Chapter 294: Chapter 361 - Where Are the Knights?
Chapter 361 - Where Are the Knights?
"Do you think they'll resort to poison or other tricks?"
At dawn the next day, Enkrid posed the question.
Jaxen, hearing it, shook his head.
Now, he was back to his usual self—detached, indifferent, with a calm expression and demeanor. However, a faint trace of killing intent lingered in his tone.
"They won't repeat the same tactic."
His voice was cold, like an ice shard retrieved from a glacier. There was a hint of scorn, directed at those who had schemed in his absence.
The icy smirk that briefly appeared vanished just as quickly, replaced by his typical impassive, aloof expression—a look so indifferent that even being pricked by a needle wouldn't cause him to flinch.
"You're saying you'll make sure they can't," Enkrid said.
Jaxen nodded nonchalantly, and that was enough.
As expected, the day passed without incident. The individuals who had issued the warning didn't reappear.
Would they really return in just a day?
No, even if two or three days passed, they likely wouldn't. Those who came when he was alone would avoid approaching when the group was gathered.
Enkrid spent another day training.
He practiced without any deep thoughts, driving Andrew and the five trainees hard.
"Spare me," one trainee muttered unconsciously.
"Sure," Enkrid replied sincerely, "today's one swing of your blade will save your life tomorrow."
His genuine response earned applause from Dunbakel.
"That's a solid quote."
"It's not a quote—it's a declaration that he's ignoring your whining, you dumb beast-woman," Rem retorted, criticizing Dunbakel.
Their exchange barely registered with Enkrid. His voice had been deliberately low, ensuring the trainees wouldn't hear. Rem, understanding why Enkrid said such things, had also kept his tone hushed.
They're already pleading for mercy?
"Guess I can push them harder," Enkrid thought.
He wanted them to pour every ounce of energy into their swords. His intent wasn't just to meet their expectations but to keep them alive, no matter what.
As far as Enkrid was concerned, Gardner's forces amounted to just seven individuals: Andrew, Mac, and the five trainees.
Andrew was the only one remotely useful.
And that's the best he can do in this situation?
If anything serious happened, they'd die. Enkrid had no desire to stand idly by and watch Andrew, someone he knew, perish.
That said, it wasn't his job to follow them around and act as a shield.
The best solution was to teach them to protect themselves.
That was the entire purpose of this rigorous training—to forge them into individuals who wouldn't collapse at the first sign of a threat.
It was better to act as an unyielding wall than to waste energy explaining or shouting at them. When words fell on deaf ears, people kept talking and negotiating. But with someone unresponsive, no such attempts were made. They would instead focus solely on the task at hand.
That was what Enkrid wanted: to see them obsessively concentrate and struggle with the work before them.
He had risen from the bottom himself and understood the mindset they needed to cultivate.
"Ugh..."
A trainee groaned in despair, and Enkrid felt satisfied.
Ragna, observing the scene, nodded. As always, Enkrid gave his utmost effort.
He was the same commander Ragna knew—reliable and steadfast.
It was satisfying. Watching it reignited Ragna's motivation.
The sword...
Ragna soon immersed himself in his world of training.
Meanwhile, Jaxen remained silent. Over the past two days, the only words he had spoken were those dismissing the notion that the enemy would repeat their tactics.
No one spoke to Jaxen, either. Even Andrew found him intimidating.
To Mac, he was clearly off-limits as a conversation partner.
The five trainees were too preoccupied trying to survive.
Neither Rem nor Ragna bothered to engage with him, each busy with their respective tasks. Rem occasionally stepped in to take Enkrid's place when he was away.
"If any of you manage to land a hit on me, you'll get a break," Rem declared, introducing the trainees to a new form of torment. He thoroughly enjoyed it.
Ragna, on the other hand, trained in solitude, occasionally murmuring, "Light, swift, heavy..." It was clear he was delving deep into swordsmanship theory.
Amid this dynamic, Jaxen had ample space for silent contemplation.
At first, it was his own task.
Is this a game of cat and mouse?
Based on the evidence so far, he had identified a target for his vengeance. However, identifying the target did not equate to finding them.
