CHAPTER 273

Jaxon twisted his body the moment the blade that had pierced through his collar touched his skin.

Thud, crack!

The blade only pierced through his clothes. It grazed his skin, leaving just a small scratch. However, a stinging sensation lingered where it had grazed him.

'Poisoned blade.'

It didn't matter. He had been trained with various poisons from a young age, so this was of no consequence.

In the same instant, Jaxon smoothly reached out and grabbed his opponent's wrist.

From the opponent's perspective, it must have seemed like their outstretched arm was instantly caught before they could even retract it.

Every move was executed as if it had been preordained in a single breath.

The man whose wrist was grabbed tried to apply force. Jaxon did not resist.

He followed the movement, going along with it.

The opponent, even more startled by this, reflexively swung their other hand.

It was a dagger with only one edge sharpened, designed for quick slashing, with the weight focused on one side. Naturally, it was coated with poison.

As the blade aimed for Jaxon's cheekbone, he tilted his head back, and the blade barely grazed the top of his nose.

This time, not even a scratch was left.

It was a fleeting moment.

Normally, this would be a moment to assess the situation, but Jaxon's instincts summarized all calculations into a single action.

Intuition and instinct, the realm of senses.

Instead of reacting, assessing what the opponent possessed, and deciding on an action, he transcended the entire process.

It was a streamlined process of cognition that even Encrid had employed multiple times with instinctual precision.

There was no way Jaxon, who had taught this method, would be unable to execute it.

Thus, he did what was necessary.

"Gah!"

The voice of the unseen opponent echoed in the air.

It was only natural.

While blocking and dodging the two strikes, Jaxon had also moved.

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

With his left hand gripping his sword, he thrust it diagonally upward, and crimson blood spurted out, scattering through the air.

It was only after finishing all his movements that Jaxon realized what his opponent had been carrying.

'A relic that aids in concealment.'

If it weren't something magical, it wouldn't have been able to completely escape his senses.

Or perhaps there might be an assassin with the skill to deceive his senses.

But for someone like that, their stabbing technique was pathetic.

Of course, all of this was relative.

The opponent was skilled at striking from behind, but they were just no match for him.

The blood sprayed through the air landed on Jaxon's hair and face, but he didn't even blink.

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

With the blood dripping from the air and the hand holding the wrist, Jaxon nonchalantly reached out, disarming his opponent and tossing the weapon onto the roof. Then, he reached for the hood covering the attacker's face and swiftly pulled it back.

Naturally, his hand was thickly smeared with blood, but Jaxon remained completely unperturbed.

His touch was like handling an inanimate object, an eerie sight that even made the onlookers, hardened as they were, feel a chill.

Jaxon, unfazed, examined the item his opponent had been wearing.

'A hooded robe that covers the entire body.'

It was an expensive item, worth a small fortune.

He methodically undid the ties and secured it. The front was tied with strings to keep it in place, and there were inner ties to wrap around the waist.

'The hood is just for covering.'

When worn, there were details to ensure it wouldn't slip off.

He knew this because he had a similar item.

Silently, he untied the strings and pocketed the robe. The now-useless corpse was discarded onto the ground like a stone.

"...You bastard."

One by one, dark shadows emerged on the rooftops surrounding Jaxon, encircling him in a tight formation.

Below the rooftops, a few men wielded throwing daggers, and among them, there were three or four assassins who were clearly skilled in their craft.

The man who appeared to be their leader stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak.

He had watched in disbelief and only now found his voice.

He had experienced all sorts of things in his life, but this felt strange, like he was facing a different species altogether.

It was killing and fighting as if handling emotionless, worthless objects.

Jaxon silently observed his opponent. With Krais not present, his gaze carried an eerie glint.

Depending on the situation, moonlight could evoke different feelings, but at that moment, it symbolized nothing but the cold, merciless winter—a blade-like moonlight.

Despite being soaked in blood, Jaxon's hair, which appeared dark crimson, showed no visible traces.

This only made him appear more demonic, something beyond human.

But to show fear now would ruin the reputation they had built up.

Hiss.

The sound of air hissing through clenched teeth echoed.

The leader, who had been disguised as a merchant, glared, clenching his jaw.

His eyes were bloodshot. None of them wore masks. There was no need to hide their faces.

Jaxon noted this naturally, taking in a few more facts.

Of course, none of this showed outwardly.

He remained still, holding his sword like an inanimate object.

"Kill him."

The leader spoke.

There was no need for more words. He was a trainer of assassins and an elite assassin himself.

He had sent his 'dolls', armed with relics, to do the job.

A doll moved faithfully to the command to kill the opponent.

But to be stopped?

Not only that, but to be countered, killed, and have the relic taken?

What was that? Why does he move so calmly, even in this situation?

