Chapter 219
Even with the whole city swept up in celebration, there was still a security detail.
Led by those soldiers, two carriages rolled through the city and into the center of the market square.
There was no real reason to stop them.
Publicly, they were allies—and the procession belonged to one of the high-ranking nobles.
From the first carriage, a well-built coachman dismounted and opened the door. Out stepped a man with a finely styled mustache.
“Count Molsen?”
Markus muttered and then moved to greet him directly.
“I heard there was a victory celebration. Thought I’d stop by while passing through.”
He was the last person anyone expected to appear.
And even less so here, in the middle of the Border Guard’s market.
The patrol leader stood frozen, unable to step forward. Markus glanced at him, and the officer silently stepped back.
A strange tension radiated from the count and his entourage, sewing shut the mouths of all around them.
In that silence, the Count’s voice rang out. A voice with clear conviction.
The voice of someone who knew his authority, who believed in his standing.
“I was curious to see the face of the so-called hero of this battlefield.”
Count Molsen was bold. He was direct. That only made him seem more confident.
Despite being a high noble, he wore no expensive satin or silk. Just light linen—but it carried a quiet elegance.
Muscle could be seen through his thin clothes, proof that he didn’t neglect his own training.
Even standing on the booze-soaked mud, he didn’t look any less a noble. He was an impressive man.
Encrid thought he’d never encountered someone who made such an impression at first glance.
“So? I hear he’s a hidden gem—let me take a look.”
The count’s relaxed voice rang out. Markus didn’t respond right away.
The two clearly knew each other. Encrid, standing a few steps away, heard the voice asking for him.
‘Should I step forward?’
Or wait.
He glanced at Markus’s face and saw it stiffened for the first time.
This man, who chuckled even in the middle of war.
“That bastard’s got a punchable back of the head.”
Rem muttered beside him. He wasn’t slurring, but wanting to punch a noble’s head without provocation couldn’t be called normal.
Encrid gestured to Audin and Ragna.
Get this guy out of here.
Left alone, he’d definitely cause trouble.
And Encrid wanted to ease Markus’s burden too.
It wasn’t as if he was trying to hide.
It was Markus’s idea to conceal him in the first place, not his own.
He had gone along with it—but now the secret was out.
So stepping up was the right move.
In fact, now that it had come to this, maybe he should aim to attract Count Molsen’s swordsmen as well.
He liked Krys’s plan.
Not going to them—but making them come to you.
Besides, Count Molsen, no matter how imposing, wasn’t a threat to Encrid.
Even before the day’s repetition, Encrid had lived as if half his life was always on the line. And since then, he’d truly risked his life daily. In terms of guts and tenacity, Encrid might be the strongest on the continent.
Which was why—
In Encrid’s eyes, Count Molsen’s appearance looked like an opportunity.
‘They say recruiting talent is his hobby.’
Count Molsen’s nickname was “the talent collector.”
Which meant he probably had a lot of skilled swordsmen under him.
And probably spear masters too. Maybe even brawlers and blunt weapon experts. No—there had to be many.
There were also rumors that he had knight-like warriors among his ranks.
One of the elite swordsmen who had targeted Encrid in the last battle had supposedly served under Count Molsen, though Encrid didn’t know that. He didn’t even know the man’s nickname.
Still, Encrid figured if Krys spread the word, there’d be those among Molsen’s men with a thirst for competition—and maybe a few would come looking for him.
“Your name was Encrid, wasn’t it?”
Just then, Count Molsen spoke again. Markus should’ve stepped in, but before he could, Encrid took a step forward.
“Stand down, soldier.”
A man standing guard moved to block him. No—he didn’t just block him. He struck Encrid’s chest with his arm.
It was forceful. Borderline hostile.
Well-trained arms—this was the coachman from earlier.
His developed chest muscles were visible. His eyes glared fiercely.
‘He’s picking a fight, huh?’
That seemed like a fair assessment.
He’d made the first move. So didn’t that justify a response?
Encrid certainly thought so.
Deep down, he also hoped that by making a strong impression here, the caliber of challengers who came seeking him would rise.
So Encrid didn’t hesitate.
It might’ve been Rem’s influence.
Might’ve been the few drinks in his system.
So—
He grabbed the man’s blocking arm and pushed. The man instinctively resisted.
