Chapter 390 - The Count and Krang
Enkrid smelled blood and a faint stench of decay inside the grand hall.
The traces of battle were evident as well.
It was obvious from just a quick glance around.
The queen sat on the throne, her mouth tightly shut.
Luagarne, standing nearby, had her ankle severed. Despite that, she managed to maintain her balance, revealing a look of determination, with visible scratches on her body.
'The signs of a fierce battle.'
This meant there had been a fight intense enough for Luagarne to lose her ankle.
Still, they had won.
The Marquis of Okto, who stood right in front of the eight low steps leading up to the throne, was wearing a robe, with blood splattered across it.
His complexion was darker than usual, and he made no attempt to hide the grave expression on his face.
What about the surroundings?
The bodies had been removed, but bloodstains and damaged walls were still visible.
There were also sword marks on the white-painted pillars supporting the hall.
The smell of decay indicated something.
It was the scent of monsters.
Among the bodies, a few were monstrous, with fur. They were werewolves.
'It wasn't just Baron Bentra involved.'
Although the exact orchestrator of this act was unclear, the intention was obvious.
This was a conclusion drawn through instinct, reason, and thought.
'They were trying to kill Krang, seize the capital, and secure the queen.'
Or perhaps they had even planned to kill the queen herself? That remained uncertain. Regardless, their plan had failed. Krang had survived. And the queen, at least on the surface, appeared unharmed.
Enkrid's gaze shifted to behind the throne. He saw a man standing behind the wizard.
The man had a square jaw, with graying hair near his ears, and neatly combed brown hair.
From his closed lips, one could tell he was the type to speak only once a day, if at all.
He wore a sword with a sun-shaped pommel at his waist, and stood directly behind the queen.
It seemed to be the most suitable position for both guarding and striking.
"I didn't expect there to be a guardian knight," muttered Count Molsan, the most out-of-place person in the room.
He swept his hair back, gave Krang and Enkrid's group a quick glance, then shifted his gaze to the queen.
But from Enkrid's perspective, it was clear the count's gaze only lingered on him for a moment.
It had been a long time, but the words were aimed at him, not Krang.
Krang didn't even seem to exist to him, as if he had been completely ignored.
"Something you didn't need to know," the queen responded, her voice low and dark, replacing the usual warm and gentle tone.
Just as the wizard nearby coughed, the queen raised an eyebrow.
"Are you admitting your intentions were impure?"
The queen's anger was evident.
"I admit it," said the count.
His response was brief, but he smiled. It was the same confident, unshaken demeanor as always, like an unbreakable rock.
He seemed to exude an air of arrogance, the kind that comes from someone who acts according to their own will. Amid the smell of blood and decay, his perfume seemed to linger.
It was the presence of someone who fully believed in themselves.
"I have one question," the count said, showing his palms as if to dismiss any answers.
The queen had no time to respond.
"Is it right for a few nobles to cause all this? Look at the state we're in. The knights are divided, and a guardian knight had to step in to protect the queen. Don't you know that when a guardian knight steps in, it's said to be a sign that the kingdom will fall? Is this the end? Look outside. If someone had started a fire, the palace would have been burning."
It felt as though he was suggesting that they could have done that, but chose not to.
To Enkrid, it seemed like the count's body was growing larger with every word.
"That's sophistry!" shouted a nobleman, one Enkrid had never seen before. His voice was loud, but it still seemed weaker than the count's.
The perspective seemed to distort, the sense of distance becoming warped.
"Do not dismiss the reality that has occurred as sophistry," the count said, his voice low but filled with a presence that silenced the noble.
The noble knew that anything he said here would gain him nothing. It was a feeling born from years of survival in the political arena.
"Hmph."
The noble snorted in frustration, but the count ignored him with an indifferent expression, effectively defeating him without lifting a finger.
No swords or hands were used, but it was still a victory.
"What is it that you want to say?" Another noble, the Marquis of Baisar, stepped forward. He resembled Marcus, with white hair and an even tone that didn't match the chaos around them.
The Marquis of Baisar, the head of the Centerpole Thumb Family.
His hair, now white, was neatly combed back with flower-seed oil, and his clothes were spotless, not a drop of blood staining them.
