Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 392 - 392 - Knowing What I Possess
Chapter 392 - Knowing What I Possess
"I am a sinner."
Aishia had to admit her guilt.
Even if Enkrid defended her and refused to speak of it, her actions would not simply disappear. The fact that her younger sibling had been taken hostage didn't absolve her of her crimes.
It was all excuses and rationalizations.
At least, that was how Aishia saw it—making her, in her own eyes, a sinner.
When she confessed, Krang's response was unexpected.
"Then why not use merit to cover your mistakes? Like I said, we're desperate enough to even borrow a cat's paw."
His tone made it seem inconsequential.
Was it just the urgency of the situation?
His demeanor, however, was overly calm—almost unnervingly so.
It felt as though Krang wasn't merely using anyone at random. There was a hint of trust directed at her, something AisHia couldn't quite grasp.
She had been on the side that betrayed them just half a day ago—how could he trust her?
Even the two marquises observing them didn't seem to faze him.
AisHia couldn't help but ask.
"Why do you trust me?"
She couldn't understand Krang's attitude.
Was it because she was part of the Crimson Cloak Knights? Or because he truly lacked manpower? Or perhaps because she was one of the few remaining capable forces in the palace? Was it because she was a squire?
AisHia looked at Krang, and he, in turn, gave her a bright smile.
"I trust this friend's eyes. That's enough for me."
Krang gestured toward someone as he spoke, and that was all he said.
The person he pointed to—"this friend"—was none other than Enkrid.
"There's a mountain of things to take care of. See you around."
With that, Krang left, and as he disappeared from sight, Enkrid turned to AisHia.
"Want me to reset your nose for you?"
He seemed utterly unconcerned about her earlier betrayal.
"It's already been set."
AisHia answered firmly, meeting Enkrid's gaze.
And a thought struck her.
Does he know me so well?
They had spent some time together, but not enough to truly know one another. She didn't think he understood her reasons for standing where she was now.
She didn't want to explain that she had reluctantly stood in his way to protect her younger sibling.
"See you later."
She struggled to find the right words.
Her sibling's safety was her immediate priority, so she had to move on. Fortunately, her sibling was unharmed.
Even so, AisHia's face was still a mess. Her nose was swollen, her face was covered in purplish bruises, and every step she took sent pain shooting through her ribs, making her clutch her side.
Despite her state, she explained everything to her sibling.
"I owe him a debt of gratitude."
That was the conclusion she reached after rescuing her sibling and arriving here.
No matter what motives lay beneath the surface, her opponent had shielded her and placed trust in her.
While not everything had ended well, things had turned out as well as they could for Aishia.
"And getting your face smashed in was part of that gratitude?" her sibling asked.
Although they had been kidnapped, panicked, and despaired, they now appeared outwardly composed. It was their way of trying not to worry Aishia, for which she felt endlessly grateful.
"Yes."
"If he hits you twice, are you going to marry him?"
"I'll think about it."
It was a meaningless joke.
Despite the danger and hardship they had faced because of her, her sibling bore no resentment.
They had grown up well.
For her sibling's sake, Aishia would have gladly laid down her sword.
She had no regrets about her choices. If the same situation arose, she would choose her sibling again.
She had a sudden urge to ask Enkrid.
What would you do if I chose to betray you again?
The answer seemed obvious, even without asking.
Though she barely knew him and had only received from him unilaterally, she felt as though she already knew what he would say.
"Then I'll make sure that situation never arises again."
It was the correct answer, and Enkrid likely moved through life with that very mindset.
After rescuing her sibling, she returned home, washed up, and tended to her injuries.
"Be grateful for the leniency you've been shown. There won't be another chance to fight on the right side and prove yourself."
A message from the Marquis of Okto's envoy reached her.
She didn't need to be told. She had already decided as much.
She had learned who was behind the one who had taken her sibling hostage.
The one at the forefront was Viscount Mernes, but someone else had put him in that position.
Her teeth ground together.
The injuries would likely heal in less than two weeks. If she rested completely during that time, she'd recover sufficiently. Then she would plead to be sent to the battlefield.
There, she would prove who she was and make her enemy pay for daring to threaten her sibling.
With that resolve, Aishia gently stroked her sibling's head.
"I'll definitely avenge you, Lykanos."
Lykanos had been a comrade and brother to him, someone who had shared the same dream when the Black Blade Bandit group began.