And in that instant, Encrid pushed with his right hand, then pulled—sweeping the man’s heel with his left foot.
It was a destabilizing move. A technique from the [Valaf Style Martial Arts] he learned from Audin.
Caught off guard, the man was thrown backward, feet in the air, landing hard on his backside with a loud thump.
If the count had planned a tense silence, Encrid had just shattered it completely.
The area fell into even deeper stillness.
Some soldier accidentally let out a groan-like “Oof…”
“That had to hurt.”
Encrid muttered quietly, trying to break the awkwardness. The man’s face turned red as he scowled and started to rise—but Encrid spoke again.
“Sounded like you came to see me.”
He didn’t even glance at the man he knocked down. He turned to face the count instead.
And the count was already looking at him.
The coachman who had been knocked down clenched his fist, debating whether to strike or not.
In the end, he couldn’t throw a punch. His lord was watching the man who had just floored him.
Encrid had shown strength first, and only then came the conversation. That brief scuffle naturally drew the count’s full attention.
Since part of the intent had been to draw that attention, Encrid met the count’s gaze calmly.
There wasn’t the slightest hint of intimidation in his posture or demeanor.
It might’ve looked borderline insane, yet the count said nothing—he simply kept observing Encrid.
And Encrid did the same.
‘That’s one well-groomed mustache.’
It looked like he had a personal barber to maintain it.
Behind him, Markus had nearly stepped forward but closed his mouth.
Thanks to Encrid’s actions, there was no room for him to cut in.
“So you’re Encrid?”
The count asked.
“Yes, I am.”
Encrid answered.
Their eyes met. Encrid looked at him with quiet composure, and the count met his blue eyes with a steady gaze of his own.
Was it rude to knock down a coachman on first meeting?
Now that it was done, the thought suddenly surfaced.
Encrid didn’t think much of it.
Honestly, he held something close to a grudge.
Everyone knew Count Molsen had tried to sneak in a figurative fork on the battlefield.
No one could ask openly about it, of course.
But soldiers bearing erased insignia didn’t attack for no reason.
And the moment Martai started losing, they had retreated and scattered to the rear.
None of them were caught.
Chasing and capturing a few would’ve been easy, but there had been no need. No—Markus had said they shouldn’t.
Krys had warned that detaining them could create problems, and he’d backed it up with solid reasoning.
“If you catch and confront them, will the count admit to anything? No way. He might even accuse you of something worse. Then we’ll be forced to apologize. It’s better to leave it alone.”
The takeaway was this: power is law.
Perhaps anticipating that, Markus hadn’t pursued them.
At any rate, Encrid figured he’d only embarrassed a bodyguard—not the count’s son or anything. So it wouldn’t be a big deal.
“You alright?”
The count asked the coachman, still awkwardly crouched behind him.
“Yes, Father.”
…Huh?
Encrid reflexively wanted to clean his ears.
Had he misheard?
“Giving my son a lesson like that on first meeting, huh? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”
The count said, and Encrid realized there’d been a huge misunderstanding.
“Ah, um. Right. So that’s what happened.”
Silence returned. Like he was trying to sew up the very curtain of tension he’d just torn in half.
“Did you know he was my son?”
The count asked, slicing through that silence himself.
“I didn’t.”
“Well, now you do.”
Was he waiting for an apology? The count turned fully toward Encrid.
There was a faint shimmer in his eyes.
To Encrid, it gave off an odd impression. Like those eyes weren’t just looking at him—but through him.
Not judging his appearance—but peering into his core. Trying to read his thoughts.
It was hard to put into words.
Should he apologize? Encrid knew it wouldn’t be difficult.
Just say a few polite lines. It wasn’t like he was being asked to cut off a finger.
And yet—for some reason, he couldn’t get the words out.
Had his ego grown along with his skill? That wasn’t it.
The man in front of him just rubbed him the wrong way.
It was like meeting a monster on a dark road—one particularly skilled at hiding its malice.
Just as the air turned colder and everyone began to watch the two of them—
“Hahaha! It’s fine. The idiot deserved it.”
The count burst into loud laughter, grinning from ear to ear.
Encrid silently saluted to acknowledge the man’s generosity.
“No, really—it’s fine. I truly just stopped by to see your face. The rumors weren’t lies after all. Very impressive.”
The count examined Encrid’s face closely.
