Chapter 73: Because I Trained Every Moment (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 73: Because I Trained Every Moment (2)
The attackers fought like common thieves. Blackened daggers, crossbows, and throwing knives were their weapons of choice.
‘Well, now.’
However, their actual skills were even worse than their equipment suggested.
‘They aren’t even on the level of the Gilpin Guild.’
"You dodged that?"
The fact that the man blurted out his surprise after his dagger missed proved he was far from a professional. Assassination clearly wasn't their specialty.
Encrid spun a dagger he had snatched from a fallen opponent. With a flick of his fingers, he adjusted his grip, pinched the blade between his thumb and index finger, and whipped his arm forward.
The sequence was a blur of motion with immediate results.
With a sharp whoosh, the flying dagger buried itself in a masked assailant’s forehead. The man toppled backward, the blade still embedded in his skull. His head hit the floor with a heavy thud, and crimson blood began to pool across the tavern floor.
"Aaaah!"
A few locals who had been eating screamed and bolted for the exit. The servers and maids had already scrambled under the tables.
The raid brought screams. The screams brought chaos.
But Encrid's group didn't have a single scratch on them.
"...Kill them all!" one of the assailants shouted.
"Ambush! Fight back!"
"Draw your weapons!"
The caravan's guards raised the signal to counterattack. The sharp ring of steel scraping against scabbards echoed through the room.
Hearing the commotion, Encrid didn't forget his primary objective.
"I'm going," he said to the Elf Company Commander before turning on his heel.
Someone had to secure their charge. If the first floor was this chaotic, there was bound to be trouble upstairs. Although she had close-protection guards with her...
‘If something happens to her, it’s our heads.’
He was genuinely curious about what kind of lunatic had ordered this—to attack a caravan guarded by a standing army of the Border Guard, right inside the Border Guard's own territory.
Encrid headed straight for the stairs. No one blocked his path.
And for good reason.
Sachsen had blocked the way.
He had grabbed a chair and was swinging it like a shield, catching every incoming dagger. The chair quickly became a grotesque piece of art—a wooden frame bristling with daggers and crossbow quarrels.
When throwing weapons failed, the attackers rushed him with shortswords and clubs. Every time they stepped into his range, Sachsen swung his sword, separating soul from body with a single, efficient strike.
It was sheer, absolute efficiency.
He blocked and slashed. Though the trajectory of his blade looked ordinary, his opponents failed to parry it time and time again.
Clang!
One man barely managed a block, but Sachsen had used a snap strike. He thrust his deflected sword forward like lightning, burying the tip into the man's face. With a sickening crack, the man’s nose shattered, a new hole opening in the bridge of his face as he collapsed. Sachsen pulled his sword out and resumed his routine.
He blocked flying daggers with the chair and cut down anyone who drew near. Though his own dagger-throwing skills were several times better than Encrid’s, he didn't bother using them.
There was no need.
"What the fuck is this guy?"
Sachsen didn't answer. Why bother talking to men who were already dead?
While Sachsen drew their attention, the Elf Company Commander stepped into the thick of the assailants. She drew Naidel from her waist.
As the Leaf Sword danced, the assailants began clutching their throats and collapsing. She slashed and slashed again. Droplets of blood sprayed into the air, painting intricate patterns across her face and clothes.
None of them could react to the elf's nimble movements. This group simply didn't possess that level of skill.
"If this is all you've got, I'm disappointed."
Balancing on one foot with her other leg raised, the elf assumed a stance, pointing Naidel at her opponent. She looked as if she were about to begin a dance. Her voice was clear and light, but to those listening, she sounded like a demon from the underworld.
One of the masked men took an involuntary step back.
"Fuck," one of the remaining men muttered, his face twisted in fear. It was a pathetic whimper.
The leader of the first-floor attackers thought to himself: ‘As long as we achieve the goal.’
He had bought enough time. Whether the job on the second floor succeeded or failed, staying here any longer meant certain death. The guards' skills were far beyond his expectations.
Had they hired Frontier Slaughterers? He didn't know, and he didn't care. His job was done. It was time to pull out.
"Kill them all!" the leader shouted as he bolted toward the door. He intended to slip away while his subordinates bought him time. He believed the operation was a success.
"Glory to Azpen!" one of the remaining subordinates cried out.
