A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 413: A Grand Coronation

"Thank you."

The words came unexpectedly, but the healer’s tone was heavy with sincerity.

Enkrid, still too drained to fully grasp the weight of his actions, could only watch.

The schedule had been relentless, and though the battle was over, work remained.

Preparing for war was demanding, but the aftermath required even more effort.

It was said that a general who fought well could win battles, a general who prepared well could win engagements, but only a general who managed the aftermath well could win wars.

The cleanup was just as important as the fight itself.

And now, there was much to handle.

The remnants of the Count’s forces needed to be dealt with, fallen equipment had to be recovered, and the camps had to be dismantled.

Once all of that was done, they would have to march back to the capital.

Even with the satisfaction of victory, achieving all this within three days was a feat in itself.

Though Enkrid knew little of battlefield logistics, this was where Marcus had truly shined.

He had handled it all seamlessly.

Of course, it helped that Crang had spared them from unnecessary victory speeches.

"I think everyone should rest. Do you really think hearing some pompous speech from someone who barely fought is important right now? You’d be better off using that time to wrap another bandage around an injured soldier’s arm."

Instead of indulging in grand words, Crang had gone directly to the wounded, tending to them openly.

Few even recognized him as the prince and heir to the throne.

After all, not many soldiers actually knew what he looked like.

Crang could inspire men with speeches when necessary, but now was not the time.

And so, he proved his words with actions.

Only after everything had been settled did Enkrid and the others return.

Receiving the healer’s gratitude, Enkrid found himself lost in thought before finally asking,

"Do you know me?"

"My son was on the battlefield."

The healer limped slightly as he spoke.

"If not for my leg, I would have gone too."

He turned away, his gratitude not one of personal relief.

His son had died.

No words could bring back the dead, and the healer's grief was unbearable.

But there was one small solace.

Had the battle ended in defeat, his son's death would have meant nothing.

At least now, there was some meaning to it.

While the capital overflowed with celebration—the victory of the civil war, the survival against impossible odds, the triumph of those who returned alive—there were still those who had lost family and lovers.

Rest in peace.

The healer murmured the words to his son in his heart and left.

Enkrid watched his retreating figure before finally heading to his bed.

The whisper of a father who had lost his son lingered in his ears.

Esther, exhausted beyond reason, had transformed into a leopard and remained curled up against him.

Enkrid slept soundly, and upon waking, he began his usual routine, loosening his body with isolation technique drills.

Even with upcoming honors and rewards, things still needed to settle.

At least ten more days were required before things could properly return to order.

So, Enkrid resumed his daily life.

He checked on One-Eyed, feeding it a mixture of meat and vegetables instead of mere fodder.

He met with Andrew and the trainees.

There were now four instead of five.

"One is missing?"

"He lost a leg," Andrew said simply. "And holy power can’t regrow missing limbs."

A trainee had lost a leg. That was how brutal the battle had been.

Enkrid himself had cut through the wraiths, but the soldiers hadn’t been idle either.

Enkrid nodded.

They had chosen this path of their own will.

Their choice deserved respect.

"He said he wished he were Frokk."

Andrew’s voice was flat.

Enkrid and Andrew had lived through too much to be shaken by one loss.

"Never again."

Andrew muttered into the air, his voice carrying quiet resolve.

It wasn’t a statement meant for Enkrid.

It was a vow to himself.

"I will never again just stand and watch while my people get hurt."

Enkrid nodded.

The trainee who lost his leg had been made a steward candidate.

His expression wasn’t grim.

"I think I’ll manage with a prosthetic. It’s better than being dead."

He was a resilient one.

Enkrid clapped his shoulder once before turning away.

"Because of you, I survived."

"You survived because you fought well," Enkrid replied evenly.

He meant it.

A man who saved himself with his own hands.

The trainee also had a fiancée.

Enkrid had caught a glimpse of her. She was formidable.

