Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 360 - 360 - Thrust
360. Thrust
The art of a silent thrust.
It was Jaxen's specialty.
No sound, no intent, no presence. A blade advancing without noise fulfilled the very role it was forged for. Born to stab, slash, and carve flesh—it existed solely for that purpose.
The silent blade advanced toward Enkrid's back.
If it continued unimpeded, the mission would be complete.
"Are you sparring with me?"
Jaxen found himself staring into Enkrid's eyes, which had turned to face him. His silent thrust had halted, the blade frozen mid-motion as his right hand remained extended forward.
'He sensed it and reacted?'
That meant his silent thrust had been disrupted.
Clink.
Enkrid had already drawn his silver longsword, striking Jaxen's blade lightly in what seemed more courtesy than attack.
Jaxen quickly pulled his blade back in front of him, the sword vibrating faintly in his grip from the deflection.
"I call it Silver," Enkrid said, straightening his sword. The blade caught the moonlight, its reflection shimmering faintly.
Watching this, Jaxen realized something he hadn't before.
The thrust hadn't been disrupted; it had failed to exist.
'Did I... not intend it?'
He hadn't committed fully. His intent hadn't been concealed completely.
Why?
"Jaxen."
His name cut through his thoughts. Enkrid's eyes reflected the moonlight, a glowing blue hue emanating from them. The aura emanating from his sword rose steadily as his shoulders shifted subtly, telegraphing his next move.
Jaxen reacted instantly.
Judging from the stance, he anticipated the attack and stepped back.
Whoosh.
The space Jaxen had occupied a moment ago was sliced through by Enkrid's blade, Silver, carving a short, precise arc through the air.
The strike wasn't a wild swing relying on centrifugal force but a deliberate cut emphasizing the sharpness of the blade.
"If you're careless, you might lose something important," Enkrid warned, his tone carrying the weight of his intent. His piercing blue eyes shone brightly in the darkness as he gripped the blade with both hands.
His presence was palpable—a force to be reckoned with.
Jaxen assessed the attack calmly, reading the flow of the confrontation in an instant before responding.
"Relying on the weapon's strengths, are you?"
Under normal circumstances, Jaxen wouldn't have spoken; he would've acted. Yet he chose to speak now, even though he realized how uncharacteristic it was.
He didn't dwell on why.
So he followed his instincts.
Was this for the mission?
For vengeance?
Was this act of thrusting at someone's back what he wanted?
'It doesn't matter.'
Jaxen inwardly mimicked Enkrid's casual tone, letting the words guide him unconsciously.
Enkrid exhaled deeply, his breath seemingly visible in the moonlight, exuding an intense energy.
"I mean it—hold back, and you'll get hurt, Jaxen."
Enkrid was no longer the same man.
He had changed.
The figure standing before Jaxen bore no resemblance to the beaten, silent man he'd first met. The one mocked and bruised despite his rank was gone.
Now, he loomed larger than life.
Jaxen threw the blade in his hand to the ground, its tip sinking into the soil with a muffled thud.
Then, he pulled out another weapon—a stiletto.
"That one?"
Enkrid recognized it.
It was the very blade Leona Rockfreed had once given to Enkrid, only to give it to Jaxen in the end.
A gesture devoid of any ulterior motives.
Jaxen's indifferent gaze swept over the blade's surface.
Did Enkrid know its worth when he gave it to him?
The thought passed without much weight as Jaxen pointed the gifted weapon's tip back at its giver.
"Don't let your guard down. That's all I ask."
"An ask?"
It was the first time Jaxen had ever spoken such a word.
Enkrid's lips twitched into a faint, crooked smile, his amusement escaping in a quiet chuckle.
"Half a life, then."
The words carried a subtle promise of danger, an assurance that this duel would be different from anything they'd faced before.
Enkrid's blazing eyes locked onto Jaxen's, filled with determination that burned like fire.
As their gazes met, Jaxen let his arm fall slightly.
In that moment, a soundless dagger flew toward Enkrid's forehead, aiming for the space between his brows.
The Sense of Evasion kicked in instinctively.
Even without sight or sound, Enkrid avoided the attack, tilting his head just enough to let the razor-sharp blade graze past.
Then, he sensed another blade—aimed precisely at the path he had just dodged into.
'A delayed throw.'
It was one of the dagger techniques Jaxen himself had taught—a delayed release meant to catch even the most intuitive opponents off-guard.
Still, he hadn't expected things to escalate like this so suddenly. After all, no one can predict everything.
Though it was unexpected, Enkrid's body reacted instinctively.
He raised his blade, using its flat side as a shield.
Clang!
Sparks flew as steel collided with steel under the moonlight.
