A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Chapter 372

Crang reflected on his mistake.

The plan had been full of gaps from the start, so the mistake itself wasn’t the issue.

What mattered now was knowing what was needed and confirming what had to be done.

And he did just that.

What he needed most right now was ti. And to buy that ti, he needed to take action.

"Marcus Baisar."

"Yes, sir."

"Can you get out and call for help?"

"…It seems I must."

Crang was confined to the reception room assigned to him. It was a small, private chamber referred to as an outer annex in the palace.

A place where guests stayed, not one equipped with defensive structures.

Since he was not yet formally recognized as a Grand Duke or anything else, all he had was this reception room connected to his sleeping quarters.

And so, he was now trapped here.

As soon as Crang finished speaking, Matthew, his whip-wielding guard, hurled a stool at the window.

Crash!

The glass shattered.

Matthew used the handle of his whip to break and clear away the remaining shards.

The window was wide enough. Big enough for a person to slip through.

"My guards should be outside."

Marcus spoke as he approached the window.

It was three stories high. Not exactly low, but there was a large tree in the garden outside. If he grabbed onto the branches as he fell, he wouldn’t die.

Crang remained seated, arms crossed. His thoughts weren’t chaotic. In fact, they had beco simpler, clearer.

Viscount rnes had staged a rebellion.

A mad act with no way back.

But…

"It was the right move."

Crang acknowledged it.

That halfwit Viscount rnes had, in truth, turned out to be sharp and perceptive.

"So, will you use every ans at your disposal?"

It was like pressing a dagger against the throat, blade honed to perfection.

Crang had co to the palace for the Grand Duke’s appointnt ceremony. Everything he had done up until now was for a single purpose.

A simple, straightforward goal.

To gather the trash and dispose of it.

That was also how he intended to solve the problem the Queen had given him.

"Turn all the ministers to your side."

Crang murmured, resting one knee against his chest. It was a small whisper, barely audible even to himself.

If he reversed the aning of those words—

Then, all he had to do was eliminate those who were not on his side.

If persuading them one by one was impossible—

"I just have to get rid of them all."

That was exactly what he had done, and his enemies had united as one under Viscount rnes.

"I expected the factions to keep fighting amongst themselves for a while. I thought they wouldn’t have the ti to worry about just yet."

Now wasn’t the ti to be pondering reasons.

This had always been a high-stakes gamble, and Crang had thrown his dice.

Now, he was watching the outco unfold.

"I'm going."

Marcus leapt out the window.

Crang sprang to his feet, leaning out to watch him.

Marcus grabbed onto a branch to slow his descent before rolling as he landed.

A clean, practiced breakfall.

He was a trained and disciplined soldier.

As soon as he hit the ground, the guards stationed outside the annex charged at him.

Golden helts, golden spearheads—the Royal Guard.

The ones who should have been at the Queen’s side were here.

"Kill him!"

"He's a traitor!"

Who was the real traitor here?

Spears thrust toward Marcus.

He rolled again, leaves and blades of grass sticking to his face and back. Rising to his feet, he pressed his back against the tree. His shirt sleeve had torn, flapping loose at his arm.

He steadied his breathing, scanning both sides.

His own guards were nowhere in sight.

They would be in the annex’s first-floor lobby. They’d co soon.

Marcus pulled a short dagger from his waist.

"Co on, co on, you bastards."

He glanced left and right. He’d kill the first one that ca at him, no matter what. That was his resolve.

"Encircle him."

A Royal Guard commander, clad in a dark gray helt, stepped forward.

No one rushed in.

Instead, the surrounding guards ford a perfect ring, their spears aligned in unison.

A flawless formation.

"Damn it."

The Royal Guard’s specialty was striking all at once in perfect synchronization.

Blocking ten thrusting spears with a single dagger… That would take at least a knight-level warrior.

Marcus felt cold sweat running down his back.

"Is this the right path?!"

Crang’s voice rang out from the window above. Isolated and surrounded, yet his authority and dignity remained unshaken.

His authority did not co from his position. It ca from his character, his actions.

He planted one foot on the windowsill, exposing himself. If an arrow flew his way, he would die instantly, but cowering in safety would do no good here.

One of the Royal Guards hesitated, adjusting his spear into a throwing grip.

It was within range. He could hit the target.

The commander in the dark gray helt raised a hand.

A signal to wait.

The soldier inside his helt frowned.

"It's a sign."

"Shut up. Disobeying orders is grounds for imdiate execution."

The soldier’s eyes glead with frustration but lowered his spear in the end.

