351 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

**Chapter 351: The Assassin Sets a Trap** A monstrous roar echoed. Among the ranks were humans with canine faces, ghouls, and even the occasional drowning victim. Were these drowned corpses recently made, newly fresh? Given the torrential rains from a few days past, bodies lost to the floodwaters seemed plausible enough. For monsters, the difference between an hour or a week of being a corpse likely mattered little. While some old corpses could become particularly dangerous, none were like a newborn fawn unsteady on its feet. Thus, whether freshly risen or not, it wasn't something to focus on. What truly mattered was their number. "There are many," murmured Chae-Chik's escort. Yes, they were indeed numerous. But beyond sheer numbers, the variety of creatures also captured attention. Among these, some beasts loomed as even greater threats, more formidable than the three visible monstrosities. Usually, beasts were deemed less hazardous than monsters, but exceptions always existed. Take, for example, the Cursed Bears. Even when not transformed into monstrous apparitions, bears were dangerous creatures. Once cursed, their threat level only escalated. Two bears exemplifying this most simple example towered amidst the throng of monsters. One of them was notably larger than the other. With drool dribbling, its bloodshot eyes glared ominously — an undeniable threat. Seeing this, Rem commented, "Seems like the preacher's friend is here." "Indeed," replied Ragna. Had Audin heard this, a gentle smile alongside a vow to stand with his god would likely have followed. Unlike Audin, however, the bear did not smile. Instead, it thumped its chest and let out a mighty roar. The roar reverberated through their entire bodies, temporarily freezing any potential victims in place. It was as though the roar was a signal. "They're coming," Dunbakel noted as the monsters advanced like a crashing wave, charging towards them. The human-faced canines kicked up earth, sullying their bellies with mud, and the drowned corpses waved their arms wildly as they lunged forward. The ghouls stretched their hands ahead, claws extended, grabbing at the ground in fierce leaps. Their numbers exceeded a hundred. With every charge from the monsters and each looming step of the Cursed Bears, the ground trembled. Had ordinary people been present, it would have been a terrifying scene that threatened their very lives. However, the individuals assembled here were anything but ordinary or average. While prey would have been paralyzed by the bear's cursed roar, those gathered remained entirely free. None among them froze at the sight of such monsters. With a thud and a loud crack, a streak of light struck the head of one advancing Cursed Bear. It was a thrown axe. The roaring beast let out a deflated sound, its head snapping back before righting itself. The powerful neck muscles prevented its head from being completely severed. Yet the outcome remained unchanged. The bear adorned with an axe decoration in its head began to falter and rolled forward, its momentum spent. Several human-faced canines nearby were crushed beneath its massive body. A screech erupted from the canines. That was the end of it. Only a hydra can survive and move with a cleaved head, perhaps because it has several to spare. Of course, no one had spotted a hydra in Enclyde. A Cursed Bear with its head split open right down the middle was as good as dead. "Hey, that one was mine!" grumbled Dunbakel. A ghoul emitted its characteristic piercing scream. With the casual air of someone plucking weeds, Ragna and Jaxen sliced the ghouls' heads and limbs with mechanical efficiency, a series of swift, economical actions. They minimized their movements, striking down anything daring to breach their perimeter. Enclyde sprang into action. Was it said that one trained spearman was typically required to defeat a single ghoul? A well-trained soldier could even take on a ghoul solo. Even if a thousand of such creatures should come, Enclyde would survive. ‘Hit and run tactics would do.’ Alone, such tactics suffice. Guarding Crang while doing so? Even carrying her would be possible while fighting. But just now, he wasn't alone. With his company, there was no need to dodge. He could strike back fiercely. They slashed and killed swiftly. The monsters’ black blood mingled with rain-soaked earth. "Monster herding, it seems," Jaxen remarked after the commotion subsided. He meant someone was driving the monsters here deliberately. Monster herding, pushing, and setting loose were various names for this infamous tactic. "This won't be the end," Jaxen continued, wiping his sword with a cloth and discarding it onto the ground. To him, this was far from over. Ignoring monsters swarming towards one's lands or just redirecting them is one thing, but deliberately sending a mass is no ordinary feat. Certainly, these were tenacious adversaries. "Let them come," declared Dunbakel, puffing out his chest. Monsters were no threat. Even Jagged-eye joined in, viciously stomping the head of a salivating human-faced canine. More than five head-splattered canines lay about the feral horse. With a snort and a shake of his mane, Jagged-eye expressed his disdain. "It's going to get more unpleasant," Jaxen stated with firm conviction. He spoke from experience and expectation, having been on the offensive side countless times before. ‘Have they gathered finally?’ This wasn't the effort of just one or two guilds. The scale was far too grand. In Nawrylia, there certainly existed assassin guilds resembling those of Auzpen's Monter's Swamp, but here, they seemed to be competitors in coexistence, not totally dominant. Their numbers were substantial. With the domestic political landscape in turmoil and wars breaking out everywhere for years, some nobles saw an opportunity and came together to form guilds. There were also those who touted their skills in assassination, taking jobs from commoners. Over time, only twelve guilds managed to survive in such a merciless ecosystem. Presently, these guilds, each having sustained themselves individually, rallied together to form the Alliance of the Twelve Daggers. "We hired dozens of mercenaries and sent our own people, but all efforts failed." "Because they faced that insane company." Assassin guilds, by nature, are keen on intelligence. It was no surprise they realized the failure immediately. They had stationed themselves in an urban mansion, the nearest city to the capital, modifying it to suit their needs. Security and defense were rigorous, naturally. "Are you just going to let it slide?" "Everyone knows what a failed job implies." Among the Twelve Daggers, there was always a guild leader with the most influence. The woman who wielded the most power before the alliance addressed everyone. "We have to do everything we can." To give up meant death. The client was in the royal palace. Both failure and surrender spelled the same fatal end. To survive, there were two choices. They could either flee, abandoning their established foundations... 'Or they could succeed.' Both she and the other guild leaders dreamt of the rewards that would follow such success. Abandoning everything and running? It was laughable. Rather, they would push themselves to the limits to see the mission through. This was about changing the ruler of the land. Naturally, this would entail significant rewards. Determined not to back down, even setting aside their pride, they unified. With unity achieved, the woman acted as the rallying point. "Our opponents are renowned individuals from the battlefield. Winning against them in direct combat is a lost cause. Let's fight on our own stage, by our own rules." "Absolutely." The man presumed to be her consort was the first to agree. "That's just stating the obvious," another guild leader, despite harboring jealousy towards her, still nodded in assent. They agreed to move in their unique way. The enemy couldn’t know all the tricks of the assassins; they would get caught off-guard at least once. And that would be the end. Even if they had experience with bounty hunting before, understanding an assassin’s prepared traps in detail was beyond their scope. All having been weathered in battles, their judgment was naturally astute. --- "Help me!" A voice rang out along the roadside. A youth, the signs of adolescence still clinging to him, was sprawled on the ground, appearing as though trapped. Upon seeing Enkryd and his companions, he cried out desperately for his life. "Please save me! My father is a landowner with tenants! I will repay you! I will reward you!" His words were punctuated with overflowing tears. "What’s caused you to be trapped here?" It was Jaxen who asked, before Enkryd had a chance. Though there was an air of unfamiliarity in his tone, it mirrored the one he used when imitating Crysler. Masquerading in kindness and sincerity, he inquired further. "Well, I was on my way to sell some wheat, and after sleeping, I woke up like this..." In essence, the lad had no idea what had happened to him. Shall we aid him?" the escort, Chae-Chik, asked, feeling uneasy. Enkryd looked at the trapped person. He seemed genuine. "Please, please. Deva-al." Through sniffling speech, possibly due to biting his tongue, he pleaded. "It's a trap. It looks like they've set up traps around him," Jaxen observed, his look scanning the area around the youth. Traps were hidden in the ground, and