Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 552 - Viscount Harrison

Chapter 552 - Viscount Harrison

When Enkrid and his two companions entered, the entrance to the banquet hall seemed narrow, and for a brief moment, the room felt overwhelmingly full.

Some nobles saw a radiance emanating from them, while others felt an unsettling foreboding.

Couldn't the one standing there kill everyone in the room if they really intended to?

Moreover, wasn't one of them rumored to be a "noble killer"?

Of course, such anxiety was felt by only a few.

The majority were merely astonished, captivated, and awestruck by their presence.

Would it be an exaggeration to say that their steps carried power?

Probably not.

With each step they took, it felt like the world shifted.

Perhaps this was the aura of heroes who had changed the balance of the continent.

In truth, they were simply walking, but their already remarkable presence combined with their appearance made them seem even more extraordinary.

Enkrid, Rem, and Audin had done nothing more than enter the hall.

'So, they've arrived.'

One noble clenched his fists upon seeing Enkrid.

It was a moment that seemed to call for resolution.

The man was bald, with lean, sun-darkened muscles, and nails blackened at the tips.

Dressed in an old but intact evening suit, his appearance could easily be mistaken for that of a farmer if not for the attire.

Yet, his presence in this venue, wearing even such worn garments, confirmed his status as a noble.

Feeling the coarse fabric against his skin, the noble adjusted his collar.

'The Madmen Knights.'

The name still struck him.

This bald noble had been among those denouncing Enkrid in the royal court, advocating for limits to their excessive use of force and the necessity of restraint.

Since Enkrid entered the hall, this noble's eyes had never left him.

In truth, no one else's had either.

Several ladies, particularly those unmarried, seemed mesmerized, their gazes clouded.

Was it natural?

It seemed so.

Enkrid drew every gaze toward himself the moment he stepped in.

Appearance could indeed be a weapon, and this was the moment when Enkrid's greatest asset shone.

His black hair gleamed as if oiled, reflecting the light from the chandeliers despite its dark hue.

Aesthetic judgment varies from person to person, but when faced with exceptional beauty, opinions often converge.

Such was the case with Enkrid's face.

His high-bridged nose, bright blue eyes, and well-proportioned features harmonized perfectly, as if a god had descended to mold him with divine care and blessing.

The bald noble shared the sentiment. "Truly handsome," he thought.

"Ah."

A woman holding a glass two steps away gasped softly.

Her companion on the other side reacted similarly, their eyes vacant as if they might soon drool.

"Is that... a moving sculpture?"

Some murmured absurd remarks.

Several others stared silently, forgetting to speak altogether.

At least half the ladies in the hall were now experiencing the kind of love-at-first-sight encounter that happens only once in a lifetime.

It was as if Enkrid had cast a charm spell to enchant everyone.

"Magic, perhaps?"

Such words came out naturally.

Even those not smitten found it difficult to look away.

The noble reflected on this.

Even when he had seen Enkrid in the royal palace, his remarkable appearance was evident. But now, with his hair neatly styled, his evening suit immaculate, and his features fully groomed, his allure was inescapable.

Even male nobles couldn't summon competitive thoughts; his presence was simply too overwhelming.

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Among the attendees, even a female Frog stood out for her boldness.

She stepped forward and addressed him directly.

"Do you know any Frogs here?"

Her question disrupted the spell over the room, breaking the collective silence and replacing it with murmurs.

"Who is that?"

"The Madmen Knights, aren't they?"

"Oh, the Demon Slayer."

Words flew around.

In the capital, Enkrid was still better known as the Demon Slayer than the Unyielding Knight.

The title "Demon Slayer" seemed more familiar, though it was ironic, as Enkrid had never actually slain a demon.

If a real demon were present, it would find the situation absurd.

Even if one confronted him, Enkrid would likely shrug it off.

He had never asked to be called that, after all.

"That Frog... Luagarne, wasn't she in the royal palace before?"

The answer to the Frog's question came from a nearby figure with gray hair.

The bald noble recognized him immediately despite slight discrepancies from what he'd heard.

