WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 220: Hm, Nice

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Count Molsen had three wives and six concubines.

For a noble in this era, that was no flaw.

He had many descendants under his banner.

Sons and daughters combined, he had fathered more children than the royal family.

Even so, not one of them truly pleased him. So little in life ever went the way one wanted.

“I will handle it.”

One of his sons said it. The count looked into the son’s eyes as he came in from the coachman’s seat.

He saw jealousy and anger there.

Because he got hit once? Or because that man, now known across the Pen-Hanil Continent, did not look all that impressive? Was that what stung his pride?

The name Enkrid had already reached the kingdom’s capital.

Envy was understandable.

Showing it so openly was not.

‘He is good at fighting.’

In every other way, though, this son was disappointing. He could not tell when to keep his feelings down and use his head, and when not to.

At best, he would be useful as an escort.

That was why raising children never went as planned.

The count had already prepared another way to continue the bloodline, so he had no lingering attachment now.

That was why he stopped having children.

‘If it were me.’

Instead of envying and hating that man, he would have thought of making him an ally.

He was doing just that even now.

Still, one thing kept catching in his mind.

“You did not see his eyes, did you.”

The son blinked at that.

His face said, what are you talking about? In some ways, he looked like an ox. Maybe that was why he fought so stubbornly well.

They said the eyes were the window to the heart, a mirror of the person.

“That bastard.”

The count spoke, then paused to think. Had he really seen that right? Yes. The attitude and presence had been too clear to doubt or reinterpret.

“He wanted to fight.”

“Pardon?”

“He looked like he wanted to fight me.”

His son had looked baffled, but those words made him flare up.

“How dare he!”

“Why? You think he should not?”

The count cut him off.

Something like competitive spirit had risen in him too. Those eyes, straight and unbending, eyes that said they wanted to test themselves against him, had struck a chord in his own heart.

Seeing that, who would not want to gauge how skilled the man really was?

That did not mean he could fight him directly. He could not indulge that.

You did not give people what they wanted too easily.

That was what he had learned in all his years.

In any case, coming to see his face had not been a wasted trip.

‘What an interesting one.’

Too interesting to simply leave alone.

So then, how should he keep that man close?

Once someone owed an emotional debt, they were easy to steer. So how should he create that debt?

“What should we do about the southern magic beast packs, Father?”

The three syllables, “Father,” snagged at him slightly. He did not rebuke it. Sometimes blood ties alone made loyalty oaths unnecessary.

The son before him was one of those.

‘Who was this child’s mother again?’

Greta? Helen?

Either way, she had borne such a loyal, stubborn son. He should send her a small gift.

That one act would stir ripples in the power struggle among his wives within the family, but that was exactly why he would do it. Let them fight and claw at each other.

It all happened beneath him anyway. Everything was under his control.

“Leave them.”

The campaign had begun to deal with the magic beast packs coming up from the south. He had cleared some and left some.

Later, Border Guard would suffer headaches handling the rest.

‘Then they will ask for help.’

It would happen in a few months at the shortest, within a year at the longest.

“What about the ones that move under cover of night?”

At the count’s question, his son lowered his head and answered.

He meant Georg’s Dagger, the assassin group with fearsome renown across the continent.

The son had heard some of them could reach Border Guard, and he had already put out feelers and made contact.

No sooner had they finished speaking than the coachman up front called out.

“Some man is blocking the road ahead. What should we do?”

“Stop.”

If someone in northern Pen-Hanil blocked him without recognizing the count’s crest, his intelligence was suspect. If he recognized it and still blocked the way, then he had done it knowingly, which meant he had business.

It was the latter.

The man was covered head to toe in black cloth.

‘Bold bastard.’

Thinking that, the count opened only the carriage door and asked.

“Who are you?”

“Georg’s Dagger.”

The answer was short.

“You bastard!”

His son jumped down from the carriage and shouted. How dare you, in front of whom, insolent dog, and on and on.

The man from Georg’s Dagger just listened in silence.

“Why did you seek us?”

Then he spoke only his own business. Ignored on purpose, the son drew his sword.

Clang!

“Let us cut off one arm first, then continue this conversation.”

The son was known as skilled in his own territory, but the opponent was from Georg’s Dagger.

And seeing him block the road alone showed confidence.

“Enough.”

The count said it to his son. The son’s eyes trembled, then he stepped back.

“I want one person in Border Guard dealt with.”

They made their living through assassination. He only needed to deal with them in terms suited to that trade.

