A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 220: Hmm, that’s good

Count Molsen had three wives and six concubines.

For a noble living in this age, that wasn’t considered a flaw.

He had many descendants under his command.

He had more children than even the royal family, combining sons and daughters.

Despite that, he didn’t have a child he particularly favored. Life rarely goes the way one wishes.

“I’ll handle it.”

One of his sons spoke. The Count looked at his son, who had entered the carriage, and locked eyes with him.

In those eyes, envy and anger were evident.

Was it because he had been struck? Or had he been looking at someone who was now famous throughout the Pen-Hanil continent? Was it because of that, that he felt resentment?

The name "Enkrid" was now known even in the capital of the kingdom.

So, it was understandable that he might feel jealous.

But to show it openly...

‘He’s good at fighting.’

It was a son that didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t distinguish when to suppress his emotions and when not to.

At best, he’d be useful as a bodyguard.

That’s why he couldn’t say his children turned out the way he wanted.

He had prepared other measures to ensure his legacy, and now, he felt no regret about not having any more children.

That’s why Count Molsen no longer had any desire to father more.

‘If it were me...’

Instead of resenting and hating that person, he would have thought about making him an ally.

Even now, he thought that way.

There was just one thing that gnawed at his mind.

“You didn’t see that friend’s eyes, did you?”

He said this to his son, who blinked in confusion.

His son had a look on his face as if to say, What is he talking about? It almost resembled that of a bull, so maybe he was good at fighting because of his stubbornness.

The eyes are the windows to the soul; they reflect what’s inside.

“That guy.”

The Count spoke again and paused for a moment. Had he really seen what he thought? Yes, there was no doubt about it. His attitude and aura were clear, and it wasn’t something he needed to reconsider.

“He seemed to want to fight.”

“What?”

“It seemed like he wanted to fight me.”

His son, who had been making a dumbfounded expression, suddenly burst out in anger.

“How dare he!”

“Why? Do you think it’s wrong?”

The Count cut his son off.

He, too, felt a surge of pride. Those eyes, those straight, bold eyes that seemed to declare they wanted to test their mettle—it resonated with him.

Looking at those eyes made him want to gauge their skill.

But he couldn’t just fight him directly. He couldn’t indulge that request.

It was a rule that you shouldn’t give people exactly what they wanted.

That was something he had learned throughout his life.

In any case, the visit had not been in vain.

‘He’s an interesting one.’

But he couldn’t just leave him be.

So, what should he do if he wanted to keep him close?

When a person is indebted to you, they become easier to manipulate. The question was, how could he make that debt?

“What about the beast horde from the south? Father.”

The words “father” struck him in a peculiar way. He didn’t scold the son for saying it. Sometimes, there were people who didn’t need an oath of loyalty simply because they were connected by blood.

The son standing in front of him was one of those people.

‘Who was his mother again?’

Greta? Helen?

In any case, he had raised such a devoted and loyal son, so it would be nice to give his mother a small gift.

By doing so, a ripple might be caused within his household’s power struggle among his wives. But that’s what he wanted—to let them fight and argue.

It was something that happened within his family, and everything was under his control.

“Let it go.”

The original reason for the expedition was to deal with the beast horde from the south. Some were dealt with, but others were left alone.

Later, the Border Guard would probably have their hands full dealing with the beasts.

‘Then they’ll ask for help.’

That would likely happen within a few months, or at most, within a year.

“What about those who move under cover of night?”

The Count’s question was met with a reply from his son, who lowered his head.

He was referring to Geor’s Dagger, a notorious assassin group with a fearsome reputation across the continent.

The son had heard that some of them were in the Border Guard, and after contacting them, they were finally able to connect.

Before they could finish talking, a coachman spoke up.

“Someone is blocking the way ahead. What should we do?”

“Stop them.”

If they didn’t recognize the Count’s seal from the northern Pen-Hanil region, their intelligence was questionable. If they did recognize it, then they had business with him.

The latter was the case.

It was a person entirely covered in black cloth.

‘A bold one.’

The Count thought, as he opened the carriage door and asked.

“Who are you?”

“Geor’s Dagger.”

The short answer came back.

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“This bastard!”

His son shouted as he stepped down from the carriage. Words like How dare you! and You insolent fool followed.

The one from Geor’s Dagger simply listened calmly.

“What’s your reason for being here?”

He then continued speaking, ignoring his son’s words. Annoyed, his son drew his sword.

Clang!

“Let’s cut off an arm and then talk.”

His son spoke. He was a skilled figure in his territory, but the one before him was from Geor’s Dagger.

Seeing how the man boldly blocked the way alone, his confidence was evident.

“Enough.”

