Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 266 - 266 - A Near-Certain Premonition
The assassin disguised as a middle-aged noblewoman felt her mouth go dry.
Each time those cold blue eyes under the black hair glanced her way, a chill ran down her spine.
Here.
The moment she stepped into the reed field, she prepared to hide. It was time to lose him and demonstrate her specialty.
But then—
Bang!
A thunderous noise rang out.
What was that? Instinctively, she drew a dagger, the blade coated in poison, and pointed it defensively in front of her.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her.
The sound of something bursting, like a leather drum or a clap of thunder, was still echoing in her ears.
Her quick reaction to the explosion was commendable, but that was all she could manage.
"Here, right?"
At the cryptic question, the assassin looked up.
Flash!
Lightning illuminated the sky above her.
That was the last thought she ever had.
Someone whose head had been split in two could no longer think.
Activating the
Heart of the Beast
, Enkrid closed the distance in a single leap and brought his sword down vertically, splitting the assassin's skull.
It was a simple yet utterly unpredictable move.
Shouldn't he have been catching his breath, watching for hidden assassins, or worrying about traps?
Instead, he lunged forward and cleaved her head open.
Blood splattered everywhere, painting the surroundings and even Enkrid's clothes crimson.
Looking down at the blade in his left hand, Enkrid felt a newfound appreciation.
Was this really just a sword I carried around?
He once again marveled at the craftsmanship of the dwarves.
While it lacked the mystical aura of a legendary blade, it was exceptionally sturdy and sharp.
Even more impressive was its thick edge, capable of deflecting most attacks.
More than just liking the sword, Enkrid found it immensely practical. He didn't even need a separate guard sword. This blade could handle anything.
Standing amidst the reed field, Enkrid admired the weapon before letting it hang loosely at his side.
At the same time, he unsheathed the sword in his right hand.
Sching!
A blue-glowing blade appeared.
It was the cursed sword, Tutor, which had transformed into a razor-sharp masterpiece.
Holding a blade in each hand, Enkrid surveyed his surroundings.
The assassins had hidden themselves so well within the reeds that not even a glimpse of them could be seen.
But was that a problem?
Not really.
He was simply curious.
What gives them the confidence to come at me like this?
Whizz! Whizz! Whizz!
Three round objects flew toward him and exploded overhead.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A dull gray powder rained down, covering the dried reeds below. The reeds withered and collapsed.
Poison powder.
But Enkrid was no longer in that spot.
The loud noise of him charging in and dispatching the assassin disguised as the noblewoman had been deliberate.
From a tactical perspective, Enkrid was already operating at an advanced level.
How could he not?
The
Valah mercenary swordplay
he had mastered was rooted in individual combat tactics.
Combined with his heightened physical abilities, sharpened senses, combat experience, and the lessons learned from countless battles, Enkrid had become a force to be reckoned with.
Most importantly—
Sloppier than Jaxen.
Among his sparring partners was Jaxen, a renowned assassin.
Jaxen's strikes were silent and swift, devoid of any detectable presence.
The countless days Enkrid spent honing his senses to perceive such attacks had not been in vain.
His acute instincts encompassed everything around him.
Within his sensory range, he could detect even the faintest presence.
If he thought someone might be there, there they were.
If he sensed something flying toward him, it was.
With deft movements, Enkrid sidestepped as projectiles rained down on his previous position, now rendered meaningless.
Not far away, a thief of the Black Blades, holding a Whistle Dagger in each hand, gaped in shock.
When did he get here?
Enkrid thrust his blade.
Squish!
The assassin's throat was pierced clean through.
He withdrew the blade and momentarily sheathed it.
Schink!
Grabbing the dying man by the collar, Enkrid flung him aside.
The body spun through the air, a spray of blood arcing across the reeds as it landed well outside the poison cloud.
Without pausing, Enkrid twisted and launched himself forward in a silent burst of speed.
Rustle-rustle-rustle!
The sound of reeds bending under his rapid movement reverberated.
