Chapter 363
“Continue what you were doing.”
The Marquess spoke as he sat down. Behind him, the two guards stood like statues.
That grim pressure was brief. The guards didn’t smile, but they also didn’t show displeasure.
Indifferent—like men doing what they were paid to do.
Ragna studied their posture.
Not too stiff. Not arrogant. The kind of stance that knew how to spend strength only when needed, only when the moment called for it.
It caught his eye.
If Ragna read posture, Rem read aura.
That grimness wasn’t irritation. It was caution—because this was a dangerous place.
That’s how it felt.
So Rem didn’t think he’d have to fight them.
Next was the Marquess himself. He looked like a bored old man.
‘Does he really have nothing better to do?’
Rem didn’t say it out loud.
He’d come for Encrid, not for him. It wasn’t Rem’s place to step in.
Still, the thought that he didn’t need to step in amused him.
‘Is this right?’
It wasn’t awkward. If anything, it was too natural—which made it strange.
Respecting Encrid’s guest?
Rem realized he was following Encrid without even noticing.
And it didn’t feel bad.
He’d been doing it long before he ever became aware of it.
Esther sensed magical power, but no mage.
‘A relic.’
Curiosity stirred—sharp and hungry—but she buried it easily.
If she acted on impulse, Encrid would be the one paying for it.
Whoosh.
Encrid was beside her, driving his axe-spear down with force.
He didn’t answer the Marquess. He simply obeyed—continuing his training.
“If you’re focusing on balance, can you afford to slam down without real power?”
Rem stepped back and offered advice. The axe at his waist swayed and tapped his thigh.
One of the guards glanced at him, but it stayed there—mutual sizing-up, nothing more.
Rem’s focus remained on Encrid.
“Then?”
“Foot.”
He meant the left foot—extend it, shift weight further forward.
So he’d lean?
‘Where did you sell the Heart of Monstrous Strength?’
Rem didn’t say it, but that was the question under the question.
From that short exchange, Encrid gained a small realization.
‘If there’s strength beyond the limit, it can be used as part of the attack.’
Strength beyond the limit—tremendous power.
It would be arrogant to assume only he could do it. He had to assume the enemy could as well.
What Rem was teaching was a technique called Giant Cleaving.
The name sounded simple, but the meaning wasn’t. It was the method for dealing with weapons swung with giant-level strength.
It was Rem’s original technique—his own training method.
And it was recent.
Turning raw experience into something repeatable.
Hadn’t Encrid already shown that in front of Rem?
Even watching Captured Sword had been enjoyable.
Rem was doing the same thing.
He took experience as a foundation, then gave shape to what he learned from it.
Then he arranged it—steps, order, structure—so the “result” would be carved into the body.
And he could experiment through Encrid.
Teaching made Rem learn faster. Refining made him develop further.
Encrid knew exactly what Rem was doing.
Once again, he thought his friend—broken in the head in all the wrong ways—was a genius.
But it didn’t change anything.
He was too busy learning to care.
So he learned, mastered, trained, and repeated—sincerely, earnestly.
Rem simply enjoyed watching it.
“More power.”
Rem said, and Encrid adjusted at once.
To survive a giant’s attack, you had to understand what a giant could do.
Strength beyond the limit was called Monstrous Strength.
So what could someone with Monstrous Strength do?
The Marquess watched, quietly amazed that Encrid trained with such focus even with him present.
Jaxson watched the Marquess.
No killing intent. No aura. No presence.
Just observation.
Jaxson believed the leader of the Black Sword was likely a noble.
‘But not the Marquess of Okto.’
If the leader held a position like that, he would have stepped forward far more aggressively.
Excluding Count Molsen, the Marquess was practically the most powerful figure in and around the Royal Palace.
Jaxson knew that from his investigation into the palace’s internal power struggle.
‘It’s not him.’
The refinement—something only a man born and raised noble could possess—clung to him.
The Marquess could not be the leader of the Black Sword.
The Black Sword’s leader had entered the Royal Palace as a bandit chief. A man like that wouldn’t have completely erased old habits.
