Chapter 372: Squire Ropode
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 372: Squire Ropode
Krang reflected on his failure.
The plan had been riddled with loopholes from the very beginning. However, the mistake itself was not what mattered now. He had realized what was necessary and confirmed what had to be done.
And so, he acted.
What he needed immediately was time, and he needed something to buy it.
“Marcus Vaisar.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can you slip out and call for help?”
“...It seems I must.”
Krang was trapped in his assigned parlor. This small, private room was located in what the royal palace called the outer annex. It was a place where guests stayed when visiting the palace, meaning it lacked any defensive fortifications.
Since he had not yet been officially appointed Grand Duke, this single parlor connected to his bedroom was the entirety of Krang's domain. And that was how he had ended up cornered here.
The moment Krang finished speaking, Matthew, the Whip Guard, hurled a stool at the window. The glass shattered with a loud crash. Matthew used the handle of his whip to clear away the remaining shards. The window was wide—large enough for a man to squeeze through.
“My guards should be outside,” Marcus said, approaching the ledge.
It was a three-story drop. Not a short fall, but with a large garden tree standing right in front of the window, he wouldn't die if he managed to catch the branches on his way down.
Krang sat in his chair with his arms crossed. His mind wasn't cluttered; on the contrary, everything had become simple and clear.
Viscount Mernes had rebelled. It was a reckless, mad act with no turning back, but...
‘It is a fitting move.’
Krang had to give him credit. Viscount Mernes, a man he’d dismissed as a half-wit, was sharper than he’d let on and possessed keen instincts.
‘To play every card he has right here?’
It was a move that pressed a razor-sharp dagger directly against Krang's throat.
Everything Krang had done since arriving at the royal palace, including the Grand Duke appointment ceremony, had been for one single purpose. It was a simple, clear objective: he was going to gather the trash and sweep it all away.
That was also his way of solving the riddle the Queen had given him.
“Win all the ministers over to your side.”
Krang muttered the words to himself. Before he knew it, he had pulled one knee up to his chest, hugging it. It was a quiet murmur, barely audible even to his own ears.
To put that command another way: he simply had to herd those who weren't on his side and eliminate them. If finding and persuading them one by one was impossible...
‘I just have to sweep them all away at once.’
But because he had forced their hand, his opponents had united. The faction that had coalesced under Viscount Mernes was now lunging at his throat.
‘I thought they would keep bickering among themselves and wouldn't turn their attention to me until later.’
Still, now was not the time to ponder their motives. This was a fight that required a gamble from the start, and Krang had made his bet. Now, the consequences were unfolding.
“I'm going.”
Marcus threw himself out the window.
Krang sprang up, leaning out the window to watch Marcus depart. Marcus grabbed a nearby branch to slow his descent, then rolled as he hit the ground. His breakfall was clean, dispersing the impact like a disciplined soldier.
As soon as he hit the ground, the men guarding the front of the annex rushed him. Men with golden helmets and golden spearheads—the Royal Guard. The very men who should have been guarding the Queen were here instead.
“Kill him!”
“He's a traitor!”
Who's the real traitor here?
Spearheads aimed at Marcus thrust forward. Marcus rolled across the grass again, leaves and dirt clinging to his face and back. He scrambled to his feet and backed up against the tree, the sleeve of his shirt torn to shreds.
Catching his breath, Marcus looked left and right. His own guards were nowhere to be seen. They should have been in the lobby on the first floor, so they would arrive soon—or so he hoped.
With that thought, Marcus drew a short dagger from his waist.
“Come on then, you bastards,” Marcus hissed, his eyes darting between his attackers. He would kill the first man to step forward, no matter what. He made his resolve clear.
“Encircle him.”
A Royal Guard commander wearing a dark gray helmet appeared out of the shadows and gave the order. No one rushed in. Instead, the surrounding Royal Guards leveled their spears, forming a neat, orderly ring.
It was a perfect encirclement.
‘Son of a bitch.’
Thrusting their spears simultaneously in this formation was the Royal Guard's specialty. To block ten spearheads thrusting in perfect unison with just a single dagger... one would need to be at least an Associate Knight.
Cold sweat poured down Marcus's back.
“Is that the right path?!”
Krang shouted, leaning his head out the window. Though isolated and cornered, his dignity had not diminished in the slightest. Krang's authority stemmed from his character and his actions, not his surroundings.
He placed one foot on the windowsill, exposing his body. An arrow from anywhere could kill him instantly, but hiding while merely raising his voice would achieve nothing.
Seeing this, one of the waiting Royal Guards subtly shifted his spear into a reverse grip. It was well within throwing distance.
The commander in the dark gray helmet saw this and raised a hand. It was a signal to hold. The soldier frowned beneath his helmet.
“It's a perfect opportunity, sir.”
“Shut your mouth. Disobeying orders means summary execution.”
