Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 386 - 386 - Fighting While Being Lazy
"Geogr's dagger was just a fool, relying on the power of the artifact to go wild."
The long-armed assassin spoke as he twirled the dagger in his hand. One of his eyes gleamed.
A mysterious eye, a magical prosthetic.
It wasn't surprising that the artifact didn't work on that weird-looking eye. Therefore, he remained calm.
Jaxen also saw the hole in his cloak. It was the trace of the dagger's slash.
His arm had stretched abnormally, rummaging through the cloak.
Despite that, there was no sign of agitation. He was indifferent, both inside and out.
However, the enemy didn't think so.
"You look flustered. You should have stabbed him when I told you to."
An old man with a monocle spoke in a reprimanding tone.
"No reason to stay under that fool's orders. You should change your mind now."
A woman spoke, her voice distorted as she spoke among the assassins. She was speaking from hiding, careful and adept at lying.
Even if she did change her mind, there was nothing to gain from it. This was all a ploy to expose weaknesses.
"What? Stab? Were you not embarrassed to say that?"
The old monocled man, apparently irked by the provocation, brought up the topic.
"Now, what will you do now that you've lost the artifact?"
The voice came from behind. Jaxen turned his head. Even though it was broad daylight, the place where the voice came from seemed to darken. A figure half-hidden in the shadows between the alleyways, someone adept at hiding.
It was obvious what technique was being used.
'Shadow Walking.'
A technique that moves selectively in the shadows, basic training learned with Geogr's dagger.
Jaxen had learned it but never used it. It was a technique that could backfire against a focused or perceptive opponent.
'This trick wouldn't work on the commander either.'
Even Enkrid would avoid it.
Jaxen silently tossed aside his cloak and loosened his belt.
"Are you giving up?"
The distorted voice from within the assassins asked.
"Heh, what now? Will you reconsider? It's not too late. Youth's privilege is the chance to choose again."
The old monocled man spoke.
"Hmph."
The long-armed figure, resembling a monkey, snorted in response.
The figure hiding in the shadows subtly moved back and disappeared from sight.
Contrary to the words, a sinister atmosphere pricked at his skin. It was a combat stance.
Jaxen, lowering his gaze, spoke.
"Who's the madman behind this? Was it Viscount Mernes?"
It would take someone of noble rank to unite multiple assassination guilds under the guise of an alliance.
A single contract would put the existence of the guilds at risk, so a noble with power must be involved.
If you applied it to the current situation, it would be someone who had stood out within the palace factions or had consolidated power.
Otherwise, these assassins would have been acting individually.
Adding in the choices of the enemies, it became clear.
The intent of the person who ordered this was revealed. Jaxen understood their thoughts.
'Someone who finds my very existence bothersome and troublesome.'
That's why they were targeting him so persistently.
Enkrid had stopped him from going to the palace, Marcus was not pursued to be killed, and even those heading to block the gates were left alone, but this assassination alliance had been chasing him relentlessly.
Above all, their priority was to eliminate him.
Why?
Because he was a nuisance.
The ones who sold the information about the Black Lily were two people.
One group was likely to be random people who discovered it by chance.
The other group was directly involved.
This time, it was the latter.
Otherwise, they wouldn't have been so determined to eliminate him.
If this had happened before the matter had escalated, it might have been unclear, but with things going this way, it was easy to infer.
Realizing this, Jaxen felt an unexpected sense of joy.
Was it Enkrid's influence? He expressed his emotions. He smiled.
The old monocled assassin frowned when he saw that.
"Are you going to claim you stabbed again? Or will you come up with some other excuse?"
It seemed that the old man was extremely frustrated after being outwitted by Enkrid with words.
Indeed. Just before parting, Jaxen had seen how his commander, suddenly spirited, had taunted them.
"You said he should stab me, and now you're changing your story?"
"That wasn't a stab..."
"Where did you sell your trust? You boasted about making a name for yourself in the capital's assassination guilds, but it's absurd!"
"No, that was a stab..."
"Shut up! How dare you speak when you didn't even keep your promises! My arm's scar proves everything!"
"That wasn't..."
"Ha, how lamentable."
"You crazy bastard. Just listen!"
"What will you do after you said 'Ay, ay'?"
No matter what the enemy said, he would keep taunting them, and in the end, he threw a dagger in a mock manner, making a decoration of the assassin's head.
