A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 363: Forceful Circumstances

“Go on, continue what you were doing.”

The Marquis of Octo took his seat, his two guards standing motionless behind him.

The sharp, intimidating aura from them lasted only a moment.

Neither of them smiled, nor did they appear dissatisfied.

They were simply doing their jobs.

Ragna observed their posture.

They weren’t rigid, nor were they arrogant.

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They would use only the necessary amount of strength at the right time.

It was obvious at a glance.

While Ragna analyzed their stance, Rem was reading their aura.

They weren’t dangerous because they were hostile—they were dangerous because of where they were standing.

That was what he saw.

So Rem didn’t think he’d need to fight them.

Next, he assessed the Marquis himself.

He looked like an idle old man with nothing better to do.

"What, is he bored?"

He didn’t say it aloud.

The old man had come to see Enkrid, not him.

And the fact that Rem thought it wasn’t his place to interfere made him smirk.

"Is this right?"

Was it strange? No.

It was so natural that it felt odd when he thought about it.

He was respecting Enkrid’s guest?

At some point, he had started following Enkrid.

And he didn’t hate it.

It had happened so naturally that he hadn’t even noticed.

Meanwhile, Esther sensed magical energy coming from the Marquis’ side.

But she determined there was no mage present.

‘A relic.’

Her mage’s curiosity flared—

—but she crushed it beneath her will.

If she acted recklessly, it would only trouble Enkrid.

Thunk.

Right next to her, Enkrid slammed the poleaxe into the ground with force.

He hadn’t even acknowledged the Marquis’ words.

He simply did as he was told—he continued training.

“You’re focusing too much on balance. If you don’t put enough force into your strikes, what’s the point?”

Rem took a step back and offered a casual critique.

The axe at his waist swayed, tapping against his thigh.

One of the guards glanced at him, but since they were only observing, there was no actual tension.

Rem focused entirely on Enkrid.

“Then what?”

“Your stance.”

He gestured for Enkrid to shift his left foot forward.

That would put more weight into the strike—

—but wouldn’t it also leave him vulnerable?

"Where the hell did you leave your Heart of Might?"

Rem didn’t say it aloud, but if Enkrid asked again, that’s exactly what he would have said.

Enkrid processed the advice instantly.

‘If I have strength beyond human limits, I should be able to use it for offense, too.’

Superhuman strength. Incredible power.

Thinking he alone had such power would be arrogance.

He had to assume his enemies could match him.

What Rem was teaching him wasn’t just "Giant Cleaving."

It was the technique to counter weapons swung with overwhelming force.

A skill born from Rem’s own experience.

A technique he had only recently developed.

Rem turned his first-hand knowledge into a skill.

Enkrid had already done it before.

His Captured Blade technique was thrilling to watch.

So Rem did the same.

He used his experiences as the foundation,

then structured them into a technique,

then broke it down into steps,

then had Enkrid test it.

By teaching, Rem was also learning.

And Enkrid knew exactly what Rem was doing.

For all his headstrong nature, Rem was a genius.

It didn’t change anything.

It was just a fact.

For now, Enkrid was too absorbed in learning and refining his skill to care whether Rem was a genius or not.

So he trained earnestly, with all his focus.

And Rem enjoyed watching him train.

“Stronger.”

Rem spoke, and Enkrid adjusted accordingly.

To counter a giant’s attack, he had to know what they were capable of.

To surpass a limit, he had to know what a limit was.

The Marquis watched, intrigued.

He found it fascinating that this young man was taking his training so seriously.

And Jaxon simply stared at the Marquis.

No malice. No hostility. No aura.

Just watching.

Jaxon had already suspected the leader of the Black Blades was likely a noble.

"But the Marquis of Octo? No way."

If he were that high up, he wouldn’t have hidden so much.

At his level, he wouldn’t need to stay in the shadows—he could seize power outright.

The Marquis held some of the greatest influence within the capital—

aside from Count Molsen, he was arguably the most powerful noble in the kingdom.