distant hints of toxicity tickled his nose. "Would he die if we left him?" "He would. That's what the trap is there for." Ignoring it was an option, but that was what the enemy counted on. "If we ignore it, they'll claim we killed him." "A double trap, then?" Enkryd queried. Jaxen succinctly laid out what would follow. It was a no-win situation designed to catch them in the city they intended to restock supplies and take a break. The trap forced their hand—help the youth and risk the hidden traps, or ignore him and face troublesome accusations in the next city. "They'll use a grieving father crying, 'Those men killed my son,' against us." By hiring actors, or through hostage-taking, coercion, or manipulation, the so-called landowner would utter exactly those words against them. ‘Bind their hands in the city.’ Get them disoriented, then strike from behind with a dagger. Surely there was a team ready for that. What a sneaky ploy, Jaxen thought, as Enkryd made up his mind. "Dunbakel." "Yeah?" "Fetch him." As displayed in the previous battle, Dunbakel darted quickly and effortlessly. He could ignore the traps entirely and save the man. "Sure." Dunbakel didn’t question it. If Enkryd ordered it, Dunbakel executed. That was how he thought. The present trap was designed to trigger various hidden mechanisms when someone approached to help, but... With a running jump, Dunbakel invalidated all of them. Boom! The ground erupted, deformed into muddy pits where Dunbakel pressed. Dunbakel sailed forward, landing briskly at the trap site, snatching and forcing it open. The iron contraption constricting the youth’s ankle relinquished its hold with a satisfying crack. The young man, overwhelmed by tears and mucus, fell into Dunbakel’s arms. Carrying the landowner's son in a princess-style hold, Dunbakel secured a few steps back, then sprinted, clearing the entire trap in a single leap. An exhibition of the incredible thigh strength of beastmen. The only remnant in the air was the youthful victim's scream of fear. The landowner's son was now safely nestled with the group. Enkryd examined the hostage’s wound, applying powdered medicine to stem the bleeding before wrapping it in a bandage. “Thank you, thank you.” He was an ordinary person. A civilian. Intuition spoke volumes that he had no ties to assassination. Jaxen had reached a similar conclusion. Had they left, they'd be pegged murderers of a city notable’s son. In saving him, they had unwound the layers of a complex trap designed to mire them. Thanks to the powerful thigh muscles of the beastmen and Jaxen's keen experience, all traps had been shattered. Yet the assassination attempts were relentless. "Help us!" came a desperate cry. It appeared to be a caravan group, bloodied and frantically claiming they were being chased by monsters. They weren't just approaching—they were sprinting. Enkryd squinted at the approaching figures. Are they truly merchants? It’s a basic tenet for an assassin to hide oneself and mask hostility. And that’s exactly what these people were doing. Suspicion arose, yet certainty escaped him. Behind them, several ghouls appeared, corroborating their claim of a monster pursuit. Still, something tickled at his mind, a warning from his intuition. But what triggered it? Through honed sword disciplines, accelerated reasoning became a tool. ‘Their injuries…’ Not a single one of them had leg injuries. Moreover, those supposedly fleeing in fear maintained an even breath. All of this was processed within the realm of intuition. "They’re enemies." That conclusion, affirmed by Jaxen’s nod, still left Enkryd taking further action. Using a throwing technique he learned from Jaxen, he flung a dagger. The dagger seemed to aim for the throat but suddenly plunged downward. The portly merchant, who had been pleading for help, dodged to the side. Had he not, it would have left a neat dagger ornament in his thigh. Yet he evaded it. The agility displayed in that form hinted at rigorous training—telling of someone not ordinary. "Heartless bastard," the dodging, portly assassin muttered. The irony of an assassin making such an accusation was not lost on Enkryd. Tongue sharp, he retorted with a light verbal jab. "Are you pregnant?" The assassin’s eyebrows pinched in irritation—a jab at his masculinity. Despite years of training to maintain composure at all times, unexpected insults could still momentarily unsettle him. He failed to mask this irritation. His reaction, a fraction slower than usual. And this lapse was decisive. By the time the portly assassin detected the silent glide of a second dagger, it was already too late. Thunk. As a silent knife embedded itself in his neck, he clutched at his throat, crimson blood cascading between his fingers.