The fight began immediately. From then on, the assassin had no chance to defend himself.
Was it frustrating?
It might have been. No matter how much Jaxen tried to keep his composure, he still had a knack for provoking his opponents.
Even Jaxen himself sometimes felt his temper flare, so it was no surprise that they were similarly irritated.
"I did stab him though."
Jaxen said.
"Damn it, kill him!"
With the old man's cry, assassins rushed in from all directions. Jaxen already knew the enemy numbered twenty-eight.
He counted them. It was a habit. Then he vanished.
"Ugh!"
The long-armed monkey-like assassin, who had been scanning the surroundings with his magical prosthetic eye, shouted in surprise.
Thud!
A sickening crunch echoed. Jaxen had appeared in an alleyway, hidden in the deep shadows.
One of the alliance's executives, who had been hiding there, coughed up blood and collapsed to the ground, kneeling.
"How...?"
Wasn't he invisible to the magical eye? Now that the artifact was gone, how was he caught?
Thinking of Enkrid, Jaxen couldn't help but open his mouth.
"Hard work. Training."
The answer suited the question "how" perfectly.
From then on, Jaxen repeatedly vanished and reappeared.
The second person to die was the female assassin with the distorted voice.
She quickly hid within her group, but soon Jaxen, disguised as one of her subordinates, appeared next to her and stabbed a stiletto into her stomach.
Stab, stab, stab.
With three swift thrusts, her insides were torn open.
Her lungs and heart were pierced, and no high priest could save her now.
"Crack."
It wasn't a scream or a moan—it was a sound that was both her final scream and her dying words.
Jaxen kept moving.
The artifact? He used it because he had it. He hadn't relied on artifacts in the first place.
So, the artifact was irrelevant.
Today, his body felt light.
He knew what he had to do and could clearly see where he had to go.
'Mernes.'
He had suspected from the start that the Black Lily's member would be a noble. Even if Viscount Mernes wasn't the one behind it, he must have been involved in some way.
So, after killing these assassins, Jaxen's next destination was already clear.
The palace, where Viscount Mernes was.
That was what he did. Until no one else dared to approach, he killed them one by one and moved toward the palace.
It was when the sun had already passed overhead, casting long shadows.
Jaxen, turning his gaze toward the setting sun, saw something strange.
A person was running across the rooftops, smashing them apart.
It was someone he knew. That being said, he acted like he didn't know them.
The fight began with Dunbakel. At least, she was more enthusiastic than Ragna, so this was the right way to start. She moved backward and then exited through the open gates.
Ropord was already positioning some of his troops outside the castle.
'If the gates are taken, it's over.'
The numerical advantage was clear. In that case, holding the line in front would be necessary.
With archers and arrows unprepared, and the defenses lacking, the remaining forces had to compensate with their own strength and bodies.
Of course, this all hinged on the assumption that the ten enemies in front could hold out.
'As long as they can hold on.'
I didn't expect to kill them all.
Ropord's eyes saw Dunbakel moving forward.
She scanned the ten soldiers in front of her and then smiled.
Her smile seemed innocent, almost like a country girl who had just arrived in the city.
But she wasn't a country girl, nor was her smile innocent.
She was simply executing what she'd learned from Enkrid.
The Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship, with a smiling face.
Enkrid had used it on her several times, and now she adapted it in her own way.
That was the amazing thing about talent.
She had no hesitation in internalizing and using the technique.
Rem had beaten her to improve her overall physical abilities, and the actual technique training was done by Dunbakel herself.
That effort paid off.
"What's this?"
One of the mercenaries muttered, just as the beast-person kicked off the ground and leapt.
Her quick steps, like those of a leopard, pierced through the ranks of soldiers.
In an instant, she closed in, and the soldiers in front stood frozen, unable to move.
The curve of her blade struck, and the first soldier's head split open.
Thwack! Thunk!
With a clean strike, the head shattered, and another soldier beside him lunged with a spear.
But the movement was too slow—Dunbakel tilted her head just in time, evading the thrust, and with a swift turn of her body, grabbed the spear from the soldier's hands.
"...Ah."
The soldier, now disarmed, could only let out a dumbfounded sound. He wasn't dead. Dunbakel dropped the spear to the ground and dashed forward.
"Block her!"
Only then did the enemy commander shout in response.
