360 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

360. The Stab Silent Stabbing. This was Jaxen's specialty. There was no sound, no presence. A blade moving quietly was simply fulfilling the role for which it was born. Born to stab, slice, and cleave flesh, and that is how it would be used. The silent blade was aimed at Enkried’s back. If it pierced through, the mission would be complete. "A duel, you say?" Jaxen found himself looking into Enkried’s eyes, who had already turned around. The sword which had been executing the silent stab came to a halt, freezing in mid-motion with his right hand outstretched. 'Did he sense it and react?' It meant the silent stab was compromised. Ting. Enkried had drawn and swung his silver longsword. It lightly tapped Jaxen's halted blade—a ceremonial gesture. Jaxen drew back his sword, which had been deflected to the side, bringing it back in front of himself. The vibration from the blade transmitted through his entire body. "I named it Silver. My sword." Enkried spoke, holding his sword upright. The blade caught the moonlight at an angle. Watching this, Jaxen realized what had happened moments ago. The silent stab hadn’t been broken—it had never been fully executed. 'Did I not have the resolve?' It lacked the intent. The presence wasn’t fully suppressed. Why? "Jaxen." His name was called. The eyes reflecting the moonlight shone with a blue hue. A fierce intent rose from the blade in Enkried’s grip. His shoulder shifted ever so slightly, prompting Jaxen to move. Reading his stance, Jaxen anticipated the next attack and retreated. Whum. The longsword, which Enkried called Silver, traced a brief arc through the space Jaxen had occupied. With his right hand gripping the sword and his left the ricasso, Enkried executed a swift motion that defined a short trajectory. It was an attack made with confidence in the sword’s sharpness. Rather than relying on centrifugal force, it was a cut that emphasized the sharpness of the blade. "Let your guard down, and you'll lose a part of yourself." Enkried stated, his blue eyes piercing through the darkness of the night between the sword in his hands. It was a statement filled with intent. Eyes filled with intent. Accepting that intent, Jaxen analyzed the attack. In an instant, he spoke. "Are you planning to leverage the weapon's advantage?" Normally, actions, not words, would follow, but Jaxen chose to speak. He acknowledged that he was not his usual self but didn't dwell on it. So he simply acted on his instinct. Is this for the mission? Or is it for revenge? Is stabbing his back the right action? 'Does it matter?' Inwardly, Jaxen mimicked Enkried's typical manner of speech. He was not consciously doing it. Enkried exhaled deeply. It seemed as though his breath became visible in the moonlight, carrying that much intent. "I’m serious. If you hold back, you'll get hurt, Jaxen." Enkried was not the same as before. He had changed. Beyond comparison to the man they initially met. What had been observed in the man who swung his sword silently and resolutely? The individual who was often trampled upon and had his name as the only indication of rank wasn’t there anymore. His presence seemed larger than life. Jaxen threw his sword to the ground. The blade landed with a thud, embedding itself into the earth. Then he drew another weapon, a stiletto. "That?" Enkried recognized it. It was an item once contested and ultimately claimed by Leona Lockfreed. A weapon given with ease. It was the stiletto from the Carmen Collection. Jaxen casually ran his eyes over the stiletto’s blade. Did he understand its value when he gave it? At that time, Enkried had shown no ulterior motives. Jaxen aimed at him with the gifted blade. "Please don’t let your guard down. It’s a request." A request—a word Jaxen had never uttered before. Enkried’s lips twisted into a smile. "Half a life." Enkried remarked. It signified just how dangerous he assumed the encounter would be. It also signified a departure from previous sparring sessions. Enkried's eyes blazed intensely as he focused forward. Their eyes met, and Jaxen relaxed his arm. At that moment, a silent dagger flew towards Enkried’s forehead. A sense for evasion activated. Even unseen and unheard, it could be avoided—exercising instinctual sensory. Enkried sensed and evaded. Tilting his head away, the bladed projectile harmlessly passed. Then, another dagger was felt in the path he had evaded to. 