"If he’s missing a leg, so what? I’ll just make the money instead!"

She was a force of nature.

Crang and Marcus had been too busy to even be seen.

Days later, Aisia visited, but neither of them were in any condition for a proper duel.

When he cautiously mentioned it—

"...Is fighting the only thing on your mind?"

Aisia looked at him in disbelief.

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Enkrid shifted the conversation.

"Any issues at the palace?"

"Wouldn’t you know? I packed it full of my people. Anyone who wanted to cause trouble doesn’t even have the chance. Some nobles are grumbling, but they’ll get handled. More importantly, they’re going on about the coronation. Something about how it needs to be the grandest ever or some such nonsense."

The Crang Enkrid knew was a broad-minded man.

But people change.

Had he never seen a man change before?

A mercenary who once risked his life for his comrades, only to stab them in the back for a handful of gold.

A father who threw his own adopted son to monsters to save himself.

That man had been good once.

But after twenty days of being trapped and surrounded by creatures, he had changed.

Enkrid had challenged that man to a duel.

He had lost.

But he had still killed him.

Things like that happened.

So, Crang could change too.

A grand coronation.

It was time.

He had won.

The victory had been declared.

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With the civil war over, Crang was now the rightful heir.

Enkrid found himself wishing he could return to Border Guard.

The sky darkened.

It looked like it might rain again.

"How’s your body holding up?"

Aisia asked.

"Decent. I wouldn’t bet half my life on a fight, but a light match sounds doable."

A real duel was out of the question.

But he wanted to move.

Aisia nodded and pulled out a wooden sword.

"You said a light match, right?"

Enkrid frowned.

"That’s a wooden sword."

Aisia tilted her head.

"Exactly. A light match."

Enkrid drew the longsword he had picked up in place of his broken Silver. He had spent two days sharpening its edge.

"What part of this is 'light'?"

Aisia spoke as she raised her sword, and Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxon, and Bell watched.

Bell had inserted himself into their group as soon as the battle ended, introducing himself without hesitation.

"I’m Bell, a shepherd of the wastelands."

He had light brown hair, a height slightly greater than Kreis, and a well-trained body with a solid stance.

"I saw your performance on the battlefield."

Everyone gave him a look that said so what?, but Bell had a thick skin.

Shepherds were naturally shameless, but even among them, Bell was known for stubbornly insisting on wielding a sword rather than a staff.

"Let me observe for a bit."

He had declared boldly.

Enkrid recognized him and was slightly surprised but didn’t make a big deal of it.

Truthfully, he was curious.

That shepherd, huh.

His stance was different from before. His presence had changed.

Proof that his skills had improved.

As Bell watched, the light sparring match came to an end.

Having observed the battlefield himself—

Impressive.

Bell had always believed there was no one with more talent than himself.

That night, he had sought out a duel and lost.

Even so, he had thought he must have caught up by now.

But Enkrid’s sword had only become stronger and sharper.

So much so that comparing it to back then felt laughable.

His swordsmanship had grown far beyond what it had been during their last duel.

And above all, watching that sword made Bell’s blood boil.

He was already an aggressive fighter by nature, but this was something different.

His fingers itched, hovering near his own sword.

"...When will your body be fully healed?"

Bell asked.

"You’re last, kid."

"Haha, brother, let’s not be unfair. There is no order when meeting the Lord, but there is an order here."

"Go drink more sheep’s milk first."

"...."

"Why don’t you wait until I’ve had my turn?"

The order was Rem, Audin, Ragna, Jaxon, and Dunbakel.

Theresa quietly watched, memorizing every move Enkrid made.

Jaxon, silent as ever, gave Bell a long, hard stare.

"...Fine, let’s do that."

Bell could no longer argue.

Every single one of them was formidable.

And that beastfolk, Dunbakel? He couldn’t even begin to gauge his strength.

So, would he lose?

That thought didn’t even cross his mind.

