A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 369: If There Are No People, There Is No King

How many of them were coming? It was becoming chaotic.

The Owlbear turned its gaze to the one who had just spoken.

"Enkrid?"

The monster recognized yet another familiar face and unconsciously uttered his name.

Enkrid swept his eyes around, taking in the gathered figures before finally locking onto the one wearing the feathered hat.

Their eyes met.

In that moment, Enkrid organized several facts in his mind.

The opponent knew him.

The opponent was likely a noble.

They were connected to the Black Blade.

They were in the process of transforming into a monster.

They knew how to wield that transformation.

Those brown eyes resembled someone he knew.

Then, a name surfaced in his mind— a trained physique, the stench of indulgence, an insistence on etiquette.

Someone who had become difficult to meet afterward.

But wasn’t he once under Count Molsen?

So, did that mean Count Molsen and the Black Blade were in the same boat?

A few new questions arose, but since he was confident of the person's identity, Enkrid spoke.

"Viscount Bentra?"

The realization was instant, a confirmation from his finely tuned instincts.

Bentra, at that moment, also understood why these faces were familiar.

He had brushed past them once at the royal palace entrance.

And the moment he realized this, he kicked off the ground.

He was trying to escape.

Because he knew what these lunatics— the so-called Mad Platoon— had done.

But his escape was doomed to fail.

Whoosh!

The moment he leaped, a spinning disc came hurtling toward him.

His instincts screamed at him— jumping up meant death!

It was a throwing axe, ridiculously fast. Even with a monster’s body, he knew he couldn’t block it head-on.

The Owlbear did not leap upward but instead tucked its head down, curling its body.

He aborted his escape and froze in place.

"Yeah, you should stay right there."

The golden-haired swordsman was already advancing.

He was the one who had been radiating an ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) ominous presence this entire time.

And before Bentra could react—

Swish!

The sword plunged down like a bolt of lightning.

Bentra, in his half-transformed monstrous form, flared his feathers and crossed his arms to block the strike.

Clang! Crack—Rip!

The sword was blocked, but it still sliced halfway through his arms.

"Arghhhh!"

A strangled howl burst forth, part human, part beast, mingled with agony.

"Yeah, this one’s for our fallen comrade."

Aisia, who had been silently positioned behind Enkrid, lunged.

A thin blade shot toward Bentra’s heart in a precise stab.

"Damn it!"

The Owlbear flexed its chest muscles and flung itself backward, barely avoiding a fatal wound.

Still, the thin blade pierced between his feathers, slicing through muscle and flesh before withdrawing.

A dark red streak followed in its wake.

His opponent was a knight-in-training.

No, that wasn’t even the real issue.

In this place, there were at least five others of similar caliber, including Aisia.

It didn’t matter if he transformed into an Owlbear or its ancestor— there was no escaping this fight.

The moment they met, it was already over. The only reason he had come here was to search, not to battle.

If the knightly order had not intervened, perhaps there would have been a different outcome.

But they had stepped in, and this was always how it was going to end.

The only surprises were that Crang had sent a guard and that the city’s security chief had personally joined the fray.

Then again, that at least meant that a few people in this city still cared about safety and order.

"Oooooo!"

Bentra howled a few more times.

"Shit!"

He cursed and endured.

"Spare me!"

In the end, he begged for his life.

Watching this unfold, the Southern City Guard Captain briefly berated himself for failing to recognize the opponent sooner.

"They're all monsters."

What else could you call those who could toy with an actual monster like an Owlbear?

Only now did he truly believe the rumors about the Border Guard.

Even in the capital, people dismissed them as exaggerated nonsense.

"Bastards don’t know a damn thing."

The security chief, who had barely survived this ordeal, suddenly felt an intense urge to shut up the next idiot who claimed otherwise.

Bentra, who had resisted and resisted, eventually succumbed.

His thigh was punctured. His skull was cracked.

And in the end, his neck was nearly severed by a thrown axe.

Splat!

A fountain of dark red blood gushed out as he collapsed onto the ground.

His body hit the earth headfirst.

With fatal wounds draining his monstrous blood, his transformation unraveled.

Feathers fell away, and his body convulsed.

The amount of blood gushing out diminished significantly.