His presence hinted that his journey and his purpose here were different from everyone else's.
"I want to ask why this has happened," the count responded.
"Why?" the marquis asked again.
"What do you think would have happened if the king had gained power?" the count's eyes and mouth curved into a smile.
"How dare you insult the royal family!" The noble from earlier could no longer hold his temper.
"Stop interfering. Or is this something your master ordered you to do?" the count shot back.
The noble trembled, his hand reaching for a short sword at his side, ready to draw.
The count ignored him, while the Marquis of Okto gestured at the noble, signaling him to remain silent.
The noble then closed his mouth.
"If you could call Sir Cyprus here with a single word, what would you do?" the count continued, never losing his smile.
"What do you think would happen if the south was abandoned?" he asked, as though waiting for this moment.
"Does it matter?" the count asked nonchalantly.
"The sword that defends the palace. If that's not important, then what is?" Marquis Okto interjected.
The count answered calmly.
"The throne, the king, power, and the resulting authority."
His meaning was clear. It was more important to establish the throne and gain power first.
"Who gives orders to the knights?" the count raised his right fist, almost like making a speech.
"Is it the knight they call Master? Or the king? Or is it the throne? Or perhaps—" His voice became sharp as a knife, cutting through the room. The queen clenched her teeth, her jaw muscles tightening.
"Is it the game of honor they love so much?"
What came first?
The throne. The king. Power. Authority. The pursuit of power came first.
Without the strength to achieve one's goals, what good was the throne?
"Give up the throne, Queen. It's the only way to save this country," the count said, crossing a line that should not have been crossed. Despite that, his words didn't feel out of place. There was a force behind them that made it seem as though he was speaking the truth.
The Marquis of Baisar, with a calm expression that didn't fit the occasion, threw a question back at him.
"What would change if you became king?"
"It would change," the count replied.
"How?" the documentation marquis asked again, his voice steady.
"I will gather power and strengthen the throne. As for those who try to push through? The lost territories? In just a few years, I will drive them all out, and I can just reclaim the land when the time comes."
This was a resolve to walk a different path than before. He was talking about solidifying his foundation first and then using the power he built to start again.
"What will you use?"
"I am a mage. And in my domain, there is power equal to that of a knight order."
This was a clear threat. Even Enkrid, watching from the sidelines, could feel it.
"Do you have power? I do."
It was a challenge.
The two marquises were left speechless. The queen was no different.
"Your Majesty, how long do you think your guardian knight will protect you? That's a ridiculous claim. If you're confident, then try. I will show you the strength of someone born and raised in that land you call the border, Molsan's land."
This was nothing less than arrogance.
Despite this failure, the Count didn't apologize or plot behind the scenes. He stood straight and spoke clearly.
A direct confrontation. He was confident he could take it by force.
"Bring the knights. I will make them kneel, kill them all, and then I will personally declare this kingdom mine."
Killing all the knights? Impossible. But it seemed possible with the Count's words.
His words weighed on the room. They felt as if they were being pulled down to their knees.
Of course, Enkrid wasn't going to bow.
Neither were the Marquises of Okto and Baisar. However, a few of the nobles seemed shaken. It felt as if the fight was over, as if the Count's victory was inevitable.
"It's magic."
As Enkrid watched, a whisper came from beside him.
Esther had quietly moved in next to him.
"Trying something sneaky, huh?"
She spoke, and instead of responding, Enkrid just kept his gaze forward.
It was magic. The Count was using some kind of trick.
Should he cut him down? The man was already displeasing to him.
Perhaps sensing that thought, Ragna spoke from behind.
"Will you do it?"
Could he? Enkrid hesitated for a moment, but before he could decide, Krang raised his hand, grinning. His cheerful demeanor didn't fit with the Marquis of Baisar's calmness, but it wasn't just unfitting—it almost seemed insane.
His words and the title he used were even more provoking.
"I have a question. Sir."
For the first time, Krang seemed genuinely entertained. His title, mocking in tone, was meant to goad.
The Count couldn't ignore him. His words made it impossible.
The Count turned and looked directly at the queen.
