Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 110: Luck and Misfortune Strike Unexpectedly

Finn and Torres headed inside to report.

Torres would handle the main briefing, while Finn would provide support. For Encrid, it was enough to simply report his return.

As he stood in front of their lodging, he noticed an unexpected figure.

It was Gilpin.

His clothes were torn, his face bruised with a purplish hue. One eye was swollen halfway shut, though it seemed to be healing. He limped but didn’t appear to have a broken leg.

“Let me see,” Encrid said.

A quick examination revealed a sprained ankle.

“I’m fine,” Gilpin replied, though his tone betrayed his unease.

Encrid nodded. “What’s going on?”

Gilpin was someone under Krys’s management, so this had to involve trouble with the guild.

“They’ve come,” Gilpin muttered.

“Who?” Encrid asked.

“The frog bastard who was in league with the previous guild master.”

*Ah, Frok.*

Encrid didn’t need to dig through his memory. It had been said before: spring brings the frogs.

It seemed the frog had arrived earlier than expected.

“Start from the beginning,” Encrid said, wanting the full story.

If Krys had been killed or there was an urgent situation, Gilpin wouldn’t be here explaining. He’d have immediately asked for Encrid’s help.

—

For the past six days, Krys had been living in the city, eating and sleeping there.

It wasn’t unusual for him to spend about a week away from the unit.

Especially since preparations for deployment were underway.

‘There’s so much to get done before deployment.’

From gathering provisions to running errands, there was no shortage of tasks. Soldiers and even officers frequently sought Krys out for help.

Thanks to these connections, Krys also had people willing to look the other way.

This had been his sixth day away from the unit.

He wanted to tie up all loose ends before leaving, particularly since managing the guild had added a steady stream of *crona* to his income. The excitement of counting money made him reluctant to return to the barracks.

‘Let’s see how much I make today.’

He had dreams of opening a salon someday, and saving up now was essential.

Recently, he had earned a good cut from the squad leader selling off confiscated goods.

‘Wish he’d find more of those things.’

Though the last haul involved a mage hiding in the sewers, such opportunities didn’t come often.

“It’s lunchtime. Let’s eat,” Krys said, summoning Gilpin to join him for a meal.

Lunch consisted of thin noodles made from ground wheat, topped with olive oil and tomato sauce—a surprisingly refined dish for the circumstances.

“So, you’ve sealed off the cobbler’s basement?” Krys asked, twirling noodles on his fork.

“Yes, completely sealed,” Gilpin replied after swallowing a mouthful of food.

The effort was part of their strategy to create the impression of a *night watch,* ensuring that the guild seemed like protectors of the city.

By sealing off the sewers and dealing with other such tasks, they filled the gaps left by the standing army.

While they had stripped the sewers clean, they had left the structure intact—a decision Krys saw as an oversight.

Still, the perception of the guild as guardians of the city worked wonders for their reputation.

Taxes, tributes, and information all flowed more smoothly when the guild was viewed favorably.

Krys mused over the future. ‘With enough consolidation, we could even purge Azpen’s spies from the city.’

He considered the possibility of absorbing surrounding guilds and creating a unified power structure. However, he knew such a move would require careful timing.

As Krys idly planned, tapping his fork against the table, Gilpin interrupted his thoughts.

“Boss, the cobbler’s basement is sealed, but the Frog…”

That was when fate intervened.

*Bang!*

The door to the reception hall burst open, and someone stepped in, cloaked in a heavy mantle.

Krys didn’t waste time wondering how they had gotten here or asking who they were.

The guild had a dozen guards stationed on the property, including two directly at the entrance. Yet now those two lay sprawled on the floor outside.

‘Are they dead?’ Krys quickly assessed. No blood—so it seemed they weren’t killed.

His sharp mind processed the situation instantly, recognizing the misfortune that had just arrived.

With a calm demeanor, Krys spoke first.

“Right this way, please.”

The cloaked figure tilted their head, intrigued.

“Do you know who I am? Interesting reaction.”

