Chapter 360 - Stab Me

The Intentless Stab. Jaxon's specialty. No hint of his presence. No pressure. The blade advanced soundlessly, faithful to the purpose for which it had been forged. Born to stab, cut, and part flesh, it would serve that purpose. The silent blade approached Encrid's back. Drive it straight in, and the commission would be complete. "You want to spar?" Jaxon stared into the eyes of Encrid, who had already turned around. His sword stopped midway through the Intentless Stab. He froze with his right hand extended. 'He sensed it and reacted?'

That meant the Intentless Stab had been defeated. TING. Encrid had already drawn and swung his silver longsword. He lightly tapped the motionless sword. A greeting. Jaxon drew his deflected sword back before him, feeling the vibration travel from the blade into his body. "I named it Silver. My sword." Encrid held the sword upright as he spoke. The blade reflected the moonlight at an angle. Watching it, Jaxon realized what had just happened. The Intentless Stab hadn't been defeated. He had failed to execute it. 'Did I not want to?'

He hadn't meant it. He hadn't fully suppressed his presence.

Why? "Jaxon." His name rang out. Blue light shone from eyes reflecting the moonlight. Presence rose from the sword in Encrid's hand. His shoulder shifted ever so slightly. Jaxon reacted at once, reading the incoming attack from his stance and retreating. WHOOSH. The longsword Encrid called Silver traced a short arc through the space Jaxon had occupied. His right hand held the grip, his left the ricasso, shortening the swing. It was an attack born of confidence in the weapon's cutting power. Rather than relying on centrifugal force, the cut exploited the blade's keen edge. "Let your guard down, and you'll lose a piece of yourself." Encrid's blue eyes shone past the sword held in both hands, piercing the darkness. His words carried presence. So did his eyes. Jaxon withstood that presence and analyzed the attack. He finished it all in an instant, then spoke. "Making the most of your weapon's advantages?" Normally, he would have acted rather than spoken at that moment. He recognized that he wasn't his usual self, but didn't dwell on it. He simply followed his heart. Was this for the commission? For revenge? Was this even stabbing someone in the back? 'Not my concern.'

Jaxon echoed Encrid's habitual phrasing in his head. That, too, was unconscious. Encrid exhaled slowly. His breath almost seemed visible in the moonlight. Such was the presence he projected. "I'm serious. Go easy on me, and you'll get hurt, Jaxon." Encrid wasn't the man he had been at the start. He had changed beyond comparison with the man Jaxon had first met. What had he seen in that man who silently, doggedly swung his sword? The man who had been shoved around and beaten everywhere, a superior in name alone, was gone. Now he looked twice his usual size. Jaxon threw his sword to the ground. The blade sank into the earth. Then he drew another weapon: Stiletto. "That one?" Encrid recognized it. The prize Leona Roquefried had once offered, which they had finally won. The weapon he had readily given away. Stiletto, from the Carmen Collection. Jaxon's dispassionate gaze swept over Stiletto's blade. Had Encrid known its value when he gave it to him? There had been no trace of self-interest in him then. He aimed the tip of the gift at the man who had given it to him. "Don't let your guard down. Please." Please. Encrid had never heard that word from Jaxon before. The corner of his mouth twisted into a smile. "Half a life." That was how dangerously Encrid intended to attack. It also meant this wouldn't be like their previous spars. His blazing eyes stared straight ahead. Their gazes met, and Jaxon let his hand drop. At that instant, a silent throwing blade flew toward the space between Encrid's eyes. His sensory arts—his dodging sense—activated. Evading what he could neither see nor hear belonged to the realm of Sixth Sense. Encrid sensed it and dodged, tilting his head to let the sharp soundless throwing blade pass. Then he sensed another blade in the space he had dodged into. 'A staggered attack.'