"Shit!"
One of the assassins cursed aloud. A rare lapse for someone trained to remain silent during missions.
But who could blame him?
Enkrid was a monster.
Even for elite assassins of the Black Blades, he was an opponent beyond comprehension.
To kill such a beast, they would need the master of Geor's Dagger—the top assassin guild on the continent.
The thought barely crossed the assassin's mind before—
Swish! Thud!
A wide blade severed his neck.
His head floated briefly before falling.
Amidst the reeds that concealed everything below the waist, the remaining assassins felt a chill of terror.
Boom!
Despite their fear, they didn't stop.
To survive, they had to kill him. That much was certain.
They released clouds of poison, hurled poisoned darts, throwing knives, and axes, even deploying pouches designed to explode into toxic barbs.
Every weapon and trap had been prepared to kill this one man.
Enkrid parried or evaded it all.
His superhuman senses foretold every move.
Half a step back.
As one assassin approached soundlessly, Enkrid twisted and struck with his elbow, shattering the man's skull.
The sharp sound of the impact echoed.
The assassin, whose specialty was silently taking down his targets, had his head burst open.
Unable to withstand the pressure, his eyeballs popped out and rolled across the ground, while his head split apart, spilling brain matter and blood. A pinkish brain shyly peeked through the gore.
Enkrid didn't even glance at the one he had struck with his elbow.
He knew the blow was more than enough to kill.
After swinging his elbow, Enkrid hurled his gladius forward with all his might.
As his left hand drew a semicircle through the air, the blade turned disc-like from a side view and plunged into the head of another assassin with a dull thud.
Two assassins, seeing an opportunity, coordinated their movements and cast a net from either side.
The moment the net spread with a rustling sound, blocking the sky, Enkrid was already retrieving the sword he had thrown.
It was the synchronization of the
and his advancing steps.
The step, called a lunge, was typically used in swordsmanship to move forward.
Enkrid mixed it with a slope step—originally a large diagonal step forward to evade an opponent's attack.
He blended them without overthinking.
Additionally, he incorporated passing steps and gathering steps.
He wasn't picky.
Combining this with raw, brute strength and the thigh muscles capable of enduring it all, the result was a forward movement that transformed into a dashing thrust.
A lateral swing became a long slash that cut through the reed field.
In simpler terms, Enkrid was employing swordsmanship against the entire group of assassins.
Only, he had greatly expanded its range.
Unbeknownst to him, this approach mirrored the battle tactics of a mid-level knight wielding a sword to fight multiple opponents.
It was a method of mass slaughter centered around swordsmanship.
The outcome was hardly surprising.
Enkrid had reached this point through learned techniques.
Thus, his combat was grounded in the various swordsmanship styles he had mastered from both personal study and observing others around him.
On top of that, he infused his unique
Swordsmanship
into his techniques.
Where strength fell short, the quality of his weapon also compensated.
Of course, strength was relative.
"Urk!"
To the assassin caught by his fluidly advancing blade, it was nothing short of a death stroke.
Even though he wore armor enchanted to absorb impact, one assassin realized that two of his ribs had broken.
The enchantment had been shattered by sheer force—a level of strength that defied reason.
Enkrid's power grew daily, and now he possessed the
He didn't envy even Frogs anymore.
'What kind of brute strength is this?'
The overwhelming force left them stunned.
Unfazed, Enkrid launched into his next attack.
With the synchronization of his steps and the
, his body momentarily vanished from the assassin's sight.
A step that would have simply turned to outflank an opponent became, from the assassin's perspective, a ghostly teleportation.
A split second after disappearing, a blue flash struck the assassin's crown and passed through.
Another assassin fell dead.
Even as poisonous fumes spread throughout the area, Enkrid pressed on undeterred.
In fact, he held his breath and pierced through the toxic smoke in a single stride, killing one more assassin with a Zimmer-style thrust.
"Ugh, this... this madman..."
Breaking through poison gas with brute strength and continuing to fight like this?
One assassin, holding an antidote in his mouth to endure within the toxic cloud, uttered a curse as his final words before departing to meet his god.
Enkrid, letting both swords dangle at his sides, continued moving.
Rustle, rustle.
Slice, slice, slice, slice!
The reeds caught by his blades were cut down in countless numbers, clearly marking his location.
He didn't care. He actually preferred it, inviting the enemy to attack. It was easier to pinpoint their position that way than if they remained hidden.
The result of the fight was clear.
Out of over fifteen assassins wielding black blades, only two remained.
"You've messed with the wrong person."
The leader, a first-rate assassin, finally spoke.
His name was Barcello, a man who had drifted into the
Black Blade
organization from the eastern continent.
Once, he had been considered an assassin on par with those from the guild
Daggers of Geor
A top-tier elite among elites.
His specialty was using claws to catch his target from behind and rip out the back of their neck.
Yet even Barcello couldn't find an opening in Enkrid.
No matter how many times he moved and repositioned himself, Enkrid's gaze flicked to him momentarily.
'He sees me?'
An unbelievable sensory ability.
A first-rate assassin like him being detected? How was that possible?
Barcello was thus locked in place.
The other remaining assassin had already started running.
It was his duty to distance himself from the battlefield and report what had transpired.
But as he fled, something suddenly caught his neck. With a strangled cry, his cervical spine snapped, and he fell dead.
The tool was made by repeatedly oiling, heating, and treating tanned leather with special substances until it became thin yet durable.
The fleeing assassin's neck was caught in it, his body lifted into the air. The weight of his body broke his neck, and the person holding the strap twisted and pulled, ensuring his death.
The body dropped to the ground with a thud.
From the assassin's shadow emerged a man.
It was Jaxen, with his auburn hair.
"I'm a bit late."
Jaxen spoke as he moved toward the chaos Enkrid had created.
But even Jaxen wasn't the first to arrive here.
A fairy had beaten him.
"Are you late? Or is my love simply too fast? Love is always swift, striking my heart without warning. I don't believe I'm late."
The fairy Company Commander stood at the edge of the reed field, speaking aloud.
Enkrid sensed the fairy's presence but focused on the last remaining opponent.
It was the leader who stood motionless.
From the start, Enkrid had noticed something different about him.
The way he moved, the way he concealed his presence—each skill was unlike the others.
Locating him wasn't difficult. Enkrid's instincts far surpassed ordinary levels.
Even without hearing his breath or sensing his presence, Enkrid had a gut feeling someone was there.
And when he looked, there he was. Just exuding bloodlust toward him was enough to reveal his position.
It was purely instinct, aided by
Sense of Evasion
, a technique of sensory refinement. But from his opponent's perspective, it was nothing short of a cheat.
But what can be done? Jaxen, who was next to Enkrid, was truly a genius beyond ordinary talent, one who also worked tirelessly at his craft.
What Enkrid had learned through the repeated days with such a genius was now fully matured in his own body.
"It's mine," Enkrid said to the fairy. He had purposely left it for himself.
It was like a final treat.
The opponent was a skilled assassin—one whose abilities were anything but ordinary.
The leader of an assassin group, wiped out to near extinction, had inserted a weapon into his hands.
With a sharp click, the man emerged, claws on both hands.
"Promise me you'll let me live if I kill you."
At the answer, given without a single breath, Barceló knew there was no way out for him.
Still, he hid his final move.
Would the other stop this too?
Tap, tap, tap.
Barceló began running through the reed field.
To his left, there was poison smoke, and the ground was littered with corpses and metal debris.
The target sheathed a short sword and began to approach with only a longsword gripped in both hands.
It wasn't fast.
There was no lightning-fast step like before.
The figure only narrowed the distance while holding the sword.
Tap, tap, tap!
The sound of the grim reaper's footsteps.
The rustling of reeds crushed by the reaper's path created a duet of sounds.
Barceló increased his speed, lowering his waist slightly.
