A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 219: I want to try it once

Even though the whole city was in high spirits, there were still guards on watch.

Under their guidance, two carriages entered the city and crossed through the market square.

There was no official reason for it.

On the surface, it was a visit from an ally, a procession from one of the high-ranking nobles.

A well-trained coachman, with muscular forearms, stepped down from the carriage and opened the door. A man with a splendidly groomed mustache stepped out from the first carriage.

"Count Molsen?"

Marcus muttered, then greeted him immediately.

"I came to congratulate you on your victory. I thought I'd stop by as I passed through."

He was someone Enkrid hadn’t expected to see here at all.

Certainly not someone he expected to see in the middle of the Border Guard Market.

The squad leader, who had been the guard commander, hesitated and didn’t dare to step forward. When Marcus gave him a nod, the commander silently withdrew.

A strange atmosphere radiated from the Count and his attendants, effectively silencing the crowd around them.

In the silence, the Count’s voice rang out. It was a firm, assured tone.

It was the kind of confidence that came from knowing his authority and trusting in himself.

"I came to see the face of the hero of this battlefield."

Count Molsen was bold. He was direct, and that made him appear even more confident.

Despite being a noble, he didn’t wear expensive satin or silk. He wore a simple cotton tunic, yet still exuded an air of nobility.

Even through his thin clothes, his well-toned muscles were visible, suggesting he didn’t neglect his own training.

Even though he was stepping on the muddy ground, slick with the spilled alcohol from the excited people, there was nothing in his presence that would suggest he didn’t belong as a noble. He was impressive.

Enkrid thought to himself that it was the first time someone had left such an impression at first sight.

"How is it? I heard you're hiding a gem here. Why don't you show it to me?"

The Count’s voice was full of leisure. Marcus, however, did not immediately respond.

The two seemed to know each other well. Enkrid watched the situation from a few steps away. As expected, he soon heard someone calling for him.

‘Should I step forward?’

Or should he let it be?

A quick glance at Marcus revealed a stern expression he hadn’t seen before.

Wasn’t he the type to chuckle even during a war?

“That guy’s head makes me want to crack it open.”

Rem muttered beside him. While his words weren’t slurred, it wasn’t normal to want to crack open a noble’s head like that.

Enkrid gestured to Audin and Ragna to take care of him.

If they left him alone, he might cause a serious incident.

This would also help ease Marcus' discomfort.

He had no intention of hiding himself.

Hiding was Marcus’ idea, not his. He had gone along with it, but now everything was out in the open.

So, stepping forward now felt right.

Actually, considering it, wouldn’t it be better to have Molsen’s swordsmen come to see him later?

He liked the idea Kraiss had suggested.

"Instead of going to find them, make them come to you."

Besides, no matter how much Molsen gave off an air of intimidation, he wasn’t a threat to Enkrid.

Before repeating today, he had lived on the edge, and after repeating today, he had lived with his life constantly on the line. When it came to resolve and courage, Enkrid might have been the strongest in the continent.

Because of that, Molsen’s appearance seemed more like an opportunity to Enkrid.

‘I heard he collects talented people.’

Molsen was known as a collector of talent.

That meant he likely had many excellent swordsmen under his command.

There were probably many who were skilled with spears, too. Some may have been martial artists, and others may have been skilled with blunt weapons. In fact, there were probably a lot.

There were also rumors about knights among his ranks.

The elite swordsmen who had been targeting Enkrid on the previous battlefield were also under Molsen’s command, but Enkrid didn’t know that for sure.

He didn’t even know the nickname of the dead man.

At any rate, Enkrid thought that if Kraiss spread the word, some prideful individuals under Molsen might come to see him, and he might even get a few good swordsmen looking to challenge him.

“Your name was Enkrid, right?”

Suddenly, Count Molsen spoke up again. By now, Marcus should have stepped forward, but before him, Enkrid took a step toward the Count.

"Step back, soldier."

A man, claiming to be the Count's guard, blocked Enkrid’s chest with his arm. It wasn’t just blocking—it was more like a harsh shove. He struck Enkrid with a rough, aggressive gesture.

It was a well-trained arm, the kind of strength you’d expect from a coachman.

Through his thin shirt, Enkrid could see the trained chest muscles. The man glared at him viciously.

‘Is this a confrontation?’

It seemed like it could be.

Since the man had struck first, Enkrid felt he had every right to retaliate.

That thought crossed his mind.

There was also an expectation that, by making a strong impression here, those who came to find him later would be of higher caliber.

So, Enkrid had no second thoughts.

He was likely influenced by Rem, who had drunk a few glasses.

That was why.

When he grabbed the arm blocking his chest and pushed, the man naturally resisted.

In that moment, Enkrid used his right hand to push the man's arm, then pulled it while using his left foot to kick his opponent’s ankle.

