Chapter 270 - Not Everything Goes According to Plan (1)

The Black Blade Bandits were large enough to be called a small territorial state. It was no exaggeration to call them one of the greatest diseases festering within Naurilia, one of the kingdom's worst scourges. That was how dangerous they were. Cheese dribbled out of one of their officers' mouths. What he had just heard was absurd. He picked up a linen napkin, roughly wiped his mouth, and spoke. "All the assassins were taken out?" He had sent Swallow Blade, and the man had been cut down. He had sent a mercenary unit, and it had been crushed. Then the Black Blade officer had opened up his own reserves, sending an entire unit's worth of first-rate assassins.

And they had failed. BANG! The officer slammed his fist on the table and roared, "Are you trying to drag Black Blade's reputation into the shitter?" Fine, so you can fight? Then try handling this.

He had gathered the branch's assassins, sending every last one of its first-rate killers. No hero or warrior, however great, could do much about a knife in the back. Especially if that knife was poisoned. There had been more than fifteen assassins skilled with blades and poison. With that many sent after him, even if they could not kill him, shouldn't they at least have wounded him badly? "He's unharmed? What about our men?"

"They're all dead."

"The watcher left behind to report?"

"He's dead too." Without another watcher stationed farther away to handle the aftermath, they would not even have obtained this information. "I think I'd have been killed too if I'd gone any closer." The bandit spoke on one knee, sweat dripping from him. It fell onto the smooth stone floor, staining its pale gray surface a darker shade. The scattered spots multiplied. He had not seen Jaxon. All he had witnessed was the end of the watcher stationed closer to the assassins than he was. 'I couldn't even see it.' He had seen only his companion caught by something, struggling in midair before dying. He had fled immediately. Though he had sensed no presence at all, the instant he saw that death, he ran.

Otherwise, he would have died. His instincts told him so. "What the hell are these people?" The officer sounded hollow. All the assassins he had spent his life gathering were dead. They had been there, and now they weren't. Gone. He would never see them again unless he died himself. 'Seriously, what the fuck are those bastards?' His mouth hung open, too stunned for words. Does this make any sense? His eyes asked the bandit delivering the report.

The man bowed his head. He had nothing to say either. His sorry excuse for a report amounted to nothing but everyone being dead. "What do we do now?" asked the attendant standing behind him.

"What do you think?" Even as he answered, the officer mulled over the words of the bandit posing as his attendant. 'Damn it.' Things had taken a turn for the worst. One wrong move, and an upstart from below would swallow him whole. There were more than enough men coveting his position.

Of course, they could not replace him immediately. Not with all the things he had set in motion here. 'Starting with the business.' There was a clear reason his position here was secure: he had spread the drug. Thanks to his efforts, few nobles in the kingdom had never heard of it. The Krona earned from its sale went straight into funding Black Blade's operations. "I'll request help from headquarters. Until then, leave them alone." He had no one left to send. More accurately, he could not touch them until reinforcements arrived from headquarters. "In the meantime, we focus on the 'burrow' we've dug." He used a code word, but everyone present understood it. As long as the 'burrow' remained intact, his foundation was secure. For now, he decided to forget Encrid, or the Irresistible Moron, or whatever he was called.

Of course, he would soon revisit that grudge. He had no intention of letting the matter rest. "Where is he now?"

"Probably swinging his sword in the territory again." The attendant who answered was sharp-eyed and quick-witted, a strikingly handsome man with a smooth, beardless face. His judgment was reliable. He had previously investigated Encrid's daily routine in detail. 'Sword lunatic.'

The man practically invited the description. Marcus had concealed Encrid and his companions' departure on their mission. It was more habit than any particular scheme. He knew all too well the advantage of restricting information. Above all, Encrid was easy to hide. He often stayed in the training grounds or his quarters for days without emerging. Of course, his absence from the city would eventually become known, but a week could pass without anyone noticing.

That was why the Black Blade officer had no idea Encrid was already in his 'burrow.' Sinar entered the room, stood still, and concentrated. Faint sounds drifted from next door. Judging the situation from the noises around her, she checked for anyone watching.

