Chapter 60 - Only Ten Times

Interesting? That was what Encrid wanted to say. "You're really interesting." The rag-covered mixed-blood Fairy ran his tongue over his lips and let his arms hang loose. The pale backs of his hands showed beneath the rags. One look was enough to tell that he was ready to attack. The moment those hands moved, a terrible whistle would sound. ["If you wait until you see the projectile to dodge, you're too late. Watch the hand."] That was Jaxon's answer to whistling blades, and to anyone who wielded throwing weapons. Catching a loosed arrow with your eyes was difficult. ["Unless you're an actual knight, it's difficult. But there are ways to dodge an incoming arrow without being a knight."] The art of discerning what to watch: the Throw-Discerning Eye. However cleverly someone hid their hands, they could not conceal every movement of their arms. Keep the enemy in front of you. Take in their hands and arms. Then take in their entire body and dodge. That was the essence of it. Jaxon spoke softly, but every word sank in. When Rem taught something, he generally used his body. Action came before words. Jaxon was the opposite. A quiet explanation came before the demonstration. Understanding it in your head came first. Ragna put little effort into teaching until something caught his interest. Once it did, he explained and demonstrated at the same time. He went with the flow. Audin was similar to Rem, but he spoke like a god of endless encouragement. In some ways, he might have been the worst of them. ["You can do it, brother."]

["It's all right, brother. That much won't send you into God's embrace."]

["Does it hurt? Then it's going well."] Learning the exercises had been anything but easy. But they had paid off handsomely. He stood on the city's outskirts, in the shadow of its walls. The air here was several times colder than in the sunlight. Even so, a comfortable warmth circulated through his body. He felt no stiffness. He had to credit the exercises Audin had taught him. Even as his thoughts wandered, Encrid never took his eyes off the mixed-blood Fairy. To dodge whistling blades, he had to watch the fingertips. Hands were quicker than eyes, but the swinging arms could do nothing about their motion. Trace the trajectory, feel it, see it. If he could see it, he could dodge it. He had done so time and again already. Keeping his eyes on his opponent was his task now. All the while, Encrid kept his own hands hanging loose. The mixed-blood Fairy was in the same position. His opponent's throwing skills might fall short of whistling blades, but they were no trifling matter. 'How can I get a blade into him?' The mixed-blood Fairy was excited. Originally, this had been a dull, tedious job: a contract to kill one ordinary soldier. Hardly anything to pique his interest. The mixed-blood Fairy assassin had two peculiar tastes. One was to exploit an opponent's carelessness and stab them in the heart. The other was to kill a first-rate warrior or better in a head-on fight. He enjoyed both. He had originally expected little satisfaction and focused on the former. 'This should be fun.'

Now he had shifted to the latter. He kept licking his lips, a habit when he concentrated. His eyes searched continually for an opening, but none readily presented itself. A clear sensation struck him: however he threw his whistling blades now, his opponent would dodge them. That was fine. 'So you're ready for my throwing blades.' He did not know how his opponent had learned of it, but the man had broken his setup. And by the simplest possible means: changing the location. Things had gone awry. Three people were already dead, and there had been a commotion, yet no one was approaching. The original assassination site was the bustling heart of the market. All that bustle slowed a person's awareness for an instant. The two expendable men, Jack and Bo, would also work on him with their inane chatter. That was not all. He had brought a skilled crossbowman and hidden him on a rooftop, and arranged for the man called Rotten to follow secretly. All those preparations had unraveled with a single change of location. There were no buildings nearby to hide in. Two idiots had died before they even started. The moment they met, an unexpected throwing blade had killed the crossbowman as well. 'Did he plan all of it?' He ran his tongue over his lips again. Concentrating to the utmost kept drying them out. He pieced together what his target must have done on the way here. 'He planned it.'

He had planned everything. Somehow, he had known in advance. 'There was a leak.'

Where the information had leaked did not matter. Only the result did. Dispose of Jack and Bo, then immediately eliminate the soldier with the crossbow. 'Clean work.'

His opponent's calculations, his methods, even his Throwing blade technique. After examining it all, the assassin reached a conclusion. 'He's in the same line of work.'

Either that, or he had extensive experience with such things. He was mistaken. But it was understandable. His opponent had read the assassination scheme and countered it head-on. Even if information had leaked, that response could only suggest experience in such matters. 'Then what options do I have?'

