Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 507 - The Black Witch and the Golden Witch

Chapter 507 - The Black Witch and the Golden Flower

"Take my disciple as your adopted son."

Baron Philip was the lord governing this region, yet he lacked remarkable qualities.

However, he wasn't entirely devoid of ambition.

"Someday."

He dreamed of becoming a lord with a vast territory.

But this ambition bordered on delusion.

Things changed after a man named Lorenzo, who claimed to be a swordsmanship master, appeared.

Lorenzo suggested that Philip adopt his disciple, and Philip agreed. To outsiders, it seemed the adopted son had been assigned a swordsmanship instructor, but the truth was different.

The disciple was a genius spearman. Wielding a spear in one hand and a shield in the other, he could annihilate over a dozen ghouls in an instant.

"Remarkable."

The words escaped Philip's lips as he watched. He had never witnessed such a skilled individual before.

Not a single soldier under his command, no matter how capable, could compare.

Lorenzo, the mentor, was even more skilled than his disciple and adoptive son, Cavin.

Both pledged their allegiance to Philip.

"I've admired your benevolence and righteousness from afar. I saw your domain as a suitable haven for a wanderer without a home. If you wish us to leave, we will comply."

These were the words Lorenzo spoke when he first approached Philip.

With civil war raging and turmoil spreading throughout Naurilia, rumors abounded of skilled individuals seeking masters to serve. Philip considered this his opportunity.

"Why not me?"

Philip believed he was no less capable than the famed Enkrid, who had made his name during the chaos.

Enkrid wasn't even of noble birth—just a lucky mercenary who seized an opportunity.

"A mere wandering swordsman."

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Enkrid had risen to fame by exploiting the civil war, and Philip envied him.

Yes, he envied him deeply.

But envy could be dealt with—by taking that fame for himself.

He subtly gathered nearby nobles, made threats, and eyed the rich spoils of the Border Guard, salivating at the prospect.

Philip took action. The result was this encounter.

"He smells of nobility," said Rem, once notorious as a noble hunter. His nostrils flared as if imitating Dunbakel.

While it was unlikely he could literally smell nobility, the man's feathered hat, puffed-up shirt, and leather boots were unmistakable. Rem's comment was clearly meant to mock.

"Who are you? This is the domain of Baron Philip."

Three of the newcomers sat on horseback, towering over the others. Enkrid, standing below, tilted his head upward to respond.

"Enkrid of Border Guard."

The introduction needed no embellishment.

Baron Philip blinked several times.

Who?

Whether admired or despised, there was no one in the region unfamiliar with the name Enkrid.

Even those who sought to belittle his achievements couldn't deny their significance.

"An impostor, perhaps?"

The baron's suspicion was voiced, but Enkrid ignored him and spoke again.

"Are you picking a fight?"

"...What?"

Did that man just ask if he was picking a fight?

"I asked if you were picking a fight."

Even a noble deserved respect only to a point.

Enkrid was well aware of his intangible power.

Noble?

Baron?

Ridiculous.

He was already recognized as the hero of the civil war, granted lands surrounding the nearby territories, and held rank surpassing that of a general.

A noble's name could be challenged with a single letter.

Any issues that arose would end with Marcus.

Moreover, Krang's letter had hinted that it wouldn't hurt to deal with a few troublemakers—it was almost as if he wanted him to.

"You insolent—!"

The baron erupted in fury, his trembling finger pointing at Enkrid as he roared atop his horse.

"Cavin!"

Lorenzo's shout signaled his adoptive son, who dismounted.

Cavin squinted, gripping his spear and shield—his ever-present weapons.

Scanning his opponents, he didn't think them easy prey, but neither did he believe he would lose.

He was determined to kill.

This was his purpose from the beginning, exploiting the chaos within Naurilia.

But he had chosen the wrong target.

As soon as Cavin's killing intent surged, Rem reacted.

"Tsk. What a nuisance."

Rem muttered, his foot shifting slightly.

The ball of his foot pressed down while the rest lifted off the ground.

Then, he vanished from Cavin's sight.

It was less a fight and more an execution.

Before Cavin could thrust his spear or lift his shield, Rem closed the distance and swung his axe.

The speed was beyond Cavin's perception.