There was no one. As soon as she was certain, she raised her right index finger and traced a small circle in the air. It was a hand signal known only to a few members of the Fairy's Company. "This is the last one, right?" Pin asked.

"It seems so." The Fairy Company Commander sat at an angle on the bed and stretched out her legs as she answered. Her supple muscles visibly lengthened. She apparently felt little cold, wearing only a single layer of leather trousers, which seemed to leave her freer to move. Otherwise, she was perfectly at ease. The room did have a small brazier, but she found it more of a nuisance and had pushed it aside as soon as she entered. Asked why, she had said, "It might start a fire." "But is it really all right for us to spend our time here like this?" Pin asked another question as she pulled closed the leather garment that served as armor beneath her outer clothes. It had hardened leather sandwiched between layers of cloth, but the leather was poor quality and rather stiff, so the front kept falling open. Still, it was warm and sturdy. Without a trace of amusement, Sinar said, "This work matters too."

"That's true." Pin brought a chair to the window and half reclined against its back. She needed to survey the area outside and oil the hinges as well. Otherwise, how would she slip out under cover of night?

A former ranger who had undertaken all manner of operations, she was adept at this sort of work. Not as adept as Jaxon, of course. "The seventh," Pin murmured.

That was the count of what she, Sinar, and a select few members of the Fairy's Company had accomplished so far.

* * *

Jaxon overlooked nothing, however small. He was extraordinarily thorough. Watching him, Encrid felt something hovering just beyond his grasp. So close he could almost touch it, yet not quite. It might have been frustrating, but he felt no impatience. If anything, he found his present state remarkable. Since when had watching something like this sparked an idea at all?

This, too, was proof of his growth. As he watched, Jaxon spoke. Krais's spirit had departed; these words were entirely Jaxon's own. "Small things come together to make something great. Just as little streams join to form rivers and lakes, then flow into the sea." It sounded abstract, but Encrid felt the thing that had been hovering out of reach come a step closer. Now he could almost make out a hazy shape. "Swordsmanship and training are all well and good, but a single small precaution can decide victory or defeat. What if your life is at stake?" What Encrid had lacked was purely physical talent. Now that he had more or less made up for that shortfall, his mind, which had never been bad to begin with, worked at full tilt. He thought, retraced the process, and found ideas coming to him.

Especially ideas about swordsmanship and fighting. In some respects, what Jaxon described was close to the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. Encrid could now classify sword styles himself. For instance, the nameless sword style belonging to the Righteous Sword Technique taught how to wield a sword. It was swordsmanship built layer upon layer.

The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique took a different approach. 'That's closer to individual tactics.' - Those who enter a fight must use their heads. Those words had been written in the material he first learned the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique from. They had helped in themselves, but now that he understood them anew... 'I suppose I owe my life to them.' How many times had they saved his life since he had learned them?

His thoughts continued, a succession of small realizations. This would not improve his swordsmanship or bring about some dramatic change. He knew that instinctively. Yet the experiences and lessons he had accumulated were combining to leave him with something meaningful. What if his opponent used a long sword? What if their waist looked bulky? What if they were hiding something underneath? What if they wore a flexible sword instead of a belt, like Swallow Blade?

Could he infer their habits from the orientation of their sword belt? Before any of that, what about adopting a stance that made movement even slightly easier, or claiming an advantageous position first? All of it was possible, and he could make such preparations himself. This was the realm of individual tactics.

The hazy shape had become clear at last, within his grasp. Exhilaration, the joy of growth, welled up again. Not that he suddenly began drooling or cackling. 'I'm not Rem.' Encrid did occasionally concentrate so hard that he drooled, but he refused to admit it. "Let's have dinner first," Jaxon said.

Encrid nodded. The inn's ground floor doubled as a dining room. Once they sat down there, Jaxon summoned Krais back into his body. Sinar played the silent Fairy guard. Strictly speaking, no acting was necessary. She merely had to leave out her usual jokes. "A Fairy! What an honored guest we have." The innkeeper spoke as he personally brought over stew, roast pork, and the rest of their food, stealing repeated glances at Company Commander Sinar. He seemed genuinely fascinated. She had kept her face concealed beneath her hood when they entered the village. They would only have discovered she was a Fairy once she entered the inn. Otherwise, every passerby would have stared. As the innkeeper looked at the Fairy, Jaxon spoke with an understated air of self-importance.

