Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 265 - 265 - Misconceptions Can Be Fatal
Chapter 265 - Misconceptions Can Be Fatal
The chaos was absolute.
People shoved each other in panic. A construction worker, pushed by the crowd, stumbled and rolled toward Enkrid. Curling into a ball and clutching his head, he desperately tried to protect himself. It was a survival instinct.
Whoosh!
"Shut up and move!"
Several patrol soldiers shouted angrily, swinging their spears to control the panicking mob.
Enkrid's senses were sharper than ever, honed to a razor's edge.
This heightened awareness and concentration intertwined, forming a blade of unmatched precision.
He recalled how he had captured the centaur leader—seeing and understanding everything around him as if it were within arm's reach. He knew where to step, how to act, and what to do next.
In this state, Enkrid remained motionless.
With his eyes half-closed, he calmly regulated his breathing.
"Commander?"
Perhaps unnerved by this stillness, Krais called out to him.
Aside from the construction worker rolling on the ground, a middle-aged woman and a small child were also pushed by the crowd and fell.
No one wanted to be near Enkrid, fearing they might get caught up and killed, so the crowd instinctively distanced itself from him. This left an open circle around Enkrid, where the worker, the woman, and the child found themselves.
The child, pale with fear, trembled violently. His coat was torn, and his elbow, scraped from falling, bled steadily.
"He's hurt," Krais muttered, noticing the boy.
However, he didn't step forward. If it had been a girl, perhaps he might have, but this was a boy. Moreover, Krais understood that making any rash movements now would only worsen the situation.
Though not a fighter, Krais knew his role well—this was a time to trust and rely on his commander.
The boy kept his head down, too frightened even to sob, his wide eyes darting nervously.
Enkrid suddenly threw the dart he had been holding.
His arm moved so swiftly that it was a blur, and by the time the air whistled from his motion, the dart had already flown, aimed at the worker's thigh.
The worker twisted his ankle at the last moment, narrowly dodging the dart.
Thwip!
The dart grazed the thick fabric of his pants and embedded itself in the ground.
It might have seemed like a lucky escape, but the movement was far too precise to be mere coincidence.
Evading an attack like that in such a chaotic moment? It was instinctive, reflexive—and in doing so, the worker had unwittingly revealed his true nature.
Despite the sudden attack, the worker did not appear confused. Instead, he calmly brushed his hands off.
Six darts flew from his hands in a calculated assault.
Three were aimed at Enkrid's chest and abdomen.
The other three targeted Krais—his forehead, chest, and thigh.
It was a well-coordinated ploy.
But before the darts could even close the distance, Enkrid's left hand moved, wielding the gladius.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
All six darts were deflected harmlessly into the air.
At that moment, the child—who had somehow crept closer—lunged, thrusting a short sword at Enkrid.
The boy had moved so stealthily and quickly that it was hard to believe how far he had been near moments ago.
The short sword, the length of a forearm, appeared from seemingly nowhere. The boy gripped it with both hands and stabbed with surprising strength and speed, aiming for a critical opening.
Enkrid, having just deflected the darts, smoothly turned his body as if expecting the attack.
He rotated, extending his gladius to meet the strike. The short sword clashed against the gladius with a sharp
ting!
and was deflected to the side.
Without hesitation, Enkrid followed through, using the momentum of his blade to strike the boy squarely in the chest.
Thud!
The boy didn't bleed, likely protected by a sturdy leather cuirass under his clothes.
But "soft" didn't mean "weak."
The force behind the blow was enough to crush the boy's chest.
Enkrid's strength was now formidable enough to rival even that of a frog-beast like Lagarne; even a glancing strike could be lethal.
The boy let out a choked gasp, coughing violently.
Yet even then, he reached into his coat, determined to continue his attack.
But his attempt was thwarted.
The small panther, Esther, leaped forward and swung her paw in a powerful arc, striking the boy squarely in the chest.
Crunch!
The sound of breaking bones echoed loudly.
The boy froze, choking on his breath.