It was part of the Throwing blade technique Jaxon himself had taught him. He simply hadn't expected Jaxon to open with it here. No one could predict everything. But though he hadn't anticipated it, his body reacted. He blocked with the flat of his sword as a shield. CLANG! The blades met, scattering sparks through the moonlight. As those two blades flew at him, Encrid dug the toe of his left foot into the ground. He did it discreetly, drawing his opponent's gaze to his sword, then kicked that leading foot forward. THWIP. Dirt flew up. A weed went with it, helping obscure the view. Jaxon instinctively lowered his gaze, reversed his grip on Stiletto, and shifted aside. SWISH. The silver longsword stabbed through barely an instant behind the dirt, but Jaxon anticipated it and dodged. Jaxon's specialty was the Righteous Sword Technique. In a head-on engagement, he always enjoyed calculating his opponent's moves and keeping them within his designs. This was much the same. Of course, something else was mixed in. That was why, to Encrid, Jaxon looked like a predator hiding its claws. Jaxon, meanwhile, felt as though he were looking at a smooth, hard piece of quartz. Openings were difficult to find. That was how much Encrid had grown. Which meant... "This should be interesting." Hearing Jaxon's murmur, Encrid replied, "You can say that again."

* * *

"... Well, look at that. Who's been beating the shit out of you?" Andrew had given them each a room, but there was only one staircase leading up to them. Rem was there, amusing himself by tossing his axe and catching it. The sight of the slight swelling over Jaxon's left cheekbone brought a broad grin to his face. "Went at someone head-on instead of from behind? That's not like you. Why? A woman dump you? Is that why you've lost your mind?" He was clearly delighted, judging by the nonsense pouring out of his mouth. Normally, Jaxon would have ignored him. In his earlier mood, he wouldn't even have pretended to listen. But that mood had changed. His mouth, less tight than when he'd first returned, offered a casual retort. "Dumped? You think I'm you?" Those few words left Rem feeling defeated. In looks alone, Jaxon was undeniably exceptional. He could easily have been a salon's star attraction. "A man's appeal is his wild side, asshole." As he replied, Rem reflected that the man had come back with all that tension gone. "I don't even have the strength to stop you today. If you're going to fight, take it outside. Don't break the furniture." Encrid approached behind Jaxon as he spoke. Perhaps Andrew was a miser; there weren't many candles in the mansion. Lamps were rarer still. Then again, judging by the meals and the state of things, he didn't seem wealthy. Even the trainees' wooden swords made that clear. As a result, the mansion was rather dim at night. Encrid seemed to emerge abruptly from those murky shadows. Rem, of course, had already sensed his presence. "You fought the Captain?" Rem glanced over from the stairs. As Encrid reached a wall sconce, his condition became plain. Jaxon's left cheekbone was swollen; Encrid had a swollen eye and a limp. There was a small hole in his forearm, too. Blood showed through the cloth wrapped around it. A dagger had plainly been driven in and pulled out. Well, now. Even by Rem's standards, Encrid's body had gone beyond sturdy to downright hard. And his skill? That was no longer something to dismiss, either. Yet Jaxon had left him in that state? They had fought in earnest. Both that bastard Jaxon and Encrid. "Did you hit him from behind?" At the renewed question, Jaxon decided he truly wasn't worth engaging with anymore. "Move, before I remove that pointlessly overactive head from your neck." "Try it, asshole. I won't go easy on you just because you got beaten up." "Rem, move aside." Encrid intervened. Rem smacked his lips, then pressed his heels alone into the step and rose. The old wooden stairs creaked. Once upright, he hopped down and landed lightly on the floor. How he managed to land silently with that bulk, and an axe besides, was a mystery. He was like a cat landing on the ground. "Just kidding. A joke. We're in the same unit—if someone beat him up, I was going to pay them back. You know me. Loyal Rem. But you were just sparring?" Meanwhile, Jaxon bounded up the stairs. When it came to walking silently, he was several steps ahead. Rem noticed it too and looked up. Jaxon was almost at the top already; only his heels were visible. Rem turned back. "You look pretty badly hurt." "It's nothing." Pain rose from around Encrid's left hip, but he judged it nothing serious. He was limping to recover faster, not because he couldn't walk properly. Besides, one of his wounds had been deliberate. The injuries were, more or less, within the range he'd expected. "So what's going on?" Was he asking because he didn't know they had sparred? No. He knew all that. His question went deeper. He had noticed Jaxon's condition and was asking why Encrid had put himself through such a punishing spar. Because Jaxon hadn't been himself. Encrid inwardly uttered an 'Ah.' Contrary to appearances, Rem was perceptive, quick to assess a situation, and knew exactly what he needed to do. ["They were after me for killing a noble's son. Kept me busy running."]

