Eternally Regressing Knight

Jaxen twisted his body the moment the blade that had stabbed into his side pierced his coat and grazed his skin.

Thunk, crack!

The blade had only pierced his clothing. It had grazed his skin but left only a minor scratch. However, a slight tingling sensation emanated from the wound.

‘Poisoned with paralysis.’

It didn’t matter. Jaxen had trained with various poisons since he was young, so this kind of effect was useless against him.

At the same time as the thought crossed his mind, Jaxen smoothly extended his hand and grabbed his assailant’s wrist.

From the assailant’s perspective, it was as if his outstretched arm was seized before he could pull it back.

All the movements were executed as if they were promised in a single breath.

The one whose wrist was caught applied force. Jaxen didn’t resist.

He followed the movement.

The assailant, more flustered, reflexively swung his other hand.

It was a short, well-balanced dagger with a single sharp edge, and of course, it was coated with poison.

As the blade aimed at Jaxen’s cheekbone, he tilted his head back, and the blade grazed the area just above his nose.

This time, there wasn’t even a scratch.

It was a fleeting moment, barely perceptible.

Normally, this would be the moment when one would take time to process the situation, but Jaxen’s instinct dismissed all calculations in an instant.

It was an instinctual, intuitive reaction—a realm of pure sensation.

Normally, one would observe, react, assess what the opponent had, and then decide on an action, but Jaxen bypassed all those steps.

This was the same shortened cognitive process that Enkrid had performed many times before.

It would be ridiculous for Jaxen, the one who taught Enkrid, to be unable to do this.

And so, he did what was necessary at that moment.

Gurk!

The sound of an unseen voice echoed in the air.

That was to be expected.

In the time it took to block and dodge the two strikes, Jaxen also made his move.

His foot stepped on the opponent’s and the blade in his hand pierced the empty air.

With a dagger held in his left hand, Jaxen stabbed it diagonally upwards, and red blood sprayed out, splattering in the air.

It wasn’t until Jaxen finished his actions that he understood what his opponent had been wielding.

‘An artifact that helps with stealth.’

If it weren’t for something magical, the opponent couldn’t have completely escaped his senses.

Of course, there might be an assassin skilled enough to deceive his senses, but the opponent’s skill with the blade was far from impressive.

This, of course, was all relative.

Though the opponent was also used to striking from behind, his skills were lacking.

Blood poured through the air, dripping over Jaxen’s hair and face, but he didn’t flinch.

His red-brown hair seemed to absorb the blood, turning a dark crimson under the moonlight.

Blood splattered into the air, the wrist still gripped in his hand.

In that state, Jaxen pried the weapon from his opponent’s hand, casually threw it onto the roof, and then began feeling around his attacker’s face. After a moment, he swiftly yanked off the hood.

Naturally, his hands were covered in blood, but Jaxen remained unfazed.

His touch was as calm as if he were handling a lifeless object, creating a chilling atmosphere.

Even those nearby, cold-hearted as they were, couldn’t help but feel a shiver.

Without concern, Jaxen checked the belongings his opponent had been wearing.

‘A hooded robe that covers the entire body.’

It was an expensive item, easily worth its weight.

He carefully removed it, noting the cord to fasten it and the additional straps around the waist inside.

‘The hood is simply worn.’

When worn, it needed to be carefully adjusted to prevent it from being removed.

Jaxen knew this because he had similar items himself.

After quietly untying the cords and collecting the robe, he discarded the corpse as if throwing away a stone.

“…You bastard.”

At that moment, black shadows began to gather around Jaxen on all the surrounding rooftops. They formed a tight encirclement.

Several more figures appeared beneath the roofs, gripping throwing knives, and a few more highly skilled assassins also showed up.

The leader, who appeared to be in charge, stepped forward and spoke.

The leader, who had been stunned for a moment, finally opened his mouth.

He had seen many strange things in his time, but this felt different. It was as if he were facing some kind of otherworldly creature.

A cold, emotionless killing—this battle felt like the slaughter of something worthless.

Jaxen silently met the leader’s gaze. Since Krais wasn’t there, his eyes only gleamed with an eerie, unsettling light.

The feeling of the moonlight could change depending on the situation, but at this moment, it was like the cold, merciless blade of winter.

His blood-streaked hair seemed almost supernatural, its dark red color reflecting the moon’s light, making him appear more demonic or inhuman.

But if anyone allowed themselves to be intimidated, all the fame and reputation they had built would be for naught.

Whoosh.

A sound like wind whistling through clenched teeth came from the leader, who then bared his fangs in anger.