A few remained. He carried three kinds of poison inside his clothes. Behind his waist was his personal weapon, modified to be shorter: a long spike the length of a forearm. Called a needle, it was one of the weapons favored by Fairies, alongside the Nidle. Draw and thrust. That was all it took. Only one person had ever survived this trick. To be precise, one particular Frog. That fucking Frog bastard. ["Why do you look so damn ugly?"] That crazy frog bastard had mocked his appearance without hesitation. The mixed-blood Fairy was sensitive about his looks. Fairies were supposed to be beautiful, but mixed blood had left him outside that blessing. Ever since the day he met that Frog bastard, he had always finished his jobs by bursting his target's heart. Licking his lips when he concentrated, and always aiming the final blow at the heart. Both were ingrained habits now. 'Poison would be a waste.'

Thinking of the Frog made him want to split his opponent's heart apart. It did not seem particularly difficult, either. 'Close the distance, then run him through with the needle in one stroke.'

His opponent might have a talent for swordsmanship, but surely that only applied to a straightforward fight. The mixed-blood Fairy trusted his hidden trump card. Then how should he close the distance? As he considered several possibilities, he sensed the idiot called Rotten flinch. 'Fucking moron.'

The mixed-blood Fairy spoke.

"Don't move, idiot." Rotten swallowed hard. He had been just about to ease a foot away. The pressure made him desperate to get out of there. After years in a thieves' guild, he recognized the air of death. His sixth sense was sounding a frantic warning. "How many have you got?"

After stopping Rotten with his words, the mixed-blood Fairy raised his voice toward the man ahead. Encrid shrugged. Presumably, he meant how many daggers Encrid had on hand. "I've only got two."

The mixed-blood Fairy lied without missing a beat. He had already moistened his lips plenty of times. "I've got one."

Encrid answered honestly, though he knew the truth. "Sounds like I have the advantage."

"That's what you think." The dagger Encrid had thrown was a secret weapon he had obtained by pestering Krais that morning. He had asked for something thin and light, and Krais had delivered. As a result, one soldier had lost his meat-cutting knife, and Encrid had gained a throwing knife whose blade had been sharpened so much that it was now only finger-length. "You really are interesting."

The Fairy murmured the words. One wrong move, and a whistling blade would fly. Even so, Encrid agreed with him. Tension warmed his entire body. A single ill-timed blink would bring death's hand squeezing around his throat. Yet he enjoyed it: measuring his skill against his opponent's and clashing with him. Pitting their prepared moves against one another. The urge to compete and the desire to win filled his chest. Such feelings had not come easily before. Had he ever had a moment when he could set his mind on winning? He had been too busy struggling desperately to survive. What about now? This repeating today, these days in which he had met death in countless mortal struggles, had changed more than his swordsmanship. He had never been one to give up, but victory had hardly been something he could hope for. Especially against an opponent whose skill exceeded a certain level. But now...

'I can win.'

He wanted to win, and he could. His mindset had changed. "Pick up the corpse. Use it as a shield."

The mixed-blood Fairy spoke to Rotten, unconcerned that Encrid could hear.

"If he throws at you, he dies too. He won't try it. Take the crossbow as well." Of all the methods he had considered, the mixed-blood Fairy chose the most rational, efficient, and reliable. Exploit their numerical advantage. There were two of them. Rotten hesitated. The mixed-blood Fairy calmly explained the situation. It was necessary.

"We're inside the city. Won't a patrol come through here soon?" He was right. Encrid stood to gain simply by stalling. A patrol would arrive here soon. Then it would be over. Rotten knew that the moment they met those soldiers, his cover would be blown, and he would be hard-pressed to survive. "Damn it."

Cursing the shitty turn of events, Rotten carefully lifted the corpse. He was so tense that his back was soaked. 'When did he get so good?'

Keeping his glare fixed on Encrid slowed Rotten's movements. He felt around on the ground, first set the crossbow carefully aside, then lifted the corpse with the throwing blade lodged in its head. It was heavy. He grunted with effort. If he stumbled now, he was finished. He concentrated, and sweat dripped from his forehead onto the corpse. 'Just move carefully. That bastard can't throw his knife.'

Thinking that, he raised the corpse as a shield. WHOOSH! SWISH! Encrid's arm moved. A throwing blade flew. The corpse had yet to cover Rotten's entire body. He twisted desperately. Perhaps that was why the blade struck his shoulder. "Ghk."