The gray-helted commander raised his head toward Crang.

"Then tell —what is the right path?"

He asked, holding his spear steady. His n gathered around him, numbering less than ten.

The palace was already in chaos.

Screams and clashes of battle echoed from all directions.

"Right and wrong are not decided by others."

Crang enunciated each word, slowly and clearly.

For the Royal Guard, what was "right"?

To protect the royal family.

The gray-helted commander hesitated.

What was the right path?

His eyes settled on Crang, hair whipping in the wind.

Even though he could die at any mont, he risked his life just to buy a few extra seconds.

For what?

To save Marcus Baisar—the man Viscount rnes had branded a traitor.

Would it make a difference?

Could buying a few seconds change anything?

He didn’t know.

This was not an action born of calculation.

He acted because he believed it was right.

That’s what it looked like.

At least to him, that was all he could see.

He had t and spoken with Crang. That must have influenced him.

Even he hadn't expected to make this choice in this mont.

But he chose a side.

"…Reverse formation. Turn your spears."

"Are you insane?!"

A soldier shouted, but the gray-helted commander said nothing.

He had chosen to stand here to protect the Queen.

He had believed this post was more honorable than becoming a knight.

But now?

Was this all?

Just standing here, guarding a few nobles’ lives?

Was this why he had picked up his spear?

He didn’t want this.

Honestly, he wanted to just say fuck it and smash those pompous bastards’ faces in.

The Royal Guard split into two factions.

Spears flew toward the gray-helted commander.

The soldier who had frowned earlier had made his choice.

The commander twisted his body, narrowing the target area.

He dodged and deflected the thrust with his own spear, stepping forward and swinging it like a club.

Thud! Crack!

"Aagh!"

A soldier scread, arm shattered by the strike.

As he staggered back, others took his place.

"Are you mad?"

Another soldier demanded.

"It seems so."

The commander replied indifferently.

His n opened a path for Marcus.

"Thank you."

Marcus said as he fled.

The commander didn’t answer—he rely stood guard.

Marcus rode hard toward Andrew’s estate.

His last refuge.

Not even his own family, House Baisar, could be counted on now.

***

Crang, now isolated, shouted into the empty space left behind.

"Do you know who my friend is? The one and only shining star of the Border Guard, the sworn enemy of Azpen, the madman clad in demonic might—Enkrid."

No one answered. Matthew, his whip-wielding guard, responded instead.

"…Do you think that’ll work?"

"Right? Not quite working yet, is it?"

Even though his calculation had failed, Crang laughed. Grinning widely at Matthew’s words, he gave the order.

"Open the passage."

At least he had secured an escape route. A sloping tunnel leading downward—a gesture of consideration from the Queen herself.

If I can hold out for half a day…

Then he could clear out the gathered trash. In other words, his enemies had acted half a day sooner than he had anticipated.

Starting this ss in broad daylight…

Crang instinctively understood one thing.

If he wanted to survive and for this plan to succeed, an unexpected variable was needed.

His enemies had prepared for such a variable.

But so had he.

Now, it was ti to see it through.

***

"That one."

Rem reacted.

A single glance told him everything.

The severity of Marcus’s injury, the man chasing him—

The mont Enkrid saw it, he opened his mouth.

"Kill him."

It was already soone Rem had been planning to take down.

The one chasing Marcus was the Undying Madman.

The one who had fled before was now brazenly showing his face here.

Rem launched himself off the wall.

The pursuer imdiately shifted.

With a sharp push off the ground, he reversed his direction, darting backward at full speed.

The spear, which had been mid-air in pursuit of Marcus, also turned and followed him seamlessly. A retreat without a hint of hesitation.

Rem gave chase.

The two of them sprinted across the blue-stone pavent, faster than mounted riders.

"Aaaah!"

A woman on the street scread in terror.

The man beside her—whether her lover or husband—instinctively pulled her into his arms, pressing their backs against the wall of what appeared to be a shop.

Within seconds, both Rem and his target had vanished.

Their figures disappeared between the buildings, too fast for the eye to follow.

Enkrid turned his attention to Marcus, who had finally reached him.

Seated atop his horse, Marcus was drenched in sweat, blood pouring freely from his arm. His breath was ragged, his expression more desperate than ever before.

"Help ."

Enkrid decided.

It was ti to move.

He was about to leap down from the wall when soone called out from behind.

"If you flee now, the situation will only get worse!"

A squire. Enkrid glanced back and replied.

"I’m heading to the palace."

The squire knew who currently controlled the palace.

That ant Enkrid was about to throw his life on the line.