'A time lag.' A method Jaxen had taught him within single-knife throwing techniques. However, he hadn’t expected him to start there immediately. One can't predict everything. He hadn't predicted it, but his body reacted naturally. Enkried used his sword like a shield to defend himself. Clang! A spark flew as the blades met, cutting through the moonlight. In the brief moment the two blades soared towards him, Enkried tapped the ground lightly with his left foot. A subtle act to redirect Jaxen’s attention to the sword. Then, he kicked his front foot forward. Thud. Soil scattered forward. Mixed with some wild grass, it momentarily obstructed the view. Instinctively, Jaxen dropped his gaze and reversed his grip on the stiletto, moving to the side. Ping. Almost simultaneously with the cloud of dirt, the silver longsword stabbed forward, but Jaxen anticipated and dodged it. Jaxen’s forte lay in frontal offense. During direct confrontations, he enjoyed calculating his opponent and drawing them into his strategy. This time was no different. Though an additional element was present. To Enkried, Jaxen appeared like a beast with hidden claws. Conversely, to Jaxen, Enkried felt like a smooth and solid rock. No easily visible openings. That’s how much he had grown. Thus, "This will be fun." Jaxen murmured. Enkried responded to those words. "Tell me about it." * * * "...Wow, have you been getting beaten up?" Andrew had given them separate rooms. However, there was only one staircase leading up to them. In front of that, Rem was playing around, tossing his axe in the air and catching it. Seeing the slight swelling on Jaxen's left cheekbone, Rem grinned and spoke. "Instead of striking from behind, you went straight on? That's not your usual style. Why? Got rejected by a girl? Is that why you're out of your mind?" The way he spurted nonsense made it clear he was overly cheerful. Normally, Jaxen would have ignored him, and just a moment ago, he would have pretended not to hear a word, but the atmosphere had shifted. His previously tight-lipped demeanor softened just enough for a retort. "Rejected? Do you think I'm you?" With those six words, Rem felt a sense of defeat. Based solely on looks, Jaxen's face was undoubtedly exceptional. He could have easily been the face of any salon. "A man's appeal lies in his rawness, you fool." Rem retorted, thinking to himself. He seems to have shed some of that tension. “I’m not in the mood to break up a fight today. If you two are going to fight, do it outside. Don’t break anything in the house.” Enkried approached from behind Jaxen, speaking up. Andrew must be a bit stingy, as there weren't many candles around the house. Lamps were even rarer. Judging by the meals and general state, they didn’t appear wealthy. The wooden swords used by trainees were a telltale sign. As a result, the mansion grew dim as night fell. Enkried seemed to emerge from the depths of those shadows. Of course, Rem had already sensed his presence. "Were you facing off against the boss?" Rem asked, peeking down from the stairs. As he neared the wall sconce, Enkried’s condition became evident. If Jaxen's left cheekbone was swollen, Enkried's one eye was puffed up, and he limped slightly. There was a small puncture in his forearm. Bloodied cloth wrapped tightly around it testified to a stab from a dagger. Oh dear? Even Rem could see that Enkried's physique had grown sturdy, reaching a level of solidity. His skills? Now, even those were undeniable. To have such an effect on someone like that? It meant both Jaxen and Enkried were serious about the fight. "So, did you hit him from behind?" At this redundant question, Jaxen determined there was truly no point in engaging. "Move aside, before I take that useless head of yours and toss it aside." "Why don't you try it? I won't hold back just because you’ve taken a hit, punk." "Rem, give it a rest." Enkried intervened. Rem smacked his lips and stood up on his heels. The old wooden stairs creaked with a long drawn-out squeak. Rising to his full height, Rem leapt down soundlessly despite carrying an axe and not being small himself. It was a skill reserved for those like him. Like a cat landing silently on the ground. "Just messing around. Still, we’re in the same unit, so I thought I’d pay back anyone who laid a hand on you. I am a loyal fellow, after all. But, it was a duel?" During this, Jaxen climbed the stairs swiftly. He flowed noiselessly; he was several steps ahead in the art of silent movement. Rem noticed this, briefly glancing upward. He could almost see only Jaxen's heels as he disappeared from view. Rem turned his head back, speaking again. "You look pretty hurt." "It's nothing." Enkried felt a twinge of pain around his left hip, but it wasn’t serious. The limp was more an aid for faster recovery, not because he couldn’t walk. One of the wounds on his body was even self-inflicted. In other words, it was an expected level of injury. "So, what happened?" Is he unaware that it was a duel? No, he knows. There’s a deeper meaning