Cavin attempted to raise his shield, but Rem's axe cleaved his skull before he could react.

Thud!

Cavin's head cracked open.

"Cavin!"

Lorenzo's belated shout came as he leaped from his horse.

But by then, Rem had already reached him, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into the ground with monstrous strength.

Lorenzo's head struck a protruding rock with a sickening crack.

The human skull was no match for stone.

Blood and brain matter oozed out as Rem tossed the lifeless body aside and dusted his hands.

Neither had warranted the use of his axe.

"Good thing I brought this hand axe from the forge," thought Rem.

Using his heirloom weapon on such fools would've been a disgrace.

The baron's jaw dropped.

To Baron Philip, Cavin and Lorenzo had seemed like formidable warriors, nearly unmatched outside the knightly ranks.

He didn't realize there was a higher realm he couldn't comprehend.

His petty ambitions, too feeble even to be called dreams, crumbled like a collapsed stage.

"Did you pick a fight? Or hire assassins?"

Enkrid asked again.

None of the baron's soldiers dared to move.

They were frozen as if winter had come early.

"...Pardon?"

The ambition and delusions in Baron Philip's heart vanished, replaced by raw survival instincts.

Thoughts of his noble status fled.

He faced the Demon Slayer.

"Let's just chop his head off. It'd be quicker," the hulking barbarian beside Enkrid suggested.

"No need to. I'm not a murderer. If I kill every troublemaker, they'll call me the Demon General."

"Spare me!"

The baron begged, mustering every ounce of courage.

He didn't trust the soldiers behind him—a wise choice, as they had already discarded their weapons and knelt.

They had no fault in this.

"From now on, you'll till the fields yourself," Enkrid declared.

Judging by the soldiers' appearances, they weren't doing this because they were well-fed and idle.

The baron's lands were neither destitute nor abundant.

This whole scheme had rested on Lorenzo and Cavin.

The baron nodded.

After all, his domain had begun with him tilling the land.

Just looking at Enkrid was enough to make one's legs tremble.

It was natural—fear would inevitably seep into anyone who opposed him.

Even though Enkrid moderated it, the presence of his Will subtly influenced his surroundings.

For those who confronted him, it could feel as though they were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

"Thank you."

Baron Philip bowed his head.

Becoming a subordinate territory under a powerful lord wasn't something to be mocked.

"There were a few more, weren't there?"

Enkrid casually asked, ignoring Philip's reaction.

"Are you going to visit all of them?"

"While I'm at it."

The exchange between Enkrid and Rem took place in front of Philip.

The nobles who had picked a fight with Krais weren't limited to Philip.

Enkrid decided to meet them all, as if embarking on a tour.

Some nobles had accomplices like Lorenzo, while others had simply followed the trends, aligning themselves with influential peers.

No one had expected Enkrid to intervene directly, but those who knew him might have seen it coming.

Krais, at least, had a rough idea.

Thus, Enkrid went through the ranks of the nobles, weeding out the irredeemable ones—those who stole wives or daughters of their subjects—giving Rem a justified reason to sever their heads while incorporating the rest.

Even though the nobles had challenged him, and Krang had approved, cutting off their heads indiscriminately would have caused a massive uproar.

But plausible pretexts weren't hard to come by.

"You dare insult my honor!"

Local nobles, when confronted, always spoke aggressively at first, often lashing out in near-desperate outbursts.

Hearing such claims, Rem would pick up an old, discarded glove and throw it in the noble's face.

Throwing a glove was a traditional gesture symbolizing a challenge to a duel.

"Yes, I've insulted you."

Thwack.

Some nobles ended up with a bloody nose from the soaked leather glove, while others erupted in a stream of curses.

"Your mother is a ghoul!"

Remarks like these flew, but Rem didn't care.

What good was arguing with the dead?

"Fight in my stead!"

Then the noble would call forth a champion.

"If your champion loses, your life is forfeit. I'll wager our commander's head in return."

Naturally, the commander in question was Enkrid. Whether he revealed his identity or not, the process largely followed the same pattern.

Without such excuses, Enkrid couldn't simply go around decapitating nobles.

The kingdom had its own structure and laws, after all.

