Chapter 57 - Seeing It Made Him Want It

The question had come out of nowhere. But that did not fluster Jaxon. His face remained as impassive as ever. For a brief moment, Jaxon started to speak, then stopped. He seemed to be considering something. Encrid let his arms hang at his sides and quietly waited for him to speak. Hurrying him would accomplish nothing. His deliberation was brief. Soon, white breath spilled from Jaxon's mouth and dispersed in the air. "Whistle daggers. They were once called the blades that left nothing but sound." Jaxon scratched his cheek as he spoke. For someone who had hesitated to begin, his explanation flowed smoothly. "Blades that leave nothing but sound. That's how fast they are. Too fast for human eyes to follow. That's what makes them so difficult to fight against. Most victims die without even knowing what hit them. That's the kind of weapon a whistle dagger is." "What if I have to face one anyway?" Was there any way to avoid the assassin? Probably not at present. There did not seem to be. The bastard had prepared meticulously, using spies planted among their allies and making thorough arrangements for before and after the kill. At least, that was how it looked to Encrid now. His limbs were chained, leaving him no choice but to be dragged wherever his opponent pulled him. It was time to find a way out. "Anyway?" Jaxon tilted his head. It must have sounded very strange to him. "Anyway." Encrid merely repeated the word for emphasis. Jaxon looked steadily into his eyes, and Encrid did not avert his gaze. Blue eyes met reddish-brown ones across the space between them. Jaxon's eyes seemed to ask, 'Why do you need this?' Encrid ignored the question. Jaxon of Equivalent Exchange sold the information people needed. He did not ask them why. Soon, Jaxon's expression hardened, and he spoke.

"This information won't come cheap." "The more expensive, the better." He meant it. This "today" hardly seemed likely to be his last "today," anyway. Once the morning of today dawned again, the value of the information Jaxon gave him now would plummet. It would become something he already knew. For Encrid, at least, that was how it would be. Jaxon's face stiffened. Something seemed to have put him out. Encrid ignored that, too. Jaxon's mood was hardly his most pressing concern. "Before you hear the sound, you must watch the hand. Everything depends on the movement of the throwing hand." Jaxon gave him a simple countermeasure. Do not be fooled by the sound. By the time you hear it, it is already too late. Watch your opponent's movements. "You mustn't lose sight of your opponent for even a moment. Especially if they're a first-rate assassin. They'll know how to throw without letting you see it." The defining feature of whistle daggers was their paper-thin blades. The key was to hone them again and again until they could bite into most steel breastplates. In the hands of a sufficiently skilled thrower, they could actually pierce steel plate. He added that skilled users could stack several thin blades together to throw them. Jaxon divided the throwing methods into two broad categories: a wide swing of the arm to increase power, and a throw the opponent never saw. "You've seen me throw daggers, haven't you?" Encrid asked. He had once devoted himself to practicing the skill. "Yes. It was on the level of throwing rocks." Jaxon dismissed his skill in a single sentence. He was saying that Encrid would be better off throwing rocks instead. At least a rock would deliver an impact. Why play around with a dagger he could not even land properly? 'That's harsh.' Even with Encrid's usual indifference to such things, Jaxon's words were sharp enough to pierce it. It did not quite feel like a dagger had flown into his heart. But it felt as though one had lodged somewhere in his arm, at least. "Then teach me how to throw one properly." A little piqued, Encrid blurted it out. "Then learn. I'll add that to our transaction as well."

"Hm?"

"Would you rather not?" He certainly would not rather refuse. Learning had no end, and to Encrid, possessed by the desire to learn, the offer was an oasis in the desert. Always thirsty, he nodded at once. "No, I'd like that."

