A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Cowardly bastard, filthy bastard, damn you, son of a bitch!”

The Black Blade officer spat blood as he cursed Marcus.

Of course, there was a bit of a misunderstanding. This whole thing had started with Shinar, and Enkrid had jumped in and finished it off in an instant.

But the more they looked into it, the more it seemed that the Border Guard’s standing army was involved.

Then who had given the order? Who was behind all of this? One name kept coming up, over and over again.

Marcus.

A noble, someone with ties to the royal palace, a man rumored to be eyeing the title of Grand Duke of the North.

“That bastard deserves to be torn apart!”

It didn’t matter if he muttered it under his breath or shouted it aloud—his anger didn’t subside.

It was infuriating, humiliating, and unbearable.

He wanted to throw himself to the ground, scream, and flail his limbs. That’s how furious he was.

It took every ounce of restraint to calm himself down, even just a little.

Grinding his teeth, the officer had to acknowledge that immediate retaliation was impossible.

Something was seriously wrong with the Border Guard. Every time they sent an assassin, they simply disappeared.

And that Enkrid—how many times had they tried to kill him? Not even once had they succeeded.

Had they even managed to scratch him?

They had sent men armed with poison, and yet every single one of them had been taken out.

Was it simply because their target was too skilled? The Black Blades had considered that possibility.

The officer himself had thought the same.

At the very least, Enkrid had to be at the level of a semi-knight.@@novelbin@@

His feats were sometimes exaggerated, sometimes downplayed.

But none of them truly believed that Enkrid had actually reached the level of a semi-knight.

No one suddenly discovers Will by swinging a sword in the dirt.

There were occasional geniuses, sure—but if he had that much talent, why had he remained in obscurity for so long?

Maybe if he had been hiding away somewhere, it would make sense. But that wasn’t the case.

His trail was everywhere.

He had been a mercenary. He had paid cheap instructors with a handful of krona to learn how to wield a sword.