Chapter 355
“Don’t stop the practical training.”
Rem firmly believed that Encrid only grew stronger through real combat.
Anyone could see Encrid’s talent had clear limits. Rem saw it the same way. It wouldn’t have been strange if Encrid had stopped improving long ago.
He had seen many knights reach their peak early and then stagnate—bitten by the quiet, creeping thing called talent’s limit.
Was there no way to break through?
There was.
In Rem’s opinion, the best way was to risk one’s life.
Limits came from settling.
And nothing shattered complacency better than doing everything as if life depended on it.
It applied not only to swordsmanship—Rem believed you could grow in poetry or singing the same way if you approached them with life-or-death earnestness.
“Risk your life and roll on the battlefield.”
That was the highest advice Rem could offer someone like Encrid, who constantly sought to move forward.
Encrid recalled that conversation now.
This wasn’t a battlefield.
Yet he saw someone rolling around as though his life depended on it.
Krang.
He was fighting—through words, decisions, and presence—as though each moment carried life or death.
And Encrid felt something akin to an epiphany.
More than anything, he wanted to keep watching.
“Take a look around the Royal Palace,” Markus said. “If I send in a request here, wouldn’t I look like a con artist?”
Encrid ignored him.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Krang.
Esther narrowed her eyes at the Royal Palace, sensing the abundance of Spell Objects and magic tools.
But something felt wrong.
A national palace naturally contained artifacts and magical structures. That wasn’t surprising.
What bothered her was the other thing—something malicious. Something warped.
Magic itself didn’t follow order, yet she felt something twisted… as though an intentional malice seeped through the halls.
“Krrrl.”
Her low, whisper-like rumble expressed her unease.
From a mage’s perspective, the palace’s defenses were full of holes. Unnaturally so.
Almost as if someone had deliberately weakened them.
“Have you come looking for a place to die?”
The commander of the Royal Guard—the man in the dark gray helmet—spoke. They were being led along a quieter path, not the central streets.
Combined with the route, the words sounded like a threat.
Matthew reacted sharply.
“Do you know who stands before you?”
“If you’re a fool who runs wild because of his bloodline, then you’ll get angry. If you’re not, you’ll endure it.” The helmeted man answered coolly.
Clear-headed. Encrid could tell the man wasn’t simple.
As they walked, Encrid subtly observed the Royal Guards.
Twenty escorted them.
Some were properly trained—elite enough to strike with a spear even under sudden threat.
Others were awful. They couldn’t even march in step.
Military Regulation was the foundation of soldiering. Anyone who couldn’t follow it was no elite.
Is this really the Royal Guard? The spears protecting the royal family?
Still—the dark gray helm wearer walked at the front with impeccable balance.
Encrid valued that.
A man shouldering responsibility for everyone, regardless of their competence.
‘I wish he’d pick a fight,’ Encrid thought.
But a man like this wouldn’t.
He was the type who only fought with cause—direct in words, direct in intent. Even if given a chance to strike from behind, he’d wait for you to turn around.
Everything in his stride, posture, tone, and stance showed that.
The opposite of Jaxson.
As he thought that, Jaxson turned—and their eyes met.
“You seem to be thinking something unpleasant,” Jaxson said.
“No, not at all.”
Encrid denied it smoothly—one of his specialties.
It wasn’t even a lie. It didn’t betray his beliefs.
It was simply consideration.
“Yes, you are.”
“I think so too.”
“Your eyes are gone.”
Jaxson’s denial was followed by Rem and Ragna agreeing.
“But will they feed us?” Dunbakel asked.
Encrid seized the chance.
“They will, won’t they?”
“Not ambush us as we are?”
“That won’t happen.”
The left and right guards definitely heard everything. They reacted as expected.
“Insolent.”
One of the poorly trained Royal Guards growled. The same one who couldn’t march.
He should have walked properly for the sake of the unit’s dignity—especially before strangers.
But he hadn’t. And that alone marked him as a fool.
The fool now picked a fight.
Before Encrid could worry about the group’s reaction—
“Are you trying to make me a fool with that one word?”
Krang’s voice sliced forward.
“That was not my intention,” the gray helmet replied.
“Then shut up.”
Krang snapped back immediately—blunt and fiery.
“And the one whining about insolence in the back should shut his mouth before I cut his tongue out.”
The guard’s shoulders twitched—not in fear, but anger.
He showed his nature again—transparent and shallow.
Even though Krang was royalty, almost none of the guards reacted as though he were.
“Those tasked with guarding the Royal Palace have loose mouths and hands. Pathetic.”
Krang continued scolding.
“You are not qualified to comment on our attitude.”
The captain retorted.
Krang snorted.
“I’m speaking as a mere member of the royal family. Not the King.”
“Then prove you are royalty.”
“That is not something for a mere swordsman to concern himself with! If you received orders, just carry them out!”
Krang’s sudden shout was so sharp the captain fell silent.
His logic was correct.
Encrid had to turn around.
“Beh.”
Rem stuck out his tongue at the guard who had been teased earlier.
Crazy bastard.
And he wasn’t the only one.
