Chapter 329
A hero who defeated Azpen and crushed the Cult of the Demon Realm had emerged from the Border Guards!
A man who might become a knight!
They spoke of his knightly qualities.
With that alone, Encrid became the hottest name in all of northern Naurilia.
“I must see him myself.”
Naturally, every noble in the region turned their attention toward him.
A peerless hero born in the frontier—the story itself was appealing.
The public adored him.
Having such a man in one’s circle would be a fine way to flaunt prestige.
And was it only about prestige?
No, there was more to gain than appearances.
Did they truly believe he would become a knight?
Few did.
Very few acknowledged Encrid as possessing true knightly potential.
Most, in fact, scoffed.
“A knight? Ridiculous.”
That was the general sentiment.
Still, even if he didn’t become a knight, it didn’t matter.
There were plenty of uses for a man like Encrid.
Many, in fact.
His martial prowess alone was formidable.
He wasn’t a knight, but he had proven himself far beyond any so-called Junior Knight.
He had saved a frontier village from ruin—enough that they planned to inscribe his name upon its walls.
Among mercenaries, there existed the elite known as platinum mercenaries, and they said even those men were hardly better than him.
Even without a knighthood, his strength was more than enough for a personal guard.
And the rumors didn’t stop at his skill.
“They say he’s quite handsome, too.”
That, too, was true.
With a face as striking as his, how could word of his looks not spread?
A few flighty noblewomen found their hearts fluttering, so much so that someone dubbed him “the Enchanting Captain.”
“I must meet him personally.”
Who wouldn’t be curious after hearing that?
Moreover, Encrid wasn’t a lord—just a company commander.
A man easily drawn into a noble’s embrace, at least on the surface.
So whispers spread like wildfire.
And curiously enough, Encrid’s very name began to take on political weight.
‘If I bring this man under my wing…’
Wouldn’t that allow one to slide a fork into the thriving trade city the Border Guards were becoming after devouring Green Pearl?
Certainly possible.
For many reasons, Encrid’s name spread far and wide—
even reaching the capital before long.
It began in a small salon where his name came up in passing, then soon reached the ears of the queen herself.
In the starlit garden of the royal palace—
“What do you think, Rua?”
At the queen’s question, Frok Ruagarne puffed out her cheeks.
‘Purr.’
A sound of pure delight—her way of showing joy.
And what had caused it?
“Have you fallen for him as well?”
The queen already knew Frok had met Encrid, knew she’d fought beside him.
“Yes. From the very first time I saw him,” Ruagarne answered.
Though under the crown’s banner, Frok was not human.
No one forced human etiquette upon her.
That was why she spoke so casually to the queen.
And this was a private setting, after all.
Between them sat a bottle of fine elven wine, shimmering under the starlight.
A few attendants lingered at a distance, silent and still.
“Was it because of his looks?” asked the queen, sipping her wine.
From Ruagarne—one who found beauty in the spirit rather than the face—came a rare response.
“It’s not his face that I covet, but the heart he carries.”
“I see,” said the queen with a nod.
“And his knightly qualities?”
“He has none.”
Even as Ruagarne answered firmly, the queen’s expression didn’t change.
Ruagarne didn’t try to read her.
The ruler of a nation doesn’t reveal her thoughts so easily.
And Frok had never been one to analyze political motives anyway.
She was simply filled with joy.
‘Will he really go that far?’
He had no knightly gift—she had seen that herself.
And yet, he pressed forward.
Changing. Growing.
Ignoring every gaze and opinion cast upon him.
‘Does he truly believe he can become a knight?’
Her mind said no, yet her heart cheered for him.
The news that he’d slain one of the cult’s bishops only deepened her admiration.
The mere mention of those cultists made her cheeks puff three times their size—her equivalent of a human grinding their teeth.
“I see.”
Their conversation was brief, but the news spread quickly—eventually reaching Markus.
“Well, damn.”
He was genuinely thrilled.
If anything, he felt guilty for not having been there to help.
When the Black Blade and the cult attacked the Border Guards, Markus had wanted to pull Encrid and a few others out before things got ugly.
But Encrid had triumphed—and the losses weren’t even severe.
Graham’s personal letter said it all: he wanted to quit being a lord altogether, and all he could talk about was this man named Encrid.