As the two blades clashed, Enkrid discreetly pressed his left foot to the ground, an action designed to divert his opponent's focus to the sword.
Then, in one fluid motion, he kicked forward with his lead foot.
Whack.
Dust and soil flew up, with a stray weed caught in the mix, obscuring the view.
Jaxen reflexively lowered his gaze, reversing his grip on his stiletto and dodging to the side.
Ping.
The silver longsword pierced through the space where he'd just been, barely a breath after the dust cloud dispersed, but Jaxen had predicted and evaded it.
Jaxen's forte lay in direct combat.
Whenever he faced an opponent head-on, he relished calculating their every move and keeping them within the bounds of his strategy.
This time was no different—though something else had entered the mix.
To Enkrid's eyes, Jaxen now resembled a predator, one with claws hidden beneath its velvet paws.
Conversely, Jaxen saw Enkrid as a polished, unyielding boulder.
No openings. None visible, at least. That alone showed how much he'd grown.
"Interesting," Jaxen muttered.
Enkrid, catching the remark, replied, "Damn right."
"...Wow, where'd you get beat up like that?"
Andrew had assigned them separate rooms, but there was only one staircase leading up to them.
At the base of those stairs, Rem was tossing and catching his axe, clearly entertaining himself.
When he saw Jaxen's slightly swollen left cheekbone, a wide grin spread across his face.
"Did you actually face someone head-on instead of ambushing them? Not like you. What happened? Got dumped by a girl? That why you've lost your edge?"
It was clear from his random remarks that he was in high spirits.
Normally, Jaxen would have ignored him outright, and in the earlier tension, he wouldn't have even pretended to listen. But now, the atmosphere was different. Loosened from the earlier tension, he retorted, his words slipping out.
"Dumped? Do I look like you?"
Six words. That was all it took to make Rem feel utterly defeated.
If appearances were anything to go by, Jaxen's face was nothing short of striking—easily good enough to be the face of any salon.
"Wildness is what makes a man, you idiot."
Rem shot back, though inwardly he thought, So he's loosened up a lot since coming back.
"I don't have the energy to play referee today. If you're going to fight, do it outside. Don't break anything in here."
Enkrid approached from behind Jaxen, speaking up.
Andrew, ever the miser, had barely provided any candles for the mansion.
Lamps were a rare sight.
Judging by the meals and the general state of things, it was clear this place wasn't particularly well-off.
Even the practice wooden swords used here told the same story.
As a result, the mansion grew dim once night fell, its shadows thick and unwelcoming.
Enkrid seemed to emerge from one of those shadows, though Rem had already sensed his presence long before.
"You sparring with the boss?"
From the staircase, Rem glanced back. As they passed by a wall-mounted candlestick, Enkrid's condition came into full view.
While Jaxen's left cheek was swollen, Enkrid's left eye was puffy, and he was limping.
There was even a small puncture wound on his forearm, faint traces of blood visible through the cloth wrapped around it—a clear mark of a dagger's bite.
Yikes.
Even to Rem's eyes, Enkrid's body was now beyond tough—it was solid as steel.
His skill? That was no longer something to underestimate either.
And yet, his body was in such a state?
Both of them—Jaxen and Enkrid—had clearly fought with full intent.
"Did you hit him from behind?"
The question felt rhetorical, and Jaxen decided the exchange was no longer worth entertaining.
"Move aside, before I knock that empty head of yours off your shoulders."
"Try me, idiot. You think I'll go easy just because you got smacked around?"
"Rem, step out," Enkrid interjected.
Rem clicked his tongue and pushed himself up using only his heels.
The creaking wooden stairs groaned under the movement.
With a small leap, Rem landed softly on the ground.
For someone wielding an axe and built like a tank, the silence of his landing was almost unnatural.
Like a cat dropping to the floor.
"Just teasing, just teasing. Still, if a squadmate comes back beaten up, I'm duty-bound to settle the score. That's Rem's code of honor. So, was it just sparring?"
By now, Jaxen had climbed halfway up the stairs, moving with such quiet precision that even Rem felt outmatched.
Rem glanced upward, catching sight of Jaxen's heels disappearing beyond the top.
Turning back, he remarked, "You're pretty beat up."
"It's nothing."
Though pain radiated from his left hip, Enkrid didn't consider it severe.
The limp was more about aiding recovery than an inability to walk.
Some of the injuries, after all, were deliberately inflicted.
In other words, they were within expectations.
"So, what's the story?"
Rem's question wasn't about the sparring itself.
No, it carried a weight beyond the obvious.
Conscious of Jaxen's condition, Rem's question implicitly asked why Enkrid had gone through such an intense sparring session.
It was because Jaxen was behaving differently than usual.
Inwardly, Enkrid let out an "ah" in realization.
