373 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 373: Sequential Ill-Fated Encounters By the time the group led by Loford reached the west, the coalition army of Viscount Mernes had already blocked the gates of the fortress. ‘There are so many of them.’ Even at just a glance, there was no shortage of opponents. There were even siege weapons visible. In front of the army stood ten individuals, each looking formidable and intently gazing at the castle walls. Their armaments varied, but their presence was extraordinary. Among them was a face Loford recognized. “The deserter.” He was someone who had caused trouble in the knighthood and fled. When the deserter caught sight of Loford atop the walls, he smirked. “Idiot.” Seeing him mouth those words sent a chill down Loford’s spine. This man had been Loford’s senior, and his skills far surpassed his own. Though not on a knight’s level, he was a terrifying opponent in a fight where no method was off-limits. Who knew how formidable the nine with him would be? And furthermore, one man standing behind the nine seemed to hold a higher status. He wore a helmet adorned with a sharp horn. With horns also attached to his shoulder armor, his taste was as unique as his abilities were unknown. While the ten in front were threatening, how could one stop the forces assembled behind them? As a sense of impending defeat crept in, a beastman’s voice broke through. "There are some interesting ones here," it said. Shortly thereafter, a voice from the lost swordsman followed. "One of them seems usable. The rest aren’t impressive." Loford was taken aback by their utter lack of concern amidst the situation. “Open the gates! We come as the Viscount’s forces to capture the traitor!” shouted the enemy commander, someone Loford didn’t recognize. His clean-cut appearance was complemented by a helmet tucked into his side, a sword dangling from his hip, and a shield reflecting the sun. The soldiers on the wall were visibly afraid. If they faltered here, the battle would be lost before it began. ‘Resolve.’ He reminded himself anew. There was a wall to defend and a purpose to uphold. Taking a deep breath, Loford shouted back. "We cannot comply! The Queen has issued no such orders!" He hoped not to appear like a frightened dog. “Why don’t you just open it?” The escaped squire taunted with a sneer, suggesting what resistance they could muster was futile. “…Step back.” Loford bit his teeth, acknowledging they now had to fend off the incoming force. Though only ten were leading, their mere presence seemed to dampen the spirits of the wall’s defenders. Ragna was not a commander who could encompass all this. He was more comfortable with a sword than with words. Hence, he decided to act accordingly. Dunbakel shared the same resolution. He simply tapped the curved swords calmly resting on either of his sides. Words were hard for both, so it was time to communicate through other means. * * * Right after Ragna departed, Encreed noticed the one-eyed horse. It had seemingly been watching the commotion from within. Without hesitation, Encreed spoke. “Give me a ride.” The horse was a friend. Asking for a favor wasn’t beyond Encreed’s comfort. In his mind, he was mapping out the quickest route to the palace. A mounted ride was essential. Racing through the path he'd taken by carriage before was the fastest way. Speaking with that in mind, he addressed the one-eyed horse. It blinked once before turning sideways. Taking it as a sign of agreement, he moved, just as an arrow whizzed past. Encreed tilted his head back, narrowly avoiding the bolt that shot past his face. Familiar figures appeared over the wall. Though the sun had not yet set, a masked group numbering over thirty loomed above. Their garb and demeanor were familiar, like those he had encountered several times before. “Aren’t you guys tired of this?” Encreed questioned. What cause justified their relentless pursuit? Was it a contract? No, the gravity with which they pursued wasn’t because of a mere contract. That much was evident. He had dealt with mages and various assassins. Yet the sheer scale of this force meant that they had thrown everything they could muster into this effort. It seemed as if they too were risking their lives to be here. “The job doesn’t stop because it’s tedious. It’s an obligation.” A voice came from the far left of Encreed’s vantage, belonging to a man whose drooping arms appeared twice the length of any other’s. Yet, his appearance wasn’t lax. He merely let his arms hang. Among them stood one unmasked figure, centrally positioned on the wall. He alone stood, while others sat crouched or slightly hunched. The man in the center was a white-haired monocle-wearer, impeccably dressed in a shirt and jacket. He tapped his cane-sword against the wall’s surface as he spoke. “You were supposed to stab him, but you did not. Do you not value the contract?” His gaze shifted beyond Encreed, aiming at Saxon. ‘This must be the one who propositioned Saxon.’ Encreed chose not to turn around. The fact that Saxon hadn’t refused immediately implied acceptance. Yet he had broken it. He didn’t follow through. Although told to kill, Encreed remained standing. “No, he kept his word. So now you must tell everything you know.” Encreed spoke in Saxon’s stead with a resolute tone. Saxon bit his lips lightly and averted his gaze, unwilling to be part of the conversation, as if what was being said was not to his liking. “What are you talking about? You’re standing there alive.” Countered the white-haired cane-sword wielder. He was a key figure in the assassin alliance. The entire union had thus gathered. The union leader concealed her presence, watching the situation while catching her breath. Disguising herself like a typical assassin, using deadly tactics, was her forte. “He stabbed me.” Encreed replied, his tone devoid of hesitation. “What?” “He did stab me. Right here, a precise poke. If you don’t believe it, perhaps you’d like me to be stabbed again now?” Encreed pointed to his left arm as he spoke. Though the wound had healed, there was a scar remaining as evidence, visible only up close. Moreover, it was covered by protective wrapping, making it impossible for anyone to see. So, what exactly was this guy talking about? The female assassin who led the alliance pondered deeply, a hint of doubt creeping into her mind. The white-haired assassin, following the same line of thought, asked, "...You got stabbed?" "You did tell him to stab me," Encreed replied effortlessly, not missing a beat. A short silence ensued. The task was done since he was stabbed as instructed. The fact that he didn't die was inconsequential, but he did get stabbed, truly. Encreed gestured repeatedly to his left arm, as if to say, Look. How annoying he seemed, causing the white-haired assassin's cheek to twitch. Some of the alliance's leadership understood Encreed's words and gawked in disbelief, while others felt an intense surge of murderous intent. Is this bastard mocking and belittling us? Behind him, Saxon exhaled a quiet sigh, relieved not to be heard. He’s really doing it. "You told him to stab me. So he stabbed me," Encreed continued. "No, that's not what it means," they protested. This was a conversation from when they sparred. Surely, Encreed couldn't have misunderstood. Encreed had merely repeated the same phrase with a smirk, ignoring any tales the other might tell. No doubt they were angry. Perhaps infuriated by their schemes? He was a peculiar individual, choosing to return the anger with soft, tactful expressions. "I was hurt. It hurt," Encreed added, eliciting a reaction from them. "This bastard is truly insane," the white-haired assassin scoffed. Saxon felt slightly embarrassed. There were things that could be forced and others that couldn't. Ignoring slang and implied meanings like this was reckless. Of course, Encreed had no true intention of insisting stubbornly. It was a provocation, designed to disrupt the temper of the opposite side and demonstrate his own annoyance. And indeed, such a gap had opened. Amidst the baffled assassins, a few couldn't help but wonder what nonsense they were witnessing. Encreed's hands moved faster than the eye. As the word "insane" escaped the lips of his opponent, Encreed thrust his hands forward. The result was the overlapping sound of "insane" and a shrill whistle. With hands outstretched, he flung two whistle daggers. Both daggers found their mark on the foreheads of two assassins. Thud! The two, with whistle daggers embedded in their foreheads, toppled backward. Even before the thud of their bodies hitting the ground resonated, Encreed and Saxon were already in motion. "You can go ahead," Saxon said, and Encreed nodded. The two split in opposite directions. Saxon pulled up his hooded robe as he veered away, adjusting his belt before disappearing into the shadows near the wall. Encreed glanced briefly at Saxon before drawing a deep breath and shouting. "All of you, come at me!" With his words, he stomped his left foot onto the ground. Boom! With the explosive power in his heart, the impact of his stomp left the earth