It wouldn't be easy. He needed more information, to uncover and dig deeper.
After practical considerations, a more fundamental question surfaced.
Is this the right path?
The road he had chosen wasn't one of "help" or altruism. What was the right path, the true answer? Why was he dedicating his entire life to revenge?
If vengeance was the goal, was this method acceptable?
"Strike," Enkrid's words echoed in his mind.
Jaxen's gaze shifted to Enkrid, whose forearm was wrapped in layers of bandages. With the days growing warmer, sleeves had shortened, leaving the injury exposed.
The wound, neglected more than treated, had neither festered nor worsened. It was healing—evidence of Jaxen's own stiletto blade.
"Why do you hesitate? Start by finding that reason. Think about the why," his mentor had said.
Jaxen followed those words.
Hesitation stemmed from within—an uncertainty of the heart. A confused mind led to being dragged along.
To know the why meant to resist being swayed.
Finding the reason didn't mean he needed to present a definitive answer.
There were many paths to take, and Jaxen had chosen one of them. Instead of controlling his emotions, he let them run freely.
Rather than wondering, Is this okay? he acted. Simply acted. He moved forward, taking steps toward the result.
This was Enkrid's mindset, and Jaxen had learned from watching him.
He found himself once more appreciating the man's resilience.
He doesn't give up just because he lacks talent.
When pondering failed, he tried. When his mind failed, he used his body.
He used both relentlessly, throwing himself into action—a sheer struggle.
"You'll never make it with skills like that."
Criticism and mockery didn't sway him. He simply pressed forward.
Jaxen's inner turmoil unraveled into simplicity, like a tangled thread straightened into a clean line.
For now, he decided to follow his instincts, letting his heart guide him.
Meanwhile, Rem, claiming boredom, continued to torment the five trainees.
Dunbakel, holding a pair of scimitars Enkrid had given her, practiced tirelessly until she grew accustomed to them.
At one point, she even transformed into her beast form and challenged Ragna to a sparring match, only to be soundly beaten.
Ragna alternated between sword practice and lying in the grass near the training grounds or the barracks. Unless someone challenged him to spar, he seemed relaxed.
Jaxen, on the other hand, often left the estate, sometimes accompanied by Enkrid, but frequently alone.
When they went out together, it was usually to attend a party.
Enkrid often brought Andrew along as his escort.
Occasionally, he encountered familiar faces. The capital was teeming with people, all vying for their place, so such encounters weren't unexpected.
"You," someone said.
"It's been a while," Enkrid replied.
The speaker was an instructor who had taught swordsmanship during Enkrid's previous time in the capital.
The man wasn't exactly virtuous.
So, now he's a proper noble's bodyguard?
Enkrid observed the man's attire, weapons, and companions, forming his judgment.
"You're really that Enkrid?" the former instructor scoffed.
Once considered a skilled swordsman, his current attitude suggested otherwise.
Enkrid nodded calmly.
"Unbelievable," the man muttered before whispering to his comrades.
From what Enkrid overheard, they were calling him a fraud.
He ignored it.
Andrew, standing nearby, frowned.
"Should we let this slide?" Andrew asked, ready to intervene.
"Let it go," Enkrid replied. He saw no reason to pick a fight with them.
The instructor grinned at Enkrid, his expression oily, like the stench of raw fish.
"Oh, sure. See you around," the man said, laughing with his companions as they left. He wasn't even the leader of the group.
There was no one particularly noteworthy among them. It was just a passing encounter.
***
It wasn't until after several comings and goings at various parties that Enkrid finally encountered Krang.
Krang explained how difficult it had been to leave the palace.
"Everyone seems ready to draw their swords at any moment," he said.
The dynamics within the royal palace were a mystery to Enkrid. He merely named the most influential figure he could think of.
But it was the wrong guess.
Hearing this, Krang smiled and replied, "The one holding the blade to your throat isn't some border noble but someone from within the palace."
Without waiting for Enkrid to ask who, Krang readily continued, "It's that fellow called Viscount Mernes."
Apparently, this man had united factions within the palace to form a significant power bloc.