Rotten swallowed his scream. As the blade struck him, the Fairy's hands moved as well. Both hands rose and fell, exactly four times. FWEEEEET! The whistles overlapped in a shrill blast. Four throwing blades flew. Even as Encrid threw his knife, he never took his eyes off the mixed-blood Fairy. He did not blink once. He read the trajectories of the incoming whistling blades, immediately spread his feet forward and back, and dropped low, almost flat against the ground. He bent at the waist and planted both hands on the earth. Four whistling blades passed through the space where his head and chest had been. Everything since Encrid's throw had happened in the time it took to draw half a breath. During the remaining half, the mixed-blood Fairy's hands moved again. He had paused only the briefest instant after throwing the four blades. A staggered attack. Two more whistling blades flew at Encrid's head and thigh as he braced both hands on the ground. Encrid rolled sideways on reflex. THUD! THUD! The blades buried themselves in the earth. Encrid hurriedly raised his head after rolling and searched for the enemy. If he missed a throw, it was over. His gaze darted left and right. He could not find his opponent. The first things he saw were Rotten, struck in the forearm by a throwing blade, and the rags fluttering open in midair. Encrid peered through the gaps in the rags. Nothing. The assassin was nowhere to be seen. He had missed him because he had instinctively looked for a position from which to throw blades. Meanwhile, the mixed-blood Fairy was charging toward him in a low crouch. He was inside the range Encrid had spread his gaze to cover. His ears perked up, locating the figure kicking off the ground. Only then did his eyes find the mixed-blood Fairy. The assassin had already closed the distance. Only a few steps remained.

* * *

Distract him with the rags and close the distance. His opponent would never have expected him to come closer. That was the mixed-blood Fairy's plan. He had been right. Encrid's face showed pure alarm. Yet he still moved. WHIZZ! 'Son of a bitch.'

Without a thought for his own lie, the mixed-blood Fairy cursed the man inwardly. A third throwing blade had appeared in his opponent's hand. But it was not aimed at him. It was because of the most efficient method the mixed-blood Fairy had devised. Superior numbers always conferred an advantage. If Rotten picked up the crossbow and kept him in check, it would be over. The man must have had no choice, either. The blade sliced through the air and lodged in the forehead of Rotten, who had taken up the crossbow instead of the corpse shield. Of course, the mixed-blood Fairy did not see it. He was simply running as hard as he could. Then he was within two steps. He reached toward his waist. He saw his opponent desperately grab the longsword after throwing the blade. Far faster than the man could draw and slash, the mixed-blood Fairy's short, spike-like sword stabbed at Encrid's heart. CLANG! TING-TING! 'He blocked it?'

The mixed-blood Fairy was stunned. Utterly, horrifically stunned. That blow should not have been blocked. It was his trump card, his killing strike. Without knowing about it, no one could possibly stop it. But it had been stopped. From his perspective, it was unfair. Encrid had already seen the spike-like needle in his ninth death. Instead of drawing his longsword, Encrid caught the spike-like sword on the flat of the guard sword he had drawn while throwing his blade, then twisted it aside, letting it slide away. It was not a perfect Flowing Sword Technique, but he could manage something similar. Thanks to that, the blade merely shattered instead of being pierced. The shattered blade scattered from his chest like fragments of light. Letting go of the guard sword's grip, Encrid drew his longsword. It all happened in a single breath. Block, discard, draw. He never stopped. One smooth motion followed another. Even the powerful downward stroke of the newly drawn longsword flowed like water. It happened in the brief instant before the broken blade hit the ground. Despite his shock, the mixed-blood Fairy raised his needle over his head to block. It was too late to dodge, so this was the best defense he could manage. And Encrid put the fundamentals of the Heavy Sword Technique to full use. A sword that smashed and shattered whatever blocked it as it crashed down. CLANG! The needle snapped like a twig, throwing sparks. The longsword's blade fell onto the mixed-blood Fairy's head and fulfilled a sword's essential purpose. THUNK! CRUNCH! No one could now inspect the mixed-blood Fairy's ugly features, which a passing Frog had once so mercilessly mocked. His face had split in two. The longsword in Encrid's hand cut down through the Fairy's chin. Without so much as a death cry, the dead Fairy pitched forward onto his split face, blood pouring out. "Whew."

Encrid released the breath he had been holding. Then, after retrieving his sword, he reflected. Ten times. Only ten times. That was all it had taken to end this repeating today. Of all the todays he had experienced, this had been the shortest repetition yet.