Chapter 386 - Slacking Off Even in Battle

"So Georg’s Dagger was just an idiot running wild on the strength of his artifacts."

The long-armed assassin spun the dagger in his hand as he spoke. One of his eyes gleamed—a mystic eye, an enchanted prosthetic. Jaxon had thought there was something strange about that eye from the start, so it was no surprise his artifacts hadn't worked. He remained calm. He also inspected the hole in his cloak, a trace left by the dagger. The man's arm had stretched unnaturally far, torn through the cloak, and withdrawn.

Still, Jaxon was unruffled, inside and out. His opponents, however, thought otherwise. "You seem rattled. You should have stabbed him when we told you to."

It was the white-haired man with the monocle, lecturing him. "Is there any reason to stay under him? You can still change your mind."

A woman spoke from among the assassins, her voice disguised. More precisely, she spoke from hiding. A cautious type. A good liar, too.

Changing his mind now would gain him nothing. They were all merely trying to make him expose an opening. "What was that? He got stabbed? Weren't you embarrassed when he said that?"

The white-haired, monocled man brought it up again. The captain's taunts must have really gotten under his skin. "Well? What will you do now that you've lost your artifacts?"

This voice came from behind. Jaxon turned his head. Despite the broad daylight, the spot the voice came from seemed steeped in dull colors. Half-concealed in the shadows of an alley stood a man who specialized in hiding.

His method was obvious. 'Shadow Walking.'

A technique that involved moving only through patches of contrasting shade. It was part of the basics taught in Georg’s Dagger.

Jaxon had never used it once after learning it. Against someone with good concentration or keen instincts, it could easily backfire. 'That wouldn't even work on the captain.'

Even Encrid wouldn't fall for it.

Jaxon silently stripped off his punctured cloak and cast it aside, then unfastened his belt. "Giving up?"

The disguised voice asked from among the assassins. "Ho ho. Well, will you reconsider? It isn't too late. The chance to make a choice anew is a privilege of the young."

The white-haired man with the monocle spoke. "Hmph."

The ape-like man with the dangling long arms snorted. The man in the shadows quietly drew back, concealing his presence.

Contrary to their words, a sinister pressure prickled Jaxon's skin. They were ready to fight. Jaxon spoke with his gaze lowered.

"I'd wondered what lunatic put you up to this. Was it Viscount Mernes?" To bring several assassins' guilds together in an alliance, the instigator would have to be someone on the level of a noble. Someone powerful enough that a single commission could put the guilds' very survival at stake must have intervened.

Given the current situation, it had to be someone at least prominent among the palace factions, or someone who had amassed power by unifying them. Otherwise, these assassins would have acted separately. Adding his opponents' choices to that, Jaxon thought he understood. He could glimpse the intentions of the man who had ordered this. See his thoughts.

'Someone who finds my very existence troublesome and inconvenient.'

That was why they were going to such lengths to target him. They hadn't stopped Encrid from heading to the palace. They hadn't lunged at Marcus to kill him, and they had even left the people going to block the gate alone. Every last member of this so-called assassins' alliance had come after Jaxon.

They had made eliminating him their first priority.

Why?

Because he was a thorn in their side. There were two kinds of people who sold information about the black lily. Those who had learned of it by chance, and those directly involved.

This time, it was the latter. Otherwise, they wouldn't be so intent on removing him.

It might have been difficult to deduce before things erupted, but with the situation unfolding this far, it was easy. And now that he understood, nothing could have pleased him more. Was it Encrid's influence? He let his feelings show. He laughed. He smiled.

The white-haired assassin's brow furrowed at the sight. "Are you going to insist he stabbed him again? Or have you come up with some other nonsense?"

Being bested verbally by Encrid seemed to have left him feeling thoroughly wronged.

Well, just before they parted, the captain had been talking as if possessed today. Something had certainly excited him. ["You said you'd tell him if he stabbed me, and now you're going back on your word?"]

["That doesn't count as stab..."]

["Where the hell did your integrity go? And you call yourselves a renowned assassins' guild in the capital? Unbelievable!"]

["No, that wasn't stab..."]

["Silence! How dare you wag your tongue when you haven't kept your promise! The scar on my arm proves everything!"]

["That's not..."]

["Ah, what a deplorable state of affairs."]

["You crazy bastard. Would you listen?"]

