approach would have been different.
The first ones had disguised themselves as new recruits.
Their target had been obvious.
'The Madmen Platoon.'
Following the trail, the answer became clear.
They were after the platoon leader.
They were after Enkrid.
Since Enkrid hadn't left the barracks or training grounds for three whole months, they had decided to go in instead.
"Crazy bastards."
All this firepower just to take down a mere platoon leader?
Jaxen moved carefully to avoid drawing attention, carrying a corpse slung over his shoulder as he made his way toward an alley near where vagrants gathered.
He set the body down, arranged it in a sleeping position, and then went to buy a bottle of alcohol.
After pouring some around the corpse and leaving the bottle beside it, he stepped back.
This way, no one would bother to check the cause of death—they'd just assume it was another vagrant who drank himself to death.
After taking care of the body, Jaxen headed into the red-light district.
He was a frequent visitor there.
A few prostitutes glanced at him as he entered.
His appearance wasn't exactly common, after all.
Ignoring all the stares, Jaxen made his way to a familiar room.
Inside, a young blonde beauty welcomed him, clad in only a thin robe.
Jaxen curled and uncurled a few fingers in sign language, conveying his message.
"No one's listening," the woman replied.
"And the problem?"
"No problem anymore."
Previously, they had failed to detect a half-elf assassin entering the city.
Even if they didn't have eyes everywhere, it was still an unacceptable failure.
Jaxen couldn't let it go—it had wounded his pride.
After that, more assassins had started slipping in, so he simply killed them as they came.
As long as he remained at Border Guard, no assassins or anyone up to similar business would be allowed to enter.
It wasn't necessarily because someone was specifically targeting the platoon leader.
Absolutely not.
Leaning against the door, Jaxen maintained his usual expressionless face.
Watching him closely, the woman spoke again.
"They're from the Swamp of Monsters. What do you want to do?"
Swamp of Monsters was an assassin guild rooted in Aspen.
"Let them know this is my turf. Our way."
In other words, kill them the moment they crossed the line.
The woman nodded.
It might turn into a full-blown guild war.
But if it did, it would be a war fought in the shadows, one no one would ever know about.
That was simply the nature of the world they belonged to.
After that, Jaxen spent the night with her.
Though their relationship was primarily professional, they also desired each other physically.
They were as close as lovers.
At dawn, the woman awoke and ordered her subordinates to behead the corpse Jaxen had left behind.
She sent the severed head straight to one of Swamp of Monsters' strongholds.
A warning.
If they ignored it and kept pushing, they would only have themselves to blame for what followed.
Monter's Swamp never tried again.
It made sense.
While they operated in Aspen, the people on this side moved across the entire continent.
"Are you sure this is the place?"
Krais eyed the dark alley suspiciously.
The air was foul, and the ground was covered in filth he had no desire to step on.
They were near the alleys where vagrants gathered.
His question was directed at Jaxen.
Enkrid also cast a glance around.
While gathering various supplies, he had asked if it was possible to procure a Whistle Dagger.
"It is."
That was Jaxen's response before telling them to follow him.
Lately, things had been so busy that Enkrid hadn't expected to have time for something like this.
Jaxen barely even returned to the barracks, always making rounds through the red-light district and other places.
Jaxen didn't respond to Krais's question.
If something wasn't worth answering, he simply ignored it.
That was just how he was.
His silence meant they were in the right place.
Sometimes, silence was its own answer.
Krais didn't press further.
A little filth wasn't going to stop him.
"This way."
Jaxen spoke flatly and stepped inside.
Enkrid followed behind.
Finding a good blacksmith, one skilled enough for their needs, was proving impossible.
They had already exhausted their search through Krais.
Frog followed after Enkrid.
For some reason, Esther had come along as well.
As they entered the alley, Esther climbed the walls and started walking along the rooftops.
"That thing really is a monster," Luagarne muttered.
Enkrid half agreed.
She really did seem more beast than person.
Luagarne wore boots made specifically for Frogs.
They had eight straps securing them tightly over the feet, with a sturdy wooden base for support.
With every step she took, the boots made a sharp clacking sound against the stone pavement.
"We're here."
Jaxen came to a halt.
Before setting out on a mission, there were a lot of things to prepare.