His eyes were bloodshot. He had discarded any masks or disguises; there was no reason to hide his face.

Jaxen naturally took in this information and understood a few things.

But none of that showed on his face.

Still, with the sword in his hand, he remained motionless.

“Kill him.”

The leader said.

No long speeches were necessary. This was someone who raised assassins and was himself among the best.

He had sent his “puppet” to do his bidding with the artifact.

The puppet moved swiftly to kill the target.

But would that be stopped?

Jaxen didn’t just block the attack — he countered with a fatal strike and claimed the artifact.

What was happening here? How could he move so calmly in this situation?

From the start, there had been something about him. That’s why they decided to strike first before pulling any tricks.

It was an effective strategy. The unexpected blow had caught the enemy off guard.

Neither Enkrid, Jaxen, Shinar, nor Finn had anticipated this.

The issue wasn’t that they underestimated Jaxen’s skill, but that they had misjudged his abilities entirely.

They had seen him as just a quick-footed swordsman.

Jaxen, without a hint of a smile, immediately stood tall.

In his left hand, he casually held the coiled-up artifact.

It looked as if it had always belonged to him.

To take someone else’s property made them thieves.

But to have something stolen from them? Watching the scene unfold twisted their stomachs.

“Don’t just take things so boldly!”

The merchant-turned-assassin’s master spat out the words as if to mock him.

The words lingered in the air, ringing in the ears. It was part of the plan, after all.

The voice was meant to mask the sound of an attack. The sudden shout would distract the opponent’s attention.

Jaxen read the tactic naturally. He wasn’t unfamiliar with it; he had used it himself many times.

Three people aimed for Jaxen’s back, while one masked their presence to strike at the right moment.

The assassin’s mentor, once a toothless merchant, sneered.

“Has he ever even been on a rooftop? Fool.”

The assassin was skilled, but Jaxen had dodged the first strike with surprising ease. It seemed more like luck than skill.

The second strike wouldn’t be so easy.

Jaxen didn’t move.

Three sharp blades, resembling skewers, stabbed toward his back.

It wasn’t until they were almost upon him that Jaxen moved.

In an instant, he vanished from his position.

The assassin, wide-eyed, watched as Jaxen’s movements slipped past his senses.

As a child, he had ingested fairy blood, gaining some of their heightened sensitivity.

But Jaxen’s movements had eluded him.

Thud!

A sudden thud echoed, and the assassin felt a blade at his back.

He tried to dodge, to counter, but his mind could no longer command his body.

He turned and struck, aiming to deliver a low blow while drawing a hidden weapon.

It was a thin, needle-like weapon, forged using the unique materials of the fairy folk.

His mind reacted before his body, but it was already too late.

The moment his weapon came into play, it was already over.

His body had failed to respond as he expected.

“Why?”

The leader briefly questioned himself but didn’t have time to think further.

The moment the assassin’s head was separated from his body, it remained alive for a brief moment.

The severed head’s optic nerves recorded something — a second blade, a doll wearing a belt artifact that muffled sound, was clearly visible.

This was the true backup plan in case the first doll failed.

The assassin had struck with precision, but the expected result didn’t unfold.

In a flash, Jaxen, who had killed three assassins in an instant, struck down the fourth.

A simple motion, but the hidden strike was thwarted.

The skewer-like blade snapped, and the assassin retreated immediately.

This was the hallmark of a great assassin — never initiating an attack unless it was a surprise.

Then, a dull thud sounded.

It was over. The world turned dark for the leader’s eyes.

Once the most notorious assassin in the Black Sword Band, he now faced the inevitable fate that awaited all men — death.

“Direction, position, the tremor in the air.”

Nothing.

This was the troublesome foe, as elusive as a hooded robe.

A skilled assassin, with methods that were effective.

He had struck out with precision, deflecting the incoming attack.

Using that, he gauged the direction and position, locating his target with the tremors of air.

From there, it was simple. Before the opponent could evade, he threw the Silent Knife exactly when their swords collided.

The Silent Knife lacked the power of a whistle-dagger, with a blade no longer than a thumb.

However, in close range, it was harder to stop, as it flew soundlessly through the air.

It was a skillful weapon and technique combination, often referred to as a “silent blade.”

By coating the blade in black and using certain poisons, it could become invisible and inaudible to the naked eye.

It was one of Jaxen’s signature weapons.

And that was the end. The Silent Knife sank deep into the assassin’s forehead, undetectable even by touch.

There were six assailants in total.

The battle had ended as quickly as it had begun.

This was the true nature of an assassin’s fight.

Jaxen rummaged through the fallen assassin’s belongings, finding the belt with the artifact.