Returning to human form didn’t change the fact that his injuries were lethal.

"Guhh."

Still lying on the ground, Bentra coughed up blood.

Enkrid crouched beside him.

"Why are you here?"

He asked.

There was no intention to answer.

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But as he lay dying, Bentra was consumed by regret and resentment.

"It’s unfair."

But his resentment was not directed at Enkrid.

It was aimed at the one who had turned him into this.

The side effects of indulgence and desire were not what he had truly sought.

Though he had lost his humanity after becoming a monster, at the moment of death, he recovered a piece of it.

And so, he resented it.

"How did you transform into a monster?"

Enkrid asked.

"Drugs... drugs..."

Bentra muttered as he died.

The light faded from his eyes.

He had only moments left.

Enkrid could not ask any further.

Bentra, with the last of his strength, forced out a final truth.

He could not die without saying it.

"I am not the last."

***

Count Molsen received the report and gave a slight nod.

"He was discovered and killed sooner than expected."

His subordinate stood in the center of the study, delivering the news. The count, reclining in his chair, replied indifferently.

"It doesn’t matter. He was a disposable piece anyway."

Enkrid and his men again, was it?

They were a constant thorn in his side.

But his words were genuine— it truly didn’t matter.

"The preparations?"

"Less than half a month remains."

"I see."

The full moon cast its glow over the night. The count, who had been sipping wine as if the darkness itself were his companion, set down his glass and spoke.

"Let’s see each other in fifteen days, Your Majesty."

By then, it would be clear— whether it was he or the queen who sat upon the throne.

***

In front of the Owlbear’s corpse— or rather, the remains of what had once been Viscount Bentra— the feathered-hat captain of the city guard saluted Enkrid.

"I ask for your forgiveness for my past discourtesy."

"No need for that."

After all, guarding the gates had been his duty.

"Then allow me to express my gratitude for your assistance."

The captain spoke sincerely, but Enkrid didn’t dwell on it. It had been something that had to be done, no matter who carried it out.

What truly occupied his mind was what Bentra had said before he crossed the river.

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"By the way, should you really be away from your post?"

Enkrid directed the question to Matthew. He didn’t know the exact situation inside the royal palace, but he understood that it was far from peaceful.

Yet Crang’s personal guard had come here?

"If there are no people, there is no nation. If there are no subjects, there is no king."

Matthew’s response made it clear— those were Crang’s words.

If he were to ascend to the throne while ignoring the people being slaughtered by the Moonlight Beast, then ruling would be meaningless.

And Enkrid liked that— a lot.

Crang was the kind of man who naturally made others want to fight at his side.

"Well, at least we cleaned up the mess."

Enkrid said, and Rem, disappointed at the lack of further action, suggested they spar instead.

Ragna wiped the blood and grease from his sword.

From the side, Dunbakel picked up the curved blade left behind by the assassin, nodded, and remarked,

"Not bad. This is good."

Having retrieved a weapon from a dead assassin, she seemed satisfied.

"Were there any others who reeked like him?"

Enkrid asked.

Dunbakel shook her head.

"Haven’t seen anyone else with a similar stench."

Then what exactly was left?

If there were more of them, would they really have remained this quiet?

Was there more than one Moonlight Beast?

No, their opponent had been intoxicated by monster blood, consumed by instinct, seeking pleasure in slaughter.

Even without the southern city guard captain’s testimony, that much had been apparent through prior investigation.

Enkrid wondered if Bentra’s last words had simply been nonsense spoken in delirium.

But no— the man had been completely sincere.

Enkrid wasn’t dull enough to miss that.

Then what was it?

There was nothing left in the capital.

So what exactly was still out there?

After a brief moment of thought, he spoke his conclusion aloud.

"Count Molsen is creating chimeras."

By putting the words out into the open, his thoughts solidified.

"Yeah, we need to report this to the royal palace immediately."

Aisia said, departing without hesitation. Whether it was late at night or not, this was urgent.

"Wait."

Before leaving, Matthew approached. In the end, Enkrid had never even seen the man use his whip.

The Owlbear had been taken down by Rem, Ragna, Dunbakel, and Aisia.

"Do you have something to say?"