The soldier's eyes gleamed with resentment, but he ultimately lowered his spear. The man in the dark gray helmet looked up toward Krang.
“Then what is the right path?” he asked. As he stood still with his spear held high, his subordinates gathered around him. There were fewer than ten of them.
The interior of the royal palace was already a complete mess, with screams and the clash of steel erupting from every corner.
“Right and wrong are not decided by others,” Krang said, his voice slow and deliberate.
What did "right" mean to the Royal Guard? It was to protect the royal family. The man in the dark gray helmet agonized over this. What was the path of honor?
Into his field of vision came Krang, his hair fluttering in the wind. Even though death would end everything, he was risking his life just to buy a few seconds.
For what? To save Marcus Vaisar, the man Viscount Mernes had branded a traitor.
Was there any meaning in that action? Would buying a little time change the outcome?
He didn't know. It wasn't a calculated move. Krang did it because he believed it was right. That was how it appeared—at least to the commander's eyes. He had seen Krang and spoken with him before, and that memory weighed on him now.
He had never expected to make such a choice at a moment like this, but he chose his side.
“...About face. Turn your spears.”
“Are you insane?!”
The soldier who had held his spear in a reverse grip shouted, but the commander remained silent. He had chosen this life to protect the Queen. He had believed this post to be more honorable than joining a standard knighthood.
But what about now? Was he supposed to protect the lives of a few corrupt nobles? Was he supposed to raise his spear for them?
He refused. To be honest, he wanted to tell them he didn't give a damn and smash their teeth in.
Soon, the Royal Guard split into two factions. They were a group already divided by politics. A spearhead thrust toward the commander in the dark gray helmet. It was the soldier who had been frowning earlier.
The commander twisted his body, narrowing his profile. Dodging the thrust, he deflected the weapon with the shaft of his own spear, then stepped forward and swung his spear down like a club.
Whoosh! Thud!
“Argh!”
The subordinate who had raised his arm to block screamed in agony. As the man with the broken arm retreated, others rushed to fill the gap.
“Have you lost your mind?” another soldier demanded.
“It seems so,” the commander replied indifferently. His loyal subordinates cleared a path for Marcus to escape.
“Thank you,” Marcus said as he slipped away. Instead of replying, the man in the dark gray helmet turned to guard the rear.
Marcus fled without looking back, commandeering a horse and riding off. But the danger was far from over. He had to repeatedly shake off his pursuers. Two of his own guards had joined him, but one was cut down, and the other stayed behind to buy him time.
At the very end, even a madman from the West pursued him. Marcus had no time to check who his opponent was.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Though Marcus fled on horseback, the man chased him on foot. He was terrifyingly fast. It felt as if he would be caught in an instant. A spear thrown by the pursuer gouged a deep chunk of flesh from Marcus's forearm.
Without time to tend to the wound, Marcus spurred his horse forward. Droplets of blood sprayed into the air, carried by the wind of his flight.
“Run! My life depends on you!”
Marcus coaxed his horse, riding toward Andrew's mansion. That was his last bastion. Right now, not even his own family, House Vaisar, could be trusted.
*
Left isolated after everyone had departed, Krang shouted into the chaos:
“Do you know who my friend is? He is none other than the solitary shining star of the Border Guard, the adversary of Azpen, the madman armed with demonic charm—Encrid!”
No one answered. Matthew asked dryly:
“...Do you think that'll actually work?”
“Right? It doesn't quite land yet, does it?”
Even though his attempt at bravado had failed, Krang laughed. Grinning broadly at Matthew's words, he replied:
“Open the passage.”
Fortunately, they had secured a secret escape route—a sloping tunnel provided by the Queen.
‘If we can hold out for about half a day...’
Then they could sweep away the gathered trash. In other words, the enemy had moved half a day earlier than he had anticipated.
‘To pull this shit in broad daylight.’
Krang knew instinctively that for him to survive and for this plan to succeed, he needed a wild card. The enemy had prepared theirs, but Krang had prepared one as well. Now, it was time to see who would fold first.
*
“Look at that.”
Rem reacted first.
He saw the severity of the injuries on the mounted Marcus and the man chasing him. The moment Encrid saw them, his eyes narrowed.
“Take him out.”
In any case, the pursuer was someone Rem himself wanted to hunt down. It was the Immortal Madman—the bastard who had escaped them before was showing his face again.
Rem leaped from the top of the wall.
At that, Marcus's pursuer reacted instantly. With a sharp kick against the ground, he reversed direction and began to sprint backward. It was a retreat without a single moment of hesitation. Rem swiftly gave chase.
The two of them sprinted across the cobblestones faster than galloping horses.
“Kyaaaah!”
A woman standing by the roadside shrieked. Her companion pulled her into his arms, pressing his back against a shop wall. In that brief instant, the two combatants vanished from sight, disappearing between the buildings.
Encrid looked at Marcus, who had ridden up right in front of him. Slumped over his horse, blood streaming from his arm, Marcus gasped for breath with a look of unprecedented urgency.
