Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 270 - 270 - Not Everything Goes as Planned (1)
The Black Blade Bandits were large enough to be considered a small sovereign state.
Thus, they were one of the greatest blights and afflictions plaguing Nauirilias and the kingdom alike.
They were that dangerous.
A piece of cheese slipped from the mouth of one of their high-ranking members.
He had just heard something utterly absurd.
Grabbing a linen napkin, he wiped his mouth roughly before speaking.
"All the assassins were taken out?"
He sent knife-wielding assassins—swiftly eliminated.
Then a mercenary unit—completely decimated.
Faced with such failures, the Black Blade officer decided to up the ante.
He dispatched an entire unit of top-tier assassins.
And yet—failure.
Bam!
The officer slammed his fist onto the table, shouting furiously.
"Are you trying to drag the name of the Black Blades through the mud?"
Fine, so you're a skilled fighter, huh?
Then, let's see how you handle this.
He gathered all the assassins in their branch, sparing none of their elite killers.
No matter how great a warrior or fighter, there's no defense against a blade striking from the shadows.
Especially one laced with poison.
He sent over fifteen assassins, all adept in the arts of poison and stealth.
Surely, with such numbers, even if they couldn't kill their target, they should at least have inflicted a grievous injury.
"And the target?"
"Completely unharmed."
"Our men?"
"All dead."
"What about the scout left behind to report?"
"He's dead too."
If they hadn't stationed another observer further away for cleanup, they wouldn't have received any intel at all.
"If I had gone closer, I would've been killed too."
The scout, sweating profusely, knelt on one knee as he spoke.
Beads of his sweat fell onto the smooth stone floor, darkening the pale gray surface with each drop.
The puddle of sweat slowly spread, leaving a blotchy pattern on the ground.
The scout had not even seen Jaxen directly—only the grisly demise of his comrades, who were closer to the target.
"We couldn't even see him."
His comrades flailed in midair, seemingly caught by something unseen, before dying one by one.
The scout had immediately turned and fled.
Even though he had sensed no presence, the sight of his comrades' deaths had sent him running.
His instincts screamed at him to leave—or die.
"What kind of monsters are they?"
The officer's voice carried an undertone of despair.
Every assassin he had spent a lifetime gathering was dead.
They had existed—and now they didn't. Gone, wiped out. Meeting them again was now impossible, except in the afterlife.
"Who are these bastards?"
His mouth hung open, the absurdity of it all leaving him speechless.
Turning to the scout, the officer demanded more details, but the scout only buried his head further.
There was nothing else to report.
The only information he had was that they were all dead.
"What should we do now?"
A servant standing behind him hesitantly asked.
"What do you mean, what should we do?"
The officer snapped back, chewing over the servant's question.
"Damn it."
The situation was spiraling into the worst possible scenario.
If he failed to resolve this, he would be overthrown by those scheming beneath him. There were plenty who coveted his position.
Though they couldn't replace him immediately.
After all, the web of operations he had built wasn't something that could be unraveled so easily.
"The businesses..."
His position was secured for a simple reason: the drug trade.
Thanks to his dealings, there were few nobles in the kingdom unfamiliar with his "goods."
The profits from those drugs had funded the operations of the Black Blade Bandits.
The main branch will send assistance. Until then, leave it be."
There was no one left to send. It was true that nothing could be done until reinforcements arrived from the main branch.
"In the meantime, we focus on the 'burrow' we've dug."
The term was slang, but everyone in this room understood it.
As long as the 'burrow' remained intact, his foundation would be secure. For the time being, he decided to forget about Enkrid—the madman of the abyss.
Of course, that grudge would resurface soon enough.
He had no intention of letting it go.
"Where is that man now?"
"Likely swinging his sword somewhere on the estate."
The sharp-eyed, quick-witted attendant answered. He was a striking man, with a clean-shaven face that made him stand out.
His judgment was reliable.
They had previously conducted a detailed investigation into Enkrid's daily life.
'That sword lunatic.'
The kind of man who earned such a nickname naturally.
Marcus had concealed the departure of Enkrid and his party for their mission.
It wasn't a calculated move but rather a habitual one.
Marcus knew too well that limiting information always worked to one's advantage.
Above all, Enkrid was an easy man to hide.
He was the sort to vanish into the training grounds or his quarters for days on end.
Sure, eventually, his absence would be noticed, but a week might pass without anyone realizing.
This meant that even the lieutenant of the Black Blade Brigade didn't know that Enkrid was in their 'burrow.'
Shinar entered the room and stood silently, concentrating.
The faint sound of activity drifted from the adjacent room.
She assessed the situation through the surrounding noises, scanning for any prying eyes.
There were none.
Once certain, she raised her right index finger and made a small circular motion in the air.
It was a gesture only known to select members of the Fairy Company.
"This is the last one, right?"
Finn asked.
"It seems so."
The Fairy Company Commander spoke, reclining on the bed at an angle and stretching her long legs.
Her supple, flexible muscles extended smoothly.
Unbothered by the cold, she wore only leather pants, allowing for unrestricted movement.
Otherwise, her demeanor was entirely composed.
Only the small brazier in the inn room seemed to bother her. She had pushed it aside upon entering.
When asked why, she replied,
"It might start a fire."
"Are we fine just idling here?"
Finn, fastening her layered armor, asked again.
Her armor was made of hardened leather sandwiched between fabrics. Though stiff due to the poor quality of the leather, it was warm and sturdy.
Without a hint of amusement, Shinar replied,
"This is important too."
"Fair enough."
Finn pulled a chair to the window and leaned partially against it, watching outside and oiling her hinges.