beneath cracked. It was a display of immense strength. Naturally, the assassins were startled. The combination of his cry and stomp drew all eyes upon Encreed, shaking from the wall above. Provoking with nonsense was also a tactic to draw attention. What kind of craziness was going on, the assassins must have wondered. And yet, those carrying out their mission were not easily daunted. Instead of being overwhelmed, one quick-tempered assassin reached for a vial of 'Ten Breaths Poison.' Modified to release green smoke when broken, one breath would suffice for death, hence the name ten breaths. As he moved to throw it behind him— Thunk. He felt a fiery heat in his throat. Before the pain even registered, the heat spread throughout his body, his eyes closed. The world darkened, the sound of rippling water echoed. He died instantly. From the shadows, Saxon hid his presence and muffled his footsteps. The artifact proved invaluable, an acquisition from raiding the Black Knife Bandit settlement. The robe blocked his life force from seeping out, while his belt suppressed noise with its enchantment. With his presence hidden, he thrust a longsword into the neck of the assassin about to draw the poison. The sword tip pierced through, and as blood dripped to the ground, four assassins responded by keeping their distance. Simultaneously, darts were launched—poisoned darts. They struck where Saxon had been, though he'd already moved away, pressing up close to the wall. “Find him!” The white-haired swordsman shouted. He vanished quickly, evading even the assassin's senses. Blending into the wall, Saxon threw three silent flying blades. Two sails pierced the throats of two assassins, while one was blocked. The one who blocked it was the man with unnaturally long limbs. His eyes emitted a magical glint. It was an enchanted eye, imbued with incantations. "There he is!" He called out, pinpointing Saxon moving beneath the wall. Killing his presence and sound did not render him invisible. Saxon navigated the wall's blind spots. Whether seen or not, Saxon leaped lightly, wielding his longsword in a wide arc. From the vantage of the wall, it would appear a guillotine blade was swooping upward. Whoosh—the upward motion ensnared the arm of an assassin brandishing a modified crossbow. Thunk! With a mere swing, the energy wasn't enough to cleave through the wrist bone. The blade lodged halfway into the arm of the crossbow-wielding assassin. His response was to shoot the crossbow at Encreed. “Argh!” A scream erupted. "There he is!" Another assassin shouted. As another jumped from the wall, they hurled a dagger. Whistle, whistle! It was a whistle dagger. Saxon evaded by suddenly halting mid-run. A throwing knife lodged with a thud into the stone wall. Saxon continued running, swiftly retrieving the dagger embedded in the wall, and flung it both upward and sideways. The one thrown upwards was dodged by a nimble assassin, while the other was blocked by someone who had pulled out a shield from somewhere. While it seemed odd for an assassin to carry a shield, it was only natural for them to adapt their gear according to their target. ’Daggers won’t work so easily.’ With this thought, Saxon ascended to the section of the wall cleared by the assassins. Scaling the wall with a single kick was as graceful as the techniques mastered by Ester. Standing atop the wall, Saxon surveyed his surroundings and declared, “If you don’t want to die, don’t follow me.” With those words, he leaped off the wall and sprinted away. “If we let down our guard, we’ll suffer.” “That’s why we’ve come together.” The exchange was between two leaders of the assassin alliance, observing the situation. The long-armed assassin searched for Encreed in the meantime but found him already vanished. Agile, he thought. Or perhaps it was an anticipated maneuver. Naturally, it wasn’t the latter. While Encreed drew their attention, Saxon concealed himself; as Saxon drew it in turn, Encreed accomplished his task. Ever since Saxon said, "You can go ahead," they had loosely coordinated their movements. Their constant sparring and training sessions had honed their teamwork to such an extent that this level of coordination wasn’t challenging at all. “Focus on him first.” The white-haired, cane-wielding swordsman instructed, pointing in the direction Saxon had gone. Their primary objective was dealing with the assassin, a former member of Dagger of Geor. Above all, whether someone like Encreed reached the palace or not was irrelevant. There, true monsters incomparable to these were lurking.