to his question. He’s asking why I would spar so intensely given Jaxen’s condition. Because Jaxen was acting differently than usual. Enkried mused to himself with a realization, 'Ah.' Despite appearances, Rem is sharp, quick to assess situations, and knows his role well. "They said you were on the run because you killed a noble’s son. You had your hands full with that." A memory resurfaced of something Rem had said before. Killing a noble’s son and running means he must have had a reason enabling him to do it. Had it been necessary to kill him in secret, he would have done so. Yet if he killed openly and revealed it was his doing, there must have been ample reason... Memories of how Rem had shown himself uncharacteristically popped into Enkried’s mind. It seemed random, but Enkried finally understood why Rem didn’t immediately flee after killing the noble’s child. He wanted all eyes, especially those of the nobles, fixed on him. It had to be done. "You made it appear you were the cause of everything." Enkried murmured. Rem blinked. What on earth was going through his head now? Spouting nonsense as usual. "Have you lost your senses? You feeling unwell?" Rem tapped his own head with his index finger. Enkried ignored him and continued to think. He remembered something Krais once mentioned. Krais often observed the temperament and attitudes of unit members; this was one of his remarks. "If the captain is lazy when it comes to thinking, Rem is a bit different." "Different how?" "Rem often knows everything and plays dumb, only revealing himself when necessary." If he had snuck away after killing the noble’s child, what would have happened to the common folk who suffered under him? Rem showed himself, telling them not to vent their anger on the innocents. To chase him instead. He probably left just enough traces during his escape to engage them in repeated skirmishes. Luring them to focus solely on him. Once he felt he had bought enough time, he vanished, heading to the borders. Cunning bastard. Rem looked at Enkried for a long moment and then opened his mouth again. "You spout nonsense, and now what’s with your eyes? Huh? They seem a bit off." Enkried shook his head. It’s nothing, he implied. And he continued to think. It’s true, come to think of it. Before I came to the unit and became the mediator, Rem only caused manageable mischief. The real troublemaking and devil-may-care actions happened after my arrival. 'Because he could.' By doing so, he established his nature. Making it clear to outsiders not to mess with him lightly, letting him live freely within bounds. A sly stray cat? Who’s the real sly one here? "Look seriously, there’s something off with your eyes." "Let’s stick around a bit longer." Enkried didn’t bother matching Rem's tone anymore. He’s perceptive and sharp enough to understand what he intended to say. Rem's eyes were still filled with suspicion, but he decided to play along with Enkried's rhythm. "Because of that stray cat problem?" "Well, among other things." The room Jaxen had gone into was directly at the top of the stairs. They hadn't gone out of their way to hide anything, so he had likely heard their entire conversation. "Bringing nothing but trouble, that cat." Rem grumbled in his usual manner. Still, he didn't mention returning or giving up. Enkried began ascending the stairs. As he did, he recalled their earlier fight. More precisely, the moment right after their so-called duel had ended. "Go ahead, stab." This was what he had told Jaxen immediately after the duel. Jaxen didn't readily extend his blade. "It's enough now." Jaxen shook his head. Watching Jaxen, Enkried reiterated. "Once in a while, it's okay." The man before him had taught him invaluable skills. In return, he wouldn't have minded being stabbed once. Enkried genuinely believed this. When Jaxen initially drew his sword behind him, Enkried had sensed malice—a mix of hesitation, worry, and turmoil lingered at the sword's tip. He discerned all of it with a single swing of the blade. Responding to all that contemplation and worry with their duel, Enkried came to a realization. Whoever it was, they were quite adept at scheming in various ways. "I was given a contract to stab you." This was what Jaxen confessed mid-conversation. Enkried was curious about the mysterious instigator lurking in the shadows. A warning, a contract, a scheme. Every assassin and assassination attempt he had encountered on his journey here seemed to be the handiwork of that person. Creak. The wooden stairs groaned underfoot. Enkried pondered as he reached his room. In the end, he realized he would need to provide a response to what had been thrown his way. And it would be an answer that the instigator would least expect.