Matthew hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. Then, as though coming to a decision, he clenched his teeth and spoke.

"Help my lord."

"Alright."

"Even just once, when the danger is too great—"

"Sure."

"...Huh?"

"I said I’ll help."

What did he think Enkrid was still doing here instead of heading home?

He had seen what Crang was doing and had stayed to swing his sword at his side.

Because Crang would be the king of Naurillia.

More than that, he had reinforced his words with actions by sending his whip-wielding guard here.

He had declared that he would stand for the nation, for the people, for his subjects.

That he would become that kind of king.

At the same time, he had said he would become Enkrid’s friend.

For a man like that, even if Enkrid wouldn’t immediately become his knight, wielding his sword for him was still worth it.

The answer had already been decided— that was why it came so quickly, leaving Matthew startled.

"He’s not the type to stop moving, even if I stand beside him. Which means he won’t ask for help."

Crang had said it himself.

This was something he would do with his own strength.

It was a gamble, but without gambling, there was no way to win.

"Then, I’ll be on my way."

Matthew turned and left.

By the time night had passed and morning arrived, news reached Andrew’s estate.

It wasn’t about what had happened the previous night.

In fact, Viscount Bentra’s death was being hushed up.

The story of the Moonlight Beast’s capture was already buried.

The news that spread instead—

Was about the Grand Dukedom Investiture Ceremony.

It was Crang’s signal.

Perhaps because of that, Aisia stopped showing up.

After seeing her around for days, her absence was noticeable.

"So, that knight-in-training isn’t coming anymore?"

Even Rem was looking for her.

"There’s a title ceremony. She’ll be busy."

Enkrid, drenched in sweat from training, responded. He missed her presence as well.

"If I could have just a hundred more bouts— no, two hundred."

Then he might have broken through the final wall of his swordsmanship.

Of course, to truly overpower and defeat Aisia, he would need far more time.

Still, he regretted it.

She was an opponent he wanted to face dozens, hundreds of times more.

"Guess I’ll have to beat up the captain instead. Let’s go."

Rem clicked their tongue, itching for a fight, and Enkrid, feeling the same way, followed along.

***

The situation within the royal palace changed by the day— all according to Crang’s design.

And Crang only stoked the flames further.

"Are you just going to stand by and watch? A grand duke, of all things!"

"Is she digging her own grave?"

The nobles erupted in outrage.

In a palace where the rank of marquis had always been the highest attainable, the queen had now declared that she would grant Crang the title of grand duke.

"Where is Viscount Bentra?"

Viscount Mernes asked.

At this moment, he was the one uniting all the factions within the royal court.

The once-scattered noble factions had now come together— largely because of Crang.

With Marcus Baisar and several other nobles under his sway, he had moved swiftly to gain the queen’s support and secure the title of grand duke.

Every move he made was a direct threat to the nobility.

From his policies aimed at strengthening the monarchy to his restructuring of court systems— it was all something they could not sit idly by and watch.

It was clear that he had to be removed.

He endangered all of them.

Even if the queen was backing him, the natural order dictated that the loudest one must be silenced first.

"Does he think he can act so arrogantly just because the queen is behind him?"

Viscount Mernes saw Crang’s actions as nothing more than an extension of the queen’s will.

"Why did you do this, Your Majesty?"

This would only lead to disaster.

It was inevitable.

The factions had gathered and unified. And unless they found an outlet for this united power, it would only lead to internal strife.

The queen had dug her own grave.

The title investiture ceremony was one week away.

Viscount Mernes activated the Assassin’s Guild.

He called upon the power that had always backed him.

The remaining forces of the Black Blade Bandits infiltrated the royal palace.

Loyalists among the Royal Guard took their positions.

Some within the knightly orders who had defected were informed of the impending uprising.

"This is loyalty."

The tides had already shifted.

A civil war would only rot the nation from within.

So why even let it start?

Why not end everything before it could begin?

If the queen intended to use her long-lost brother as a shield—

"Then that brother shall die."

And once that happened, the queen would never attempt such a thing again.

She would become nothing more than a puppet upon the throne.

And after that, the true king would take his place.

"That is where my work ends."

Viscount Mernes muttered to himself.

By the night before the title ceremony, everything would be over.