Gray hair wasn't common, and it could only be one person.

'The Noble Killer.'

Though his reputation painted him as a noble-hating brute, the man's indifferent tone and behavior as he addressed the Frog betrayed none of the violence.

The noble had never fully believed the rumors.

Could this man really attack every noble on sight and regularly execute them?

While many had died by his hand, none without cause.

Had he been truly consumed by hatred for the privileged, he would not stand beside Enkrid, a hero.

Still, his nickname was no accident, and among those present, he was undeniably the most dangerous.

Yet, even standing next to the dazzling Enkrid, his unique charisma did not fade.

Like a sweet potato distinct from a potato, he exuded his own appeal.

The gray-haired man's appearance—half-tied hair framing a sharp jawline—held a rugged, masculine charm.

While Enkrid's exceptional beauty overshadowed him, he was still undeniably striking.

"Dear sister, the competition is already fierce. You'd best restrain yourself," interjected a towering man nearby.

His frame was immense, his biceps likely thicker than the corseted waists of the women present.

His presence was as imposing as a mountain.

'The Bear Beastkin.'

Yet rumors were just that—rumors.

Despite his epithet, he bore no traits of a beastkin.

Instead, his enormous build and muscled physique, from shoulders to fingers, exuded an overwhelming physicality.

For some in the hall, he was the second most captivating presence after Enkrid.

"I'd like to be held by him," one lady murmured.

"His arms could hold me up," whispered another.

"Look at those thighs!"

Though spoken softly, the man heard every word.

Standing alongside Enkrid, his raw, formidable presence remained unshaken.

Each of the three had their own unique aura.

As they entered and took their places, the hall shifted from silence to murmurs.

The bald noble, watching Enkrid, found himself lost in memories.

Ever since opposing Enkrid, he had prepared for this day to be his last.

Such thoughts naturally led to reminiscence.

"What's the most important thing in this world? Land," his father had said.

He had lived by that principle, managing his territory with care.

'Why land first? Because it feeds the people. Knights don't live without eating or relieving themselves, do they?'

For him, the kingdom existed to protect his land and his people.

He held no ulterior motives.

He knew Enkrid as the hero who had ended the civil war.

'If I told him I meant no harm, would he believe me?'

Though he had never met Enkrid, he knew people.

No one appreciates being ostracized or treated with hostility.

Resentment is inevitable.

Some rare individuals, however, rise above such treatment.

He had seen it once—in the king he served with unwavering loyalty.

The noble slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling for something hard.

He concealed it in his sleeve and stepped forward cautiously.

"It's unfair. If someone fights well, they shouldn't look like that. At least have a rugged face, small eyes, and a crooked nose," muttered Marcus, the king's confidant, as he observed them.

Despite such grumbles, the banquet soon returned to its usual clamor, with chatter and merriment resuming all around.

The bald noble stepped forward from the crowd of onlookers, his gaze fixed on Enkrid.

His hand remained tucked into his sleeve.

Sensing the stare, Enkrid turned to look at him.

He would not have forgotten the face of someone who had openly criticized him in the royal palace.

"I have something for you."

The noble spoke as he approached.

Marcus and the others nearby turned their eyes toward him.

"Viscount Harrison."

Andrew Gardner, one of the king's aides, recognized the man and spoke sharply, as if interrogating why he was here. Viscount Harrison ignored Andrew's gaze and took another step closer to Enkrid.

With a swift motion, he pulled his hand from his sleeve and thrust it toward Enkrid's chest.

The speed was surprising—unnatural for an ordinary person.

***

"Don't hate him too much."

"Who?"

Krang's words came right after the oath had ended.

Enkrid blinked in surprise and asked again.

"That noble from earlier. He didn't act out of malice."

"Who are you talking about?"

Enkrid had never felt any animosity toward the nobles.

The nobles?

He figured they were just acting as nobles do.

He even vaguely understood their circumstances.

Being called a demon slayer or whatnot, it was natural for people not to believe such things without seeing them firsthand.

In this era, it was no wonder.