While Jaxson observed, one of the guards looked straight at him.
He noticed—despite Jaxson giving off nothing.
So they had their own means.
Not his type, but sharp enough.
Well, you needed that level to survive assassination attempts.
Everyone holding power in the capital lived under threat.
‘Will, is it?’
If he hadn’t mastered Sensory Art, didn’t smell like Jaxson’s kind, and still caught Jaxson’s gaze—
Then it could only be [Will].
Jaxson could hide even deeper, but there was no point now.
He withdrew his gaze.
It never became a confrontation, but tension moved through the air.
The Marquess opened his mouth.
“Won’t you offer tea, Baron Gardner?”
“Huh? Yes. I should.”
Andrew, sweating, called for tea and refreshments.
There weren’t many servants or maids in the mansion.
One maid recognized the Marquess of Okto and approached trembling.
To her, this man wasn’t like Andrew.
Andrew might lash out if he was upset, but he was the master she saw every day. Familiar. Predictable.
And she knew Andrew wasn’t that kind of man.
But this man—
A great noble.
With one gesture, one word, he could throw her life—and her family’s—into the abyss.
That his status was higher than Andrew meant her master couldn’t protect her.
She didn’t understand it in full, but instinct did the work.
The maid’s fear deepened.
Her hands shook.
And in the end, she spilled the tea.
It ran off the rim of the cup, slid across the table, and dripped onto the Marquess’s lap.
The Marquess calmly stood and moved to the chair beside him.
The maid couldn’t even speak. Pale-faced, trembling, she dropped to her knees.
“P-please forgive me.”
Encrid had just finished his set.
“Your hands aren’t skilled yet.”
That was all the Marquess said.
Mac brought a handkerchief, trying to help the maid who didn’t know what to do—but the guard was faster.
He pulled a clean cloth from his pocket and wiped the moisture from the Marquess’s lap.
Encrid’s gaze reached the Marquess.
The Marquess didn’t bother acknowledging anyone’s eyes.
“Baron Gardner.”
“Yes.”
“You should pay attention to the maid’s training.”
“……Yes.”
Mac cleaned the table.
The maid trembled the whole time.
Andrew sent her inside.
She stumbled away on shaky legs—somehow managing not to collapse.
Afterward, Andrew poured the tea himself.
The Marquess nodded.
He hadn’t shown kindness.
He also hadn’t harshly punished her.
He had only blamed her lack of skill.
Nothing more.
He raised the cup and took a sip.
Kin Vaisar sat silently beside him.
“May I have a cup as well?”
Kin spoke.
“May I ask for one too?”
The Marquess of Okto added, following her lead.
There was nothing to refuse.
“Of course.”
Andrew nodded.
Encrid walked over and sat across the table.
The small commotion was over.
Encrid didn’t put on elaborate courtesy, nor did he show rudeness.
He simply sat.
A normal attitude.
The Marquess watched him and lifted the teacup again.
Steam dampened his lips.
“What do you think would have happened if I comforted the maid just now?”
He asked while holding the cup.
There was a smile on his mouth.
His eyes didn’t smile.
Encrid found it hard to read what kind of man the Marquess truly was.
He’d seen all kinds, but this one wasn’t simple.
If Krang was a solitary, blazing sun, the Marquess was a waterway—
A channel you couldn’t predict. A current you didn’t know where it would turn.
“It would’ve been one of two things,” Encrid said.
He wiped sweat off with his forearm, set his hand on the table, and continued.
“Either she would’ve felt relieved… or anxious.”
“Oh? Why anxious?”
“She might think you comforted her in front, but would punish her after.”
“Does that maid only see the world in darkness?”
“Or later, someone might tell her, ‘You spilled tea and he comforted you instead? Be careful.’ Something like that…”
Encrid all but conjured the maid’s older sister and spoke through her—an awful imitation, but the meaning landed.
How many old nobles smiled on the surface and then used that as an excuse to reach for what they wanted behind closed doors?
Sometimes, it was safer to show mild displeasure than to offer comfort.
Once the incident passed, the maid would actually feel relief.