From what Krang revealed, Mernes was a rival of Baron Bentra and a figure with ambitions separate from Count Molsan's.
"A troublesome friend, indeed. He's one of the Five Fingers," Krang said, placing his palm on the bench and leaning back to gaze at the sky. His casual demeanor stood in stark contrast to the gravity of his words.
The "Five Fingers" referred to the five families supporting the royal palace.
The Thumb family was the Marquisate of Baisar.The Index family, the Rachon family, had served the military for generations.The Middle Finger referred to Count Molsan, ruler of the border territories.The Ring Finger handled the kingdom's finances, currently managed by someone known as the Marquis of Okto.The Little Finger was a family tasked with guarding the palace, though their name remained unknown.
Notably, none of these families actively supported the queen. They were too preoccupied with their interests.
Krang didn't bother explaining all of this; it wasn't necessary. He glanced at Enkrid, noting that such details didn't seem to be what the man was curious about.
So why had Enkrid sought him out?
Initially, attention had been drawn to Andrew, who entered as an uninvited guest at the party. But the gossip quickly shifted to his escorts.
"The hero born of the Border Guard."
"Just a man wrapped in an exaggerated reputation."
Rumors claimed those who knew Enkrid's past often spoke disparagingly of him, suggesting he was a mediocre warrior, propped up by his subordinates, and intoxicated by his hollow fame.
"Is it that they won't believe it unless they see it for themselves?"
Was it arrogance? Conceit? Or a need to protect their hard-earned reputations?
"None of that."
To Krang, they were all fools.
If they doubted his reputation, they could test him under the guise of goodwill. If they didn't like that, observing quietly would have been the better option. Yet some ignorant nobles wasted no time disparaging Enkrid.
"Do they lack intelligence?"
How had such halfwits become palace officials? Among those who busied themselves with belittling Enkrid was the palace's chief security officer—overseer of all guards and commander of the royal security forces.
"Should I be glad about this?"
Should Krang rejoice that a suspected enemy was a fool, or lament that the palace he might one day rule was filled with incompetents? Should he blame the queen for leading such a nation, or pity her for dealing with such a situation?
Of course, Enkrid's sudden rise to attention wasn't solely due to his abilities.
"I'd love to see that face once."
"They say he's quite handsome?"
"It would be a feast for the eyes."
Such were the curiosities of noblewomen. Rumors had it that the two men escorting Andrew had stolen the show from outside the party hall to within. Naturally, those two were Enkrid and Jaxen.
No wonder jealous nobles were busy spreading near-slanderous gossip about Enkrid. Jealousy had always been one of the strongest motivators.
Some nobles even wanted him dead, with the chief security officer among them.
If Enkrid so much as drew his sword in the city, the security forces would likely be dispatched immediately.
Krang, deep in thought, eventually spoke. "Viscount Mernes is both the son-in-law of Marquis Baisar and a scion of the Rachon family."
Mernes was backed by the most powerful allies in the palace, had stationed private troops in the capital, and even brought a portion of the Royal Guard under his command. Since Krang's arrival in the capital, Mernes had swiftly consolidated power, uniting surrounding factions under his banner.
In terms of threat level, he was far more dangerous than Count Molsan.
"They say he's stationed a battalion-level force outside the capital. So, what is it you want to know?"
Krang broke off mid-thought to ask. Enkrid's visit clearly had a purpose.
Though there were many questions he could ask, Enkrid had one that stood above the rest—a question that could unravel much.
So he asked about those who should have been there, whose absence felt inexplicable.
"Where are all the knights?"
If even one knight had been in the royal palace—if they were truly by the queen's side—could someone like Mernes, or whatever his name was, act so brazenly?
Assassins had delivered warnings in broad daylight. Bestial howls echoed through the night. Tales of terror spread through the capital daily.
If the knights existed, if the knightly order were active, none of this could have happened, nor should it have.
It was a question that cut to the heart of everything.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The sale on my Ko-fi is still on until 10.01.2025!
30 Chapters per 5$
ko-fi.com/samowek
Don't miss out on the 33% sale on chapters!
Buy any number of chapters and get an extra 33% of the number of chapters you got!
Thank you all for your support
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone