Chapter 373 - Old Enemies, One at a Time

By the time Roford's party reached the west side, Viscount Mernes's allied army had already blocked the gate.

'So many.'

Even a cursory glance told him this was no small force. He could even see siege engines. The ten people who had stepped ahead of the army to gaze up at the walls looked formidable, every last one of them. Their weapons varied, but they all carried an extraordinary air about them. Worse, Roford recognized one of their faces.

"The deserter."

He had fled the knight order after causing trouble. Looking up at the wall, the man spotted Roford and grinned.

"Idiot."

Roford felt dizzy as he read the word on the man's lips. The man had been his senior, and his skills were far beyond Roford's. He was no proto knight, but he would stop at nothing to win, making him perhaps the most frightening opponent in a fight to the death.

How formidable, then, must the nine accompanying him be? Worse still, the lone figure standing behind those nine seemed to outrank them. He wore a helmet with a pointed horn. His pauldrons were also horned to match his single-horned helmet. Whatever his skills, he certainly had peculiar tastes.

The ten out front were threatening enough, but how were they to stop the army arrayed behind them? Just as a sense of defeat began seeping into his chest, a voice spoke.

"Plenty of fun-looking ones down there."

It was the Beastman. The swordsman with no sense of direction spoke next.

"At least one looks decent. The rest are nothing special."

Roford was dumbfounded. Neither showed the slightest sense of danger, even now.

"Open the gates. We are Viscount Mernes's army, here to apprehend traitors."

An enemy commander shouted the demand. Roford did not recognize him. The man looked well-groomed, with a helmet tucked under his left arm. A sword dangled at his waist, and the shield in one hand reflected the sunlight in a dazzling glare.

Every soldier on the wall was frightened. If they yielded here, they would lose before the fighting even began.

'Determination.'

He reminded himself of what he had learned. They had the walls. They had the heart. They wanted to protect this place. Roford took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"We cannot! The Queen has given no such order!"

He shouted, hoping he did not look like a frightened dog.

"Why not open them nicely?"

The deserter squire spoke with a nasty smile, apparently seeing no need to watch his words. He seemed to be asking what they could possibly do by standing in the way.

"... Withdraw."

Roford clenched his molars after speaking. Now they would have to stop the attackers. There were only ten of them, yet those ten alone seemed to have broken the spirit of the soldiers on the wall.

And Ragna was no commander who could take all of that in hand. He was more comfortable using his sword than his tongue. So that was what he decided to do.

Dunbachel felt the same. She merely gave the curved swords resting quietly at either hip a sharp tap. Talking was difficult for both of them. It was time to begin the conversation another way.

* * *

Just after Ragna left, Encrid spotted Odd-Eyes. The horse seemed to have been looking inside at the commotion. Encrid spoke without hesitation.

"Give me a ride."

Odd-Eyes was a friend. There was nothing wrong with asking a favor. Encrid was mapping out the route to the palace in his head. The fastest route there. He needed a mount. Galloping along the road he had previously taken by carriage would be quickest. That was what prompted his request.

Odd-Eyes blinked once and turned sideways. Taking that as permission, Encrid started over, only for an arrow to come whizzing toward him. He threw his head back. A short bolt passed in front of his face.

Familiar figures appeared beyond the wall and atop it. A masked group, though the sun had not even set. There were more than thirty of them. He had encountered people with that dress and manner several times before.

"Don't you ever get tired of this?"

Encrid wondered what drove them to go this far. A commission? No, they would not stake everything on a mere commission. He could tell just by looking. He had already dealt with mages and all sorts of assassins. If they still had this much strength to field, it meant they had committed everything they had. They, too, seemed to be staking their lives on being here.

"Do you stop working because you're tired of it? It's a duty."

The man at the far left from Encrid's perspective answered. His dangling arms looked twice as long as anyone else's. Not that they were swaying limply. He was simply letting them hang.

One of them wore no mask. He stood alone at the very center of the wall. The others were either crouching or stooped. The man in the center was white-haired and wore a monocle, the only one properly dressed in a shirt and jacket. He tapped his sword cane against the top of the wall as he spoke.