Esther's blow had broken his wrist with her paw's initial strike and delivered a second, decisive impact to his already damaged chest.
He stopped moving entirely, crumpling to the ground.
The boy's life ended with his hand still in his coat.
And then—
"You bastard."
The voice came from the lips of one of the assassins, disguised as the middle-aged woman.
Enkrid had already heard her but was ahead of her movements—no, he had already completed his actions.
In a single fluid sequence, he had deflected the darts, crushed the ribs of the boy who had attacked from behind, and extended his right hand forward.
His outstretched hand pointed directly at the worker who had thrown the darts.
The knife Enkrid had thrown struck its mark with precision, embedding itself deeply into the worker's forehead.
The impact forced the worker's head to snap back before he collapsed to his knees, his head slumping forward.
Instant death.
"What did you say?"
Enkrid finally responded. The woman, dressed in fine clothes, dropped something at her feet.
Boom!
A smoke bomb. Thick white smoke quickly spread from the ground, enveloping the area.
"Esther."
At his command, Enkrid entrusted Krais to the panther and focused his senses.
He sharpened his intuition and hearing, tracking the assassin's movements through the haze.
She was running fast, heading out of the estate. And she wasn't alone.
How many are there?
The memory of the mixed-blood fairy assassin who had once gifted him the Whistle Dagger surfaced in his mind. These assassins likely had similar hidden weapons, techniques, and tools perfect for killing.
When fighting that fairy, he had seen countless possible futures.
What about today?
Enkrid felt confident. He had gauged their level and understood his current strength.
Above all, these assassins wouldn't retreat quietly.
Letting those who aimed their blades at him walk away wasn't his style.
Thus, Enkrid moved without hesitation.
"Krais, handle the aftermath."
He left only that command behind.
"Huh?"
Krais's bewildered question came from behind, but Enkrid trusted his sharp-minded subordinate to manage the situation.
He sprinted, chasing after the group of fleeing assassins.
"Handle the aftermath? Seriously?"
Krais stood amidst the chaos, surrounded by panicking people and the lingering smoke.
"Are the assassins really all gone?"
He recalled the one who had thrown darts at him earlier.
As the wind began to disperse the smoke, it became apparent that it wasn't poisonous—if it had been, things would have ended differently.
If there was poison, this wouldn't blow over so easily.
"Damn it! Everyone shut up and get down!"
Uncontrolled crowds were little more than mobs, and mobs were quelled with force.
Nearby, a patrol soldier slammed his spear into the head of someone causing a commotion.
Thwack!
The sound of the strike was brutal, and the man staggered sideways, blood dripping from the wound.
"Ugh!"
The scream was inevitable. The wounded resident stumbled and fell.
The soldier's neck veins bulged with anger as he shouted for order.
Maintaining security was one of Marcus's top priorities, and the soldiers were determined to uphold their duties.
An assassination attempt here? An ambush? Chaos?
If they mishandled this, they'd all be dead.
That's the way to do it.
The soldiers would suppress the chaos on their own.
Krais shifted his focus, assessing the situation.
The dead boy caught his attention.
Looking closely, it was clear he wasn't a boy. His face was weathered, with wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.
The others—like the hunchback—also had unusual appearances.
Krais's gaze fell to the short sword the supposed boy had wielded.
The blade, lying on the ground, gleamed unnaturally as if coated with something.
Poison.
He had already anticipated this possibility.
What was the "Black Blades'" plan?
Persuasion.
If persuasion failed, the next step was intimidation.
And that intimidation took the form of an ambush on their return journey.
Hiring mercenaries—swords bought with gold—would have been their first move.
They must have realized that didn't work.
The mercenaries didn't succeed? The bandits didn't succeed?
Would they give up?
If it were me?
Never. Retreating now would tarnish the reputation of the "Black Blades" as feared assassins.
It was almost as if they were asking,
Did you think we'd let you off so easily?
An assassination attempt of this scale had never been part of their assumptions.
Krais scratched his head in frustration as the noise began to settle.
"Esther, I'm counting on you."
He muttered softly. If any assassins remained, he'd be as good as dead.