After all, the best food was always saved for last.

Knocking all of them down before facing Enkrid wouldn’t be so bad.

Bell believed in his talent.

At most, he would catch up to all of them within half a year.

But everyone has their delusions.

Even after sparring with Aisia, Enkrid still felt his body creaking here and there.

He had recovered quickly, but he wasn’t back to perfect condition.

Five days later, when he was feeling much better, a summons arrived from the palace.

"You must attend."

Marquis Octo himself had come.

"Aren’t you busy? You really came all the way here just to fetch me?"

Marquis Octo was astonished.

Did this man really not understand his position?

"You need to be aware of your own importance."

At this point, even a marquis couldn’t command Enkrid at will.

If one had to name the hero of the civil war, there was no doubt who it would be.

Everyone would say the same name.

Enkrid.

More than a national hero, he had earned the title of Demon Slayer.

The king himself called him a friend, and his swordsmanship surpassed any knight in the order.

And what about those under him?

Every single one of them was remarkable.

Men like them should have been in the knight order.

Yet, they remained by Enkrid’s side, bound by nothing but personal ties.

Marquis Octo, a man with keen political instincts, understood immediately.

If they lost Enkrid, they would lose them all.

Some nobles had already tried to approach them in secret.

All had failed.

"You think I’d take your gold and just swing an axe for you? You still don’t know what they call me? Look it up."

Rem, the Butcher of Nobles.

He proudly declared himself a man who could cut down nobles, sending chills down the aristocracy’s spine.

A madman.

Jaxon never even met with anyone.

Audin simply smiled and said he followed the teachings of God.

Ragna ignored every summons.

At best, Rem and Audin had humored a meeting or two.

"Why hasn’t anyone summoned me?"

Dunbakel had once wondered.

Nobody answered him.

Marquis Octo didn’t lack ambition, but—

It’s not worth making an enemy out of them.

He was a wise man.

Enkrid, on the other hand, didn’t care about any of it.

"The coronation will be held."

At those words, Enkrid simply nodded.

Had his friend changed?

The man who once looked beyond the throne—had he now become intoxicated by the crown?

The healer who had lost his son came to mind.

Five days later, Enkrid stood not in the palace banquet hall but «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» on a platform built in the heart of the capital.

A small tower had been erected on the stage.

Crang stood there, smiling.

There must have been much to do.

The coronation. The allocation of rewards.

Future plans.

The disasters unleashed by the Count.

The chimera. The chaos in the demonic lands.

All of it demanded attention.

But Crang had chosen this as his first act.

A tower inscribed with the names of the fallen.

Even gathering those names must have been a monumental task.

Some people must have hated this event.

And yet, he had done it anyway.

"Will you speak before me?"

A magical amplification object was placed before the memorial.

Crang called Enkrid to the platform.

Enkrid stepped up.

He stared at the amplification device, considering his words, then gave up.

The healer had lost his son.

Did that son’s actions mean nothing?

He didn’t know.

No one could know the future.

But he hoped it had meant something.

"People."

He began with a single word.

He took a deep breath and continued.

"Friendships, family, lovers—those who died protecting what stood behind them. Let us remember them."

Some in the crowd wept.

Some smiled.

Then Crang stepped forward.

"For those who died in my place, I grieve."

He began reading the names on the monument.

"Vin, Loctine, Laksan..."

The remembrance went on for a long time.

At the end, Crang solemnly declared his ascension.

"With rightful will and purpose, I declare myself the new king of Naurellia. I am Cradianat Landeus Naurell."

The former queen said nothing as she placed the crown upon his head.

Applause erupted.

There was no cheering.

What was this?

A mourning coronation.

Crang accepted the crown while honoring the dead.

From the very start of the ceremony, the rain had drizzled down.

Crang stood, drenched.

It had rained often during the war.

And now it rained again.

Shhhhhh.

The falling rain embraced those who had lost family, lovers, and friends.