It was a technique to break the opponent’s balance—Balraf-style martial arts that Audin had taught him.

The opponent, caught off guard, lost his footing. His foot lifted off the ground, his buttocks lifted as he fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Whether Molsen had intended it or not, the silence he had created was intentionally torn apart.

The surrounding area grew quieter than before.

Some soldiers, unable to hold back, let out a soft groan.

“That’s gotta hurt.”

Enkrid spoke quietly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. The man who had fallen turned bright red, his angry eyes glaring at him as he tried to get back up.

Enkrid didn’t even glance at him as he spoke.

“I thought you came to see me.”

Without looking at the man he had knocked down, Enkrid turned to face the Count.

The Count, too, was watching him.

The fallen coachman clenched his fists, unsure whether to strike Enkrid or not.

In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to strike. His master was watching.

Enkrid had made his point with force, and the conversation followed after.

The brief commotion seemed to have drawn the Count’s attention quite effectively.

Enkrid wasn’t trying to grab attention, but he could calmly meet the Count’s gaze.

It was an attitude and action that didn’t back down.

It may have seemed a little crazy, but the Count was silently observing Enkrid, paying close attention.

Enkrid did the same.

‘He’s got that mustache groomed quite well.’

It almost looked like he had hired a barber to take care of his mustache.

Marcus, who had been standing behind, was about to step forward but held back.

Enkrid had taken the lead, leaving no room for Marcus to intervene.

"Are you Enkrid?"

The Count asked.

“Yes, that’s me.”

Enkrid answered.

Their eyes met. Enkrid gazed at him calmly, and the Count met his gaze with the same level of calmness, his blue eyes looking into Enkrid’s dark ones.

Had he been rude to strike the coachman on their first meeting?

It was a sudden thought, one that crossed Enkrid's mind.

He didn’t think much of it.

After all, didn’t he have some personal grievances too?

Everyone knew that Count Molsen had secretly put a fork into the battle on the previous battlefield.

Outwardly, no one would question why he did that.

It wasn’t like the soldiers who erased their sentences from the records were doing it for no reason.

And when Martai’s forces retreated, those soldiers had fled without a trace.

Not a single one could be caught.

If Enkrid had pursued, he could have caught a few, but he didn’t need to. No, he shouldn’t have.

Kraiss had said it would be a problem even if they caught them. He had provided a very reasonable explanation for that.

“Do you think if we find out and accuse him, Count Molsen would admit he was right? That’s nonsense! Wouldn’t they just frame us for it? Then we’d have to back down instead. It’s better to just leave it as is.”

The point was this: strength equals law.

Perhaps that was why Marcus hadn’t chased after the ones who had fled.

Anyway, Enkrid thought that the man he had knocked down wasn’t Count Molsen’s son or any important figure, and that giving a little embarrassment to a guard wasn’t a big deal.

“Are you okay?”

The Count asked, addressing the guard who was now standing awkwardly behind him.

“Yes, Father.”

Hmm? Enkrid instinctively wanted to rub his ears.

Did he hear that wrong?

“Are you scolding my son on our first meeting? Truly, your courage is impressive.”

The Count spoke. Enkrid suddenly realized there had been a big misunderstanding.

“Ah, well... yes. I see now.”

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The silence returned. It felt as though the silence that had been torn apart was now being carefully stitched back to its original form.

“Did you think I was his son?”

This new silence was broken by Count Molsen himself, who tore through it with his question.

“I didn’t know.”

“Then now you do.”

Was he asking for an apology? The Count fully turned to face Enkrid.

There was a faint light shimmering in the Count’s eyes.

Enkrid felt a strange sensation as he looked into them. It was like those eyes were seeing through him. Not to look at the outside, but to probe deep within. How should he describe it? The feeling was odd.

Should he apologize? Enkrid realized that wouldn’t be difficult at all.

A few words of apology were nothing.

It wasn’t like he had to cut off a finger and offer it.

Yet, strangely, his lips didn’t move.

Had his arrogance grown along with his skills? It wasn’t that.

It was simply that the man in front of him bothered him.

It felt like facing a cunning monster on a deserted road—an especially devious one.

As the tension in the air thickened, everyone started to feel the atmosphere shift. The Count’s voice broke the stillness.

“Haha, it’s fine. The fool who was attacked was the idiot here.”

The Count laughed loudly, his face full of smiles and hearty laughter.

Enkrid silently acknowledged the generosity, as though following the formalities.

“It’s really fine. I just came to see your face. The rumors about you weren’t false. Truly, they were correct.”

Count Molsen said this as he continued to scrutinize Enkrid’s face.

“Regardless of your skill, they say your face is exceptional. All the young women in the area must have trouble sleeping.”