Unlike his outward demeanor, Rem was sharp, quick to grasp the situation, and well-aware of what needed to be done.
"You killed a noble's son and were chased down for it, huh?"
The words Rem had once casually spoken echoed in Enkrid's mind.
Killing a noble's son and fleeing—Rem had done it because he could.
If it had been necessary to kill discreetly, he would have done so. However, the fact that he had killed openly and ensured everyone knew it was his doing meant there had been a significant reason behind it.
The memories of Rem's actions over time flashed through Enkrid's mind.
Suddenly, it all clicked—why Rem had killed the noble's son so brazenly without immediately disappearing.
He had drawn all eyes, especially those of the nobility, onto himself. He had to.
"You made it look like you were the sole culprit," Enkrid murmured.
Rem blinked. What on earth was this guy mumbling about now?
"What nonsense are you spouting this time?" Rem asked, tapping his own forehead with a finger.
Ignoring him, Enkrid continued his train of thought. As he did, Krais's past words came to mind.
Krais, who had a habit of observing the personalities and attitudes of unit members, had once remarked, "The Commander may be lazy when it comes to using his brain, but Rem? He's different."
"Different?" Enkrid had asked.
"Rem knows everything but pretends not to. He only reveals himself when he deems it absolutely necessary."
If Rem had stealthily killed the noble's son and left unnoticed, what would have happened to the commoners who had suffered at the noble's hands? Rem had exposed himself to draw the wrath solely onto him.
The message was clear: Come after me, and me alone.
He had likely left deliberate traces as he fled, forcing his pursuers to stay on his trail. When he deemed the time was right, he had vanished entirely, escaping to the outskirts.
This guy was seriously devious.
Rem, who had been silently watching Enkrid, finally spoke again.
"Hey, your eyes are looking weird. Seriously. Something's off."
Enkrid shook his head, dismissing the comment as nothing, and continued his reflections.
Now that he thought about it, until he had joined the unit and assumed the role of mediator, Rem had caused only minor trouble. The more serious acts of mischief—the ones bordering on delinquency—had begun after his arrival.
Because he could afford to.
By behaving that way, Rem had shaped how others perceived him. He ensured that people thought twice before crossing him and gave himself the freedom to act as he pleased without interference.
A sly stray cat? Who was the real cunning one here?
"Look, I'm serious. Your eyes are off," Rem insisted.
"Let's hang out a bit longer," Enkrid replied, steering the conversation away.
With his sharp instincts and quick mind, Rem surely already knew what he was thinking.
Still squinting suspiciously, Rem relented and played along.
"This is about that stray cat bastard, isn't it?"
"Well, among other things."
Jaxen's room was right at the top of the stairs, and their conversation was hardly a secret. Undoubtedly, he could hear everything.
"That damned cat, always dragging in trouble," Rem grumbled, as usual. But he didn't say he'd leave or abandon the matter.
Enkrid climbed the creaking stairs, replaying the earlier fight in his mind. More specifically, the moment the sparring match had ended.
"Stab me."
That was what he had said to Jaxen after their sparring session. But Jaxen had hesitated, unwilling to comply.
"I'm fine now," Jaxen had replied, shaking his head.
"Just once—it's fine."
The man before him had taught him techniques to heighten his senses, and Enkrid had thought it would only be fair to let him return the favor by allowing a single strike.
He genuinely meant it.
When Jaxen had first drawn his blade behind him, Enkrid had felt the intent to kill. Mixed in was hesitation, anxiety, and a deep-seated turmoil that lingered at the edge of the blade.
Enkrid had sensed all of it in that single motion.
After answering those emotions with their sparring, Enkrid had reached a conclusion.
Whoever was behind all of this had a penchant for elaborate schemes.
"I was tasked with stabbing you," Jaxen had admitted at one point during the session.
Enkrid had grown increasingly curious about this veiled adversary.
Warnings, contracts, deceptions—all the signs pointed to the same person.
As the wooden stairs groaned beneath his feet, Enkrid ascended to the room where he was staying, resolved.
Ultimately, he would give this shadowy schemer the answer they so desperately sought.
An answer that would meet their expectations—and crush them entirely.
Jaxen threw the blade in his hand to the ground, its tip sinking into the soil with a muffled
thud
Sense of Evasion
kicked in instinctively.
Rem shot back, though inwardly he thought,
So he's loosened up a lot since coming back.
Killing a noble's son and fleeing—Rem had done it because he
could
. If it had been necessary to kill discreetly, he would have done so. However, the fact that he had killed openly and ensured everyone knew it was his doing meant there had been a significant reason behind it.
The message was clear:
Come after me, and me alone.
Looking at him, Enkrid had spoken again.
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