["I went 'Ow, ow!' What are you going to do about it?"] He had talked over everything the other man said. At the end, he pretended to extend his forearm and threw a whistle dagger instead, decorating the skull of an assassin who had been blankly watching.

The fight began then and there. His opponent never had another chance to defend himself. Was it enough to make someone explode with frustration?

Perhaps. No matter how they tried to keep their composure, the captain had a way of getting under people's skin.

Even Jaxon sometimes lost his temper with him. These men went without saying. "He did stab him," Jaxon said.

"Fuck! Kill him!" At the white-haired assassin's shout, they rushed him from all sides. Jaxon already knew there were twenty-eight of them. He had counted. It was a habit.

Then he vanished. "Huh!"

The long-armed ape watching him through his enchanted eye cried out in surprise. THUNK!

The sound of flesh being pierced rang out. Jaxon reappeared in the deep shadows of the alley.

One of the alliance's officers, who had hidden there, coughed up blood, sank to his knees, and toppled forward. "How?"

How could the enchanted eye fail to detect him? He had no artifacts anymore.

For some reason, Jaxon thought of Encrid and offered an answer.

"Hard work. Training."

No answer could have suited the question "How?" better. After that, Jaxon vanished and reappeared again and again.

The second to die was the female assassin with the disguised voice. She swiftly hid among her followers, but Jaxon, already disguised as one of them, drove his Stiletto into her belly from right beside her. THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.

Three attacks, like jabs of a fork, riddled her organs with holes. He had pierced her lungs and heart. Even a high-ranking priest couldn't save her now. "Urk."

The sound she made was neither a scream nor a groan, yet it served as both her scream and her last words. Jaxon kept moving.

Artifacts? He had used them because he had acquired them. He had never relied on such things to begin with. So it didn't matter if they were gone.

He felt especially light on his feet today. He knew what he had to do, and could clearly see where he needed to go. 'Mernes.'

He had suspected from the start that a member of the lily was a noble. Even if Viscount Mernes wasn't behind it, he must at least have some connection.

That settled where Jaxon would go after killing them.

The palace, where Viscount Mernes was. And that was what he did. He killed them one by one until no one else came at him, then headed for the palace.

By then, the sun had passed overhead and was casting long shadows.

Turning toward the setting sun, Jaxon saw something strange. A man was racing across the rooftops, smashing through them as he went.

Someone he knew. Not that he greeted him.

* * *

Dunbachel started the fight. That was only fitting, since she was at least more motivated than Ragna. She went down behind the wall, then out through the open gate.

Roford was already deploying some of his troops outside. 'If they take control of the ground before the gate, we're finished.'

The disparity in numbers was plain. They would have to hold out in front.

With too few archers and arrows, and inadequate preparations for a siege, they would have to make up for their lack of troops with their own strength and bodies.

Of course, all of that depended on first stopping the ten enemies who had come forward. 'As long as they can hold them.'

Roford wasn't even hoping they would kill the whole lot.

Then he saw Dunbachel advance. She swept her gaze over the ten men blocking the way and smiled. It looked like an innocent smile. She could have been a girl newly arrived in the capital from the countryside.

Of course, she was no such girl, and there was nothing innocent about that smile. She was merely putting what she had learned from Encrid into practice.

Smiling Face, from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. She adapted what Encrid had used against her several times into her own method.

That was the marvel of talent. No hesitation in absorbing a technique and using it.

Rem had beaten her to improve her overall physical abilities; Dunbachel had honed her actual techniques on her own.

Now it paid off. "What the hell?"

As one mercenary tossed out the words, the Beastman kicked off the ground. With the swift feet of a leopard, she plunged into the troops.

A soldier at the front froze, unable to so much as twitch a hand as she closed in an instant.

Her curved sword fell toward his head. THUD! SPLAT!

As she crushed his skull with a snapping strike, the soldier beside him thrust his spear. It was a reflexive movement with no strength behind it. She tilted her head out of the way, pressed her shoulder to her cheek, and trapped the shaft between her neck and shoulder. Then she twisted, wrenching the spear away. "... Ah."

The disarmed soldier let out a stupid sound. He didn't die. Dunbachel dropped the stolen spear to the ground and charged straight ahead. "Stop her!"

Only then did the enemy commander come to his senses and shout.

Two of the warriors who had stood at the front moved. Neither had ever been outdone for speed. Even so, they could barely keep up behind Dunbachel. "Out of the waaay!"