"I told you to stab him, but you didn't listen. Do you hold commissions so cheap?"

His gaze went past Encrid to Jaxon.

'So he's the one who approached Jaxon with that commission.'

Encrid did not bother looking back. Failing to refuse on the spot amounted to accepting a commission. Yet Jaxon had broken that agreement. He had not kept his word. He had been told to kill Encrid, but Encrid stood there perfectly fine.

"No, he kept his word. So you have to tell him everything you know."

Encrid spoke for Jaxon, his tone firm. Jaxon bit his lip slightly and turned his gaze aside. He looked as though he wanted no part in this conversation. He did not seem particularly eager to hear it.

"What are you talking about? You're alive and well."

The white-haired cane swordsman was one of the pillars of the assassins' alliance. In effect, the entire alliance had assembled here. Its leader watched from one side, regulating her breathing and concealing her position. Disguising herself as an ordinary assassin to deliver a lethal move was her specialty.

"He stabbed me."

Encrid answered without a trace of hesitation.

"What?"

"He stabbed me. Right here. A little poke. If you don't believe me, I can let him stab me again right now."

Encrid pointed at his left arm. The wound was already gone. A scar remained, but they would have to come close to see it. Besides, it was covered by a guard. There was no way they could see it.

So what the hell was this bastard talking about? The woman leading the alliance mulled it over, and a suspicion began to form. Following the same train of thought, the white-haired assassin asked,

"... He stabbed you?"

"You told him to stab me, didn't you?"

Encrid answered without pausing for breath. A brief silence passed between them.

He had been told to stab him, and he had. Commission complete. Not dying was hardly Encrid's fault. But he really had been stabbed. Honestly! Encrid pointed at his left arm, his expression repeating that claim over and over.

It was so infuriating that the white-haired assassin's cheek twitched. Some of the alliance leaders who understood Encrid's meaning gaped in disbelief. The rest felt their killing intent surge. This bastard was belittling them. Looking down on them.

Behind him, Jaxon sighed inaudibly. He was really going through with it.

["He told you to stab me, didn't he? Then you've done it."]

["No, that isn't what it means."]

That was the conversation they had had during their spar. Yes, Encrid knew perfectly well what it meant. He had answered with a bright smile.

["Right. He told you to stab me."]

He merely repeated himself, refusing to listen to anything else. He was probably angry. Because they had tried to manipulate Jaxon? He really was a strange man. He had turned that anger back on his opponent in mild, roundabout language.

"I went 'ow.' It hurt."

That drew a response.

"A genuine lunatic, this bastard is."

The white-haired assassin clicked his tongue in disbelief. Jaxon was a little embarrassed. Some things could be settled by stubborn insistence, and some could not. Encrid was ignoring the slang and its implicit meaning.

Of course, Encrid did not actually intend to win the argument that way. It was purely a provocation, meant to get under their skin and let them know just how irritated he was. And didn't it create openings like this? Several assassins had faltered as they listened, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

Encrid's hands were quicker than the eye. He thrust them forward as his opponent uttered the word "lunatic." As a result, the final "is" overlapped with a shrill whistle. Encrid had extended both hands and thrown two whistle daggers. They struck two assassins squarely in the forehead.

THUNK! THUNK!

The two assassins toppled backward with whistle daggers embedded in their foreheads. They fell to the ground with a thud. Before that thud even sounded, Encrid and Jaxon moved.

"You can go on ahead."

Encrid nodded at Jaxon's words. They split left and right. As Jaxon moved away to the side, he pulled on his hooded robe and adjusted his belt. Then he threw himself into the shadows near the wall.

Encrid glanced at him, drew a breath, and shouted,

"Come at me, all of you!"

He stamped his left foot into the ground as he spoke.

BOOM!

The stomp, unleashed with the Heart of the Superhuman, split the ground with a crack. It was a monstrous display of strength. Naturally, every assassin was startled.