They had plans to sneak out under the cover of night.
As a ranger experienced in various operations, Finn was adept at such tasks, though not quite on Jaxen's level.
"Seventh one, huh," Finn muttered.
It was the count of incidents Shinar and certain Fairy Company members had initiated so far.
Jaxen missed no details.
He was meticulous to the extreme.
Watching Jaxen, Enkrid felt as if he was on the verge of grasping something.
It was tantalizingly close yet just out of reach. Strangely, it wasn't frustrating but rather fascinating.
He marveled at how his thinking had evolved. Once, such thoughts had never occurred to him.
This, too, was evidence of growth.
As Enkrid observed, Jaxen spoke.
With Krais's spirit absent, it was purely Jaxen's words.
"Small things build into something great. Streams converge into rivers, then lakes, and finally oceans."
While it sounded abstract, it felt as though the elusive thought Enkrid had been chasing moved one step closer.
Now, he could almost see its indistinct form.
"Mastery in swordsmanship or training is vital, but a single small preparation can decide victory. Imagine if it were a life-and-death battle."
Enkrid had once lacked innate talent in his body.
Now that deficiency was mostly resolved, and his once-decent mind worked sharper than ever. He revisited lessons and realized things he had previously overlooked.
Especially regarding swordsmanship and combat.
In Jaxen's explanation, one could find hints of the Valen-style mercenary swordplay.
Enkrid now possessed the ability to classify swordsmanship.
For example, the orthodox techniques of unnamed schools taught how to wield a sword, building upon fundamentals.
In contrast, Valen-style mercenary swordplay was on a different trajectory.
'It's more like personal tactics.'
—A fighter must always use their head.
This phrase was written in the Valen-style manual when Enkrid first learned it.
The line itself had been helpful, but realizing it anew, he thought,
'That line saved my life.'
Since learning it, how many times had it allowed him to escape death?
His reflections led to a series of small revelations.
It wouldn't drastically improve his swordsmanship or bring about a dramatic change—he knew this instinctively.
However, the accumulation of experience and knowledge left Enkrid with something meaningful.
If an opponent used a long sword, how should one respond?
If their belt seemed unusually thick, what might they be hiding?
What if they wore a curved blade like a saber as a belt?
Could the angle of their sword belt hint at habits?
Before any of that, what about positioning oneself advantageously for ease of movement?
Everything seemed possible, and Enkrid realized he could make such preparations too.
It was the realm of personal tactics.
Now, the indistinct thought solidified into something tangible he could grasp.
Elation and the joy of growth welled within him. However, he didn't burst into laughter or drool like an overexcited fool.
'I'm not Rem, after all.'
Enkrid occasionally drooled when overly focused, though he would never admit it.
"Dinner, perhaps?"
Jaxen suggested. Enkrid nodded in agreement.
The dining area on the inn's first floor doubled as a tavern. Sitting down, Jaxen summoned Krais's spirit back into his body, while Shinar silently played the role of the taciturn fairy guard.
It wasn't hard—she only needed to avoid her usual jokes.
"A fairy, huh? What an esteemed guest," remarked the innkeeper, personally bringing over stew and roasted pork.
He stole glances at Shinar multiple times, clearly fascinated.
Shinar had kept her face concealed beneath a robe while entering the village. Only inside the inn was it revealed that she was a fairy. Otherwise, she would have drawn stares everywhere she went.
The innkeeper's awe prompted Jaxen to play along with an air of mild arrogance.
"Ah, best not speak to her too casually. My father assigned her as my guard, and her temperament is... particular."
With a single line, Jaxen established himself as the spoiled son of a wealthy trading company while hinting at his bodyguard's no-nonsense attitude.
He played the part so well it was almost natural, as if born into such a role.
'He's changed since merging with Krais.'
Behind the innkeeper, a clumsy servant tripped, dropping a cup and spilling wine on the floor.
"Clumsy fool!"
The innkeeper shouted, advancing angrily, as the servant bowed repeatedly, apologizing profusely.
It was a minor commotion.
Two nearby patrons—a bearded man drinking fruit wine and another with plain brown hair—briefly turned their heads before resuming their business.
"Come on, go easy on the lad," Jaxen interjected lightly.
This level of interference felt very much like Krais's influence, meddling just enough to be annoying.
Shinar stood impassively, her gaze fixed on a corner of the table like an unmoving doll.
Finn, playing her part, leaned in and remarked, "Master, remember you must return to the caravan in two days."
The words were all part of the act—simple lines scripted by Jaxen.
"One day's delay should be fine," Jaxen muttered. The plan was straightforward: their departure in two days would buy them enough time to act.
Shinar's presence served as both a deterrent against poison or treachery and a warning to their enemies.
Jaxen's carefully crafted persona reinforced this perception.
"I'll manage with this," Shinar added, holding up some dried fruit, signaling she didn't require a full meal.
"What a joyless existence!" Jaxen quipped, digging into his stew.
Enkrid also ate comfortably—Jaxen's actions served as a signal that the food was safe.
Later that night, when all had fallen asleep, the oiled hinges allowed a window to open without a sound.
"Let's go," Jaxen whispered.
On the roof of the inn, Jaxen met Finn.
They acknowledged each other silently and then parted, each heading to their assigned tasks.
Jaxen leapt over two rooftops, while Finn descended to the ground.
Suddenly, a blade emerged from the shadows, slicing through the air toward Jaxen.
It moved without a sound, undetected by even the keenest senses.
The blade tore through his clothes with a sharp hiss.
TL here! Thank you for reading!
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