A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The assailant’s methods were too similar to those of a thief. Their main weapons included black-painted daggers, crossbows, and throwing knives.

‘Well, this is something.’

However, their skill was inferior.

‘It doesn’t even seem to be at the level of the Gilpin Guild.’

“Injured?”

Dodging the dagger and then speaking like that showed they weren’t experts.

Assassination wasn’t their specialty.

Encrid twirled the dagger he had taken from the dead opponent in his hand.

He flicked his fingers to change the position of the knife, gripped the blade with his thumb and forefinger, and then extended his arm forward.

A series of movements brought about the result.

With a whizz, the thrown dagger flew and embedded itself in the forehead of the masked assailant. The attacker, struck in the forehead, fell backward, collapsing.

With a thud, the head hit the floor, and red blood began to flow on the inn’s floor.

“Ahhhh!”

A few citizens who were just having a meal at the inn screamed and ran outside. The waiter and waitress who were carrying food had already hidden under the tables.

The attack brought screams.

The screams caused chaos.

But Encrid and his party were unharmed.

“Kill them all!”

One of the assailants shouted.

“It’s an attack! Fight back!”

“Grab your weapons!”

The caravan guards also raised the alarm for counterattack, each drawing their weapons.

With a clang, the sound of blades rubbing against scabbards echoed.

Hearing that, Encrid didn’t forget their duty to guard.

“I’ll go.”

He said to the Fairy Company Commander and turned his steps.

Someone needed to secure the safety of the guard targets.

If it was this chaotic on the first floor, there must be trouble upstairs too.

There were close guards attached, but…

‘If something happens here, it’s our responsibility too.’

He was curious about which madman had instigated this.

Attacking a caravan guarded by the Border Guard’s standing army.

Encrid headed upstairs. There was no one to stop him along the way.

It was understandable.

Jaxon was blocking the middle.

He picked up a chair and swung it like a shield, blocking all the flying daggers.

The chair quickly became an abstract piece of art. A wooden chair with daggers and quarrels stuck in it.

When throwing weapons didn’t work, some approached with short swords or clubs.

Jaxon swung his sword every time they came within range, separating one person’s soul from their body with each strike.

It was sheer cleanliness.

Blocking and slashing, the trajectory of the blade was ordinary, but the opponents couldn’t block it.

Clang!

One barely managed to block, but Jaxon originally swung his sword to cut through, and he quickly thrust the bounced-off sword into the opponent’s face.

With a crack, the nose bone broke, creating a new hole above the bridge of the nose. The opponent fell, and Jaxon pulled out the sword to start the same process again.

Blocking incoming daggers with the chair, he cut down those who approached with the sword. His dagger-throwing skill was several times better than Encrid’s, but he didn’t use it.

There was no need.

“Damn, what is this guy?”

Jaxon didn’t answer. What conversation could he have with soon-to-be-dead men?

While Jaxon drew their attention, the Fairy Company Commander stepped right into the midst of the assailants.

She drew her Naidil from her waist.

As the Leaf Blade danced, assailants began to fall, clutching their throats.

Slash and slash again.

Blood droplets sprayed into the air. Her face and body were painted with splashes of red.

No one could match the nimble movements of the Fairy . This was not a group of high-caliber fighters.

“If this is all, I’m disappointed.”

With one foot on the ground and the other raised two spans high, she took a stance with her Leaf Blade aimed at an opponent. It looked as if she were about to start dancing.

Her voice was clear and lively, but to the listeners, it might as well have been the voice of the Demon King of the Underworld.

One of the masked men involuntarily stepped back.

“Damn it.”

One of the remaining attackers muttered, on the verge of tears.

The leader of the attackers on the first floor thought,

‘As long as the objective is achieved…’

They had stalled enough time. Whether the operation on the second floor succeeded or not, staying any longer meant certain death.

The guards’ skills were several times better than he had anticipated.

Had they brought in the Slaughterer of the Frontier or something?

He didn’t know. He didn’t need to know. He thought his job was done. It was time to pull out.

“Kill them all!”

The leader shouted, running toward the door. He planned to escape while his men bought time. He believed the operation was a success.

“Glory to Aspen!”

One of the remaining subordinates shouted. Ignoring the shout, the leader fled.

They were the remnants of spies left in the city.

They threw their lives away for their country and honor.

The leader, though, did it for the money.

Loyalty was meant to be used at times like this, wasn’t it?

Jaxon, watching the fleeing leader intently, touched the thin blade hidden at his waist and then let go.