The Count spoke to his son. His son, trembling slightly around his eyes, stepped back.

“I want someone taken care of in the Border Guard.”

These were assassins, so treating them accordingly was the way to go.

This was an opportunity to test them. Could they handle an assassin? Even if it was Geor’s Dagger?

Half of him wanted to recruit them; half wanted to get rid of them. This was a move for the latter.

“What’s your name?”

“Enkrid.”

“Impossible.”

‘...What?’

He rejected him immediately. He didn’t even take a breath before refusing. Did he know this name?

Of course, recently, Enkrid had a notorious reputation.

“Do we really need to kill him?”

“Impossible.”

Once again, without hesitation, the answer was “impossible.”

He didn’t even hesitate when asked to only partially kill him.

Weren’t these the kinds of people who would do anything for gold?

“Are you afraid?”

The provocations had no effect. The assassin only repeated, “Impossible.”

“Then, just investigate the surroundings. Do they have a family? Who are they with? What do they own? How did they end up here? What do they want? Do you understand?”

The assassin from Geor’s Dagger thought for a moment and then nodded.

“I’ll send someone on the second day of each month. We’ll exchange information for compensation.”

“Don’t get greedy. You lot are just living off the blood of others.”

The Count added. It was rare for him to show his emotions. His son seemed to think it was a favor being done for him.

The assassin from Geor’s Dagger didn’t see it as a threat, but more as an urging to get the job done properly.

Without another word, the assassin withdrew.

The Count got back into the carriage.

“Father.”

“Know when to be patient. Showing emotions recklessly is not a good thing.”

It was like a lesson in kingship from the Count to his son, and the carriage started moving.

As they watched, the man from Geor’s Dagger finally removed his mask.

It had been a long time since he had covered his face entirely, and now it felt oddly suffocating.

‘I never imagined it would feel so suffocating.’

He had gotten used to living with his face revealed on the battlefield, where you couldn’t help but fight honestly.

When Jaxon thought about it, he considered it a thrilling battle.

He was sneaking around to cut throats, but despite all the ways to kill easier, why go directly into the fight?

So, to him, it seemed like a legitimate fight, maybe even a thrilling one.

‘No, maybe it wasn’t thrilling.’

He had witnessed his commander and some barbarians or zealots fighting. He wouldn’t call that exciting. His own battle was different.

But he didn’t hate it either.

After all, everyone had their own kind of battlefield.

“How was it?”

As Jaxon walked toward the city, his group joined him. It was a woman from the brothel—a person he considered somewhat of a lover, and someone who led the intelligence-gathering group in the organization.

“Like a snake.”

She was referring to the Count, someone who harbored cunning and deceit.

“Hmm, not great.”

She replied.

“Did you find anything out?”

Jaxon asked, and the woman nodded.

“I suspect they’re related.”

Even though Geor’s Dagger had a notorious reputation, not every contract was accepted.

But Jaxon wasn’t in a position to take on any contracts either.

Still, he had a purpose here. This was a clue leading him to his goal.

He had come here for revenge, and this was part of the clue.

“I think they’re going to ask to kill the platoon leader.”

“I rejected it.”

“Is that okay?”

The woman asked. The person they were dealing with was an aristocrat with the nickname Duke of the North, though his official title was only Count. But his true power suited the title of Duke.

Honestly, if they decided to strike, even Geor’s Dagger wouldn’t be able to handle it.

A high-ranking noble ruling over a territory was no easy opponent.

“I don’t care.”

Jaxon answered.

The woman nodded to herself. After all, this was his personality.

Although Jaxon had mentioned that his platoon leader was slowly going mad, he wasn’t exactly the most normal person himself.

“Let’s go.”

Jaxon moved first as they reached the city. The woman spoke from behind.

“Come visit often.”

He didn’t answer.

Geor’s Dagger would go through with its task. There was much to be learned from the information exchanged.

Jaxon didn’t feel burdened by it.

Should he tell the commander? He thought about it but decided it wasn’t necessary.

After all, the news was simple enough.

‘No family, obsessed with swords, dreams of becoming a knight.’

Hmm, that’s excellent. If he were to report this, the others would probably laugh it off, but there was really a person like that.

Even if he started as a mercenary and then became a soldier, eventually leading a platoon, to those on the outside, Enkrid’s dream might still seem like a fool’s fantasy.

But those who saw him up close?

Even Marcus, by now, seemed to believe it.

Anyway, this city was full of crazy bastards.

Jaxon thought as he prepared to enter their midst.

It was time for the sly, feral cat, not Geor's Dagger, to become the soldier guarding the battlefield, the subordinate who would assist his platoon leader.

