Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 60 - 60 - Just Ten Times
Chapter 60 - Just Ten Times
"It's fun? That's what I should be saying."
"You're really amusing."
The half-blood fairy draped in rags licked its lips with a flick of its tongue, arms drooping limply.
From beneath the rags, pale white hands peeked out.
It was evident at a glance—this was a preparatory stance.
The moment those hands moved, a chilling whistling sound would resonate.
'Don't look at the projectile; it'll be too late. Watch the hands instead.'
Jaxen's method for countering the whistling throwing knives was also the key to handling anyone skilled with throwing weapons.
Catching a flying arrow with your eyes alone is almost impossible.
'Unless you're truly a knight, it's extremely difficult. However, even if you're not a knight, there's a way to avoid incoming arrows.'
It's called the selection eye technique.
Even if the hands are cleverly hidden, it's impossible to completely obscure the movements of the arms.
Focus on the enemy in front of you.
Watch their hands and arms closely.
Then take in their entire body and dodge accordingly.
That was the essence of the technique.
Jaxen's calm and precise explanations were easy to absorb.
When Rem taught something, he relied on action first.
He was the type to lead with physical demonstration rather than words.
Jaxen was the opposite.
He delivered meticulous explanations first, ensuring intellectual comprehension before moving on to physical practice.
Ragna, on the other hand, was haphazard until something piqued his interest.
Once engaged, he combined demonstrations and explanations seamlessly, adapting to the flow.
Audin was similar to Rem, but his tone carried an almost godly optimism.
Perhaps the most frustrating approach of all.
"You can do it, brother."
"It's fine, brother. That's not nearly enough to reach the arms of the divine."
"Does it hurt? Good, you're making progress."
Learning gymnastics from him had been anything but easy.
But it had paid off handsomely.
Now, beneath the shadows of the city wall, where the air was much colder than in the sunlight, Enkrid felt comfortably warm.
His body showed no signs of stiffening, thanks to the gymnastics he'd learned from Audin.
Even as his thoughts wandered, Enkrid's eyes never left the half-blood fairy.
The way to avoid whistling throwing knives was to focus on the fingertips.
Hands might move faster than eyes, but it was impossible to hide the motion of an arm in full swing.
You track its trajectory, feel it, and see it.
If you see it, you can dodge it.
He'd done it countless times already.
The key now was to keep watching—something Enkrid was doing diligently.
His own hands were also hanging loose by his sides.
The half-blood fairy mirrored his stance.
Though not quite at the level of whistling throwing knives, their throwing techniques were formidable.
'How do I land a single blow?'
The half-blood fairy was exhilarated.
At first, this had been a dull, routine job—an assignment to kill a mere soldier.
Hardly the kind of task to spark interest.
The assassin harbored two peculiarities.
The first was exploiting an enemy's carelessness to strike their heart.
The second was killing elite warriors head-on.
Both were passions of his.
Initially, this job seemed likely to require the first.
But now?
"This is going to be fun."
His focus had shifted to the latter.
The half-blood fairy kept licking his lips—a habit he had when concentrating deeply.
His eyes scanned Enkrid for an opening, but none appeared easily.
He felt it clearly in his mind.
No matter how he threw his knives, the opponent would dodge them.
But that was fine.
"You're expecting me to throw the knives, aren't you?"
The opponent had somehow seen through his plan, countering it with the simplest of measures—changing the location.
Things had gone awry.
Three people were already dead, and while the commotion had drawn no one yet, the original assassination site—a bustling marketplace—was now useless.
Bustling places slow perception.
Two disposable accomplices, Jack and Bo, were meant to create a distraction with their trivial antics.
There was also a crossbowman hidden, a man named Rotten following in secret.
All those preparations unraveled with a mere change of location.
Now, there were no buildings to hide behind.
Before the mission even started, two fools were dead, and the crossbowman had been eliminated by an unexpected knife throw.
"Did he plan all this?"
Once again, the fairy licked his lips.
His concentration had peaked, leaving his lips perpetually dry.
He retraced the target's actions up to this point, trying to discern his intentions.
"Yes, he planned it all."
He had calculated everything.
The how didn't matter—the outcome did.
Jack and Bo were dealt with, and the crossbowman had been swiftly dispatched.
"Impressive."
The opponent's calculations, methods, and precision were flawless.
'He's in the same line of work as me.'
Or so the fairy thought.
But it was a mistake.
The opponent had simply read and dismantled his assassination tactics head-on.
Even with leaked information, this level of response was indicative of someone with extensive experience in such matters.
'So, what can I use now?'
He still had options.
There were three poisons hidden in his clothing.
On his back was his specialized weapon—a long needle the length of a forearm.
Called the
Needle,
it was one of the weapons favored by fairies alongside knives.
Draw and thrust.
That was all it took.
Only one target had ever survived this method—a Frog, to be exact.
A damn Frog.
"Why are you so disgustingly ugly?"
That insane Frog had casually insulted his appearance.
The half-blood fairy had a deep-seated inferiority complex about his looks.
Fairies were meant to be beautiful, but as a half-blood, he had been denied that blessing.