As she charged in her beast form, the soldiers opened a path.

They weren't a rabble, but neither could they be called elite soldiers. Viscount Mernes's army was fundamentally a collection of assorted troops, with barely a chain of command holding it together. Dunbachel tore through them, sometimes bounding over soldiers' shoulders and heads, sometimes swinging her curved sword.

Reaching her target, she brought the weapon down mercilessly. Not to cut. She turned the hilt in her hand and struck with the back of the blade. BANG! CRACK!

The siege engines they had prepared were three mangonels. The central frame of one cracked with a splintering sound. Dunbachel knew the wall was her allies' advantage. How many years had she spent roaming the continent as a mercenary?

She had seen more than her fill of all kinds of battles. All she needed to do was eliminate the biggest threat first.

So she had lulled them into carelessness with Smiling Face, then charged. Simple, but the most efficient approach. "Are you out of your mind?"

An opponent had drawn right up beside her. One of the ten who had been at the front earlier. He thrust a short spear. His hands were as quick as his feet. Dunbachel struck the spearhead with her curved sword, stamped her left foot hard into the ground, and wheeled around, acting as if she would attack him head-on.

The man who had been closing in opened the distance. The other pursuer took a similar position behind her. "Let's finish this."

With that, Dunbachel hurled herself in the opposite direction. It was abrupt, even bizarre.

Naturally, she had learned it from Encrid.

Do the Opposite, from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. A trick: make a forceful declaration, then move in a way that utterly shatters the opponent's expectations.

What did she gain from it?

An easier way to accomplish her objective. Destroying the mangonels came before fighting these two. The two pursuing mercenaries momentarily stumbled over their own feet.

What was with her?

The Beastman, who looked formidable enough already, was using every sort of trick.

Compared with Encrid or Rem, fooling these two was child's play. Dunbachel was enjoying herself. She was even a little excited.

It had been so very long since she'd fought someone weaker than herself. As Dunbachel wreaked havoc, the enemy promptly launched their attack.

"Kill them all!"

The man in the one-horned helmet shouted.

His name was Yon, and he was a first-class warrior from the east. A blond man approached him at a leisurely walk. Even as the viscount's army surged forward at the shout, he was utterly unhurried.

Arrows began flying overhead, but he remained calm, as if they were no concern of his.

With a thick, long sword resting on his shoulder, Ragna spoke.

"All at once. This is a bother." "You."

Yon of the one-horned helmet neither lost his temper nor charged. Instead, he raised his trusty weapon—a glaive. The blade at its tip gleamed blue. Valeri steel.

Ragna eyed it, wondering if he should take it and melt it down. "We take him together," Yon said.

Some frowned at that, but none objected. One look was enough to tell them this man wouldn't be easy. "Time is on our side. Take your time fucking him up."

They did as Yon said. A mercenary whirled a clanking chain over his head and sent it flying forward.

Driven by centrifugal force, the pointed weight hurtled at Ragna's head. CLANG.

Ragna had already lowered his sword at an angle and knocked the weight aside.

The heavy lump of iron at the chain's end looked more than capable of smashing and crushing a human head. "Fuck him up!"

Struggle, fighting, blood, battles to the death.

Yon loved that sort of thing. So he charged to see it for himself, bringing his glaive down vertically as he ran.

Fast and powerful enough to whistle through the air. CRASH!

His opponent knocked it aside. Then a warrior of the viscount's army thrust a spear from Yon's flank.

The supple shaft bent and swayed, whooshing unpredictably through the air.

Having knocked away the glaive, Ragna's sword struck the swerving spearhead too. CLANG!

The spear bounced aside.

He had blocked three attacks, starting with the chain weight, but another followed.

Another spear. This one didn't bend. It drove powerfully forward. A different man, one confident in his strength.

Ragna knocked it aside with a swift, heavy sword stroke. CLANG!

Metal rang out.

That single exchange was enough for Yon to gain a rough measure of his opponent's skill.

He was a monster. As for Ragna, he had been told to defend, so defend he would. But he wasn't particularly motivated, and fought halfheartedly.

Why wasn't he motivated? He didn't even think about it.

This was normal. If he set his mind to killing them, he could kill them all. But he would have to take risks. He might even suffer minor wounds.

Was there any need? No. The genius who had lost his purpose slacked off even in battle.

Perhaps it was partly because he had been too motivated lately. He had been so active that now, by contrast, he had no motivation at all.