Though they were not bound by blood, they had been family.
It was just before dawn, and the air was deep blue. The man stepped out of the castle and made his way toward the northern gate.
Getting out of the castle was the hard part; from here, it would be easy.
No one would suspect him.
After all, the tax collector—the nominal leader of the Black Blade—was already dead.
"A tool well used to the end."
The man walked briskly, his mind consumed by thoughts of vengeance. He had a plan.
"The secret vault."
It was a trove of wealth accumulated over ten years.
The man had once been the tax collector's steward, but he was also the true head of the Black Blade Bandits.
Once, he had wielded his sword for the oppressed alongside Lykanos, resisting persecution and scorn.
While Lykanos had proven himself through force, he had led the Black Blade through ideals and intellect.
But all men are corrupted by power and wealth.
That corruption had brought him here.
It had also led to Lykanos's death.
And now, all he had left was wealth—though he had yet to fully realize it.
"I will."
He repeated his vow for vengeance, knowing deep down it was impossible.
It was merely a comforting thought, a justification for his flight.
In truth, he felt no grief over Lykanos's death—only fear for his own safety.
His resolve was as hollow as his ideals had become.
"Once I escape here..."
He would likely forget his vow of vengeance altogether.
With the wealth in the secret vault, he could flee to another country and start anew.
Perhaps he could even become a nobleman himself, or at least a merchant lord.
He painted countless futures in his mind as he walked.
Shaking his head violently, he muttered to himself.
"No, I will avenge him."
Even as he lied to himself, dawn began to break, bathing the surroundings in soft warmth.
Wrapped in a tattered cloak with a hood pulled low, he continued forward, blending in as a hunter.
"They'll never catch me, those fools."
Confident in his escape, the man pressed on.
When Jaxen had been pursuing him, it felt as though his breath was caught in his throat, as if a blade were pressing against his neck.
But what about now?
"I survived."
Of course, he hadn't simply planned to run away. Until the very end, he had caused havoc.
He had ordered the remaining members of the Black Blade Bandits to set the royal palace ablaze.
By now, the flames should have started to rise.
With that thought, he turned to look back. Everything was quiet. Though some diligent souls might just now be waking, many had stayed up all night in the aftermath of last night's chaos.
No fights or brawls had erupted in the capital, but the area in front of the castle gate had been a frenzy, and the commotion in the royal palace had left unease in everyone's hearts.
Yet, the climactic blaze he had anticipated was nowhere to be seen.
"Why?"
The question lingered only briefly. Regardless of the mystery, his feet kept moving. He slipped through an alleyway, walking briskly, until he reached the northern gate.
"Hold it right there."
A soldier leaning lazily against a side gate, helmet askew, called out to him. Her voice was soft and thin—almost feminine.
"What is it?"
He responded curtly. The soldier removed her crooked helmet, and long golden hair cascaded down. She was a female soldier.
"Why do you keep glancing back as you walk?"
Was this really something to pick a fight over?
But in a situation like this, where was the northern gate's commander? Was a lone soldier all that stood guard here?
The leader of the Black Blade Bandits felt a sense of foreboding. The air was strange. His heart pounded with unease.
Then, as he glanced beyond the female soldier, he saw a few guards casually sitting, dozing off.
"Asleep?"
He quickly realized why this was odd. After last night's chaos, how could the guards be napping?
"Sorry, but there won't be any fires."
The female soldier spoke.
"...Who are you?"
"The Dagger of Gheogr."
She crossed her arms as she replied, her posture brimming with confidence. That confidence only deepened his sense of dread. Cold sweat trickled down his back.
"It's too late."
She added, glancing behind him as she spoke. Startled, he turned his head.
Standing there was a man with striking, rare features—eyes of reddish-brown that betrayed no emotion.
"Nice to meet you," the man said.
The bandit leader felt as if he'd been caught in the maw of a ghoul. And at that moment, he knew he was trapped.
He cursed his carelessness for not carrying even a single escape scroll.
But if he had, he wouldn't have made it this far.
To avoid the detection spells in the palace, he couldn't afford to bring such items.
All he had was a single blade. He already knew the man wouldn't listen to reason.
He'd seen how the tax collector he had sent met his end.
His hands trembled with fear.
"You've had your fun, haven't you? Now it's my turn."
Jaxen had felt something off when he killed the tax collector. How could someone who had hidden their identity so thoroughly be caught so easily?