Since that day, every job he completed ended with him piercing his target's heart—an act now ingrained as habit.
He licked his lips again as he thought of the Frog.
Killing his opponent by splitting their heart seemed easy enough.
"Close the distance, then pierce him with the Needle in one strike."
While the opponent might have skill with a sword, that only applied in direct combat.
The fairy trusted in his secret techniques.
Now, how would he close the distance?
Enkrid's senses screamed alarms of danger as if they were going mad.
"How many do you have?"
Enkrid adressed the half fairy, keeping him engaged in conversation, then raised his voice toward the front.
The fairy shrugged, as if to answer what was likely a question about the number of daggers in his possession.
"I only have two," the fairy lied, having already wetted his lips multiple times in preparation.
"I've got one," Enkrid responded honestly, despite knowing everything.
"Seems like I have the upper hand, doesn't it?"
"That's just what you think."
The daggers Enkrid carried were a secret weapon he'd coerced out of Krais since morning.
He'd asked for something thin and light, and Krais had delivered.
The result was a soldier who had been forced to give up a carving knife and Enkrid gaining a throwing knife, though its blade had been sharpened so excessively it was now as short as a finger.
"You're quite amusing, aren't you?" muttered the elf.
Enkrid agreed silently.
The tension coursing through his body burned like fire.
A single misstep, even a blink, could allow death to tighten its grip on his throat.
Yet it exhilarated him—the anticipation of measuring his skills against an opponent.
Pitting his own moves against theirs, feeling the thrill of competition.
He felt his heart fill with a fierce desire to win, a sensation he hadn't easily experienced before.
In the past, had there ever been a moment to even think about winning?
He'd been too preoccupied with simply surviving, clawing his way out of death's grasp.
But now?
Today, repeated over and over—an endless cycle of walking the line between life and death—had changed more than just his swordsmanship.
Once, he had been unable to entertain thoughts of victory against a skilled opponent.
But now?
"I can win."
Not only did he want to win, but he believed he could.
It was a shift in mindset, a newfound confidence.
The fairy selected the most rational, efficient, and effective option available.
"This is inside the city. Won't patrols come by this way soon?"
He was right.
Time was on Enkrid's side.
Once the patrols arrived, it would be over.
Facing him would not only expose his disguise but also make survival near impossible.
His back was damp with sweat, evidence of his tension.
'When did he get this strong?'
His movements slowed as he kept his gaze locked on Enkrid, his steps cautious.
'Move carefully. That bastard can't throw daggers.'
Whistle!
Four daggers sliced through the air, the high-pitched sound ringing loud.
Even as Enkrid hurled his blade, his eyes never left the fairy.
Not once did he blink.
Because of that, he could track the trajectory of the incoming blades.
He instantly dropped into a low position, feet apart, body almost prone as his hands touched the ground.
The whistling blades sliced through the space where his head and chest had been moments ago.
This sequence unfolded in the span of a half-breath.
During the remaining half-breath, the fairy acted again.
After the first wave of four blades, he sent another two, targeting Enkrid's head and thighs.
Instinctively, Enkrid rolled to the side.
Thud!
The daggers embedded themselves into the ground.
Rolling onto his feet, Enkrid immediately scanned for his opponent.
Missing the fairy's movements now would spell the end.
His eyes darted, but his gaze failed to find him.
The elf was nowhere to be seen.
His instincts, preoccupied with finding a position for a counterattack, had overlooked the fairy's approach.
In that moment, the fairy was already closing the distance, low to the ground.
His ears twitched, alerting him to the sound of footsteps striking the earth.
Enkrid's eyes finally caught sight of the fairy, just a few steps away.
Using the fluttering cloth to distract and closing the gap, the fairy executed his plan.
His opponent likely hadn't anticipated such an approach.
His assumptions proved correct—Enkrid's face showed pure surprise.
Yet, even then, Enkrid moved.
Ping!
'Bastard,' the fairy cursed internally, conveniently ignoring his own earlier lie.
The fairy, focused entirely on closing the distance.
Two steps away.
He reached for his weapon as Enkrid desperately drew his longsword.
But before he could ready it, the fairy's short, needle-like blade plunged toward Enkrid's heart.
Clang! Crack!
"What? Blocked?"
The fairy was shocked—this strike shouldn't have been stopped.
It was his trump card, a fatal blow.
But it was blocked because Enkrid had seen this exact move in his ninth death.
Instead of drawing his longsword, Enkrid had deflected the needle-like blade with the guard sword he had drawn earlier, turning the strike away.
Though not a perfect execution of the defensive technique, it was effective enough.
The broken blade fragments scattered as Enkrid abandoned the guard sword and fully unsheathed his longsword.
In one seamless motion, he raised it high and brought it down with force.
The fairy barely managed to raise his weapon to block.
Clang!
The longsword shattered the needle-like blade, completing its arc and splitting the elf's face in two.
The grotesque visage of the elf was no longer recognizable, cleaved apart in one decisive strike.
"Haah," Enkrid exhaled, releasing the breath he'd been holding.
After retrieving his sword, he reflected.

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