The surrounding reeds flew past him.
Lowering his stance, he led with his claws, already engaging the battle from the start.
The outcome would be decided in a single strike!
He repeated in his mind and unleashed his hidden move.
Boom! Crack!
A third hand rose from his chest. It was a hand that pierced through his coat. His chest was thicker than most, and the hand shot out.
It was just when Enkrid's sword and claws clashed.
This was the secret move.
The third hand, something mystically implanted, held a long blade and aimed to pierce Enkrid's chest.
'What?'
Barceló realized that the claws on his right hand weren't moving as he wanted.
When the opponent's sword collided with his, the other's strength pressed down on his claws, forcing a movement he hadn't intended.
Thus, the third hand holding the dagger met the claws.
Thud!
At the same time, the left claw slashed across the opponent's head, but the opponent ducked and avoided it.
Before he knew it, the opponent had lowered himself, and his head rose again.
Barceló saw blue light. Two blue lines streaked like falling meteors.
A black mass surrounded the two blue lines from above, brushing past him.
He tried to resist by pulling his arm, but couldn't.
Scrape!
The opponent's sword had cut off his arms and even the third hand.
Afterward, something hot, like a fire poker, lashed across his torso, rising up.
"Argh!"
Barceló screamed. But it was a scream no one could hear.
His head screamed, but it was just his thoughts.
Enkrid froze at the sight of the third hand.
'What is this?'
Fortunately, his body and senses moved on their own.
As soon as he saw the third blade, he smoothly swept his claws down to block the opponent's dagger, lowering his head.
It seemed simple, but in that motion, his eyes burned, and his head grew hot.
The brain was overwhelmed with information, processing everything at once.
Enkrid lifted his sword, drawing it from below, slashing upward.
It was an extension of the first form of the sword style he had developed from observing snake steps and the Sabikal's swordplay.
The flowing sword lacked aggressive force, but the sharpness of a fine blade supported it.
It cleaved through the three arms as he advanced, stepping lightly with his toes to pivot and thrust the sword into the opponent.
He didn't hesitate as he carved upward through the opponent's abdomen with the sword.
The ensuing movements were so fluid, yet to the opponent, it must have seemed like a monstrous strike, severing arms and splitting the body.
Thus, the final opponent was slain.
"Who are these guys?"
Jaxen, one of Enkrid's group, approached.
"A blood engagement?"
The fairy company commander muttered some crazy words.
"Hoo."
Enkrid exhaled deeply, surveying the bodies he had slain and spoke.
"Guests."
"You're treating your guests quite lavishly," Jaxen muttered as he approached.
In his hand, there was a small leather pouch, which he used to search through the dead bodies.
From his hand came something Enkrid had seen before.
Pouches of the same form, he untied one and gently let the powder spill, glittering.
It was powdered poison.
"Familiar medicine," Jaxen commented.
At that moment, Enkrid recalled the powdered poison he had found in the possession of the black-clad messenger in Martai.
He also remembered the poison the frog had ingested.
Those two poisons were almost identical in Enkrid's memory—both with a strange scent.
He was the type not to overlook anything, and he had learned this.
And if he knew it, his soldier in front of him likely did too.
Jaxen wasn't the type to miss things easily.
"Did you interrogate the frog?"
Jaxen asked.
Everyone knew the frog had been knocked out and captured. Of course, Jaxen knew too.
He must have known the frog had been on a rampage after taking the poison.
There was no way that chatterbox Krais had stayed quiet about it.
And it seemed all of this was connected. It was just a feeling, but Enkrid had a strong premonition about it.
With that feeling, Enkrid shook his head.
The interrogation was something to be done from now on.
"I want to be part of this too. If I'm left out, I'll be sulking," the fairy company commander interjected.
Enkrid nodded.
She had already shown interest. Her tone was light, mixed with jokes, but her green eyes exuded a seriousness that wasn't light-hearted.
It seemed like this was no ordinary problem.
TL here! Thank you for reading!
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