Right then, Enkrid had issued an order for internal cleanup.
Civil war was imminent.
And to prepare for a fight, the first step was to secure one's surroundings.
If you get struck from behind before you even start, the battle is lost.
Even Krang and the two great marquises had agreed.
When Marcus joined midway, it accelerated their efforts.
Jaxen did his part—rooting out the remnants.
And during this time, a member of the Dagger of Gheogr guild joined him.
Though he'd told her she didn't need to, she refused to stay out of it.
"Master," she said. She was Jaxen's lover and a member of the Dagger of Gheogr. The title rolled off her tongue naturally, as it should.
Jaxen was the master of the Dagger of Gheogr, the continent's most elite assassination guild.
"Will you return after finishing this job?"
She continued, her tone suggesting their work here was done.
"We'll talk later," Jaxen replied. For now, the task at hand came first.
Count Molsan was no braggart, nor was he one to lie. He had sent troops to the border guard.
Among them were over fifty lycanthropes.
These were creatures that transformed from humans into wolves.
Leading the pack was a man who, even as a human, had killed and devoured his victims.
Back then, he had been at the level of a junior knight. Now, he had the strength of a beast.
"Let's sink our teeth into some tender flesh," he cackled as he led the charge.
"No one can stop us," he thought confidently.
He was certain of victory. No, he was envisioning more. He saw his lycanthrope unit becoming the name of terror that would dominate the region.
This man, once a scumbag as a human, had now become a literal beast, lifting his snout to the sky and howling.
"Awooo!"
Fifty lycanthropes howled in unison behind him.
"Awoooooo!"
The monstrous sound was terrifying to humans. It was a primal fear, etched into instinct.
But the soldiers stationed at the border gate stood unfazed.
Experience dulls fear.
The border guard's standing army had fought countless battles—against Aspen, beasts, cultists, territorial armies, and more.
Their trials had been relentless, leaving no room for rest.
But through those experiences, the survivors had grown resilient, and the city had found its rhythm.
Once, even rumors of a battle would have halted trade caravans, strained resources, and sown panic.
"Do they not trust us, or are they hoping we'll die?"
Now, the Rockfreed Trading Company was the lifeblood of logistics in the border guard.
When the enemy's approach was detected, the company's merchants had immediately secured supply lines for food and materials.
They had allies ready to help.
Even though Count Molsan had pressured surrounding nobles and cities, warning them that they'd be next if they aided the border guard, support had come.
Enkrid had secured allies from the city of Martaia and another he had liberated from gnoll Colony.
The Rockfreed Company's reputation also played a role.
Thus, the city was no longer in the dire straits of the past.
Much had changed.
Standing atop the wall, Krais watched the fifty lycanthropes approach and felt the urge to pee.
"So scary," he muttered.
Even so, he knew what needed to be done.
Losing the first fight would cut off what little support remained.
That wouldn't do.
"The one who dominates the initial clash wins," he thought.
Their opponent was a high-ranking noble responsible for the region—Count Molsan, the border's king.
"If it goes badly, we'll take hostages," Krais muttered to himself.
Just in case, they had been keeping an eye on two of Count Molsan's children.
You never knew when they might come in handy.
Still, he didn't expect hostage-taking to work on Count Molsan.
"Not a chance," he thought.
But he couldn't just leave the children be.
Even so, Krais had thirty-six escape plans prepared.
Before those, he had 170 strategies to win and hold out.
His first move was the most effective and rational.
"Will it be okay?" asked Vengeance, the commander of the archers standing beside him, as he watched the massive figure standing out among the troops.
"What do you think is the first thing to consider in strategy, tactics, or warfare?" Krais replied, turning to him.
Vengeance thought for a moment before answering.
"Morale, maybe?"
Morale was important.
But even more crucial was this:
"Knowing what you have," Krais said.
It sounded vague, but the meaning was simple.
The first step in battle was to understand and utilize one's resources fully.
Krais knew Audin. He didn't know everything about him, but he knew that fifty lycanthropes wouldn't make Audin flinch.
And alongside Audin stood Theresa, one of the "Bear Siblings."
That's why he had ordered no arrows to be fired.
It had to be that way.
The first fight needed to crush their opponent's pride. Only then would Count Molsan abandon this front.
Krais had done his calculations, and now Audin was stepping forward, raising a fist toward the lycanthrope leading the charge, saliva dripping from its jaws.

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