"Oh, I wouldn't speak to her too freely. She's a guard my father assigned me, and she's rather touchy." With that single remark, he established that he belonged to a trading company and revealed part of his character. In short, he became an obnoxious trading-company scion.

His swagger went beyond effortless; it looked natural, as though he had been born and raised an insufferable little bastard. 'He's changed a little from Krais, hasn't he?' Just then, a servant following the innkeeper suddenly stumbled and dropped the cup he was carrying. The wooden cup hit the floor with a thump, spilling wine into a spreading puddle. "You little..." The innkeeper approached as though about to explode in anger, while the servant bowed over and over.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It scarcely qualified as a disturbance. Two men drinking wine or some other fruit liquor glanced over—a man with a beard as thick as a thicket and an ordinary brown-haired man you might see anywhere—then turned back to what they had been doing. "Now, go easy on him. Easy." Jaxon chimed in. This was Krais on drugs. The way he had to insert a comment into everything going on around him made the comparison unavoidable. Sinar stood like a doll, her indifferent gaze fixed on one part of the table, never looking elsewhere. Beside her, Pin offered remarks such as, "Young master, you must rejoin the trading expedition in two days." Of course, all of this had been agreed in advance. It was a simple script Jaxon had devised. ["This should buy us about a day."] The principle was simple. Since they would leave in two days, the villagers could afford to watch them until then. Putting the Fairy forward warned them not to try any amateurish tricks or poisons while she was present. Emphasizing her prickly temperament served the same purpose.

If the enemy remained ignorant of their identities but recognized them as difficult customers, it would buy them a day. "This will suffice for me." Sinar also demonstrated her commitment to the role. Holding up the dried fruit and such in one hand, she indicated that she needed no meal. "To think you don't know the pleasure of eating!" Jaxon could not resist another comment before dipping his wooden spoon into the stew. Encrid ate without concern too. Jaxon's behavior signaled that there was no poison. Meanwhile, the servant brought fresh wine. His cautious approach suggested that he had no intention of spilling it again. "You there, you need to be careful." Jaxon soothed him with words, without giving him so much as a copper coin. As the servant looked at him, he stole glances at Encrid's waist—at the fine sword belt and sword hanging there. Noticing, Jaxon smiled.

"This is my friend. He's agreed to help me on this trip. He's not a harsh man, so you can ask him to show you his sword." Some ill-tempered swordsmen would threaten to gouge out a man's eyes or draw steel over a mere glance like the servant's. "What? No, sir. No. That's all right."

"I'll show you just the blade." Encrid obligingly drew his sword halfway. SHING. His sword draw was awkward. He was demonstrating a small preparation of his own: deliberately concealing his skill. It was not particularly difficult. He needed only to recall the first time he had drawn a sword. Having clawed his way up from the very bottom, he found it easier than anyone to imitate a beginner. All he had to do was everything people had told him not to do.

For instance, drawing while gripping the scabbard with his left hand right up against its mouth was a splendidly idiotic move. It was something one must never do, since the blade could accidentally slice the hand. Otherwise, he made himself look the part. Wasn't that the essence of a swordsman who cared only about appearances? "Wow, the blade is blue!" the servant said, wide-eyed. Encrid thought him a brazen little fellow. His gait and behavior clearly marked him as trained, yet here he was dropping cups and making a fuss as though he had never seen such a sword.

At any rate, Encrid played the immature swordsman tagging along with a trading-company scion, and the act seemed to work quite well. That night, when everyone was asleep, the window opened soundlessly on its oiled hinges. "Well, then." Jaxon went out for a nighttime stroll. Next door, Pin made her move as well. They met on the inn's roof and went their separate ways without acknowledging each other. They had agreed to gather whatever information they could independently, then reconvene the next morning to compare findings. From the inn's roof, Jaxon crossed over two houses, while Pin went down to ground level.

Then he saw a blade suddenly thrusting in from the side. There had been no presence, no warning. Even his senses had failed to detect it.

With a ripping sound, the blade pierced his clothes.