“This is the item that mutes sound,” he observed, instantly recognizing it and taking it for himself.

At the same time, Jaxen thought to himself.

If it were him, he would have given both of these items to a single person.

“Ah, maybe not.”

Could the one holding them have used them to eliminate their superiors?

Perhaps they were intended for mutual deterrence?

That could be it.

In fact, it was true. The dead leader had used the two dolls to keep each other in check.

However, no words could come from the lips of the already dead.

Jaxen opened his senses from the rooftop.

He felt a heavy, sinister presence everywhere.

So many.

The entire village was a den of thieves.

It wouldn’t be much of a problem, though.

The Black Sword Band didn’t know it, but even if their combat forces numbered over a hundred. They were capable of handling a handful of skilled people, but not the likes of Enkrid and his group.

Had they known the true identities of Enkrid and his team, they would never have dared to strike.

But, as they say, ignorance often leads to being punished.

Finn kicked her sword away, rolling to the side as she raised her wrist forward.

The shortsword flew awkwardly through the air, but as the blade moved, her opponent dodged.

Moving sideways, the enemy kept his eyes locked on Finn.

In the moment, Finn used the small crossbow attached to her wrist — a gift from Enkrid — to fire a short arrow.

With a ping, the arrow shot out, but her opponent swung a club, deflecting it.

Thud!

With a loud noise, the arrow veered off course. The enemy, having blocked the shot, was glaring at her with malice in his eyes.

What the hell?

It was pretty dark now, wasn’t it? Even with the moonlight, it was still quite dim.

And yet, this guy had managed to knock away a short arrow in the dark?

That meant he was at least as skilled as a border patrol guard.

Finn, who had been outmatched by Enkrid and the Independent Unit, realized that this man was also no pushover.

Finn was well aware of her own strengths and weaknesses.

She was good at hand-to-hand combat, but when weapons came into play, it put her at a disadvantage.

She had many special tools outside of combat, but when it came to personal tactics, things weren’t so simple.

So, what should she do?

As always, she needed to create an opening and close the distance.

After rolling on the ground and analyzing the situation, Finn honestly thought it was getting pretty dangerous.

“You’re talking a lot of shit.”

The thug spat out curses, smacking his crotch as he taunted her.

“You’d better be ready.”

If she got caught, it wouldn’t end well.

Shit, she’d escape if things went south.

But then, she felt a wave of relief.

Finally.

Shinar, who had disappeared without a trace, now appeared and swiftly severed the crossbowman’s throat.

The fairy’s touch was chilling and deadly, moving without sound.

With a splash, blood sprayed into the air as the carotid artery was severed. The crossbowman’s eyes dulled, and the last light vanished from them.

Behind the fallen crossbowman, in the darkness, only her emerald eyes glowed, floating in the void like an eerie specter.

The darkness seemed to swallow her entire body.

“You bitch!”

The remaining thug cursed, his foul mouth still running. Finn ignored him and lunged at the third man, who was dazed by the sudden turn of events.

There were three opponents waiting for her, but one was already lost to Shinar’s dagger, leaving two remaining.

The last man, clumsily holding a dagger, tried to find an opening. It was a huge one.

Finn dropped low and charged.

The enemy swung his sword downward. She had anticipated the move and shifted to the side.

In her twisted stance, she pushed off the ground and soared upward.

It was a tackle in the style of Aelkaraz.

The thug who had been watching in shock didn’t react in time. Finn grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and broke his arm at an unnatural angle.

Crack!

“Argh!”

“Shut up.”

Finn spoke as she broke his finger bones, her voice cold.

Tears flowed from the thug’s eyes, and saliva dripped from his mouth as his vision swam in pain.

Finn grabbed his neck and twisted it to the side.

Snap.

The thug’s neck snapped, and he crumpled to the ground, dead.

It all happened in the span of a few heartbeats.

During that time, the sounds of curses and insults echoed from the other side.

While Finn had shattered one man’s joints and snapped his neck, Shinar, with her dagger, silently pierced the heart and throat of the one who had been cursing.

The thug fell, his body twitching.

With a gurgling sound, blood poured from his mouth instead of words.

Rich, red blood soaked in the moonlight as it flowed freely.

Before her, Shinar, without a word, turned her gaze away. Blood from the corpse splattered across her face.

Her white face, her inhuman beauty, was stained with a few droplets of red. The moonlight shone on her face, turning her into something like an unknowable piece of art.

Shinar, now looking at Finn, spoke in a calm voice.

“We’ve got a mess on our hands.”

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TL here! Thank you for reading!

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