For what?

The squire frowned, his forehead creasing, his nose wrinkling.

Suddenly, questions flooded his mind—

Why was he here?

What was he here for?

On whose orders had he co?

Had he ever truly acted on his own will?

His ntor’s words surfaced in his mory.

"It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about where your will lies."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Though he had been recognized for his talent in swordsmanship, his personality had always been criticized.

"So what do you think?"

Even when choosing a simple lunch, he would always defer to his companions' preferences.

His nature was to be dragged along, here and there, at the whim of others.

That was why he was standing here now.

Not by his own will, but by following soone else’s. He had always consoled himself with the thought that he was simply obeying orders.

But was that truly enough? Was he satisfied with that?

He didn't know.

Why am I here?

Enkrid’s abrupt words—words that, under normal circumstances, should have co from a man he was supposed to apprehend—

sparked sothing within the squire.

An odd, indescribable feeling moved his lips.

"Viscount rnes’s army will soon march forward."

He raised his voice without even realizing it, and Enkrid blinked at him, as if asking, Why are you telling this?

"The one leading them is no less skilled than a knight-in-training."

"What are you talking about?"

The commander of the city watch spoke urgently, grabbing the squire’s arm.

The squire calmly pulled away and continued.

"Please, help us."

Enkrid scratched his head.

Help?

A mont ago, this man had been here to capture him.

But the sincerity in his voice was difficult to ignore.

The squire bowed his head.

Beside him, the captain of the South Gate Guard, wearing his feathered hat, stepped forward.

"If we do nothing, the citizens of the capital will suffer."

Would an army that had united the factions march peacefully into the capital?

No.

Among them were rcenaries who had sold their swords for gold, n blinded by the thrill of slaughter.

The nobles, desperate in these chaotic tis, would have surely enlisted notorious criminals as well.

For the safety of the people.

To protect the city.

Both n bowed their heads.

Enkrid turned to Ragna.

"Can you hold them off?"

Ragna didn’t ask, Do I have to? He simply looked into Enkrid’s eyes.

"Go. Dunbakel, go with him."

With Ragna and Dunbakel together, they could hold back the advancing elite troops.

Enkrid turned to the squire.

"What’s your na?"

"Rophod."

"Gather the remaining forces and block the enemy’s approach. Hold the gates, and if they call for duels, my n will handle it."

If Crang was rescued only to be surrounded by the enemy afterward, that would be the end.

Enkrid understood this instinctively.

And logically.

Having experienced hundreds of days trapped among enemy ranks in the past, repeating the sa cycle over and over—

the awareness he had developed then now guided him.

He knew what needed to be done.

Hold off the external army.

Clear out the forces within.

If Crang had any semblance of a plan, what he needed most was ti.

And Enkrid knew exactly where he needed to be.

"Let’s go."

Ragna responded.

Not with a request.

But with an order.

Without a word, he and Dunbakel turned to move.

Nearby, Marcus was still gasping for breath, his face deathly pale.

Jaxon took his place at Enkrid’s side.

When they vaulted over the wall, the remaining soldiers hesitated.

Should they follow Ragna?

Or should they stop Enkrid?

Their gazes flickered between the fallen city watch officer and their captain, who was sweating profusely.

"Did we not take up our spears to defend the capital? At least, that’s why I did. Those who choose to stay, stay."

Squire Rophod spoke.

There are monts when people grow, when they awaken.

For Rophod, this was that mont.

And all because of Enkrid’s simple words:

"I’m going to the palace."

"Let’s go."

He followed Ragna first.

The South Gate Guard Captain followed.

The soldiers who had already made their decision joined in.

The remaining watch officers cursed under their breath before finally speaking up.

"Let’s go—let’s fulfill our duty."

At least, the words sounded noble enough.

Naturally, Andrew moved as well.

There was nothing he could do alone in the palace, so he chose to help defend the walls.

He told five of his trainees to stay behind.

"We’ve trained like hell to survive, too."

A freckled female trainee argued.

The five trainees followed Andrew.

Mack attempted to join, but Andrew shook his head.

"You’re a steward now. Stay here and protect this place."

With that, the six of them caught up with the departing group.

At the front, Ragna walked forward, Dunbakel at his side.

"This looked more fun, didn’t it?"

Ragna gave a casual nod.

Squire Rophod sighed.

Fun? Now wasn’t the ti for that.

After a few steps, he spoke.

"We need to go to the west gate."

"Oh? This way, right?"

"No, that’s north."

Rophod took the lead.

Their sense of direction seed… abysmal.