Jaxon had already investigated the palace’s internal conflicts.

So he knew.

The Marquis wasn’t the Black Blades’ leader.

The leader of the Black Blades was a thief-turned-aristocrat, not a man who had been born into nobility.

As he observed the Marquis, one of his guards stared back at him.

He had hidden his presence completely—and yet, the guard had noticed him.

‘He has something. Some kind of power.’

Jaxon could tell—this wasn’t someone with his kind of abilities.

Still, a guard of that caliber would be essential to survive in the capital.

After all, anyone holding their ground in the city right now was under constant assassination threats.

"Will?"

He hadn’t trained in stealth techniques.

He didn’t smell like one of his kind.

So /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the only possibility was Will.

He could try hiding himself even further, but—

it was pointless right now.

Jaxon broke eye contact.

A subtle tension lingered—

until the Marquis finally spoke.

“Are you not even going to offer me tea, Baron Gardner?”

“Huh? Oh—right! Of course!”

Andrew rushed to prepare tea and refreshments, visibly sweating.

The estate had only a handful of servants.

One of the maids recognized the Marquis and trembled as she approached.

To her, this noble wasn’t like Andrew.

Andrew, despite his status, was her master.

She had gotten used to him.

And she knew he wouldn’t harm her.

But the man sitting before her was a true noble.

A man who could, with a single gesture, ruin her life—

or destroy her entire family.

She didn’t fully understand why she was so afraid.

But her instincts screamed at her.

Her hands shook.

And in the end—

she spilled the tea.

The liquid dripped onto the table, then onto the Marquis’ lap.

The maid froze in terror.

Her face went pale.

She trembled, then dropped to her knees.

“F-Forgive me—”

Enkrid had just finished his training.

The Marquis spoke calmly.

“Your hands are still unsteady.”

The maid couldn’t speak, but Mack hurried over with a handkerchief—

only to be beaten to it by the Marquis’ guard.

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Without hesitation, he produced a clean handkerchief from his coat and wiped the Marquis’ lap.

Enkrid’s gaze fell on the Marquis.

But the noble didn’t acknowledge it.

Instead, he turned to Andrew.

“Baron Gardner.”

“Yes.”

“You should pay more attention to your servants’ training.”

“...Yes.”

Mack quietly cleared the table, while the maid remained trembling in place.

Andrew sent her inside.

She walked away on shaking legs, somehow managing not to collapse.

Afterward, when Andrew personally poured the tea, the Marquis of Octo gave a small nod.

He hadn’t shown kindness, nor had he scolded her.

The Marquis simply lifted his teacup, took a sip, and Kin Baisar took a seat beside him without a word.

“May I have a cup as well?”

Kin spoke up.

“Would you mind pouring one for her as well?”

The Marquis added.

There was no need for refusal.

“Of course.”

Andrew nodded, pouring another cup.

By then, Enkrid had walked over and sat across the table.

The small disturbance had passed.

He hadn’t gone out of his way to show respect, but he hadn’t been disrespectful either.

He simply sat down, calm and composed.

The Marquis observed this, taking another sip of tea.

Steam rose from the cup, curling around his lips.

“What if I had consoled the maid just now?”

He asked, still holding his teacup, a faint smile on his lips—

—but his eyes weren’t smiling.

Enkrid couldn’t read him easily.

He had seen many kinds of people, but this one was different.

If Crang was a blazing sun, the Marquis was a winding river.

Unpredictable, constantly shifting.

“There are only two possibilities. She would either feel relieved, or she would feel even more anxious.”

Enkrid wiped the sweat off his arm and rested his hand on the table.

“Oh? And why would she be anxious?”

“Because she’d fear that kindness is a lie—that it’s just a trick before something worse happens.”

“Are you saying that maid sees the world in such a bleak way?”

“Or maybe,” Enkrid said, “when she tells someone later about what happened, someone might say—”

He mimicked a gossipy voice:

"You spilled tea, and instead of scolding you, he comforted you? Be careful. That’s suspicious."