Rem's old words flashed through his mind. He had killed a noble's son and fled because he could. Had he needed to kill him discreetly and leave, he would have. If he had killed him openly and made it clear who was responsible instead, there must have been a reason... Everything Rem had shown him until now flashed through his mind. Out of nowhere, Encrid finally understood why Rem hadn't slipped away immediately after killing the noble's son. He had drawn everyone's attention, especially the nobles', to himself. He had needed to. "You made yourself look like the one behind it all," Encrid murmured. Rem blinked. What was going on inside this man's head now? What a load of shit to come out with out of nowhere. "Get a grip. Is that problem up here acting up again?"

Rem tapped his head with his forefinger. Encrid ignored him and continued thinking. Something Krais had said came back to him. Whenever he was bored, Krais liked to observe the members' personalities and behavior. He'd said it during one of those observations. ["You're rather lazy about using your head, Captain, but Rem's different."] ["Different?"] ["Rem tends to understand everything and let it pass while pretending he doesn't. He only reveals himself when there's a need."] If he had secretly killed the noble's son and left, what would have happened to the commoners that son had abused? Rem had shown himself so the nobles wouldn't take their anger out on them. So they would chase him instead. He had probably left just enough of a trail, fighting them again and again. He would have kept them so occupied that they pursued him alone. Then, once he thought he'd bought enough time, he would have vanished and run all the way to the frontier. This bastard really was sneaky. After staring at Encrid for a while, Rem spoke again. "First that nonsense, and now what's with that look? Huh? There's something off about your eyes." Encrid shook his head to say it was nothing, then continued his train of thought. Come to think of it, that was right. Before Encrid joined the unit and became its mediator, Rem had caused only a moderate amount of trouble. The real troublemaking and bad behavior had begun after he arrived. 'Because he could.' Because behaving that way would establish how people saw him. Don't mess with him. Let him live as he pleased, within reason. That was the image he had cemented. Sneaky alley cat? Which of them was sneakier? "See? I'm telling you, that look's strange." "Let's stick around and have some more fun." Encrid didn't bother playing along with Rem. He was perceptive and quick-witted; he would know what Encrid meant. Still looking suspicious, Rem played along with him instead. "Because of that alley cat's business?" "That's part of it." Jaxon's room was directly opposite the stairs. They weren't trying to hide anything, so he would have heard the whole conversation. "That damn cat only brings us trouble." Rem grumbled as usual. But he said nothing about quitting and going back. Encrid climbed the stairs, recalling the earlier fight. More precisely, what had happened immediately after the fight they called a spar. ["Stab me."] He had said it to Jaxon right after the spar. Jaxon had been reluctant to extend his blade. ["It's all right now."]

Jaxon had shaken his head. Looking at him, Encrid had said once more, ["Once is fine."] The man before him had taught him the sensory arts. Even if he'd asked to stab him once in return, that would have been fair. Encrid sincerely believed that. When Jaxon first drew his sword behind him, Encrid had sensed killing intent. He had sensed his conflict, too. Concern, worry, and anguish lingered on the blade's tip. He had felt it all in that single stroke. After answering all that conflict and worry with a spar, Encrid thought that whoever was behind this certainly had no shortage of tricks. ["I was offered a commission to stab you."]

Jaxon had said that partway through. Encrid was curious about this hidden adversary. Warnings, commissions, schemes. The assassins and assassination attempts they had encountered on the way here had probably all been his doing as well. CREEEAK. The wooden stairs screamed. As he climbed toward his room, Encrid thought that, in the end, he ought to give an answer to everything the man had thrown at him. The very answer his opponent had so desperately wanted.