“Regardless of skill, that face is outstanding. I imagine every maiden within ten leagues is losing sleep.”
“Seems all the girls nearby have insomnia, then.”
Encrid replied with an elf-style joke.
“Haha! He’s got wit, too.”
The count let out a few more offhand remarks and then addressed Markus with something like an apology.
“The monsters and beasts coming from the south have been fierce. Defending my territory is a duty delegated by the crown—it hasn’t been easy. I couldn’t assist. Martai’s ties to the east run deep… You’ve done well.”
Thinks he’s the king or something.
Encrid thought, noticing the soft smile on Markus’s face as he replied,
“Then I shall await acknowledgment of our deeds from Her Majesty, the rightful queen of this kingdom.”
You’re not the king, bastard.
That’s what Markus seemed to be saying.
“Until next time, then.”
Count Molsen didn’t care. Or rather, he acted like he hadn’t even heard it.
His stay had been brief, but the atmosphere he left behind lingered.
Once he was gone, Markus muttered with a crooked smile,
“Arrogant bastard.”
It carried more weight than the usual contempt nobles of the Border Guard showed to others.
“Do you not get along?”
“Do you know what that bastard’s dream is?”
Encrid didn’t even need to ask—the answer came unprompted.
“He’s a usurper. Wants the throne. Absolutely insane.”
Encrid, who wasn’t in a position to mock anyone else’s dreams, didn’t comment.
But—
‘That glare of his… It wasn’t just ambition.’
Markus seemed unaware, but something about that man’s eyes had really gotten under Encrid’s skin.
Thanks to Count Molsen, the party’s mood shifted.
A few lively soldiers briefly brought energy back—but like a fire quickly fading, the celebration soon cooled again.
The day after the party, a simple appointment ceremony was held.
“I hereby appoint Company Commander Encrid as Training Company Commander!”
Markus himself announced it from the platform at the drill yard.
Everyone accepted it without much thought.
“Did he get it just for training hard?”
One soldier muttered.
But some, the more perceptive ones, wore uneasy expressions.
Especially Lieutenant Benzense.
“No way…”
That “no way” was the kind that could ruin someone’s life.
After the appointment ceremony ended and they returned, Rem stood deep in thought before suddenly clapping his hands.
“That bastard!”
What now?
Encrid once again realized that Rem’s brain operated on a completely different level and asked,
“What about?”
“That count.”
“Yeah, that count.”
“I told you before, didn’t I?”
“You say a lot of things, Rem.”
Which was true. He never shut up.
“No, about how I ended up down here.”
Encrid tried to recall. He did remember hearing it once.
Something about beating a bastard to death for raping a commoner girl and committing murder. And that bastard happened to be a noble’s son.
“Turns out that bastard’s father was Count Molsen.”
“…Count Molsen?”
“Ha! I knew he looked familiar.”
Rem nodded with a satisfied look.
As Encrid entered the barracks, he thought to himself—
‘Coincidence, maybe.’
Could Count Molsen have not recognized Rem?
If there were any kind of bounty or wanted notice on Rem, he probably wouldn’t have let it slide. But who knew? That man might have a hundred serpents inside him—or be raising a Hydra with nine heads.
More than anything—those eyes.
“Hm.”
They were different, but somehow similar to the eyes of the panther staring at him from inside the room.
So, a mage, then. It was a suspicion that felt halfway confirmed.
And that physique… was the man perhaps a magic swordsman?
If so, if that were true—
‘I kind of want to fight him.’
Scratch. Encrid rubbed his head for no reason.
Esther, watching him closely, sent him a look as if to say, “Why is this man halfway insane again?”
His eyes, after all, were burning—like something inside him had ignited.
“Let’s spar. A spar.”
Then Rem suddenly said from the side.
“Hm?”
It surprised Encrid simply because Rem said it before he could.
“Why’re your eyes lit up like that? Let’s spar.”
And so, Encrid sparred with Rem. He pulled out everything he’d learned and trained so far and brought it into motion once more.
It was more fun than he expected.
And two days later, as scheduled, all companies except those on active duty joined in a full training session.
This included the 1st Company—the heavy infantry.
Some of the heavy infantry members looked openly displeased.
Each unit had its own way of training.
And they had been through some of the harshest drills of any group.
So, it was no surprise that some of them wore disrespectful expressions.
But Encrid, standing atop the platform, didn’t care one bit.
