358 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

358. Wait, Hold on. Catching an incoming arrow was nothing short of a feat. Even if you know it's coming, it's impressive, so doing it when it's suddenly flying at you, sometimes aiming for the back of your head, is mind-boggling. Not only did he sense it and dodge, but he actually caught it. This was accomplished through a harmony of sensory skill and intense focus. "......Wow." "What, what is that!" Two of the trainees whispered in astonishment. The remaining three were too shocked to speak. Anyone witnessing it would surely find it incredible. One was amazed by the act of catching an arrow, while the other was startled by the unexpected arrival of an arrow. Enclyde turned his eyes towards the top of the outer wall. There was a figure, hiding nothing but their face, perched atop the wall. Standing on such a narrow edge without a hint of wobbling, it seemed to testify to their extraordinary sense of balance. Their attire was ordinary—a loose shirt and short pants that reached their ankles. Perhaps they abstained from black clothing since it wasn't nighttime. Though they did sport a mask. Enclyde tilted his head curiously. The figure had thrown an arrow but made no further move, as if waiting for a response. "Well......" As the figure finally opened their mouth to speak. Enclyde swiftly hurled the arrow back at them. With a whoosh, the arrow flew in reverse, aimed at the adversary. It was a mercenary sword technique from Valen, known as the “Strike While Speaking.” With a whoosh, the arrow, thrown utilizing a throwing technique, prompted the opponent to leap sideways and then relocate laterally. 'Their body is light.' Thinking to himself, Enclyde's hands moved instinctively. After tossing the arrow as bait, he promptly threw another weapon—a dagger. Wheeeee! It was a rare whistle dagger, used at this moment despite its scarcity. As it flew with a whistle and terrifying speed, the figure atop the wall leapt backward. Enclyde pressed his right foot into the ground, bending his knee to generate rebound force. Though explained in steps, naturally all movements occurred in an instant. Bang! Enclyde surged forward, leaving a hole in the dirt ground of the training yard. Proportionately to the hole exploded in the ground, his body flew forward at an alarming speed. To the trainees' eyes, not even an afterimage remained. "He's insane!" A voice came from beyond the wall. Ignoring the shout, Enclyde leaped atop the wall. Though not fully armored, he carried three swords. The five trainees, just blinking and watching, opened their mouths even wider. Carrying three swords and donning leather armor, he jumped upward as if defying gravity—a movement that seemed like some sort of scam. Something like mysticism, trickery, magic, or something akin to it. Enclyde gracefully pulled himself up the wall by hooking his fingertips on the edge. How does one even do that? Magic? By the time the heads of the five trainees were brimming with confusion. Esther, who had woken up by now, watched through bleary eyes. Certainly, there was no magic involved. It was the work of something physically extraordinary, disregarding limits. Enclyde hoisted his body up, and during that time, two men waiting behind the wall brandished shortswords. The two men leaped in place, swinging their swords. The dual blades aimed to slash Enclyde’s wrist as he climbed halfway up the wall. Enclyde simply released his left hand. Whizz. The blades meant for the hand on the wall sliced through thin air, as Enclyde took hold of the wall with his right hand, pulling himself up once more. Shoo—and up he went. As he floated in the air, the surprise of the two waiting below was visible. Their eyes, their pupils, trembled. Being silhouetted against the sunlight, to them, it seemed as if a dark shadow suddenly appeared. "Hold up!" One of them shouted, but Enclyde didn't care. Why extend consideration to someone who initiated the attack? Twisting his body mid-air, Enclyde gripped a gladius in his right hand and a spark in his left. To the attackers, it looked as if Enclyde's eyes emitted some kind of light. His silhouette against the sunlight appeared eerie. Even as he seemed to halt mid-air, both of Enclyde’s hands moved in a blink. The dark shadow and glowing eyes, coupled with two beams of light packing physical threat, fiercely spread out to the sides. Clang! Thud! With his right hand, a swift strike as he unsheathed his sword. With his left, a thrust as he withdrew. Simultaneous strikes using two different sword techniques hit both adversaries. Though the foe on the right managed to block with an upright blade, the one on the left wasn't as fortunate. The blade pierced directly through the left shoulder. Luck was on his side that it was just that. What Enclyde recently understood had been imbued in his swing. ‘Not enough.’ The instantaneous will was placed in his left hand, a pressing sword in his right. As he taught and fended off attackers, he assimilated and realized. Soon enough, the path he must tread became clear. With a thud, Enclyde landed on the ground, putting one knee down and lifting his head, a smile unwittingly formed on his face. Is there a time to learning? Every moment, everything is a mentor and a lesson. He learned the something imbued with vigor from Crang’s back and from Andrew’s honed skills, blending swordsmanship with wrestling. There is much more to learn even here. For Enclyde, that's enough to feel satisfied with having come all the way to the capital and having guarded Crang. He was such a person by nature. Though from the opposite perspective, it was an astonishing affair. Leaping over the wall in an instant, dispatching one foe with a short sword in mid-air and piercing the shoulder of another, landing only to smile? The light shimmering in his eyes could indeed seem like madness. "He's a maniac!" One of the assailants shouted. Enclyde paid no heed to their voices. Who were these people? His instinct told him, yet he was confident. ‘Is there any difference from those who came before?’ Not much of a difference. Then, it’s simple—cut them down. He couldn’t sense any difference from the assassins he faced en route to this place. They belonged to the same group. With that, he mentally prepared to move. These were also assassins, trained and honed in their skills, particularly adept at gauging the force of an opponent. As Enclade pressed the attack, one of them hastily spoke up. “Stop!” It was a plea for calm, but as expected, it was pointless. They were already deemed enemies. Whoosh. He closed the distance. His footsteps were so swift that it was hard to tell when they touched the ground. Simultaneously, a long line drew above his head. There were three attackers, and only the one who initially shot the arrow from the wall remained unharmed. That unscathed one was the one who shouted "Stop", but no sooner had he finished speaking than a blade descended towards him overhead. To an observer, it seemed as though the space was contracting and a blade was cutting through it. ‘Damn!’ There wasn't even time to utter a curse. He drew his sword upward faster than ever before. In his hands were two curved blades. These were weapons that symbolized him—a key figure in an assassins' alliance. ‘I’ll block it and deflect.’ As he resolved this, his two curved blades rose to meet the incoming gleam. ‘Blocked it!’ But strangely, the moment when his blade met that gleam seemed to stretch out. This gave him a moment for reflection. However, there was no opportunity to ponder those thoughts. He focused solely on the act of blocking. ‘That was fast.’ Revelation struck him. The angle at which he drew the sword, the grip, the way he applied force. ‘Yes, that’s how it should be done.’ Memories of how to wield weapons and apply strength surfaced. But why hasn’t the impact arrived yet? As he stared intently at the gleam, it appeared to be gradually descending. The blade traced an unwavering line downward. Finally, the two weapons he held met the blade that seemed just a gleam. His thoughts ceased there. Boom! Crack! Snap! Enclade imbued his swinging sword with an ‘instant’ will. What does speed derive from? “Agility is fundamentally about properly contracting the muscles to generate power. Those who build bulk like lumps and move slowly, they’re all idiots, idiots.” Said Rem. “It’s muscle, Brother.” Added Audin. Muscles—specifically, muscles that know how to be used and controlled correctly. The quads, waist, abs, shoulders, forearms, hands—all muscles contracted, adding explosive speed. Then, twisting his ankle and waist amplified the centrifugal force, powering the downward-slashing sword. The resulting strike was akin to a thunderbolt. It was a reinterpretation of Ragnar’s Thunderbolt Strike. It would take someone at least at the level of a junior knight to block such a blow. It was a will of a downward strike, not a thrust. Thus, this was inevitable. Falling like a thunderbolt onto trained muscles, it pushed the two curved blades downward. The initial explosion was the sound of metals clashing. The subsequent crackling was the sound of the arms and bones of the one wielding the curved blades breaking. The final crunch was from the unsharpened part of the curved blade being pushed back and striking his collarbone. Enclade crushed the enemy in a single blow. “Phew.” Expelling a long breath in that state. The other two attackers didn’t dare approach. The one with a hole in his shoulder clutched a poison called ‘Ten Breaths,’ yet couldn’t move a muscle. With his back to the shadow cast by the wall, Enclade exhaled, his breath rising like steam. A phenomenon caused by the heat generated from his rapid movements. “Stop? Wait? Do you have anything to say?” Only then did Enclade speak. ‘Damn, took your time asking.’ The attacker who blocked the gladius with two broken fingers thought to himself as he began to rise and speak. “We came to deliver a warning.” “A warning?” Is it just my imagination that it feels like they came for a beating rather than a warning? Enclade watched them, as if urging them to continue. “Well, we came to say this isn't a place you should be, to leave.” This came from the one with the hole in his left shoulder. “You attacked first.” “It was avoidable.” “Ridiculous. Even after all your previous attempts, chopping off you two’s heads wouldn’t leave you with any protest.” No sooner had he finished speaking than the one with the pierced shoulder threw a smoke bomb onto the ground. With a puff, smoke billowed. Seeing that, Enclade couldn’t help but think they underestimated him greatly. Do they think a smoke bomb would work in their favor? Retrieving his spark and extending his gladius, he swung the blade to create a wide fan of air. Whoosh! Physical prowess that surpassed certain limits was indistinguishable from spellcasting. The smoke scattered to the sides. Enclade anticipated that they would continue their assault. As they always had before. However, that expectation went unmet. ‘I let my guard down.’ Enclade acknowledged it. He never expected they’d flee—yet they all ran. “What’s going on?” Andrew emerged belatedly from the mansion, rushing over. He was armed, followed by the five trainees and Mac. Though he’d turned towards being a butler, it appeared he hadn’t neglected his training. Given the atmosphere in the capital, it wasn’t the time to lay down swords and rest. There were too many concerns in this place. “They’ve already gone.” Andrew sensed the presence of attackers too. His eyes fell upon the corpse. “Who is that?” “They attacked, I gave them a blow, and they died.” Both arms and some bones were broken, the collarbone shattered. His internal organs were shocked, and his heart was struck by the back of his own weapon, leading him to cross over. “This is absurd. In broad daylight, crossing the wall of a noble’s mansion? Not even at night?” Andrew noted the fallen and the traces of smoke with anger in his voice. Enclade was piecing together the situation. These were assassins. Why strike now? ‘Jaxen is away, and everyone’s scattered.’ There couldn’t have been a better timing. Which means... ‘They’re watching us.’ Beside him, Andrew ground his teeth. “Damn bastards.” It was a blow to his pride, and he was undoubtedly furious. Enclade brushed off the blood on his sword, sheathing it before raking a hand through his hair. Until just recently, things weren't so bad. There had been moments of enlightenment. For someone like Ragna or Rem, breaking past walls may happen a dozen times a day, but for Enclade, such progress required a bit of luck if not for relentless repetition. Then a sudden thought struck him. Is there a way to better seize that luck for oneself? To do that, he needed to understand the current situation. “What about the knights or the knight orders?” He zeroed in on the main point, asking directly. Andrew's lower lip trembled slightly. What defines the military strength of the kingdom? Naturally, it’s the knights. Without knights, or the ability to train them, they’d be easy prey for Azpen. Local skirmishes weren’t the issue. If Naurolia’s military was even slightly outmatched, Azpen would have wasted no time deploying their full strength to breach the borders. The reason they never crossed the border was because of the knight orders’ presence. Faced with complete conflict, Azpen had deemed it unfavorable to wage a war that could cripple their own strength. Understanding and predicting the situation. That was the need of the hour. That’s what Enclade thought about. ‘Such analysis is really King-eye’s specialty, though.’ But since he wasn’t around, what could be done? If you have no teeth, you make do with gums. “Are you aware of the current state of affairs in the country?” Andrew took a moment before turning the question back to him. “I don’t know.” Enclade replied cheerfully. He clearly didn’t care much about it. Seeing this, Andrew somewhat understood why Crang held his mad captain in such high regard. How many can admit they don’t know something? Such forthrightness and strength of character. His abilities, too. ‘A monster, indeed.’ He even wondered about the final thoughts of the fallen corpse. Why does that guy seem to be smirking, though? It was because, at the moment of death, he’d glimpsed enlightenment even alongside the proverbial hourglass. But Andrew couldn’t have known that. “There isn’t a single knight in the capital right now. We should discuss this inside.” This wasn’t for the trainees to hear. “Mac.” Andrew said as he turned around. “Yes, I’ll get things organized.” Mac’s complexion looked terribly off. Enclade thought that was only natural. If he too had a lord who bet everything on a losing hand, he’d be at his wit’s end. Though he hadn’t fully heard the situation, he could feel the weight of it. ‘Isn’t this a losing battle?’ It was blatantly obvious without much thought. From Crang’s perspective, it's a succession of dangers. In fact, it seemed more prudent to strengthen their forces externally and later return with reinforcements to impose power. “What happened? What’s with all the commotion?” Rem returned before evening fell. “There weren’t any good goods.” Dunbakel was with him, and a bit later, Ragna arrived. “Why does that gentleman keep talking about shortcuts when it's supposed to be his first time in the capital?” A servant who came along with him was heard grumbling, drenched in sweat despite the mild day. Sending an escort was indeed the right decision. Finally, Jaxen returned. “Where do you keep wandering off to?” Rem glanced and asked. They gathered in the lounge, which served as a reception area on the mansion’s first floor. Though Rem himself had been wandering, he seemed to have already forgotten about it. That’s so Rem. Jaxen completely ignored Rem’s comment. He didn’t even glance his way, pretending not to hear. Though he often ignored comments, it felt like he genuinely didn’t care this time. He then directed his gaze at Enclade. When Enclade saw Jaxen, he spoke up. “You’re back?” Jaxen nodded. To Enclade, the way Jaxen nodded seemed like he was lost in some sort of thought. It was a subtle and delicate observation—one not easily noticed without sharp instincts. “Is there something going on?” “No, nothing.” The answer came immediately. That too was odd. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t respond like that. ‘Should there be something going on?’ Or perhaps. ‘It seems something is happening here instead.’ That should have been his answer, right? But it wasn’t. Why? It sparked curiosity, but would he answer if asked? If so, they wouldn’t be called the band of madmen. For now. “Andrew, continue with what you were saying.” Finishing the explanation he had been listening to was a priority. Whether something was being done or not, it was essential to understand the ongoing situation.