Among them, Enkrid wanted to secure a stock of Whistle Daggers.
"...Quite a lot of customers today."
An old woman sitting at a makeshift stall in front of an open doorway commented.
A crystal ball, faded blonde curls, wrinkled hands—she was a fortune teller.
"She has them?"
Enkrid had been through a lot in his time.
Black markets?
He had been to plenty.
He had even seen illegal slave markets quietly operating among mercenaries.
But a fortune teller?
Whistle Daggers were rare.
Even in black markets, they were not easy to come by.
And she had them?
"Yes."
Jaxen answered and made a hand gesture—sign language.
Enkrid didn't understand what it meant, but it must have been the right signal because the old woman exhaled sharply through her nose.
That little snort felt like an approval.
"What's your order?"
The old woman asked.
"As many Whistle Daggers as possible."
Enkrid answered.
"And payment?"
"He's paying."
Enkrid gestured toward Krais.
"Yeah, I figured," Krais said, stepping forward reluctantly.
He didn't want to, but he made it seem like he was doing so enthusiastically.
If he had to spend money, he might as well go all in.
You have to invest to profit, after all.
"I'll have them delivered to the barracks."
"You know who I am?"
Enkrid asked.
The old woman chuckled.
"There's probably not a single person in this city who doesn't know your name, even if they don't know the battalion commander's."
Before he could ask further, the old woman swiftly packed up her stall, gathering her crystal ball and tools.
"Well then, I'll be going."
Should he stop her and press for more information?
But judging by how swiftly she packed up, this wasn't her first time doing this. In just a few breaths, the stall was gone.
Sometimes, Enkrid wondered—
How did Jaxen know about places like this?
Even Krais had given up on finding these weapons.
Still, it wasn't worth asking.
They needed Whistle Daggers, not Jaxen's past.
"Will she really get them?" Krais muttered.
He was naturally suspicious of everything.
"If she doesn't, then that's that."
Enkrid shrugged and started walking.
Since they were out, he planned to stop by the market and pick up a few things.
Like some jerky from that one stall with amazing seasoning.
And maybe visit the blacksmith to check on their armor.
It was too hot to keep wearing a gambeson, but going without any protection wasn't an option either.
Maybe a loose-fitting leather cuirass would work.
He had thrown out his old leather armor.
He had planned to keep using it, but one day, Esther had torn it to shreds with her claws.
"I should sell your claws to pay for a new one."
He turned toward the rooftops where Esther was walking, about to say something—
"Kir."
The leopard let out a low growl.
It sounded like a warning not to joke.
Enkrid had only said it casually, a joke in itself.
Then, he went to the dried meat shop to place some orders.
"Thank you."
The shopkeeper greeted him first.
"What for?"
Enkrid tilted his head, and the shopkeeper bowed twice more.
From the top of his head, a few white strands of hair were visible.
"I'm thankful. As a foolish mother of a dull son, how could I take Krona from the one who saved my son? Please take whatever you want."
"Huh?"
Enkrid didn't understand.
He had only fought his hardest, putting his life on the line.
He had struggled simply to move forward.
But because of that struggle, and the fight he had taken up, so many had their lives saved.
"Thank you. If I didn't have my son, I wouldn't have a reason to live."
He was thanked by a mother who raised her son alone.
The battlefield, that was where it all happened.
Many lives had been saved because of Enkrid.
And they were all people rooted in Border Guard.
"Armor, just give me half the price."
"If you want a leather water pouch, this one seems better."
"Are the boots still in good shape? I've got new ones, too. If you bring that squad member, I can take their measurements and make everything for you."
"There's nothing but flowers I can give you."
"Take this with you."
"Would you like to try an apple?"
"It's dried fruit I've been gathering."
"Would you like some charcoal, too?"
The market vendors, who hadn't seen Enkrid for three months, treated him like a hero.
It was something Enkrid never expected.
"Tch, why am I feeling so good?"
Krais said beside him, and Enkrid felt the same.
He hadn't been fighting just to save someone, but he had kept in mind to protect those around him.
It was a thought that came to him now.
What is a knight?
'A protector.'
Someone who guards their people's smiles and moves forward, building their beliefs.
For Enkrid, it had been a satisfying day out.

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