A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"All forces assembled."

Aside from those on patrol duty, every soldier was gathered.

Enkrid stood on a platform at the edge of the training grounds, looking down at the assembled troops with a neutral expression.

Will this even work?

The question nagged at him. Half of him felt like this was a pointless endeavor.

A speech? Out of nowhere?

This was Kraiss’s idea.

Toward the end of the strategy meeting, Kraiss had asked,

"What does a group facing crisis— a force standing against danger— need most?"

Then, before anyone could answer, he provided the answer himself.

"It’s simple. What our domain needs right now is a focal point."

He spread his arms wide as he spoke, a gesture that looked like something out of a stage play, yet oddly fitting.

It was a movement designed to capture attention.

Following Kraiss’s explanation, Enkrid’s gaze shifted to the head of the table.

The man sitting at the highest seat, weighed down by responsibility and exhaustion, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep.

"Battalion Commander?"

One of the company captains muttered the title, his tone filled with uncertainty.

"With all due respect to Commander Graham, there’s no one in this army more widely known than the commander of the Mad Platoon," Kraiss continued. "There are people in this domain staying here only because of Enkrid. But do you think they all intend to fight for us?"

He didn’t drag out his explanation or humiliate Graham. Instead, he kept his words concise, allowing Graham to maintain his dignity.

And Kraiss was right.

Marcus had poured gold into hiring mercenaries, effectively absorbing them into the army— but not all of them.

Some still had one foot out the door, waiting to see how things played out.

If things went south, they’d bolt. Maybe even switch sides.

There were always mercenaries willing to act like bats, flying wherever the wind favored them.

"And morale is another issue."

Kraiss raised a finger beside his face as he spoke.

The rumors spread by the cultists and the Black Blades…

That Azpen would invade at any moment. That Marcus was orchestrating a rebellion and would soon be executed. That the cult was going to unleash a horde of beasts on the fortress tonight.

The domain’s security forces had resorted to beating down anyone caught spreading such rumors.

But was that really effective?

No.

Enkrid knew it wasn’t a solution.

You couldn’t beat words out of existence.

You couldn’t stop people from talking with brute force alone.

So how could they counteract it?

Kraiss answered his own question by folding his fingers into a fist and swinging it downward.

"You fight rumors with something even more visible."

That’s why they needed a focal point.

In other words— to put it in the language of myths, history, and legends— they needed a hero.

For those who had fought beside him, Enkrid may very well have appeared that way.

The man who once stumbled through battles had now become the commander of an independent company, a living symbol of martial strength.

It was like something out of an epic tale.@@novelbin@@

Some of the soldiers who knew how to compose had even written songs about him.

They weren’t particularly good, but still.

"Ah. Yeah, fair point."

Venzance muttered involuntarily before quickly looking away, casting a glance at Graham.

That wasn’t the kind of thing he should’ve said in front of the battalion commander.

But even Graham agreed.

In all honesty, the thought had crossed his mind multiple times— what if we just made that bastard the battalion commander instead?

Was he lacking ambition?

No. That wasn’t it.

‘In situations like this, you need a lunatic.’

And, above all, Enkrid was the right kind of lunatic.

If it were him, Graham wouldn’t mind stepping aside and letting him take both the command and responsibility of the domain.

There wasn’t some grand reason behind it.

It was just that, for some reason, Graham wanted to see that mad bastard succeed.