Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 389 - Who Was Before the Queen?
The day that always ended before sunset had changed. The proof of the change was Ragna turning his body.
As Ragna lowered his sword and took a deep breath, the knight, who had looked like a grim reaper, collapsed in a heap behind him.
Blood poured out from the severed edge. More fresh blood flowed into the already crimson-stained carpet.
"How?"
Enkrid's mouth opened. Though not to the level of a full shock, he was certainly surprised.
He was genuinely curious. That's why he asked.
Was he asking how Ragna got here? Krang, who had been watching, also thought the same. It was a timely intervention.
In truth, it was the result of the twisted, repeated day, but Krang couldn't have known that.
While Ragna silently wiped the blood off his sword, Enkrid clearly asked why he was surprised.
"How did you find the way?"
How could he not be surprised?
Ragna came here alone. It wasn't as if someone had secretly followed him, so he must have come from the castle gates.
If the goddess of luck hadn't held his hand and guided him personally, what happened wouldn't have been possible.
Ragna puffed out his chest as he answered Enkrid's question.
It felt as though he had come all this way just for this moment.
"I know a shortcut."
"Luck?"
Enkrid asked a veiled question.
Was he asking if it was just luck that brought him here?
Ragna also gave a veiled response.
"Skill."
It meant that the talent for finding shortcuts was innate.
Krang blinked in confusion.
What the hell are these guys talking about?
It was an incomprehensible conversation.
Wasn't it a conversation between crazy people?
Well, it wasn't like he could say anything about it. The important thing was that he was alive.
It wasn't even quite nightfall yet.
Krang realized that the thing he had prepared wasn't going to arrive, and the matter was already over.
"I almost pissed myself."
Krang sat down with a thud.
It wasn't something someone who wanted to become the king of a country should be saying, but it didn't lessen Krang's dignity by saying it. He was that kind of person.
Why should his dignity be diminished for being happy to have survived as a human?
If someone had asked, he would have answered like this.
After a brief exchange with Ragna, Enkrid awkwardly reset his twisted right wrist with his left hand.
Yet his gaze still remained fixed on Ragna.
His eyes were different from when he had thrown a joke earlier.
Let's say the pathfinding part was one thing.
What about the next step?
Ragna shoved aside a man who Enkrid himself couldn't deal with and adjusted his head.
He had watched the entire fight.
Anyone who had seen Ragna's fight and his sword could have figured it out.
Though he wasn't yet a knight, Ragna would become one.
It was that kind of talent. Some of that talent had leaked out and shown itself. Matthew also widened his eyes, breathing heavily.
That was the level of shock.
Enkrid's mouth opened.
"Thank you."
Though the words were of gratitude, his tone conveyed something other than mere thankfulness.
Krang's ears perked up, and his head turned.
Normally, Enkrid wouldn't easily show emotion, but now, it seemed almost too much to bear.
Krang looked at Enkrid and shouted.
"Call the healer! Bring a healer!"
Both of his guards were badly injured. Taking care of them was urgent.
Whether it was his strong sense of duty or loyalty, at once, both the servant and the maid appeared.
"Yes, yes, my lord."
Somehow, they hadn't died or been injured too badly.
Actually, this was normal.
If the intentions of the dead knight had been properly carried out, these people would have taken care of the deceased Krais.
Of course, they had no reason to kill the servants and maid unless they were a mad serial killer.
The man who died had been a member of the order, and Krais knew that, which was why he called for people.
"Call the healer."
Krang said while sitting down, his gaze never leaving Enkrid.
"You almost died."
Ragna spoke up. It was, of course, that Enkrid almost died. Perhaps feeling the emotion behind the gratitude, was Ragna admonishing the person who he saved? Was it right to put that emotion in a simple thank you?
It seemed there was an undertone of that too.
Krang had the ability to read the hidden meanings behind people's words.
It could be called insight.
Still, Enkrid's gaze didn't change.
Enkrid dreamed of being a knight. Even if he tried to block it with all his might, he couldn't.
Not alone, but with the help of Krang's guard Matthew and other spearmen, it was still like this.
He lost. It was defeat.
A normal person might have tasted despair and hopelessness. Even if they didn't feel it, seeing Ragna would make them think otherwise.
If you didn't feel jealous, you weren't human. Could you truly be human without being consumed by jealousy?
That's how Krang thought.
And looking at Enkrid, he thought:
'That's not a human.'
"If I heal, let's have a match."
Enkrid lifted his right wrist as he spoke.
The emotion visible in his blazing eyes wasn't jealousy.
It was pure exhilaration, joy, and a sense of competition.
Seeing that, Ragna scolded him.
"If you almost died and lived, you should know how to show some restraint."
It wasn't something Ragna should have said, but this time, Enkrid definitely went too far.
Enkrid nodded, aware of it.
"Krang?"
He called out to him. Krang thought for a moment and was about to move.
His mind was already full of plans for the future.