“The local young women must be suffering from insomnia, I suppose.”

Enkrid replied with a light-hearted joke.

“Haha, this one’s witty.”

The Count laughed a few more empty words before muttering an apology of sorts to Marcus regarding the recent events.

“The beasts and monster hordes from the south were no joke. Protecting the territory is a duty delegated by the king, isn’t it? Stopping them wasn’t easy. So, I couldn’t help. Those Martai bastards, their city was too influenced by the east. Your contribution is great.”

It almost sounded like he was a king. Enkrid thought to himself. Meanwhile, Marcus responded with his usual gentle smile.

“The credit for this victory goes to my lord and the rightful queen of the country.”

You’re not a king. Bastard.

That’s what Marcus seemed to be saying.

“Then, I shall see you again.”

Count Molsen, unperturbed, simply left as if he hadn’t heard Marcus’ words.

His stay was brief, but the atmosphere he left behind lingered for a long time.

As soon as he left, Marcus muttered with a twisted smile.

“Damn bastard.”

It was a remark that revealed deeper feelings than the usual disdain shown to the noble circles of the Border Guard.

“Is there bad blood between you two?”

“Do you know what that bastard’s dream is?”

Enkrid couldn’t possibly know. Before he could even ask with his eyes, Marcus continued.

“He’s a usurper. A king’s throne usurper. A total madman.”

Enkrid, still unable to laugh at someone else’s dream, couldn’t join in the condemnation.

But...

‘It’s not his dream that’s messing with his eyes, is it?’

Marcus, as usual, didn’t seem to notice, but those eyes of Molsen’s really bothered him.

After Molsen left, the party atmosphere shifted, but thanks to a few soldiers’ efforts, it regained some life. However, it quickly faded, like a fire that burned bright for a moment but soon extinguished.

The next day, after the party, there was a simple ceremony.

“Enkrid, the platoon leader, is appointed as the training platoon leader!”

Marcus shouted from the podium on the parade ground.

Everyone accepted it without much surprise.

“Did he get the position because he trained hard to become the training platoon leader?”

One soldier muttered, but a few soldiers with good instincts sensed something ominous.

Especially Venzance, the squad leader.

“Could it be?”

That “could it be” wasn’t an innocent guess. It was a suspicion of something serious.

After the ceremony, when they returned, Rem, who had been deep in thought, suddenly clapped his hands and exclaimed.

“That’s the guy!”

“What guy?” Enkrid asked, realizing once again that Rem’s brain worked differently from others.

“That Count Molsen.”

“Right, that Count Molsen.”

“Didn’t I tell you before?”

“You talk a lot, Rem.”

He’d been saying a lot, hadn’t he?

“No, I already told you why I ended up here.”

What was it again? Enkrid racked his memory. He vaguely remembered hearing it before.

Rem had mentioned that he had killed a man who had been raping commoner women and killing people. After killing him, it turned out that the bastard was a noble’s son.

“That bastard was his son.”

“... Count Molsen?”

“Ah, that’s where I recognized him from.”

Rem nodded with a satisfied look on his face.

As Enkrid entered his quarters, he thought to himself.

‘It’s probably a coincidence, but...’

Had Count Molsen not recognized Rem?

If there had been a bounty on Rem’s head, it wouldn’t have been so easily ignored. But who knows? It was unclear. Especially since Count Molsen seemed like the type to have hundreds of snakes in his belly, or perhaps keep a nine-headed hydra, a mythical creature, hidden.

Above all, those eyes.

“Hmm.”

Those eyes weren’t like the ones of the leopard watching him back in his room, but they were strangely similar.

In other words, it hinted at something magical. A suspicion that was now half-confirmed.

And that physique—perhaps he was a swordsman with magical powers?

If that were the case, then...

‘I’d like to try fighting him.’

Scratching his head, Enkrid thought about it, not fully certain.

The leopard, Esther, watched him and sent him a look as though wondering, Why is this guy half-crazy?

Her eyes glowed as if something was burning inside.

“Let’s have a spar. A duel.”

Then Rem, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke.

“Hmm?”

It was surprising that Rem spoke first, so Enkrid looked at him.

“Why are your eyes all wild? Let’s spar.”

Enkrid stepped forward, facing Rem. He brought out what he had learned and applied it, creating a new flow with his body.

It was an enjoyable time, one he hadn’t had in a long while.

Two days later, as planned, after the soldiers on duty had been dismissed, the entire platoon participated in training.

This included the first platoon, the heavy-armored unit.

Some of the heavy-armored soldiers made disgruntled faces.

Each unit had its own methods of training.

They, especially, had undergone the most grueling training of all.

So, it was no surprise that some of them showed signs of discontent.

However, Enkrid, standing on the podium, didn’t pay any attention to it.