His impression was terrible, but the meaning was clear.

How many nobles had used gentleness as a lure?

Was it not safer, then, to scold her lightly and let the matter pass?

That way, the maid would feel like she had paid for her mistake.

That way, she wouldn’t need to worry about the consequences lingering in the dark.

The Marquis had not raised his voice, but he had blamed her for her clumsiness.

That was all.

“You’re rather thoughtful.”

“I often hear that I’m not very noble-like.”

“...Is that so.”

Kin Baisar nearly spat out her tea.

She gripped her teacup tightly instead.

A man who was considered the epitome of nobility had just said that?

Was this some kind of wordplay?

Was a "noble" someone who threw tantrums over spilled tea?

“Why are you here?”

The Marquis’ tone remained casual.

“Why do you ask?”

A Marquis had questioned him, yet he answered with a question?

Kin felt her heart pound and instinctively looked at Enkrid.

“I wish to know what kind of man you are. Will you answer me?”

What would he say?

Kin already knew why Enkrid was here.

She could guess the answer.

He could say he had come to support the rightful king.

He could say he had come because he was hired.

He could even say he had come because the chaos looked interesting.

If he did, Kin wouldn’t be surprised.

"That would be like him."

But would the Marquis be satisfied with such an answer?

Unlikely.

The Marquis wasn’t expectant.

Nor was he amused.

He was simply waiting.

And that itself was a kind of pressure.

Then, Enkrid spoke.

“I came so that children wouldn’t have to step onto the battlefield.”

Silence.

Even Kin held her breath.

He spoke in a plain, steady voice—

as if reciting a poem.

A declaration. A conviction.

A pledge.

“I came to cull the monsters. To cut down the beasts. I came to protect those who know how to cherish their own. I came to strike down those who wield power to oppress others. I came to shield the weak and safeguard the dreams of those who dare to dream.”

Empty words.

Impossible ideals.

Or were they?

His voice carried weight.

There was belief in it.

Not just something spoken—

but something felt.

For a moment, all eyes were on him.

The Marquis placed his teacup down.

The sharp sound broke the silence.

“Is becoming a knight your dream?”

His dream hadn’t spread far enough for the Marquis to have heard it naturally.

It seemed his ears were simply sharp.

Enkrid nodded.

“Yes.”

“Then I wish you well.”

“Thank you.”

The Marquis stood.

"That’s it?"

Kin was taken aback.

He hadn’t come just to confirm a dream, had he?

But she kept her face composed.

A woman who had spent years capturing men’s hearts knew how to mask her thoughts.

As the Marquis walked toward the exit, Kin and the others assumed he was leaving.

But then—

he stopped.

Only five steps away from the table, he turned back.

“Ah, but... is a knight who claims to protect the weak just going to stand by while people are being killed in the capital?”

His tone was odd.

Like a thoughtless remark.

But it was calculated.

And he had made it obvious.

"Oh, so you won’t do anything unless there’s money involved?"

Enkrid could hear the words he didn’t say.

It was a stretch.

The capital’s safety was the duty of the city guards.

And Enkrid was a standing soldier of the Border Guard.

If he interfered too much, he could even face repercussions.

Would accepting this provocation mean falling into a trap?

Enkrid looked at the Marquis’ eyes.

They smiled at him.

‘Ah.’

It was a provocation.

Blatant.

It wasn’t truly a question—

it was a challenge.

"You don’t have to do anything, of course."

"It’s not like you’re running away because you’re afraid, right?"

"So, your dream—being a knight—does it only matter when it’s convenient?"

He had said nothing aloud, but Enkrid heard it all.

A Marquis, a noble of refinement, would never say it so crudely.

But Enkrid had understood him perfectly.

If he wanted his words to carry weight,

if he wanted to prove himself,

he had to act.

Otherwise, his convictions were meaningless.

“I’ll look into it and take care of it—starting tonight.”

“I leave it to you.”

Their eyes met—

And the Marquis smiled.

His gaze softened.

And Enkrid smiled back.