If every rumor were to be trusted, there would also be tales of priests winning arm-wrestling matches against giants.

Such stories always carried a layer of exaggeration.

Of course, in Enkrid's case, many had witnessed his feats firsthand, so the rumors were harder to dismiss.

Opposing him was no small matter.

To stand against Enkrid was, on a smaller scale, to oppose the nobles who supported him—and on a larger scale, the king himself.

Yet despite the risks, some nobles still argued against the knight, emphasizing the danger he represented.

Did they act out of simple disdain?

It didn't seem that way.

While some of them were fools, others stood there with purpose.

Enkrid, who knew what it was like to live chasing dreams, ambition, and light, could recognize it immediately.

Some of those nobles were prepared to risk being struck down by swords or falling out of favor with the king, just so they could say their piece.

When Enkrid jokingly asked, "So who exactly are you talking about?" for the third time, Krang laughed and said:

"You've managed to survive this long, haven't you? With that way of speaking, you should have been killed dozens of times over."

Enkrid nodded.

Though he had never died because of his tone, he had been killed thousands of times over in other ways.

"Why are you nodding? Anyway, among those nobles, one of them is desperate to work with Border Guard. They want to use their savings to carve out a safe route."

Krais had constructed two major safe routes.

One led to the capital, Naurilia, and the other bypassed Martai.

If the Martai route extended further south, it would greatly benefit the lords of that region.

Especially those whose territories encompassed trade cities.

Yet there was one who wanted it even more: a noble who had long dreamed of cultivating land outside the city.

That noble's name was Harrison.

Cultivating land and creating settlements had been Harrison's lifelong goal.

The idea of securing the land with outposts and military presence immediately captivated him.

***

It was inevitable.

Even as Harrison approached, Enkrid sensed his presence.

Seeing him again after the royal palace, nothing much had changed.

The man stood out with his worn, weathered clothes and severe expression.

Yet despite the faded fabric, his garments were clean and neatly arranged—a sign of a life accustomed to frugality.

Enkrid didn't know where Krais' safe route extended or what exactly this man wanted.

Their eyes met, and Enkrid simply stared back.

Something in Harrison's gaze reminded him of a solid, unyielding stone.

Would a person's will be useless if they could not wield Will itself?

Could someone without talent only ever meet a predetermined end?

Should they stop everything they were doing just because others said it was impossible?

Were they supposed to give up on what they chose, based solely on others' opinions?

As Harrison thrust his hand toward him, Enkrid's sharp vision caught the object immediately.

It was no weapon.

Nor was it an assassination attempt.

The object fit snugly in the man's palm—a glass bottle sealed with a cork and wrapped tightly with string.

Enkrid simply let him place it in his chest.

"I was rude earlier. This is an apology," Harrison said.

Enkrid didn't ask what the viscount had given him.

Instead, he asked another question.

"Is there something you want?"

Harrison appeared to be at least twenty years older than Enkrid, though it might have been the bald head adding to the impression.

He blinked a few times, then finally spoke.

"As a bribe—no, well, it is a bribe. Can you direct the safe route toward our land?"

The viscount's tone was devoid of shame.

It carried the stubbornness of age.

Ordinarily, it would have been Enkrid's turn to ask "Why?" or demand something in return.

But Enkrid did none of that.

"Alright."

He simply nodded, catching Harrison completely off guard.

"...You're not even going to ask why?"

"I'll listen if you tell me."

This was Enkrid's way of judging people—based solely on their character.

Their eyes, their posture, their clothing, everything.

If it turned out to be a poor decision?

Life was full of choices, and no choice was guaranteed to be right.

Enkrid knew that truth well.

So there was no fear in his choices.

To be paralyzed by fear meant standing still, and if he were going to do that, he would have stayed trapped in the happiness others defined for him long ago.

And in the man before him, Enkrid saw a similar nature to his own.

Though surprised, Harrison quickly regained his composure and replied in the tone of someone who had spoken these words many times before.

"I'll cultivate the land."

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Many thanks to azuring for proofreading the Chapter