In Krang's eyes, he saw his own "preparations." The travels across the continent weren't just for escaping.
It was part of the outcome.
"It's late."
A short-haired man spoke as he approached.
Ragna immediately realized this was no ordinary opponent upon seeing the man walking swiftly down the hall.
"Sir Ingis."
Krang called him. Enkrid recognized his affiliation.
With a chestplate covering his torso, two swords at his side, and the emblem of the Sun's Sword, it was clear which faction he belonged to.
"I am Ingis of the Order."
His voice sounded youthful. His face also appeared youthful. He was probably no older than twenty. The real Ingis was just twenty-eight.
The youthful appearance was a complex of his.
Also, he was the most talented genius in the red cloak order.
During his time wandering and fleeing, Krang had encountered a junior knight who was stationed in the southern border region near the Magic Territory.
"Sir Cyphrus."
Seeing the junior-knight with a unit name, he had talked with him. Later, Krang had witnessed the southern battles. On that occasion, Krang had almost lost his head four times.
Thanks to that, Krang had seen the dangers they possessed.
"I won't rise to the throne using the knight's power."
Krang had seen the future. He had envisioned the future of the palace. That's why he knew the palace couldn't bring out unconventional forces like knights.
Would they need to cut off flesh to gain the throne?
"You keep your honor. I'll take care of my work."
He wouldn't do it. He would make a foolish and ignorant choice. Krang had done that.
Perhaps it was because of that.
He had made one promise, and now he was able to see Ingis here.
If he could hold out for half a day, Ingis would appear and be ready to provide a solution.
"I've come with eight squires."
Ingis said. And it was true. The others were clearing up in front of the castle gates, while Ingis had rushed over here.
His gaze turned to the junior knight that Ragna had slain.
"Sir Filten."
There was a trace of regret in his voice. But he didn't blame Ragna or anyone else.
He simply looked at the dead knight for a moment with a sad expression. Everything was his own choice. He knew well that Filten had harbored envy toward him. But that didn't mean he wanted this outcome.
He had become a traitor and taken sides against them. Whether right or wrong, it was the path he had chosen.
Therefore, it was only right that he should bear the consequences.
There was a feeling of gratitude inside him. If Filten had been alive, he would have had to kill him with his own hands.
Ingis soon raised his head and spoke.
"We must go to the Queen, Your Majesty."
Master Cyphers' orders had been twofold.
Ingis was to ensure Krang's safety but, if any dangerous threats arose in the palace, he was to neutralize them.
"I was already planning on going."
Krang agreed.
Was the blade he had prepared the only one for the southern knight? If he changed his mind, it would be over, but had he really staked everything on a single decision?
Of course, it wasn't just about that.
But nothing had arrived. That meant the problem had occurred elsewhere.
The group moved toward one destination.
Their target was the Queen's grand hall.
"Is this the tax collector?"
Upon arriving at the palace, Jaxen reached his final destination.
This was the place he had been looking for.
Jaxen had been tracking the person behind the assassination guild's contract.
At first, he had believed it to be Viscount Mernes. After all, it was someone who had profited using the Black Blade, a notorious band of thieves.
After finding several pieces of evidence and continuing his investigation, he discovered that there was another person involved.
By eliminating the entire assassination guild, he had learned a lot.
From that, he could discern who the leader of the Black Blade was and who the client was.
He hadn't discovered it all alone.
The external pressure had helped lead to these findings.
Specifically, it was thanks to Krang's actions.
What Krang had done was to physically separate the nobles' factions.
So...
"I couldn't have done it without the Captain's help."
The Black Blade had been torn apart, and its secrets were revealed.
Had Krang not exerted pressure, the assassination guild wouldn't have united, nor would they have put out a contract.
In fact, they might not have intervened at all.
"Failed, then?"
The question returned as a question.
A large man, his back against the wide window, stood there. His imposing presence filled the room. Jaxen nodded in response to his question.
"Not even close."
"Why?"
"Difference in skill."
"How kind."
"I do have a question of my own, though. Would you answer it honestly?"
"Of course."
He was a man who started as a merchant and climbed to the position of tax collector, a bureaucrat in charge of collecting royal taxes.
To get there, he might have sold his soul to a devil.
"Was it the Black Lily?"
The large tax collector grinned, a twisted expression that couldn't be called a smile.
"Shit, I should have killed them all and burned them when I had the chance."
At the mention of the burning mansion, Jaxen recalled the scene.
He had come to the right place.
Jaxen drew his sword.
"The heir of the Benshino family has returned."
The tax collector, who had never once removed his hand from beneath the sturdy, expensive ebony table, finally did so. In his hand were two crossbows.
Modified crossbows.
With the triggers already set, bolts were loaded and ready to fire at a moment's notice.
"Do you think you could dodge this in a small room?"
"I will come forth in the name of one who lost their family, a child who has lost their parents."
"Stop talking and come at me."
The Black Blade's actions were crude and disorganized, but Jaxen didn't blame his opponent.