‘Pointless.’

Killing that one wouldn’t change anything.

Letting him escape wouldn’t cause any big trouble either.

Jaxon turned his attention back to his task.

Butchering and killing the attacking enemies without mercy.

He was playing the role of the gatekeeper, blocking the stairs leading to the second floor.

Not the most fitting job for him, given his usual demeanor.

But among those gathered in the inn’s main hall, aside from the Fairy Company Commander, he was the most skilled. No one could get past Jaxon.

While skillfully swinging her Naidil, the Fairy Company Commander occasionally glanced back.

The squad member blocking the way ahead of Encrid, who had gone up the stairs, caught her eye.

‘Impressive.’

Wasn’t this the Troublesome Squad?

A squad member more skilled than their leader was unusual.

It wasn’t entirely unheard of, but the skill gap here was significant.

‘At least city-level.’

The soldier ranking system is a system created by Naurillia.

When you look across the continent, skill levels are expressed differently.

For the Company Commander, who has led a nomadic life, that method was more familiar.

Village, city, continent.

Even within these categories, there were distinctions between large villages and small cities, and between regions of the continent or the entire continent itself.

The basic structure was this:

Are you skilled enough to make a name for yourself in a single village?

Or do you have the skills to make a name in a city?

And to make a name across the entire continent, what level do you need to be?

In her estimation, a continent-level expert was at least at the level of a knight.

Without mastering the ‘power’ they wield, it was difficult.

Excluding frauds who hired minstrels to sell their names, that was the truth.

“Interesting.”

She muttered.

From the perspective of the attacker, who had just lost all four fingers on his right hand trying to block her Naidil, it was a horrifying statement.

“Ugh, what?”

The man, tears streaming down his face, spoke. The Fairy Company Commander silently struck the back of his head with the pommel of her Naidil.

Thump.

Unconscious. Should she stop the bleeding?

No, it wouldn’t matter.

If he died, he died.

There were plenty of witnesses left alive. She hadn’t killed them all. Neither had Jaxon.

Some of those who looked young and seemed likely to have loose lips had been spared, with only thigh cuts or were just knocked out.

Even the first one who shouted “Glory to Aspen” was left alive.

They would be useful in many ways.

‘How’s it going upstairs?’

While fighting, the Fairy partially focused on the situation upstairs. Her hearing extended, revealing the situation above.

She had a peculiar smile.

‘Interesting.’

It was a recurring thought.

When she was a child, when she first received her Naidil.

Back then, it was just as enjoyable.

With this thought, the Fairy ’s Naidil moved again.

By now, the number of assailants had halved.

* * *

Encrid ascended the stairs to the upper floor two steps at a time.

As he pounded up the stairs, he felt light.

‘The Isolation Technique.’

It had certainly made a difference in his body. Audin had said it was slow, but Encrid felt a significant change.

He felt lighter than before.

As soon as he reached the second-floor corridor, an assassin with a sword dropped down from above.

This one was of lower skill than the previous assassins he had faced.

He could almost see the presence of the assassin.

In the narrow corridor, he swiftly twisted his body. Pressing close to the wall to avoid the falling attacker, the assailant hit the floor with a thud.

The eyes of the fallen attacker met Encrid’s.

Encrid gripped his longsword with his right hand, bending his knees halfway. It was the drawing stance of the Middle Sword Technique.

The fallen attacker regained his balance, holding his shortsword vertically to the ground.

It was an excellent defensive stance to block a horizontal slash, but…

It was a poor stance to block the vertical slash that Encrid initiated with his left hand.

Thwack!

Deceiving the opponent with his right-hand stance, he sliced through the attacker’s crown with a hidden shortsword in his left hand.

It was the double drawing technique of the Valen Mercenary Sword Style.

The deceived attacker’s eyes trembled.

But he couldn’t speak. The dead don’t talk.

“Are you crazy? Hiring an assassin here?”

A woman’s voice was heard.

“Where do you think you’re going!”

Another woman’s voice followed.

Encrid leaped over the corpse and started running down the narrow corridor.

A partially open room came into view.

And in front of it, a masked assailant blocking the way.

“Idiots.”

Seeing Encrid charging towards him, the assailant waved his hand. A throwing knife whizzed through the air.

Compared to a Whistle Dagger, its speed was not even a quarter.

The Heart of the Beast gave Encrid the courage to face the flying dagger head-on.

Focus Point made the flying dagger appear slow.