Their voice was harsh and raspy, as if their vocal cords had been damaged.

“It doesn’t matter,” Krys replied. “I assume you’re here for something important.”

“Smart.”

The figure shrugged off their cloak, revealing a heavily armored chest plated with iron—a heart protector.

‘Ah.’

It was difficult to recognize Froks by sight, but Gilpin knew who this was.

The distinctive white scar on their neck gave it away.

It was *that* Frok—the one who came every spring, the one Gilpin had warned about.

‘Isn’t this too early? Froks are supposed to come later in the season.’

The Frok spoke. “Where’s the guy who used to run this place?”

“He got tired of this world and moved on,” Krys replied smoothly.

Gilpin broke out in a cold sweat, knowing that one wrong word could mean instant death.

The sheer disparity in power was suffocating.

“Have you eaten?” Krys asked, keeping his tone casual.

The Frok’s lips twisted into a smirk.

“Amusing little man.”

The next moment, the Frok moved.

Gilpin resisted and was promptly beaten. It took just three strikes to subdue him.

If the Frok hadn’t held back, Gilpin would have been dead in one.

Krys, offering no resistance, was also struck.

“Humans always behave better after a beating. That’s my philosophy. Now, what’s the name of the one who killed the last guild leader?” the Frok demanded, lifting Krys off the ground by his collar.

Krys’s mind raced. Among the squad, who could handle a monster like this?

‘Rem, Ragna, Audin, or Jaxson?’

The decision was instantaneous, despite the split-second deliberation.

“Cough… You could have just asked,” Krys quipped.

“I don’t like that. Beating someone makes the answer taste sweeter.”

‘Crazy Frok bastard.’

Suppressing his true thoughts, Krys smiled. “It was the Border Guard’s standing army. A man named Ragna.”

“And you? Why are you here?” the Frok asked.

“Acting guild master,” Krys answered.

“Interesting. Amusing, even. Hey, Baldy.”

Gilpin, barely conscious and in tremendous pain, flinched at the address.

“Y-yes?”

“Bring me Ragna. Do that, and I’ll let this one live.”

Gilpin turned to Krys, his expression desperate.

Krys, however, simply smiled and said, “Go. Bring our real guild master.”

Gilpin understood immediately. He needed to bring someone capable of killing this Frok.

The Frok wasn’t stupid. Though he couldn’t discern lies from truth, he sensed Krys’s scheming.

‘I’ll kill the one they bring and put this little man in chains.’

It was a resolution born of pure malice.

With the former overseer gone, it was time for a new one to take charge. Coordinating with the home country required too much effort; thus, a local solution seemed more practical.

If things went awry? Escaping with just one’s body intact would be no big deal.

—

“How many days has it been since Krys got captured?” Encrid asked, scratching his nose.

“Three days,” Gilpin replied.

“And my squad members?”

“They all left for the front lines at just the right time.”

“Even Rem?”

“I’m not sure. I just know he’s not around.”

“You’ve confirmed Krys is alive?”

“Yes, I just checked on him.”

“Did they break all his limbs?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Never mind. If they didn’t, that’s fine.”

Encrid muttered to himself, nodding as he stood up. He and Gilpin had been squatting in a quiet corner outside the barracks, discussing the situation.

Gilpin looked up at him, confused. ‘Why isn’t he rushing to save Krys?’

Encrid finally spoke. “First, I’ll report my return.”

“Should I wait?”

“No need. Frok’s still at the mansion, right?”

“You’re not going now?”

No, there was no need to rush. If Frok intended to kill Krys, it would have happened already. The fact that Krys hadn’t even been maimed in three days meant he was holding up just fine.

‘He must be stalling for reinforcements.’

Krys’s intentions were clear: he wanted someone—anyone—from the squad to come for him. That’s likely why he dropped Ragna’s name specifically.

Rem, Audin, or Jaxson might have been easier to summon, but naming Ragna, who was notoriously difficult to track down, was a calculated move. It was Krys’s way of signaling that he needed help—desperately.

‘The problem is, I’m the only one left.’