He only hoped for one thing.
"Please, don't beg for mercy."
He was serious.
"Shut up!"
The tax collector shot the first bolt with his left hand. With a snap, the bolt flew through the air, its tip coated with poison designed to kill with the slightest touch.
Jaxen, hiding in the shadows, didn't try to surprise his opponent but wanted to show himself clearly.
With a swing of his sword, he deflected the bolt.
This was nothing particularly difficult.
With a snap, the bolt snapped in half and ricocheted off the wall and floor.
Meanwhile, the second bolt was fired.
A timed attack.
Jaxen drew his sword and struck the second bolt as well.
With a snap, the second bolt shattered, grazing his face. He didn't want to dodge, so he didn't.
A shallow wound appeared on his cheek.
A sharp pain surged. It was poison.
"It's done!"
The tax collector shouted. His voice was surprisingly light for his large size. This didn't sit well with Jaxen.
He didn't expect his target to be some great hero, but this was something else entirely.
He was just a filthy human.
"Do you think your family deserved to burn? Do you believe they had a reason for it?"
Jaxen recalled his teacher's words. The words were true. It was always the great ones who had a great reason for their actions.
A demon's altar, the resurrection of an evil god. At least something like that.
Or perhaps a grand noble who controlled the country?
It should have been that way.
No, there was a reason. Humans could kill for even the smallest of desires.
A mistake, perhaps. But it could be fixed.
Hadn't Enkrid shown him what to do when one walked the wrong path?
'Just turn back.'
Start again. And if that doesn't work? Try again. If the mistakes continue? It's fine. Keep going. Start again. Do it until it works.
Enkrid had taken up his sword and chased his dream of becoming a knight.
Was that dream foolish? Ridiculous? Worthy of mockery?
Not at all.
Through repetition, persistence, and never giving up, Enkrid had built his own path and walked it.
That was how it worked. That's all there was to it.
Jaxen wouldn't be disappointed by his opponent's filth.
"Ten breaths?"
He revealed the poison's nature.
"...Was it really Geogr's Dagger?"
The tax collector said, his voice now mixed with tension and confusion, as he grabbed something from under the table and tossed it down.
Bang!
Smoke billowed up. It was a smoke grenade. Saxen felt a tremor in his ears, and his vision was obscured by the smoke.
Still, there was no problem.
He'd seen through things like this hundreds of times before.
By instinct, sensation, the tremor of air, Jaxen pinpointed his opponent's location.
The man was trying to flee through the window. Saxen quickly approached, grabbed him by the neck, and tossed him back.
The man swung his hand, holding a hook-shaped weapon.
Jaxen, grabbing him with his left hand and tossing him, drew a stiletto with his right.
He blocked and deflected the opponent's attack, then walked over to the man he had thrown.
He didn't scream or groan. He whispered something in the smoke.
Of course, it wasn't anything that concerned Jaxen.
"Spare me, and I'll give you treasures beyond your wildest dreams! I know the secret vault of the Black Blade!"
"I know the secret vault of the greatest assassination guild on the continent."
The Black Blade's vault? Hardly.
The implication of his words made the tax collector sweat.
Jaxen opened the door.
The bodies of those who had tried to stop him greeted him.
They were his work. The ones who had obstructed him on his way here.
There were bodyguards and assassins alike.
The Black Blade's leader must have prepared them for him.
Not everyone was dead, though. There were still servants or maids who hadn't attacked and didn't need to be harmed.
Jaxen waited for the smoke to dissipate, then turned his head. He saw the tax collector, still holding a curved dagger, hidden under his thigh.
Jaxen took his longsword and easily pressed it into the tax collector's thigh, disabling his intent.
Thrust.
The sword tip embedded in his thigh.
"Ah!"
The scream echoed as the sword was pulled out and stabbed into his other arms and legs, cutting tendons and disarming him. Jaxen tossed the weapons aside and tied the wounds with a large cloth.
"Crazy bastard!"
The tax collector yelled in a voice filled with rage.
"I've heard that one before. It's not endearing."
Jaxen casually spoke, taking out a sharpening stone and a stiletto.
Alongside them, he took out a jagged blade and some needles and tongs—tools of torture.
"What do you want? The Black Lily? Want me to tell you who the others are? Or what else? What do you want, you bastard!"
Jaxen blinked a few times and then answered.
"Nothing."
"...What?"
"Don't beg for mercy. Your tongue is the last to go."
Jaxen didn't think his revenge was beautiful, nor did he think it was justified.
"So what? Not my problem."
Enkrid's words came to him.
Just because it was necessary didn't mean he wanted to stab his friend in the back.
He didn't just look ahead. He also looked around.
People always said everyone backstabbed each other.
But there were some who didn't.
He didn't care.
He just did what he wanted.
"If anyone asks, tell them Jaxen of the Benshino family sent you to hell. I'll send the rest of our friends later. One of them is already on their way."
"AAAAH!"
The tax collector's scream echoed through

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