But abandoning the task his commander had given him wasn't an option.
He had a rough idea of the enemy's intent. No assassins were left here.
Their target had been Enkrid.
If this had been an attack on the estate itself, it would be a different story entirely.
A deliberate massacre of the kingdom's citizens within the territory?
That would have drawn the Knights into action. Even amidst the chaos, the Knights would take up arms against such blatant lawlessness.
"A clean way to handle this without going that far."
Target just one person.
What they had done was bait. Did Enkrid not realize that?
Of course he did.
"Alright, everyone calm down. You there, don't step on other people's belongings. Merchants, gather your goods, and laborers, move to one side and keep your heads down. Patrolman, what unit are you from?"
"Second Company, Second Platoon."
Under Vengeance's command.
Krais nodded and addressed the patrolman and another soldier.
"Stop hitting people and focus on cleaning up."
With the patrolmen and soldiers rallying, the situation was soon under control.
"My goods! My goods are ruined because of this!"
"Your goods? You're just selling a few wooden arrows, aren't you? And not even many of them broke."
"Hehe...did you see?"
The merchant who had been sobbing like the world had ended immediately changed his tone.
Krais subdued a few shameless merchants with words and reassured the ones who had genuinely suffered losses.
"You know what's great about our commander? He's got more gold coins than we know what to do with. We can't compensate you for your lost goods right now, but there are plenty of places where we need extra hands. Work as laborers for a couple of months, and I bet you'll earn more than you did selling your goods. Better than those wooden arrows, right?"
Krais had a knack for turning crises into opportunities. After all, the road had to be widened, towers had to be built, and even the moats needed to be completed.
And weren't there plans for a drawbridge too?
The more hands, the better. There was plenty of coin in reserve to manage it.
"Alright, anyone with experience in construction, come forward."
While at it, he directed the situation toward something beneficial for the territory.
The people quickly adapted to the unexpected change.
The attack was an attack, the smoke was smoke, the cold was cold, and gold coins were gold coins.
At Krais's nod, two soldiers began dealing with the corpses.
Raising his voice to the crowd, Krais called out, "Anyone here ever built a structure before? Raise your hand!"
Gold coins couldn't sway everyone.
Sometimes you couldn't charm your way past an obstacle.
And when someone stood in your path, the simplest solution was this: hand a passerby a blade and say, "Go stab him."
A straightforward but effective method.
That was how the Black Blades operated.
Enkrid was fully aware this was a lure.
As he ran, he had already dodged more than five volleys of darts.
Amidst it all—
Fweeeet!
The distinct sound of a Whistle Dagger reached his ears.
There weren't many assassins skilled in using them.
Enkrid instinctively pinpointed the assassin's location.
Hiding and stalking wasn't his style, so he charged forward openly.
Naturally, this made him an easy target. Assassins hurled projectiles from all directions.
But with his sword in his left hand, Enkrid deflected every incoming attack, proving it a reliable shield substitute.
Some of the assassins were visibly startled at the sight.
What is this guy?
Weren't his subordinates supposed to be the problem?
How is nothing even grazing him?
Everything was coated with poison—just a scratch would suffice.
But nothing touched him.
When a Whistle Dagger was thrown, Enkrid nonchalantly caught it mid-air and pocketed it.
It was the only weapon not laced with poison, but did he know that?
How does he do that? Catching a Whistle Dagger mid-flight?
Even the skilled assassins among the Black Blades couldn't pull off such a feat.
Deflecting incoming bolts with his sword, Enkrid's sharp gaze swept his surroundings, locking onto every hidden threat.
Despite this, the assassins pressed on toward their designated meeting point—a reed field to the northeast of the estate, between the upper outpost and the estate.
The Black Blades didn't know.
They didn't fully understand.
They were aware that Enkrid's companions were dangerous. But they hadn't realized that Enkrid himself was a greater threat.
Mistakes and misconceptions could be lethal.
At least for them, misunderstanding and a lack of information were synonymous with meeting the Reaper.
TL here! Thank you for reading!
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