"We'll start with the grip." It was nearly time for patrol duty, so the lesson was short. Half an hour at most. Yet in that brief time, Encrid came to see Jaxon in a new light. "This will be meaningless without practice." How to grip and throw a thin blade. How to grip and throw a hatchet. How to throw a heavy dagger. Each required a different grip and a different throw. Here, too, there was so much to learn. As Encrid turned to leave for patrol, Jaxon spoke in a quiet but firm voice. "Don't go out of your way to face one. That comes first." After being faintly sulky throughout, he ended with concern. It made Encrid wonder anew what he had ever given these men. 'They're good to me for no reason.' It was not a romantic relationship, nor had he ever thought they shared some deep friendship. Yet judging by the way Jaxon, Rem, Ragna, and the other squad members treated him, they seemed to look after him like a child left by the water. 'No, perhaps that's not it.' They did not insist on following him onto battlefields, into fights, or when he was assigned other missions. So he was probably not a child left by the water to them. It was a pointless train of thought. "All right." He had no intention of doing so. Wanting to avoid something did not mean he could. "You're on duty with us, Squad Leader? I hear you're a high-grade soldier now. Well, fuck, congratulations." It was Jack. Bo was with him, of course. "Let's go." Once again, he immersed himself in the waves of today. Bone-freezing air swept over him, but he had put on an extra layer compared to yesterday. He was practically wearing cloth armor. Between his thick clothing and the exercises Audin had taught him to warm his body, the cold seemed much less biting. "Fuck, I'm not selling it for that!" In today's ever-unchanging marketplace, Encrid used a particular merchant's shout as his cue. It happened right around now. When the leather merchant's angry bellow rang out, the mixed-blood Fairy appeared, draped in rags. At the same time, Jack and Bo closed in on either side. Encrid had no intention of wasting a single today. Naturally, he had a plan for this one, too. With a light tap, he hooked Jack's foot with his left. "Whoa." Jack pitched forward on Encrid's left. The instant he tripped him, Encrid drew the blade at his right hip. It was a dagger called a guard sword, a weapon with a broad, thick blade that could double as a shield. SHING. SLICE. "... You lunatic!" Bo cried out in shock beside him. With good reason. The broad dagger Encrid had drawn had sliced straight through the back of Jack's neck. "Ghh." It barely qualified as a dying cry. His throat severed, Jack thrashed with his nose pressed to the ground, clutching his neck. Blood spread across the ground, and those who saw him fall screamed. "Aah!"

"Aaagh!" The nearby merchants backed away all at once. None of them would want to die to a stray blade. Amid the commotion, Bo twitched. Encrid gave him no chance to move. The broad blade moved again in his hand, striking down from above at Bo's collarbone. CLANG! "You bastard!" Bo drew his own dagger to block. Its thin blade was designed exclusively for stabbing. Presumably, he had meant to stick it into Encrid's side if things went wrong. Encrid bore down on the blocking blade and shoved it away, forcing Bo to retreat. With that moment gained, he covered his heart with his broad blade and turned. It had all happened in scarcely two breaths. Without preparation, that was more than enough time to freeze in confusion. 'So far...' It had gone according to plan. Encrid's gaze reached the assassin. The man swept back the rags covering his head, revealing his strangely unsettling appearance. Curiosity and interest had kindled in his eyes. Then it began again. 'The hand, not the sound.' He shut out his hearing and concentrated every nerve on his eyes, predicting the next movement from what he saw. This was the countermeasure Jaxon had taught him. THUNK! Encrid had assumed his opponent would aim for his heart. If not that, then his head. His concentration paid off: what had been a streak of light resolved into a blade. But he could not see where it would land. So he covered his heart and turned his head. The assassin's whistling blade struck his right forearm instead. Searing pain flared as it tore through the muscles, leaving him unable to put strength into his fingers. It was a devastating wound, the nerves damaged beyond any hope of recovery without Divine healing. "Hah." A hollow laugh escaped him. He had never imagined such an attack. Cover the heart, and the assassin aimed for the hand. Rather than pierce the shield, he dealt with the one holding it. It was a different way of looking at things. 'This is no amateur assassin.' A fact he had already learned etched itself into his mind once more. FWEEE! A second whistle rang out, and a throwing blade lodged in his heart. Did this bastard have some grudge against Frogs? He seemed unable to rest until he had planted a blade in a heart. "Hrk." His cough brought up a gush of blood. He sank to both knees, supporting himself with only his left arm. A shadow fell over his head. "You're an interesting one. The Persistent Lovers never let their prey..."