‘He wrote that if Enki hadn’t been there, it would’ve been total annihilation.’
Markus stroked his chin.
Judging by the political winds, Encrid was about to become the eye of the storm.
Why wouldn’t he?
Even if he didn’t represent the city officially, he was already called a hero.
‘If I secure Enki…’
He could gain influence over the Border Guards themselves.
Not setting his sights on him now would be idiocy.
So how to prevent others from doing the same?
He needed countermeasures—and the more, the better.
First of all—
‘Block that bastard Molsenn.’
If one had to name the most dangerous noble in the region, Count Molsenn came to mind first.
Not just because Markus disliked him—Molsenn was a man who called himself “the king of the frontier.”
Rumors of civil war followed him wherever he went.
‘But he’s not the only problem.’
Markus decided to call upon the power of his family.
The family’s most beautiful daughter was already stationed nearby.
If she and Encrid were to fall for each other, that would be ideal—but he wasn’t counting on it.
All he needed was to use her to keep Molsenn in check.
“It’d be nice if I had a pile of Krongs saved up.”
He muttered to himself.
If the Border Guards had enough resources to sustain themselves, many problems would be easier to solve.
Behind the mask of a “war maniac,” Markus’s mind spun like a whetstone.
How to stop those greedy nobles from meddling with the Border Guards—no, from touching Encrid at all?
‘Achievements.’
He already had plenty, but fresh achievements carried more weight than old ones.
Each new one could become a wall protecting Encrid.
To make that happen, he would need to involve the capital directly.
He could use the mercenary deployment system.
‘If the royal court issues a direct commission, that would make his status officially recognized by the palace.’
Once the palace’s seal was on it, no petty noble would dare lay a finger on him.
And if the Border Guards continued to grow, even better.
‘He’s more suited to be a lord than a mere commander.’
After drawing up the plan, Markus stood.
“I’ll go see the head of the family.”
He’d do everything he could to back Enki.
“Run wild, Enki. I’ll handle the rest.”
He stepped out, exhilarated.
This was the most exciting thing he’d done in ages.
—
Junior Knight Aisia heard the news too—and was stunned.
‘A strange man, indeed.’
Knightly qualities, huh.
Was he really at that level?
Impressive though it had been to see him stand tall against her pressure, it was a stretch to call that knighthood material.
Still, she couldn’t help but look forward to seeing him again someday.
‘Will I face him here one day?’
Standing side by side as Junior Knights of the same order—it wouldn’t be so bad.
She hadn’t seen him many times, but her memory of him was a good one.
—
Unlike Ruagarne or Markus, the leader of the Black Blade Bandits felt his insides twist.
‘Encrid.’
The man he absolutely had to kill was now basking in fame.
How could he bear it?
The leader mobilized his remaining followers.
One of the nobles who had lost his business to him earlier now served as his inside hand.
He wrote a letter.
One addressed to Count Molsenn and several others.
And that wasn’t all.
He knew he would be summoned to the capital sooner or later.
So he would make his moves now—before that day came.
—
A tall man with golden hair, fair skin, and a neatly trimmed mustache draped a fine fur over his muscular frame.
“It’s been a while.”
Count Molsenn.
He smiled casually, as if visiting an old friend.
Encrid thought this man’s face was perhaps the thickest-skinned on the continent.
‘Ah, no—Rem exists.’
Second place, then.
Though Ragna, Jaxson, Audin, and even Krys could compete for the title depending on the day.
Naturally, Encrid excluded himself from the list.
If his subordinates heard that, they might draw their blades on the spot.
Still, the Count’s brazenness was impressive.
He’d once sent an assassin—“The Blade of Precision”—who had died after only a few swings.
Then, during the recent battle, he’d offered no reinforcements.
He had simply watched.
And now, with that same shameless face, he said, “You should thank me. You saved me from a lot of trouble.”
He laughed as he spoke.
Encrid wondered who groomed that mustache—it was always immaculate.
He ran a hand through his own hair, thinking it was about time for a trim, and answered.
“Should I really thank you for that?”
“Has all that sword-swinging dulled your head?”
The Count ignored the woman beside him—one from the House of Vaisar.
To be fair, it wasn’t the Marquis himself who’d come, but a member of a branch family.
Still, treating her so lightly was beyond rude.