Coupled with the Sense of the Blade, he read the trajectory of the dagger.

With muscles and reflexes supporting all these processes, Encrid simply tilted his head to the side.

In the past, before repeating today, such a movement was unimaginable. He had thought it was just a stunt.

Dodging a flying dagger by just tilting his head.

In an actual battlefield, hadn’t he failed to dodge an arrow from some hawk-eyed enemy and had to use a shield?

Now, he felt he could dodge even that arrow.

The sound of the thrown object whooshing past remained in his ears.

Dodging by just tilting his head and charging forward, his opponent’s eyes widened in surprise. Despite being startled, the opponent moved his hand, seemingly to throw another dagger.

Holding the shortsword in his left hand, Encrid feigned a charge, then swung his right arm once.

Whistle.

Following the trajectory of his swinging arm, a Whistle Dagger whistled through the air.

It pierced through the opponent’s neck.

“Urgh.”

Blood spurted from his neck, and blood foam bubbled from his mouth. Reflexively, he completed his movement.

He threw the dagger he held in his hand. But already dying, he lacked the strength, and it simply fell to the floor with a thud.

Both the dodging and throwing actions occurred within a few breaths.

Without slowing his pace, Encrid charged forward and slammed his shoulder into the man with the pierced neck, sending him flying to the side.

Thud, bang, crash!

The man crashed into the door on the opposite side of the corridor, eliciting a surprised scream from within.

This was an inn. Naturally, there were people staying.

It wasn’t broad daylight, but still, to carry out such an attack in the middle of a city, in an inn no less.

These opponents were either exceptionally brave or completely foolish.

“Argh!”

Having just dealt with one assailant, Encrid kicked open the door and entered the room.

He saw one of the caravan guards collapsing with a knife wound to his stomach.

The masked assailant who had stabbed the guard withdrew the knife and was about to slash the guard’s charge.

In that split second,

Encrid’s Whistle Dagger flew from his hand.

Whistle! Thud!

It wasn’t thrown with full strength due to the urgency, but it served its purpose. The assailant faltered, trying to block it.

Encrid charged forward.

The assailant didn’t try to confront the charging Encrid.

Instead, he swung his sword again towards the guard’s charge, the young woman from the caravan.

‘You bastard.’

Encrid cursed internally.

Encrid cursed the relentless assassin. There was no other way.

In a moment, he mimicked the movements of a squire he had seen on the battlefield.

Of course, he couldn’t replicate it perfectly. He lacked such talent.

But the distance was short. A small room with just a bed and a couple of pieces of furniture.

In such a confined space, he could manage a decent imitation.

Lowering his stance, he pushed off the ground. He closed the gap in an instant. Encrid thought that pulling and throwing another Whistle Dagger wouldn’t be enough to stop the attacker, so he threw himself forward.

Thwack!

The blade intended for the guard’s charge struck Encrid’s back as he positioned himself between the sword and the target.

The gambeson was cut through, and the blade sliced into his lower back.

Reflexively, Encrid twisted his waist to deflect the sword that had struck him.

With the blade now lodged in his body, Encrid’s eyes met those of the guard’s charge.

Instead of the expected wide-eyed, pale-faced terror, he saw a woman with a determined expression, her jaw clenched tightly.

It was a protection mission. What was a mission?

It was a duty. Something that had to be done.

Since he had taken the blow with his back, Encrid endured the shock with his body.

At the same time, he silently thanked Audin.

‘Thank you, Audin.’

“Knowing how to take a hit, that’s fundamental.”

It was the basics of wrestling. Deflecting force while taking a hit, essentially deflecting the blade with his body.

When he learned it, he felt like he was going to die.

Now that he had learned it, he realized how useful it was.

“Just a moment.”

Encrid said, pushing the caravan girl aside.

“Hmm!”

Instead of screaming, she held her breath. She seemed to be a resilient type.

“You bastard?”

The assassin, assessing the situation, glared at Encrid with a thick-bladed sword, a gladius, in hand.

“Shall we go downstairs and talk?”

Encrid turned around and then charged at him.

The opponent’s blade aimed for his forehead, thrusting forward.

Encrid had never imagined that his experience with Whistle Daggers would be so useful.

It was a slower thrust compared to a Whistle Dagger.

Dodging it, he lowered his stance and grabbed the back of the assassin’s thigh with his palm.

He then lifted the assassin from below and rushed toward the window.

Crash, crack.

The wooden frame shattered and the glass broke. Encrid and the assassin fell straight out of the second floor.

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