What Enkrid and Rem were doing was essentially taking advantage of the informal combat tribunal system within those laws.

This was just a brief outing.

The main result was that Rem's reputation as a noble killer, which had been fading, rose to prominence once more.

Not that it mattered to Rem—he paid no mind to it.

Back at Border Guard, Enkrid resumed his usual routine.

Some days, he played with the wierd-eyes.

Other times, he roamed the city or sought out his unit members to ask questions.

With certain troublesome nobles removed, the Border Guard's reputation had soared.

This brought new challenges—particularly from women of noble rank.

A group of well-dressed ladies, known locally for their beauty, launched an unrelenting campaign to court Enkrid, their "big catch."

"Once he meets me, he'll be captivated!"

"Do you think any man can resist my face?"

"If anyone can succeed, it's you, Rowen. If he doesn't fall for you, he's no man at all."

Encouraged by parents and relatives, the ladies faced two unexpected barriers.

The first was Esther, a black-haired, blue-eyed beauty currently delving into human understanding through observation.

Her elegance left some ladies blushing.

"Black Flower Esther," someone had whispered, a nickname that quickly spread.

"I'm giving up..."

"I'm going home."

While some retreated, others persisted, believing they might have some advantage over Esther.

What awaited them next was Shinar, the golden-haired fairy knight.

"The Golden Flower," they murmured.

Her ethereal beauty silenced any claims of superiority. Why was a fairy even here?

Unbeknownst to Enkrid, these events transpired, leading to rumors that the Border Guard commander had a witch on one side and a flower on the other.

As a result, the influx of love letters noticeably diminished.

Enkrid was indifferent to such trivialities. What mattered was far more significant.

He reflected on his actions, ensuring those who dared provoke or harm his people were thoroughly warned.

The deed was done, bringing him a sense of peace.

"Leaving now," Krais announced.

"Alright," Enkrid replied, remaining seated and returning to his meditation.

He was pondering the words of his subordinates.

"How do I use sorcery?"

The first to ask had been Rem.

"It's not complicated—just use it. If there's anything different about my method, it's this: Invocation usually means letting a spirit's energy reside in your body. For example, a bear's strength or a wolf's agility. Most people draw on it when needed, but in my case, the spirits are always present within me."

Enkrid recalled Rem's smile as he spoke. After returning from the west and battling Ragna, Rem had ascended to a new level of understanding.

Jaxen avoided clashing with him, while Audin admitted defeat.

"Fighting now would be meaningless, brother. I would lose," Audin had said, emphasizing the word now, which made it sound less like an admission of defeat and more like a challenge for the future.

Enkrid had asked Shinar something similar and received her explanation.

"There's a flow to the world. Align yourself with it, and let part of your body follow."

This was how she became a fairy knight.

"It just happens."

Ragna's explanation, though chaotic, was also helpful.

The mercenary king of the east had spoken of diverse experiences, which could mean finding both differences and commonalities.

When knights used their Will to intimidate, Rem used something akin to it—a shamanic art called fear infusion.

Were they different?

Yes.

But also the same, as the effects were indistinguishable: both crushed their opponent with pressure.

Thoughts scattered, coalesced, and grew firm again.

Oara had mentioned that there was no need for special techniques; simply swinging the blade would suffice.

How was that possible?

If Will infused the intent, then even a swing could become an unstoppable strike.

Muscles trained through discipline, techniques sharpened, a steady heart, and unwavering focus—such things flitted through Enkrid's mind.

What made a knight's Will different?

Seated on a tree stump, Enkrid felt the breeze, listened to the chirping of birds, and the distant shouts of soldiers at drill—all while fixating on a single thought:

"Not something to summon when needed, but always in an open state."

It was like a door—a door normally opened only when required.

Strong winds outside made it so.

After all, it wasn't a door that could stay open without being held by hand.

So, how to keep that door perpetually open?

A method surfaced in his mind.

Enkrid opened his eyes. Luagarne was staring at him absentmindedly.

The two eyes that opened were calmer than before, as though something had fallen into place.

"I'm headed to the dining hall. Want to come?"

Rising lightly to his feet, Enkrid posed the question. Luagarne shook her head.

"Not in the mood."

Enkrid made his way to the dining hall. It was time to eat.