"Are you really going to trust such an immature child? Someone with no power, nothing at all?"
Krang wasn't a child. He had a fair amount of facial hair, but the Count spoke as if he were a mere child.
Krang ignored how he was addressed.
He didn't care. His dismissive attitude was followed by his words.
"If you defeat the knights and leave them out, you'll expand in southern Lihinstetten, and then what about the cursed lands? As expected, you won't be able to stop it."
Krang had positioned himself in the Count's game. He went with the flow. It didn't matter. He was still smiling faintly.
"So what?"
The Count asked again, finally facing Krang.
"If that happens, many will die. Losing land isn't the end. As you lose territory and get pushed back, the people near the borders will die in droves. Is that the end of it? People die, land is lost, and the merchants will decrease their traffic. When merchants stop coming, what do you think will happen? The gold coins will dry up. That will weaken the country's economy for a while. Or maybe you think the Count's private funds will solve all of this, considering how much gold you have? But even with all your power, do you think you can stop Lihinstetten or the cursed lands in the south?"
The Count glared at the man standing on his own game board. His gaze was filled with contempt. He stood his ground and faced Krang's words head-on.
"Sacrifice is inevitable. If it's necessary, I will do it."
"Really?"
"Then how can we move forward without sacrifice?"
Krang spread his arms wide.
"Do both."
"Both?"
"Don't make light of what's going to happen next."
"You're just bluffing, pretending to be able to do the impossible."
"That's not true. My weapon lies elsewhere."
"Show me then."
"I'm good at making requests."
"A request?"
"For example, if I asked someone to cut off your head right now, there would be someone willing to do it."
"Go ahead."
Krang, still smiling, stared at the Count, as if he were an old friend.
"Do you want to die?"
"You can't kill me."
He was so sure.
As Enkrid listened to the conversation, he prepared himself to step in at any moment.
"May I make a request, Enki?"
Krang spoke, his gaze turning to Enkrid, filled with mischief and intensity.
It might have seemed like an offhand comment, but it felt like the right time. No one else had stepped forward yet, caught in the pressure from the Count and Krang.
Even Ragna, who had been bold before, hesitated.
But Enkrid stepped forward.
"Of course."
He spoke as if it was natural, joining in and standing with Krang.
The atmosphere twisted strangely. Krang had set the stage, and now Enkrid was the sword that stepped in.
"Always the greedy one."
"I'm not your friend, Count. I'm his." Krang responded.
"Now, turn around. Look at the situation. Even a seven-year-old knows where to stand to win."
The Count glared at Krang. It seemed that whoever got Enkrid on their side would be the winner.
Enkrid took a step forward, standing by Krang's side and lifting his wrist in triumph.
"Victory."
It was a clear declaration.
"Just as I thought." Krang nodded, smiling.
The Count laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh.
"Good, good! Very good. So, Queen, the choice is yours?"
"No words for a traitor."
At last, the queen responded.
The Count glared at Krang, saying:
"You said you wouldn't call for the knights, and you would solidify your power. Then you'd better block my first arrow. Without that famous knight order of yours."
"Worried about me? Thanks. I'll defeat your forces even without the knights."
Krang mocked the Count, who wasn't fazed. Instead, his body began to creak, and white smoke began to leak from him.
"It wasn't the real body after all."
Esther spoke to Enkrid, though everyone could hear.
"Oh, you already sent part of your forces to Border Guard. When that city's glorious flames rise, I'll reconsider."
As the smoke dissipated, the Count's body shriveled away.
"We'll meet again."
With those final words, the Count's body crumbled.
Enkrid looked at the fallen figure. It wasn't a face he recognized. But Krang knew it well.
"Mernes, the Viscount."
He had vanished earlier but ended his life here as the Count's messenger.
Krang sighed, shaking his head.
The two marquises were watching him closely now—no, they were watching both him and Enkrid.
"Well, Queen, I've kept my promise."
Krang spoke, his tone light as ever.
"I've cleared out all the noble factions here and left only my own people."
And with that, he turned to discuss his promise with the queen, without any time for leisure to settle the situation.
Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 390 - 390 - The Count and Krang
"How?" the marquis asked again, his voice steady.

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