Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 65 - 65 - Those Who Will Cross Over
Chapter 65 - Those Who Will Cross Over
'He predicted the enemy's actions.'
Jaxen attributed that ability to the effects of the Sense of evasion.
Seeing how thoroughly his teachings were being applied, he felt a ticklish warmth in his chest.
It pleased him.
However, Jaxen didn't face these emotions head-on.
He wasn't accustomed to examining his feelings and didn't know how to process them.
'What's so special about him, anyway?'
Someone you'd notice if they died right before your eyes—that was the extent of it.
What could that person possibly mean to him to warrant such concern?
Nothing.
That's what he decided.
Jaxen thought this amateur soldiering nonsense was trivial.
His goals were clear, after all.
Even as he told himself this, a faint sense of discomfort lingered.
It was because of that.
Jaxen stared intently at the guildmaster behind Enkrid.
"I don't like the way he looks."
He found an appropriate excuse.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the squad leader.
It was just that the guildmaster's appearance irritated him.
So, if they made a move, they'd die.
He would stay faithful to the mission here.
Rem observed how Enkrid wielded the Heart of the Beast, using it as a tool for boldness.
The way he dove into the enemy's reach as they thrust their spears at him—
A few months ago, such a display from the squad leader would have been unimaginable.
At some point, his skills had improved dramatically, and Rem's teachings had been at the center of it all.
"Of course."
It filled him with satisfaction.
And yet, assassins targeting Enkrid?
"Just kill them all."
Rem wanted to tear them all to shreds.
Ragna noticed traces of his own swordsmanship in Enkrid's techniques.
"Where could he have learned that?"
Impressive.
Shifting his center of gravity, lifting his feet, thrusting the blade—everything.
Though Ragna had occasionally given him pointers, reaching that level of mastery required grueling training.
"Fascinating."
Someone once deemed talentless suddenly displaying exceptional skill—it intrigued him.
Ragna had always held a certain fondness for Enkrid.
The man's relentless drive was a source of inspiration for Ragna.
And now, assassins—criminal scum—had targeted such a man?
"Killing them all would be easier."
Forgetting his usual laziness, Ragna resolved to wipe out the entire criminal guild.
Still, the authority in this matter belonged to the squad leader.
Ragna intended to follow his lead.
Audin's eyes scanned Enkrid's body as he tapped his thigh with his fingers.
'A well-trained body.'
But it wasn't a systematically trained one.
The monks of the temple prioritize building the body before honing their techniques.
It was a secret to physical discipline.
Audin had refined it several times, creating his own method.
"With proper conditioning, he'll improve further."
The squad leader was someone who knew how to put in steady, honest effort.
A thought surfaced in Audin's mind.
Why didn't the gods grant talent to such a diligent person?
"The will of the divine is beyond the grasp of mere mortals."
A sentiment that felt like a dagger to his heart.
Whenever it surfaced, a dull ache spread from his chest throughout his body.
Yet here stood someone striving to overcome the barriers of talent through sheer effort.
Disregarding divine will, believing solely in himself.
"My Lord," Audin prayed inwardly,
"Watch over him.
May the one who dreams of shining not meet a blind blade and die in vain."
His prayer carried genuine sentiment, much like his irritation toward those targeting Enkrid.
The idea of someone like Enkrid being taken down by a knife in the back was far too tragic.
However, Audin harbored no desire to kill anyone.
"Breaking their legs will do. The leader could take an arm."
Taking anything but their lives would suffice.
A single exchange.
The impact Enkrid had made was significant.
Even so, no one dared to cross the line.
"It's not enough."
To overwhelm with force, one must deliver consecutive shocks.
Enkrid understood his position.
He didn't always need to take the lead.
"Rem."
"Yes?"
"Kill three of them."
While it might be an excuse to avert his gaze, this was also a tactic and part of the mission.
Enkrid was the squad leader.
Rem moved without hesitation.