Two of the soldiers who had been in the front moved. These two were quick, even by the standards of the group.
Still, they were barely able to follow Dunbakel as she sprinted forward.
"Move out of the way!"
As she shifted into her beast form, the soldiers quickly cleared a path.
Though they weren't entirely disorganized, they were far from elite.
The Mernes family army was essentially a hodgepodge of various troops.
It was an army with only the most basic command structure.
Dunbakel tore through them, stepping on shoulders and heads, swinging her sickle.
With that charge, she reached her target, swinging the sickle mercilessly, but not to cut—she turned the handle and struck with the flat of the blade.
Boom! Crack!
The siege weapons they had prepared, three mangonels, were in her sights.
One of the frames cracked loudly.
Dunbakel knew the advantage lay in the walls. Years of wandering as a mercenary had made her seasoned in such battles.
The best way to deal with this threat was to eliminate the most dangerous one first.
Thus, after lulling them with her innocent smile, she launched her charge. It was simple but effective.
"Did you turn?"
Just then, a soldier who had been among the ten earlier appeared beside her.
A man wielding a short spear.
He was fast on both his feet and with his hands. Dunbakel deflected the spear with her sickle, then stamped her left foot into the ground with a powerful stomp, twisting her body around and preparing to strike.
The soldier, who had planned to close the distance, suddenly pulled back. Another soldier behind him followed her every move, trying to catch up.
"Let's finish this."
Dunbakel said, and then she leapt to the other side. It was a sudden and unexpected movement, a total reversal.
This, of course, was something she learned from Enkrid.
The Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship, acting in the opposite direction.
It was a feint that completely broke the enemy's expectations.
The advantage she gained from this?
To make achieving her goal easier.
She wasn't fighting these two—she needed to destroy the mangonels first.
The two pursuing mercenaries suddenly tripped over their feet.
What was that?
The quick-witted beast-person used every trick in the book.
Compared to Enkrid or Rem, deceiving these two was child's play, and Dunbakel reveled in it.
She was even a bit excited.
It had been a long time since she'd fought someone weaker than herself.
As Dunbakel wreaked havoc, the enemy soon launched their counterattack.
"Kill them all!"
The man in the horned helmet shouted.
His name was Yon, an elite warrior from the East.
And before him, a blonde man approached, walking leisurely. Even as the enemy forces advanced, he seemed unconcerned.
Arrows flew overhead, but they didn't faze him.
Ragna, with his thick sword resting on his shoulder, spoke.
"Come at me all at once. This is getting annoying."
"You."
Yon, the horned warrior, didn't get excited or rush in. Instead, he drew his glaive. The blade shimmered a bluish hue, crafted from Valerisan steel.
Ragna eyed it, wondering if he should take it and melt it down.
"Together."
Yon said. Some people frowned at the remark, but no one spoke up.
The man clearly looked formidable.
"Time is on our side. We'll take our time and break you."
Yon said. And as he spoke, one of his mercenaries swung a chain overhead, hurling it forward.
The weighted ball at the end of the chain hurtled towards Ragna's head.
Thwack!
Ragna, having already lowered his sword, knocked the chain away.
The heavy iron ball at the end had more than enough force to crush a man's skull.
"Crush them!"
Battle, conflict, blood, bloodshed.
Yon loved that kind of thing. And he was rushing forward, eager to witness it. As he did, he thrust his glaive down with incredible speed.
Whoosh!
The glaive was deflected.
And just beside him, a soldier from his side thrust a spear.
The spear, twisting and turning with unpredictable motions, came at Ragna.
Ragna's sword knocked away the glaive and struck the spear.
Thwack!
The spear bounced off, but that wasn't the end.
The next attack came immediately.
Another spear, this time coming straight at Ragna with force.
Ragna, with his heavy sword, deflected it once more.
Clang!
After the clash, Yon seemed to have a better understanding of his opponent's abilities.
He was a monster.
And Ragna?
He was simply following orders to defend, but he had little enthusiasm for it, so he fought casually.
Why the lack of enthusiasm? He didn't even think about it.
It was routine.
If he decided to kill, everyone would die. But that would require a more adventurous approach, and he might end up with a small wound.
Was that necessary? No. A genius who had lost their purpose would still act lazily in the middle of a fight.
It was likely that his recent surge of energy had worn him down, and now he was simply uninterested.
Thank you all for reading!
Thank you!

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