Leaving the shout behind him, the leader fled. They were the remnants of spies left in the territory, throwing away their lives for country and honor—though the leader was only in it for the money. But then, isn't loyalty nurtured precisely to be spent at times like this?
Sachsen, who had been watching the fleeing leader's back, reached for the thin blade hidden at his waist, but then let go.
‘A waste of effort.’
Killing that one man wouldn't change anything, and letting him escape wouldn't cause a disaster. Sachsen turned back to his work: ruthlessly slaughtering the enemies who lunged at him.
He played the role of the gatekeeper, blocking the stairs to the second floor. Considering his usual attitude, it wasn't a role that suited him, but in terms of sheer skill, he was second only to the Elf Company Commander. No one was getting past him.
Even as she swung Naidel with relish, the Elf Company Commander glanced back. Rather than Encrid, who had gone upstairs, the skill of the man holding the line caught her eye.
‘He truly stands out.’
Did they call them the Troublemaker Squad? To think a mere squad member would be superior to the squad leader. It wasn't unheard of, but the difference in skill here was stark.
‘At least territory-class.’
The soldier grading system was a creation of Naurilia. Out on the wider continent, people expressed skill levels differently. To the company commander, who had lived a wandering life, those terms were much more familiar.
Village, territory, continent.
Was one's skill enough to make a name in a single village? Or was it enough to be known across an entire territory? And what level was required to be famous across the entire continent?
By her standards, a continent-class powerhouse was at least a knight-level expert. It was impossible to reach that level without awakening the 'power' they wielded—excluding the frauds who hired bards to spread their names, of course.
"Amusing," she murmured.
To the attacker who had just lost four fingers trying to block Naidel, it was a horrifying sound.
"Ugh, what?" the weeping, fingerless man gasped.
Without a word, the Elf Company Commander struck the back of his head with Naidel's pommel.
Thwack.
Knocked out. Should she apply a tourniquet? No, it didn't matter. If he died, he died. There were plenty of other mouths left to testify. She hadn't killed all of them, and neither had Sachsen. They had spared a few who looked young and likely to talk, either slashing their thighs or knocking them unconscious.
They had also kept the man who shouted "Azpen" alive. He would be useful.
‘And upstairs?’
While fighting, the elf directed her attention upward. Her heightened hearing picked up the situation above. She wore a strange smile.
‘Amusing.’
The thought occurred to her again. Was it like this when she was young, when she first received Naidel? She felt just as thrilled now as she had back then.
The elf's blade moved once more. Before long, the number of assailants had been cut in half.
* * *
Encrid took the stairs two at a time. As he bounded up the steps, his breathing quick and rhythmic, his body felt incredibly light.
‘Isolation Technique.’
It had definitely changed him. Audin had said progress was slow, but Encrid could feel the difference. He was lighter, faster.
The moment he stepped into the second-floor hallway, an assassin dropped from the ceiling, blade in hand. This one was of a lower caliber than the ones he had faced before; his presence was so obvious it was practically visible.
Encrid swiftly twisted his body in the narrow hallway, pressing himself flat against the wall. The assassin crashed heavily onto the floor.
The fallen opponent's eyes locked onto Encrid. Encrid gripped the hilt of his longsword with his right hand and dropped into a half-crouch—the drawing stance of the Heavy Sword Style.
Regaining his balance, the opponent held his shortsword perpendicular to the ground. It was an excellent defensive posture to block a horizontal slash from a Heavy Sword Style draw, but...
...it was a terrible stance for blocking a vertical slash from Encrid's left hand.
Thwack!
Deceiving his opponent with his right-hand posture, Encrid split the man's crown with the shortsword he had stealthily drawn with his left. It was the Valen-style Mercenary Sword Double Draw.
The deceived opponent's eyes trembled, but he couldn't utter a sound. The dead tell no tales.
"Are you insane? Where do you think you are, hiring assassins here?" a woman's voice rang out.
"Not so fast!" another woman shouted.
Encrid leaped over the corpse and sprinted down the hallway. He saw a room with its door half-open and a masked thug blocking the entrance.
"Fools."
Seeing Encrid rushing him, the man flicked his hand. A throwing knife flew with a sharp ping.