Jaxson clicked his tongue.
Ragna added,
“You must know how to read the stars to know where you stand. Look at your place before you lie down.”
A proverb. Wise words.
Yet somehow less weighty because Ragna said them.
Tomato human? Encrid thought as the guard’s face reddened dangerously.
He leaned closer and murmured, just loudly enough for the guard to hear:
“Mistake.”
Pretending he had spoken aloud by accident.
The guard’s grinding teeth doubled. His face darkened further.
Matthew, feeling as though he was walking a tightrope over a cliff, stared ahead in dismay.
What are these madmen doing?
Krang held back laughter. Markus wore the same strained expression Matthew did.
Even after arriving in the capital—surrounded by the Royal Guard—they behaved no differently.
A leaking bottle leaked everywhere.
Madmen remained madmen.
“You lot—”
The commander turned, ready to speak—but closed his mouth.
They had reached the edge of the city and boarded a carriage.
Krang, Matthew, and Markus boarded.
Marcus’s escort tried to follow but Markus dismissed him.
“I’m with the heroes who made the Royal Guard and Border Guard tremble. What danger could possibly threaten me, even inside the palace?”
His tone implied something else, but Encrid didn’t need to know.
The others mounted their horses.
If they traveled steadily, they would reach the palace by sunset.
The road wrapped along the city’s outskirts. Guard posts lined the path—doors and barriers ready to close if needed.
For now, the way was open.
From horseback, Encrid could see the glowing castle walls to the left, city mansions to the right.
“The capital is huge. Been here before?” Rem asked.
Encrid nodded.
Back then, he’d been nearly a beggar—ignored, chased, beaten.
He summarized it in a single sentence.
“When I came before, I was too busy getting beaten to look around.”
“That’s very captain-like,” Rem said.
Ragna looked around quietly—lost in the maze-like alleys.
‘Getting from the palace to the gate must be a nightmare.’
Jaxson followed silently. He’d been here before, even inside the palace.
‘Avnair.’
The strategist of Azpen.
No lies in what he had said.
Then Jaxson’s job lay somewhere within these walls.
His eyes found the tall spires ahead—the three swords representing the founding knights who guarded the first King, and the Sun Beast who had protected the kingdom in legend and truth.
Dunbakel was getting hungry.
Encrid wondered if he’d meet knights within the palace—and what he would ask them.
“We’ve arrived,” the Royal Guard commander said.
Indeed, they stood at the inner gate.
Four more Royal Guards watched them, saluting the commander.
As the two groups exchanged glances, Encrid sensed something off.
‘They’re divided.’
Some greeted warmly. Others stayed distant.
Factionalism. Even here.
“Just wait,” the teased soldier from earlier hissed, grinding his teeth.
“This guy teased you,” Encrid said, pointing at Rem.
“Wow, unjust accusation. Tell him—was it just me?” Rem taunted.
The guard nearly snapped, but the commander tugged his shoulder.
“Enough.”
He warned sharply.
Encrid continued pointing at Rem as the sole culprit.
“No really—I’m innocent here.”
The commander ignored him and turned away.
A new figure stepped forward.
“The Queen has summoned you to the audience chamber.”
A face Encrid didn’t know.
He scanned the group and introduced himself.
“I am Viscount Bantra.”
Ah.
Encrid knew that name.
A noble under Count Molsen.
The one who sent armed men wearing Border Guard insignia.
Blonde hair. Broad shoulders. A trained body.
“Markus Vaisar.”
“It’s been a while.”
Marcus and Bantra knew each other—former political rivals within the palace.
Bantra ignored Encrid’s companions entirely, focusing only on Marcus and Encrid while leading the way.
On the road, Krang used ventriloquism again.
“Don’t tease the Queen.”
What did he take Encrid for?
Insulting the Queen was a great crime.
Encrid knew that without being told.
He planned to wait outside the audience chamber.
But—
“You may enter. The rest will wait.”
Viscount Bantra stopped him.
“Her Majesty wishes to see the face of the hero who saved the Border Guard.”
He expected to be lectured, told to change clothes, taught etiquette—but no.
A royal heir had appeared out of nowhere. The palace had to act fast.
Publicly, they needed to pretend ignorance.
Privately, they already knew.
They also needed to see Encrid—the hero.
“I fear he may violate etiquette,” Krang whispered.
“Do not worry. I will personally guide him,” Bantra said.
Encrid felt nothing from him—no malice, no warmth.
That lack of reaction unsettled him.
And then—
Bantra smelled… rancid.
Old blood? Raw meat?
Dunbakel was already clutching her nose.
To normal people it was faint.
To beastkin, painfully strong.
Encrid only frowned for a moment.
“Thank you for your guidance,” he said.
They reached the audience chamber.
Rem made a hand sign: Have a hard time.
A southern idiom meaning—Good luck suffering.
The others halted.
Encrid stepped forward.
The ornate doors opened. The guards scanned him as he entered.
He had already disarmed.
The doors closed behind him with a scraping drag.
The Queen had not arrived yet.
Only six nobles waited inside.
A rushed gathering—only those powerful enough to appear on short notice.