“Help me.”
Encrid decided it was time to move. Just as he was about to climb down from the wall, someone shouted from behind.
“If you flee from here, the trouble will only get bigger!”
It was the Squire. Encrid turned back and said simply:
“I'm going to the royal palace.”
The Squire knew exactly whose hands the royal palace was currently in. Going there now meant risking his life. For what?
The Squire scowled, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in frustration. Suddenly, thoughts of why he was here, whose orders he was following, and whether he even had a will of his own flooded his mind. The words of the Associate Knight who had trained him echoed in his head.
“It's not a matter of right and wrong. It's about where your own will lies.”
Though he had been made a Squire in recognition of his talent, his passive personality had always been a point of criticism.
“So, what do you think?”
Even when choosing a lunch menu, he would defer to others. By nature, he was the type to be dragged along. That was partly what had brought him here today—following another's will rather than his own.
‘Is that really enough? Am I satisfied with that?’
He didn't know.
‘Why am I here?’
At Encrid's sudden remark—the words of the very man he was supposed to arrest—the Squire found his resolve. A strange, peculiar feeling moved his lips.
“Soon, the army gathered by Viscount Mernes will march.”
As Ropode spoke with unconscious respect, Encrid blinked and looked back, wondering why the Squire was telling him this.
“The one leading them, who has united all the factions, is no less formidable than an Associate Knight of the Order.”
“What are you saying right now?!”
Beside him, the Security Captain spoke in an urgent tone, grabbing the Squire's arm. The Squire calmly shook him off and continued.
“Please help us.”
Encrid scratched his head. Asking him for help... that wasn't something a person who had come to arrest him should say. Yet, it was difficult to turn away from someone speaking with such sincerity.
The Squire bowed his head. The South Gate Guard Captain, wearing a feathered hat, also stepped forward.
“If things continue like this, even the citizens of the capital will suffer.”
An army marching on the capital wouldn't just sit peacefully, especially one cobbled together from various factions. Among them would be mercenaries who had sold their souls for gold and men blind with bloodlust. Since the nobles were desperate, they wouldn't have been picky about who they hired.
For the safety of the citizens. To protect the capital. The two of them stepped forward and bowed.
“Ragna, you can stop them, right?”
Ragna didn't ask why he should. He simply looked into Encrid's eyes.
“Go and stop them. Dunchabel, go with him.”
With Ragna and Dunchabel, they would be able to block the elite soldiers pushing in from the front.
“What is your name?” Encrid asked the Squire.
“It's Ropode.”
“Go, gather the remaining forces, and block the incoming enemy. Hold your ground at the city gates. My squad members will handle anyone who challenges you to a duel.”
If they were surrounded by the oncoming rebel army after saving Krang, it would be the end. Encrid perceived the situation both instinctively and rationally. The senses he had forged while trapped in the regression loop, repeating "today" hundreds of times, shone brightly.
Through intuition, he knew what had to be done. Block the external army and clean up the inside. Unless Krang was a fool, what he needed most was time.
Encrid realized where he needed to be.
“Let's go,” Ragna said, hearing Encrid's command. It was a command, not a request. Ragna and Dunchabel turned around without a single word of complaint.
To one side, Marcus gasped for breath, his skin pale. Sachsen moved to Encrid's side. As they leaped over the wall, the remaining soldiers looked around in a daze.
Should they follow this man named Ragna? Or should they stop the departing Encrid?
In their sight was the fallen Sheriff, and beside him stood the sweating Security Captain.
“Did we not raise our spears to protect the capital? At least, I did. Those who wish to remain here, stay,” Squire Ropode said.
For everyone, there comes a moment of growth and awakening. That moment was now for Ropode. The catalyst had been Encrid's single remark about going to the royal palace.
“Let's go.”
As Ropode took the lead in following Ragna, with the South Gate Guard Captain behind him, the remaining Security Captain spat out a string of curses before speaking.
“Let's go. To perform our duty.”
At least his words sounded grand. Naturally, Andrew also stepped forward. Knowing he could do nothing at the royal palace alone, he chose to defend the city walls. When he told his five trainees to stay behind...
“We trained to the death as well,” the freckled female trainee said firmly.
As the five trainees lined up behind Andrew and Mac prepared to follow as well, Andrew shook his head.
“You're a butler now. Protect this place.”
With those words, the group departed. At the front, Ragna trudged forward, with Dunchabel keeping pace beside him.
“Did this side look more fun?”
Ragna nodded nonchalantly.
Walking beside them, Squire Ropode shook his head. Fun? Now was not the time for such things. After walking a short distance, he spoke up. Their direction was wrong.
“We must go to the West Gate,” Ropode said.
“Hmm, is it this way?”
“No, that's north.”
Ropode spoke to the swordsman at the front and took the lead. It seemed the man’s sense of direction was utterly beyond saving.