She would believe she’d paid for her mistake.
The Marquess hadn’t gotten angry.
He had simply pointed out her lack of skill.
That was all.
“You’re quite thoughtful.”
“I often hear I’m not like a noble.”
“……Is that so.”
Kin Vaisar nearly spat out her tea.
She didn’t—she just tightened her grip on the cup.
What was a man known as the noblest of nobles saying?
Here, “not like a noble” sounded almost like a joke.
Can you call someone noble if he gets upset over a maid’s mistake?
“Why did you come here?” Encrid asked.
“Why do you ask?” the Marquess replied.
Kin’s heart pounded.
Her eyes slid to Encrid.
“I want to know what kind of person you are,” the Marquess said. “Can you answer?”
What would Encrid say?
Kin knew why he’d come.
She could guess the answer he’d normally give.
He could say he was here to support someone’s royal road.
He could say he came because he received a request.
Kin would even accept it if he said the situation looked interesting and he wanted to lend a hand.
‘He might answer like that.’
If it was Encrid, he could—easily.
But would the Marquess accept it?
Kin didn’t think so.
The Marquess didn’t look expectant. He didn’t look amused.
He was indifferent—which somehow felt heavier.
Encrid opened his mouth.
“I came for a world where children don’t end up on the battlefield.”
Everyone fell silent.
Kin included.
The Marquess and his guards.
Rem, Dunbakel.
Andrew, watching from the side.
They all froze at the unexpected answer.
Encrid continued in a calm voice, like someone reciting a vow.
A quiet declaration.
A public statement.
A will made audible.
“I came to reduce the number of Demons and Demon beasts. I came to protect those who know how to cherish their people. I came to punish those who oppress others with power. I came because I want to protect the weak and protect the dreams of those who still have dreams.”
Empty words.
Absurd words.
Words that could be dismissed the moment they left his mouth.
And yet—
They carried meaning.
They carried conviction.
They carried sincerity.
They sounded like they came from the heart, not the tongue.
Words had no power, because anyone could speak.
No—words had power, because will and conviction lived inside them.
Silence held.
The Marquess set his teacup down with a thud.
“You said your dream was to be a knight?”
His ears must have been sharp. That dream had traveled far.
Encrid nodded.
“Yes.”
“I’ll support you.” (T/N: WOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!)
“Yes.”
The Marquess stood.
Kin’s confusion spiked.
Why had he come?
Surely not just to confirm Encrid’s dream.
But Kin, who’d shaken men’s hearts for years, kept her face under control.
The Marquess turned as if to leave—then stopped before he’d taken five steps.
He turned back.
“Ah. But does someone who wants to protect the weak and become a knight just watch people die in the capital? Things are happening every night. Or do you only move when there’s a request?”
His tone—and the way he moved—was awkward.
As if he’d just remembered something.
But it wasn’t spontaneous.
It was calculated. Deliberate.
He even made a point of showing that it was deliberate.
Encrid heard the meaning under the words.
You’re not going to spend that knighthood—those convictions—unless someone pays you, are you?
It was coercion.
The capital’s affairs belonged to the constabulary.
Encrid was Border Guard standing army. If he caused trouble here, he could be reprimanded.
Did he have to accept being pushed?
Encrid looked into the Marquess’s eyes.
There was a slight smile there.
‘Ah.’
A provocation.
A clean, pointed provocation.
Can you do it? You don’t have to.
You know you don’t have to.
But is that really your knighthood?
So what’s your dream, then? Knight?
Or are you backing down because you don’t think you can handle it?
The Marquess didn’t say any of that.
But Encrid heard it anyway.
A great noble would never speak so crudely.
But the message still landed—bare and sharp.
Encrid had no choice but to take the bait.
Because that was how he would prove himself.
If he wanted sincerity in his words, his actions had to hold them up.
If words came first, no one would follow.
No one would stand behind him.
“I’ll investigate and deal with it starting tonight.”
“I ask you to.”
Their eyes met.
The Marquess smiled, the corners of his eyes curving softly.
Encrid smiled back.
(T/N: I’m liking this new noble. )