Compared to a Whistle Dagger, it didn't have a fraction of the speed. The boldness granted by the Beast's Heart allowed Encrid to look the flying dagger dead-on. The focus ignited by Single-Point Focus made the knife appear to move in slow motion. On top of that, Blade's Sense kicked in, allowing him to read the trajectory perfectly.
Since his body now possessed the muscle and reflexes to support his mind...
Encrid simply tilted his head to the side.
In the past—before he began repeating this day—such a movement was unimaginable. He would have thought of it as a mere circus trick. Dodging a flying dagger just by tilting his head? Back on the battlefield, he hadn't even been able to dodge the arrow of that Hawk's Claw archer, forcing him to hide behind his shield.
Now, it felt like he could dodge even that arrow.
Only the sharp whoosh of the projectile flying past remained in his ears.
When he dodged with a simple tilt and kept charging, the opponent's eyes widened in shock. The man moved his hand again, intending to throw another dagger. Raising the shortsword in his left hand to feign a lunge, Encrid whipped his right arm.
Wheee.
Following the arc of his arm, a whistle rang out. The Whistle Dagger pierced straight through the opponent's neck.
"Gurgle."
Blood sprayed from the wound, and bloody foam spilled from the man's mouth. Reflexively, the man completed his throw, but since he was already dying, the dagger lacked power and clattered harmlessly to the floor.
The dodging and throwing had all occurred within the span of a few heartbeats.
Without slowing down, Encrid slammed his shoulder into the dying man, sending him flying.
Thud, crash, bang!
As the body crashed into the door on the opposite side of the hallway, a startled gasp came from inside. This was an inn; naturally, there were other guests. To launch such an attack in the middle of a territory, in a public inn... the mastermind either had nerves of steel or was a complete idiot.
"Argh!"
Encrid kicked open the door and burst into the room. He saw one of the caravan's guards collapsing with a blade in his stomach. The masked assailant who had stabbed the guard drew his sword and immediately lunged for their charge.
In that split second, a Whistle Dagger flew from Encrid's hand.
Wheee! Clang!
He hadn't thrown it with full force due to the urgency, but it did its job. The opponent hesitated as he blocked it. Encrid charged forward.
The assassin didn't engage him. Instead, he swung the sword that had just blocked the dagger back toward the Caravan Lady.
‘Fucking bastard.’
Encrid cursed the persistent assassin. He had no other choice. For a brief moment, he mimicked the movements of the Squire he had seen on the battlefield.
He couldn't replicate it perfectly—he didn't have that kind of talent—but the distance was short. It was a small room with only a bed and a few pieces of furniture. In such a cramped space, even a crude imitation was worth a try.
Lowering his stance, he kicked off the floor and closed the distance in an instant. Knowing another dagger wouldn't stop the man in time, Encrid threw his own body forward.
Thwack!
The blade struck Encrid's back as he threw himself between the sword and the lady. His gambeson was sliced open, and the blade cut deep into his lower back. Reflexively, Encrid twisted his waist to deflect the force of the strike.
Having blocked the blade with his body, Encrid's eyes fell upon their charge. He had expected wide, terrified eyes and a pale face, but instead, he saw a woman with a resolute expression, her teeth clenched tight.
This was a guard mission. What was a mission? It was a duty. Something that simply had to be done.
Because he had taken the sword with his back, Encrid bore the full brunt of the impact. At the same time, he silently thanked his mentor.
‘Thank you, Audin.’
"Learning how to take a hit—that comes first," Audin had told him. He called it the basics of wrestling: deflecting a blade with one's body, dispersing the force as the hit landed. It had felt like death when he was learning it, but now, it was the only thing keeping him standing.
"Pardon me," Encrid said as he pushed the Caravan Lady aside.
"Mph!" Instead of screaming, she held her breath. She was resilient.
"This bastard...?" Realizing what had happened, the assassin glared at Encrid, holding a thick-bladed gladius.
"Shall we go downstairs and talk?"
Encrid turned, spoke, and lunged forward with everything he had. The opponent's blade thrust straight for the space between his brows, but Encrid’s experience dealing with Whistle Daggers saved him.
This thrust was slower than a Whistle Dagger.
Dodging the strike, he dropped low and wrapped his palms around the back of the opponent's thighs. Lifting the man off the ground, he charged straight for the window.
Crash!
The wooden frame splintered and the glass shattered. Encrid and the assassin plummeted straight out of the second floor.