Before the shock of Enkrid's initial blow had even worn off,
He twirled the two hand axes in his hands and darted forward.
He moved so swiftly it seemed as though he had vanished.
When he reappeared, he was in front of a brute with a spiked club.
It was a sight often witnessed.
Rem's arms swung like whips, the axe blades at the tips flashing brilliantly.
Whang! Thud!
Whup! Crack!
Crunch!
The first swing severed the brute's neck.
The second cleaved the head of the thug to his right.
Finally, with a twist of his waist, Rem swung the axe handle at the thug to his left, striking his neck.
A severed neck, a split skull, and a broken neck.
After killing the three, Rem slashed his axes diagonally downward, letting the blood drip onto the ground.
Drip, drip.
The blood scattered across the floor, and he casually turned his back on the guild members, striding back.
"Three down."
Enkrid believed two rounds of shocks were sufficient to create an opportunity.
"Those who will, cross over."
This was the third time he'd made the offer.
If they didn't take it now, there was no helping it.
He couldn't afford to show mercy to those who sought his life.
It was a kill-or-be-killed era.
Surely, they knew that attempting to kill others meant they risked death themselves.
"...Frontier Defense Force?"
The elegant guildmaster asked.
"No."
Enkrid led a modest squad—albeit one with extraordinary members.
"We're infantry from the Cypress Division of the Border Guard."
He revealed their affiliation with a loose grip on his sword.
There was no reason to hide it.
As some of the thugs hesitated and began lowering their weapons, the guildmaster glared sharply.
"Try going over the line. Let's see if I let you off easy."
It was a command to his subordinates.
Krais' words came to mind.
The guildmaster, Gilpin, was said to rule through fear.
Breaking limbs or cutting tongues when displeased.
"Don't be swayed by the mood! They're just men like us. They'll die if we stab them. Can't you see they're not even properly armored? Kill them! No one can survive a mob!"
He could even string words together.
Enkrid thought to himself that the logic wasn't wrong.
Overwhelming with numbers—
That method typically worked.
Trained soldiers are most effective in collective combat.
In smaller skirmishes, even a common thug could kill a soldier.
If they found an opening and struck with a blade, who could survive?
If it's a fight between small groups, thugs might have the upper hand.
Of course, this isn't true when dealing with knights or those who've transcended human limits.
And even now, it didn't hold.
"Don't do it."
Enkrid warned.
The Madmen Squad weren't ones to adhere to strategy or tactics—they fought however they pleased.
They were the kind who could face overwhelming odds in battle, revel in the chaos, and return unscathed.
For such warriors, thirty armed men—untrained and far from soldiers—picking a fight was tantamount to suicide.
"Let them be. Some people only cry when they see the coffin," Ragna commented.
"Brother, it seems time for divine retribution," Audin added.
"Stand back and watch," he continued.
Even Jaxen, without a word, stepped forward.
With a metallic
clang
, he unsheathed his sword, taking a deliberate step.
A rash figure from the opposing side darted forward, brandishing a scimitar.
The man swung, a sharp
whoosh
cutting through the air, the blade aiming for Jaxen's head.
Jaxen calmly raised his sword, letting the scimitar glide along its edge.
Using the momentum, he shifted and swung downward.
Schlck.
His blade slashed through the man's abdomen, cleanly cutting through.
Despite seeming effortless, it was enough to reveal the man's entrails as he collapsed to his knees with a guttural groan.
And that marked the beginning.
"Kill only those who attack," Enkrid instructed.
Rem obeyed, swinging his axe in place, but it was no less than a meat grinder.
A thug wielding a flail swung clumsily;
Rem cleaved the weapon in two mid-arc.
Before the man could retreat, the axe split his head, sending him crumpling backward, blood and brain matter trailing behind.
Ragna mechanically swung his arming sword, cutting down enemies with each motion.
There were no intricate techniques, only raw force.
Heads split, shoulders severed—each swing left a new corpse.