That was just how arrogant Count Molsenn was.
“Even if His Excellency the Count hadn’t come, a representative of the Marquisate would have sufficed,” Encrid said.
He knew that with his name spreading, attention from all sides was inevitable.
He’d heard enough talk during his rest in the barracks—most of it carried by Krys, along with his own opinions.
“It’s hard to greet you when the Count insists on cutting in after waiting two days,” the woman interjected smoothly.
“Do you take issue with that?”
“No, of course not.”
The exchange was tense.
“So,” said Encrid, “you came to see me.”
He didn’t care about their quarrel and got straight to the point.
Both turned their eyes toward him.
The woman from the House of Vaisar was named Kin Vaisar.
She had two objectives in coming here:
First, to prevent the Count from exerting pressure on Encrid.
Second, if possible, to bring Encrid into the family’s fold.
The first was at the request of the family’s prodigal son, Markus Vaisar.
The second was the result of a family council.
Yet, judging from Markus’s tone, wasn’t he supposed to be friendly with Encrid?
Right now, though, the atmosphere was anything but warm.
Polite, yes—but indifferent.
“So, you’re not just a man who swings a sword,” the Count said.
Encrid wanted to shrug, but refrained.
There was no point in showing emotion to someone like this.
Would such a gesture even scratch that man’s shamelessness?
No—it wouldn’t.
He knew that instinctively.
“Every noble around here is eyeing me. They think if they win me over, they can take control of the Border Guards—a city sure to become the largest in the region. Am I wrong?”
‘He’s sharp,’ Kin thought.
He’d grasped the situation perfectly.
They said he’d locked himself away for two days in a state of revelation.
Of course, Krys had filled him in beforehand.
Even with little time to think, a sharp mind could connect the dots.
“I’m not interested,” Encrid said.
“Not interested?”
“No.”
“So you’re loyal to the royal court?”
“Do I seem that way to you?”
“I’d rather you weren’t.”
The Count’s eyes gleamed.
He leaned forward from his seat, straightening his posture.
Kin could sense the shift in his aura.
And Encrid thought of Krong.
The feeling was the same—pressure changing like the air before a storm.
The Count rested a hand on his thigh.
Then spoke.
“There are threats to this nation—threats that must be crushed. Yet the crown does nothing. Whose fault is that, then?”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it struck deep, heavy as stone.
The air shifted.
“People die to monsters and beasts. And those who survive—”
He paused.
“Do you feel nothing for them?”
For an instant, Encrid saw images overlapping behind the Count: dying and living people alike.
The child who dreamed of being an herbalist.
The woman who made seasoned jerky.
The mother who sent her son to war.
The soldier who bled from his eyes, nose, and ears.
“So I ask—what would it take to make you mine?”
The Count’s words carried weight.
Kin said nothing.
The Count meant it—he would give anything.
And if Encrid wished to walk a righteous path, this, he implied, was that path.
And it wasn’t entirely untrue.
Kin knew how rich Molsenn’s lands were.
The man was one who stood by his words, whose presence alone could move hearts.
“If it’s people you wish to save, can you truly say the path you walk now is right?”
His voice filled the room—
crushingly so.
It felt impossible to sit there without agreeing.
Kin’s palms grew damp.
Cold sweat.
The Count, usually so composed, was radiating sheer force of will.
It seemed only one answer would satisfy him—submission.
Agreement.
And Encrid said—
“Jiraa—ah, pardon me. My mind wandered for a moment.”
‘Did he just… curse?’
Kin thought she had heard it.
He hadn’t said it outright, yet somehow she had.
Encrid was irritated.
He found the Count’s words nauseating—
the voice of a man who cloaked ambition with righteousness.
Hypocrisy.
If someone like Rem were here, he’d probably be swinging an axe by now.
But Encrid wasn’t that kind of man.
So he answered politely instead.
Politeness could still cut, if used correctly.
And sometimes, one needed to act according to one’s own will.
That was how he kept his heart steady.
That was what it meant to walk the path of a knight—
not the title, but the principle of protecting what must be protected.
Even his own heart.
This was one of those times.
He couldn’t start a fight, so his words would have to suffice.
The moment Encrid spoke, the illusion of Count Molsenn’s charisma shattered.
And the Count’s grin deepened.
Kin held her breath.