If left unchecked, the mad barbarian would just do something crazy again, so it was also his responsibility to control him. At least until they were here, he was determined to do what needed to be done.

***

“This is the position of the Duke of the North.

He wants the Duke's title.

But the royal family refused.

What’s the reason for that?

According to the Count, it's because the royal family wants to push him out.

Why? Is it because they fear losing the throne? If so, they should lose it. If you don’t have the power, you’ll lose it and give it up. That’s the kind of world we live in,” the Count claims.

But the royal family remains silent.

They only act according to the laws. All of this is for Naurillia. If you want the Duke’s position, then do what is required, they say.

In reality, it’s a game of blindfolds. Everyone knows the Count is interested in usurping the throne, even those who dabble in politics.”

At the end of Kraiss’s long explanation, Enkrid asked the question that had been bothering him.

“But the nobles in the Border Guard, they seem completely clueless?”

“They’re a bunch of fools.”

That’s true. Enkrid nodded. The nobles, who didn’t even understand that their titles were inherited, believed those titles were truly valuable.

They were the kind of people who could be called the nobles of Border Guard, yet were too embarrassing to even call true nobles.

Not to mention, recently, there were some nobles who ended up in either heaven or hell after falling to Rem’s axe.

They were said to have been killed by bandits, with rumors pointing to The Black Blades, but a few sharp-eyed nobles wondered if Marcus had a hand in it.

That wasn’t something Enkrid needed to worry about.

He was simply curious about Count Molsen.

After countless experiences and constant training, Enkrid had sharpened his sense to analyze others. He had learned to read opponents’ strengths and weaknesses, and thanks to Jaxon, he had even developed an intuitive sense.

‘That son of his.’

He had no desire to engage with him.

But what about the Count?

The moment he saw him, a feeling of rivalry flared up inside him.

His physique was like tempered steel.

And his eyes were...

‘A magician.’

Had he seen a magician once or twice before?

Not to mention, there was a leopard who could transform into a human, living close by.

Since Rem knew, it was only natural that Enkrid did as well.

Esther, on the other hand, didn’t seem to consider it a secret.

Well, Enkrid had noticed it before Rem did.

And Esther, upon hearing it, had asked, “Even when bathing?”

She asked this, but he thought that magicians, those who delve into the arcane and walk in mystery, wouldn’t care about physical contact between men and women. So, Enkrid had brushed it off casually.

But recently, Esther had stopped sleeping in his arms as much.

She said it was because she didn’t need it anymore.

It wasn’t something he needed to be concerned about.

“What are you doing?”

Rem asked from the side, having fallen into thought.

They were in the middle of the platoon’s training. Enkrid was on the podium, practicing the Isolation Technique.

In the meantime, the ones he had told to run returned.

“Did you finish?”

“Yes, we did.”

Rem laughed mischievously. This guy thrived on tormenting people. He had a rare, truly unpleasant nature.

“Did everyone run?”

Enkrid observed his troops and thought to himself.

‘Their stamina is terrible.’

Everything starts with a well-running heart, doesn’t it?

So, that’s why.

For the past week, they had been running, fully armed. It was a simple training, but for those undergoing it, it was a real challenge.

Why wouldn’t it be?

From morning to noon, then from lunch to evening.

They ran, continuously.

They circled the parade ground, ran out of the city, climbed hills beside the city.

Of course, they were gasping for breath.

Their muscles screamed in protest.

The most miserable of them all were the first platoon.

“Our training is different from yours.”

There were a few soldiers who displayed a sense of superiority, but they quickly turned pale as they realized their true condition.

“We should be running in light armor too! This is unfair!”

Since they were all required to run with armor, the heavy-armored soldiers wore their full suits of armor.

Upon hearing this, Rem eagerly ran out.

Standing in front of them, the soldiers who had displayed their initial sense of superiority since the start of the training were now in a different mood.

Enkrid had warned them before: Don’t strike anyone without reason. Without a justifiable cause, it would be more of a torture than training.

His goal was to harden them, not to break them.

While he thought such training methods didn’t make much sense, it was the leader’s decision.

Rem, however, was more than happy to step in as the instructor.

“This is unfair. What, are you going to switch to the second platoon? Where’s all that first platoon pride?”

Rem stepped up, glaring directly at the soldiers. If they resisted again, it would immediately turn into a demonstration of his skill.

The soldier quickly lowered his gaze.

They knew better than to argue with a madman like Rem.

‘Hmm, good.’

Enkrid thought to himself, seeing the training proceed smoothly.

He did worry, though, that the intensity might not be enough.

It was truly a misconception to call him the Mad Platoon leader.

And rightly so. Enkrid himself had endured worse training.

So, this level seemed appropriate.