He wanted to test it. If he sent an assassin, could that man still survive, even if the assassin was from Georg’s Dagger?

Half of him wanted to make the man his own, half wanted to remove what irritated his eyes. This matter was for the latter.

“Name?”

“Enkrid.”

“Impossible.”

‘...?’

A refusal? Not just that, an instant refusal without a breath of hesitation. Did this man know the name too? Well, Enkrid’s reputation had grown loud lately.

“He does not have to die.”

“Impossible.”

Again, a refusal without thought.

He was not even demanding immediate death, yet they still refused.

Were these not the people said to do anything for enough gold?

“Not confident?”

Even at the taunt, the man said nothing.

He only repeated that it was impossible.

“Then just investigate his surroundings. Whether he has family, who is around him, what he has, how he got to where he is now, what he wants. Do you understand?”

The man in black, the assassin from Georg’s Dagger, thought for a moment and nodded.

“I will send someone on the second day of every month. We can exchange information for payment.”

“Do not overprice yourselves, you blood-sucking parasites.”

The count added one last line. He was not a man who often showed his feelings openly. His son took it as if the count had said it for his sake.

From the Georg’s Dagger man’s perspective, it felt less like a threat and more like pressure to handle the job properly.

The assassin withdrew without a word.

The count climbed back into the carriage.

“Father.”

“When it is time to endure, endure. Showing your emotions carelessly does no good.”

As if teaching the art of rulership, the count lectured his son, and the carriage moved on.

The Georg’s Dagger man who watched until the end pulled off his mask.

After covering his whole body for so long, he felt stifled.

‘This stifling, huh.’

He had spent too long living in comfort. On a battlefield, if you showed your face and fought, you had no choice but to fight honestly.

To Jaxon, that kind of battlefield was an open, straightforward fight.

You struck from behind and cut throats, yes, but if there were easier ways to kill, why use your own hands directly?

Even when the enemy might notice, why move in on foot and close the distance?

So to him, that was a fair fight. In some ways, almost exhilarating.

‘No, maybe not exhilarating.’

He had watched his captain fight a barbarian and a religious fanatic. It was hard to call his own battlefield exhilarating.

That did not mean he disliked it.

He had his own battlefield.

“How was it?”

After walking toward the city for a while, someone from his group joined him midway. It was the woman from the brothel. Personally, she was something like a lover. In the organization, she led those with strong information networks.

“Like a snake.”

He meant the shape he sensed through instinct, through sixth sense. The count looked like a snake full of deceit and cunning.

“Hmm, not good.”

The woman replied.

“Did you look into it?”

At Jaxon’s question, she nodded. They kept talking as they walked toward the city.

“We believe he is connected.”

Belonging to Georg’s Dagger did not mean you accepted every request.

And Jaxon was not in a position to take requests anyway.

Still, he had his own reason for joining this campaign.

This was a clue that fit that reason. The trail had gone cold, and he had been preparing to leave, but now things were different.

He had come here for revenge.

This was a clue for that.

“Looked like he wanted us to kill that company commander.”

“I refused.”

“Can you do that?”

The other side was a noble nicknamed the Grand Duke of the North. His actual rank was only count, but that was because the royal family kept him in check. His real power fit the title grand duke.

To be blunt, if they pushed with intent, even Georg’s Dagger would struggle against them.

That was what it meant to be a great noble ruling a whole territory.

“Not my concern.”

Jaxon answered.

Mm. The woman nodded to herself. Right, he had always been like this.

He said his company commander was going increasingly mad, but Jaxon himself was hardly normal either.

“I am going.”

At the city gate, Jaxon moved first. The woman called from behind.

“Come by more often.”

There was no reply.

Georg’s Dagger had decided to carry out the mission. By passing information along, they could learn plenty in return.

Jaxon felt no burden over that work.

Should he tell his captain in advance? The thought crossed his mind, but there was no need.

As for what news there was to deliver anyway.

‘No family, obsessed with the sword, dreams of becoming a knight.’

Mm, excellent. If he reported it like that, they would ask if he was joking. But what could he do when a man like that truly existed?

From the outside, even if Enkrid had risen from a mere mercenary to a soldier to a company commander, his dream would still look like empty fantasy.

But what did those who watched him up close think?

Even Marcus now seemed to believe it.

Anyway, this city was full of crazy bastards.

Thinking that, Jaxon finished preparing to step in among them.

It was time to stop being Georg’s Dagger and become a sly stray cat, a soldier guarding the battlefield, and a subordinate to support his company commander.