His presence-laden shout and stomp drew the eyes of every assassin perched on the wall. Rattling them with nonsense had helped gather their attention, too. He had made them wonder just what the hell he was.

The assassins were not easily cowed by presence. In fact, rather than giving in to the pressure, one impatient enemy drew out a vial of poison called Ten Breaths. It had been modified to release green smoke when shattered. A single breath of it was enough to seal one's fate. It was named Ten Breaths because that was how long its deadly poison took to kill.

He drew his hand straight back.

SHUNK.

He felt a burning heat in his throat. Before the pain came, that heat spread through his whole body, and his eyes closed. The world turned black, and he heard the lapping of a river. He died just like that.

Jaxon had concealed his presence and silenced himself in the shadows. The artifacts were a tremendous help. He had obtained them during the earlier raid on the Black Blade Bandits' village. The robe blocked the signs of life emanating from his body, while the belt was enchanted to muffle sound.

After masking his presence, he had thrust his longsword into the poison-holder's neck from directly below. The point emerged through the man's throat, and blood streamed onto the ground. Four nearby assassins reacted, springing away.

At the same time, darts flew in. Poisoned darts. They struck where Jaxon had been, but he was already gone. He pressed himself flat against the wall.

"Find him!"

The white-haired swordsman shouted. The man had vanished in an instant, beyond even his senses.

Still unseen against the wall, Jaxon threw three soundless throwing blades. Two flew silently into two assassins' throats, slicing through their Adam's apples. The third was blocked.

The man who blocked it had unusually long arms and legs. An unnatural light shone from his eye. It was a kind of magic: a prosthetic eye implanted with a spell.

"There!"

He pinpointed Jaxon running along the base of the wall. Concealing his presence and sound did not make him invisible. Jaxon had been running through the blind spot beneath them.

Whether he had been spotted or not, Jaxon leaped lightly upward, raised his longsword, and swung it in a broad circle. To those on the wall, it would have felt like a guillotine blade flying up from below. The blade swept vertically with a whoosh and caught the wrist of a man holding a modified crossbow.

THWACK!

He had not put much strength into the swing, so it could not sever the wrist bone in one blow. The blade lodged halfway into the crossbow assassin's wrist. The man had been aiming at Encrid, about to shoot, leaving him ill-placed to react to the blade that suddenly flew at him.

"Aagh!"

A scream burst out.

"There he is!"

Another assassin shouted. At that, a different assassin leaped headfirst from the wall and threw daggers.

FWEEE! FWEEE!

Whistle daggers. Jaxon dodged them by stopping mid-run. The throwing blades thudded into the stone wall.

He started running again, plucked the daggers from the wall, and threw one upward and the other sideways. A nimble assassin dodged the upward throw, while another produced a shield from somewhere and blocked the other.

What kind of assassin carried a goddamn shield? But preparing equipment to suit the target was, of course, a fundamental part of an assassin's work.

'Daggers won't work so easily.'

With that thought, Jaxon climbed onto a section of wall the assassins had vacated. A single kick against the wall carried him up, displaying climbing skills to rival Esther's. Standing atop it, he glanced around and spoke.

"Don't follow unless you want to die."

Then he dropped down from the wall and ran.

"He'll get us if we let our guard down."

"That's why we came together."

Two leaders of the assassins' alliance exchanged those words as they watched him.

Meanwhile, the long-armed assassin looked for Encrid, but he had already vanished. A quick one. Or had they planned this from the beginning?

Of course they had not. Jaxon had hidden while Encrid drew their attention, and Encrid had simply gone about his own business while Jaxon drew it back. They had improvised their coordination from the moment Jaxon said, "You can go on ahead." They sparred and trained together every day. This much teamwork was hardly difficult.

"Him first."

The white-haired cane swordsman pointed in the direction Jaxon had gone. Their objective from the outset had been to eliminate the assassin from Georg's Dagger.

More importantly, even if this Encrid fellow reached the palace, it would change nothing. The place was crawling with monsters beyond anything they could compare to.