Encrid hadn’t expected his squad members to leave for the front without him, and it seemed Krys hadn’t anticipated it either. Whoever managed to take the unruly squad into battle deserved credit for their resilience; controlling a group that included Rem without losing their mind was no small feat.

“Go back and tell them to wait one more day,” Encrid instructed.

Gilpin’s face twisted in frustration. “The guild master will die.”

To Gilpin, this was an obvious conclusion. He had grown comfortable with his current life as a glorified night watchman rather than the chaotic existence of a rogue. Krys, despite his obsession with money, had been fair, and Gilpin wanted to protect the fragile peace he had found.

“We have to go,” Gilpin insisted.

But Encrid shook his head again. “Tell them to wait. Ragna will come tomorrow.”

Then he turned and walked away.

Gilpin had no other choice. He had to return and deliver the message, knowing full well that if he didn’t, Frok would tear Krys apart.

‘God, help us.’

Despite being irreligious, Gilpin found himself seeking divine intervention as he left.

Encrid headed toward the barracks.

—

“What’s been going on? No one will tell us anything,” asked a soldier stationed outside the barracks.

Encrid thought of Gilpin and muttered, ‘He has guts.’

The idea of a standing army soldier taking over a back-alley guild was ludicrous. It was the sort of thing that could lead to execution if handled poorly. Yet Gilpin had stuck with it, willing to protect what he valued.

“Just a mess,” Encrid replied vaguely as he entered the barracks.

One more day wouldn’t kill Krys. From Frok’s behavior, it was clear he wasn’t dealing with a reckless brute.

‘He doesn’t seem like an idiot.’

While Froks were often perceived as mindless muscle, Encrid knew better. Like humans, Froks varied in intelligence and temperament. There were cunning Froks, brutish Froks, and even meticulous ones.

The key was to assess the opponent and prepare accordingly.

Encrid clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked. He wasn’t rushing into this blind.

If he had survived Lycanthropes and enemy commanders, and even managed to slay a mage, it was proof that his skills had improved. Could he face Frok?

‘Feels like I might have a shot.’

It wasn’t baseless confidence. Though Krys had called for someone else, Encrid was ready to step up.

‘Frok, huh?’

The thought of taking on such a formidable opponent was oddly thrilling. It wasn’t fear driving him now—it was the challenge.

He reached the barracks and learned that many soldiers had already deployed. The reckless squad had been led to the battlefield by none other than the Elf Company Commander.

‘Whoever managed that must have nerves of steel.’

Since the commander was away, Encrid reported his return to another platoon leader.

“You’re the only one left from the independent squad? Planning to join the fight later?”

“After two days of rest. I’m exhausted.”

“Fair enough. Try to get there soon. The front lines might see a second deployment.”

The officer waved a dispatch as he spoke, and Encrid nodded before heading to his quarters.

—

After unpacking, Encrid sank into a hot bath, letting the warmth soothe his tired body. He wrapped himself in a thick blanket and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

If he had to face Frok and potentially reset the day, he would ensure he was in peak condition.

—

The next morning, Encrid woke refreshed. After washing up, he tore into a hearty breakfast of roasted meat.

“You’re really going all in first thing in the morning,” the cook remarked, shaking his head.

Afterward, Encrid began his routine training. He practiced breathing techniques to aid digestion and build endurance. He sharpened his longsword and counted his remaining throwing knives—only two were left, as he hadn’t been able to retrieve the others.

‘I wonder if that blacksmith can make more of these.’

He examined the blade, holding it to the light. It was still in decent condition, with only minor nicks. The blacksmith had warned that killing mages could ruin a blade, but this one had held up well.

—

“Meow!”

Encrid turned to see Esther, his ever-present feline companion.

“Where have you been?”

Esther leapt into his arms, curling up comfortably.

“I’ve got somewhere to be,” he said, stroking the cat’s soft fur. “You can come, but no interfering. Just watch.”

Esther purred contentedly as Encrid set off, heading toward the mansion where Krys was being held.