Audin moved with blinding speed, wielding two clubs to parry incoming blades.
The air echoed with the staccato
clack-clack-clack
of deflected strikes.
Closing the distance, he shattered the legs of his opponents.
Crack!
Snap!
"Arrghhhh!"
Screams of agony filled the clearing.
It seemed loud enough to summon the city guards, but this part of town was eerily desolate.
Krais observed the carnage calmly.
"This far out..."
The gang's hideout was on the city's outskirts, likely in an upscale manor district developed by wealthy merchants.
The location was ordinarily deserted.
The enemy, being a criminal syndicate, had undoubtedly bribed the authorities.
Ensuring no patrols or witnesses approached made it easier to handle.
Krais felt no fear or surprise at the enemy numbers.
After all, he was part of the Madmen Squad.
He understood the caliber of his comrades.
'Everyone here is at least Frontier Defense level,' he thought.
And with that, the answer was clear—there was no way the enemy could win.
As Krais's mind spun with plans, he noted that everything was unfolding as he intended.
'I even leaked the information deliberately...'
Much of what was happening, including the ambush, was part of his scheme.
If anyone noticed his manipulations, it might be the squad leader.
Despite his gruff exterior, the man was sharp.
Rem, being unfamiliar with urban affairs, was unlikely to realize.
And as for Ragna and Audin?
They wouldn't even bother questioning it.
By now, the corpses piled up, and Audin's side resounded with frantic screams.
"Arrghhh!"
Audin never stopped at breaking just one leg.
He'd return to shatter the other while delivering a sermon.
"I'm not asking you to become saints. But at least stop living lives that harm your neighbors."
Not a single thug could comprehend his words amidst their agony.
Still, Audin remained consistent in both action and principle.
Meanwhile, Enkrid watched intently.
At first, he was captivated by Jaxen's restrained movements.
'Orthodox swordsmanship.'
Jaxen's style adhered to the fundamentals: parrying and countering through precise sword paths.
Yet, it wasn't just orthodoxy—his quick strikes blurred the line between offense and defense.
His blade was a tool of calculated murder, and there was much to learn from it.
Then, Enkrid's gaze shifted to Rem.
Rem's axe arcs seemed erratic, yet they painted an unpredictable pattern in the air.
'How can he manage that?'
It was entirely instinctual.
If one had to classify it, it was akin to
mystic axe technique
And Ragna's greatsword?
It embodied the peak of basic swordsmanship—crushing through any defense with brute force.
Each strike broke skulls and cleaved shoulders without fail.
Audin, however, offered the most to study.
Close combat was the foundation of swordsmanship, and Audin's mastery of proximity fighting with clubs was unparalleled.
Every move was precise, each strike shattering bones.
Enkrid's eyes darted between his comrades, absorbing their techniques.
Translating what he saw into practice was another matter, but there was no doubt—he had much to learn.
The battle didn't last long.
Many foes lost their will to fight.
Jaxen, uncharacteristically determined, cut a path through the chaos, heading directly for the guild leader.
The leader drew his weapon—a sword concealed within his staff—only to meet Jaxen's unrelenting blade.
Clang!
Sparks flew as steel clashed.
Two bodyguards moved to intervene, but Rem and Ragna blocked their way.
"Stay out of it," Rem growled.
Faced with the carnage left in their wake, the bodyguards hesitated.
Realizing resistance was futile, they dropped their daggers and knelt in surrender.
"You cowards!" the guild leader bellowed, furious at their betrayal.
But survival trumped loyalty.
Jaxen's expression remained cold as his eyes locked onto the leader.
"I surrender!" the leader pleaded.
Jaxen didn't respond.
"I'll pay you! Just stop this madness!"
The man's desperation only grew as Jaxen's strikes quickened.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Finally, Jaxen's voice broke the tension.
"Your face annoys me."
The guild leader's last thought was one of disbelief.
Schwick.
Jaxen's blade cut through the man's neck, silencing him forever.

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