"Escape." Encrid squeezed out the last of his strength to steal the assassin's words. Looking up at the mixed-blood Fairy, he found a dumbfounded expression. The man's mouth hung half-open. Unable to continue, he twitched his lips before uttering a single questioning word. "You?" Surprised? Of course he was. The bastard always acted as though he had foreseen everything. Encrid had wanted to see that composure crumble. It was satisfying. "See you again." In a today the assassin would not remember, but Encrid would. He meant they would meet again in that today. The assassin started at Encrid's words. "Was this a trap?" The mixed-blood Fairy looked from side to side. Hiring a first-rate assassin to kill an ordinary soldier—he had thought it excessive. It made sense if this was a trap. Hearing "see you again," he assumed his opponent had some way to survive. Of course, he was mistaken about everything. What trap? Encrid's head slumped forward. Another day ended. The ferryman appeared again and mocked him again. 'Does this bastard have nothing better to do?' With that thought, Encrid greeted today once more. "Ugh, it's fucking freezing." Rem's whining reached him first thing in the morning. "Move around and warm yourself up. It'll help." Encrid said what Audin would have said before he could. Then he got up and began loosening his body. A warmed-up body was better than a stiff one. That much was certain, and Audin's exercises certainly helped with that. As he started his warm-up, Audin came over and asked, "Where did you learn that?" From you. But he could hardly answer honestly. "From a passing ascetic priest." Audin had said that the exercises he taught originated in the temple. In other words, they were one of the ways priests trained their bodies. More precisely, they would be the training methods of monks, those priests who used grappling and unarmed combat as tools for spiritual practice. "You learned them properly." Audin joined in beside him, and they loosened up with the exercises again. "Don't you know the best thing to do when it's cold is stay still and hug your blanket? Go find us some warming leather or something. You're the Squad Leader, so do something about your squad members freezing." As Encrid traded halfhearted replies to Rem's grumbling, Jaxon returned. "Let's talk." Without preamble, he took Jaxon outside. "What? Where are you going without me?" Rem was still grumbling behind them. "I'd like to learn how to use whistling blades." This was one thing Encrid had learned through his repeated todays: rather than rack his brains trying to persuade someone, it was better to come straight out with what he needed. "Where did you hear about those?"

"Travel enough, and you pick things up. I want to learn."

"And the price?"

"Whatever you want. I could even write you a blank promissory note." Well-known trading companies sometimes issued promissory notes. The most famous story about one concerned Rengadis, the continent's foremost trading company and merchant house. The head of the Rengadis trading company had an only son, born late in his life. Driven by a taste for adventure, the son joined an expedition to subjugate demonic beasts. The Rengadis family learned of it belatedly and set out to find him. But disaster had already struck, leaving the son on the brink of death. A knight order of the Empire happened to pass by and saved him. To honor the deed, the Rengadis family sent the Empire's knight order a blank promissory note. Whatever sum they wrote on it, the merchant house would pay, so long as it was within their means. The famous story had since become an idiom. Offering someone a blank promissory note now meant offering them anything short of one's life. Jaxon furrowed his brow.

"That's not something to say lightly." "That's how badly I want to learn," Encrid replied. He meant it. Those throwing blades the mixed-blood Fairy used—he wanted that skill. He wanted to learn. Desire boiled within him. Looking into Encrid's eyes, Jaxon nodded. A fire blazed within them. A fire that would destroy and burn anything it touched—a fire called desire.