If left alone, that mad barbarian would pull another mad stunt, so keeping him in check was Jaxon’s job too. At least while he stayed here, he intended to do his part.

* * *

“This is the Grand Duke of the North’s position.

Give me the rank of duke.

But the royal family refused.

Why do you think that is?

The count claims the royal family is pushing him out.

Why? Because they fear he might take the throne? Then they should lose it, he says. If you lack power, you lose it, cough it up, hand it over. That is the kind of world this is.

But the royal family says nothing.

They only say they are treating him according to law and custom. They say all of this is for Naurillia. If he wants the rank of grand duke, then he should do deeds worthy of it, things like that.

In practice, it is all theater. Anyone with experience in political struggle already knows the count has interest in taking the throne.”

At the end of Kraiss’s long explanation, Enkrid asked what he had been wondering.

“The nobles in Border Guard looked like they knew nothing.”

“They are halfwits.”

Right. Enkrid nodded. People who knew nothing, yet treated uninherited titles as something grand.

Those were Border Guard’s nobles, men almost too shameful to call nobles.

On top of that, recently one noble had gone off to heaven or hell by Rem’s axe.

Officially, they said bandits killed him, the work of the Black Blades, but a few sharp nobles suspected Marcus might have been behind it.

Not Enkrid’s problem.

He was only curious about Count Molsen.

He had trained relentlessly, piled up countless experiences, forged his body through the Isolation Technique, gained an eye for reading opponents, and, thanks to Jaxon, awakened his sixth sense.

‘That son of his.’

He felt no sudden urge to fight him.

But that count?

The moment Enkrid saw him, something like fighting spirit flared up.

That body was like tempered steel.

And those eyes.

‘A mage.’

How many mages had he seen, one or two?

Besides, there was also a nearby panther that could turn human.

Rem knew, so of course Enkrid knew too.

Esther did not seem to consider it much of a secret.

Well, Enkrid had noticed before Rem did.

When Esther heard that, she asked,

“Even when I bathe?”

Still, mages were people who studied hidden arts and walked the path of mystery, were they not?

Enkrid had assumed they did not care about physical contact between men and women, so he had brushed it off.

Lately, though, Esther had rarely fallen asleep in his arms.

Her reason was that she did not need it as much anymore.

No need to dwell on it.

“What are you doing?”

Rem asked from beside him. With nothing urgent to do, Enkrid had drifted into stray thoughts.

They were in the middle of unit training. Enkrid too was on the platform, practicing the Isolation Technique.

In the middle of that, the people he had ordered to run returned.

“You all back?”

“We are.”

Rem answered with a sly grin. This bastard got energized by tormenting people. He had a uniquely rotten personality.

“Did everyone run?”

Enkrid looked over his troops and thought,

‘Their stamina is terrible.’

Everything started with a strong heart that could keep running, did it not?

That was why.

For seven days, they had done nothing but run in full gear. It sounded simple, but for the men doing it, it was brutal.

Of course it was.

From morning to noon, then from noon to evening.

They just ran.

They ran around the drill ground, ran outside the city, and climbed the hills beside it.

Their breath reached their throats.

Every muscle in their bodies screamed.

The 1st Company suffered the most.

“Our company’s training is different from yours.”

A few men showed strange pride, but they soon turned pale and ended up looking just like the others.

“We should run in light armor too. This is unfair!”

Everyone had been ordered to run in their own gear, so the heavy infantry company naturally ran in heavy armor.

The moment Rem heard it, he sprang out, delighted.

When he stood in front of them, it was the same soldier who had been flaunting superiority since training began.

Enkrid had warned him. Do not hit people at random. Without proper cause, it stopped being training and became torture.

The goal was to beat them into toughness, not make them give up everything.

Even so, Rem thought this whole style of training was nonsense to begin with, but that was for the captain to decide.

As an instructor, Rem was simply thrilled his moment had come.

“So now it is ‘unfair,’ you bastard! Then transfer to 2nd Company! You were the one bragging your training is different! Where did your 1st Company pride go?”

Rem stepped in and glared straight at him. If the soldier pushed back one more time, force would come immediately.

The soldier dropped his eyes at once.

You could not reason with that madman.

‘Mm, nice.’

Watching that, Enkrid figured training was going well in its own way.

If anything, he even worried the intensity might be too low.

A delusion fit for a mad company commander.

Not surprising. Enkrid himself had been through much harsher grinding than this.

So to him, this was an appropriate level.

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