He had seemed unusual from the start. That's why they had attacked first, before he could pull any tricks.

It was a valid strategy. It was an unexpected strike.

Neither Encrid, Jaxon, Sinar, nor Finn could have predicted it.

However, they had failed to measure Jaxon's true skill and ability.

They had only judged him as a nimble swordsman at best.

Without a hint of a smile, Jaxon stood tall.

In his left hand, he held the rolled-up relic.

It seemed as if it had always been his.

Taking someone else's belongings—this was why they were thieves.

But to have it taken from them instead? Watching it happen made their insides twist.

"Don't just brazenly take things!"

The merchant-turned-assassin trainer spat out the words.

His voice subtly reverberated in their ears. This, too, was part of the strategy.

It was a shout designed to draw attention while masking the sound of those approaching.

Jaxon naturally saw through the tactic. How could he not? It was a method he often used himself.

Three men aimed for Jaxon's back, while another moved stealthily behind them, waiting for the right moment.

The merchant with missing front teeth sneered at his opponent.

"Think you've climbed a few rooftops? Idiotic fool."

There were levels among assassins. It had been surprising that Jaxon dodged the first strike, but it seemed like luck was on his side.

The second attempt wouldn't be so easy.

Jaxon didn't move.

Three sharp, needle-like assassin's blades shot toward his back.

Only when they were almost upon him did Jaxon move.

With a sudden burst, he vanished from his spot.

The trainer's eyes widened. Having consumed the blood of a Fairy in his youth, he had acquired some of the Fairies' unique sensitivity.

But his opponent's presence, his movement, had completely slipped past his senses.

In other words, he had missed it. Even his acute senses had failed to catch it.

Then—

Thud, thud, thud!

The sound of slicing flesh was heard, and suddenly, a blade was at his back.

The trainer imagined himself dodging and counter attacking. In his mind, he did just that.

He turned around, kicked at the shins, and drew his hidden secret weapon.

It was a thin, needle-like skewer designed for stabbing upwards.

A unique weapon modified from the blades used by the Fairies.

His mind reacted and moved, but his body did not.

Everything was already over. His body didn't move as he had imagined.

'Why?'

The leader thought briefly, but the thought didn't last long.

The world spun around him. His severed head lived for just a moment longer.

The optic nerves of his severed head captured something.

It was the second blade he had prepared, the one held by the 'doll' wearing a belt that silenced sound.

This was the real deal, a second doll meant to succeed where the first had failed.

It had stabbed its target correctly. But what he had hoped for didn't happen.

The enemy who had suddenly disappeared and slain three assassins now swung his sword down with a simple motion, blocking the secret attack.

The skewer-like blade broke, and the assassin who had relied on the relic retreated immediately.

It was an excellent assassin's stance—never attempting anything beyond a surprise attack.

Then, somewhere nearby, there was the sound of something collapsing with a soft thud.

That was all. The leader's vision faded to black.

Once a notorious assassin in the Black Blade Bandits, death was fair to all.

'Direction, position, air vibrations.'

He couldn't sense them.

This was an enemy as troublesome as the hooded robe.

A skilled assassin. Not bad at all.

So Jaxon employed a method. He deflected the incoming attack.

Using that, he gauged the direction and pinpointed the enemy's position through the vibrations.

The rest was simple. Before the enemy could dodge—specifically, at the moment when the blades clashed—he threw the Silent Knife.

The Silent Knife was less powerful than the Whistling Dagger.

Its blade was barely the length of an index finger.

But because it flew soundlessly from close range, it was harder to block.

This was why it was also called the Soundless Dagger, a close-range throwing weapon and a technique.

It was an example where weapon and skill merged to become an art.

The blade was painted black, and after being coated with a few substances, it became a throwing knife that couldn't be seen or heard, even when reflecting light. It was one of Jaxon's signature weapons.

And that was the end of it. The thrown knife embedded itself so deeply into the enemy's forehead that it was barely visible.

There were six assailants in total.

The battle had happened in an instant and ended just as quickly.

This is what a true assassin's battle is like.

As Jaxon examined the bodies, he noticed a belt.

'This is an item that silences sound.'

He recognized it immediately and took it.

At the same time, Jaxon thought.

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

'Or... maybe not.'

Wouldn't that person then be able to easily assassinate their superiors?

Was it meant as a way to keep each other in check?

Perhaps that was the intention.

Indeed, the dead leader had used the two dolls to keep each other in check.

But now that he was dead, his mouth would tell no tales.

Jaxon opened his senses on the rooftop.

He could feel ominous killing intent from all around.

'Quite a few.'

The entire village was a den of thieves.

But that wouldn't be a problem.

The Black Blade Bandits didn't realize they were facing a force that had over a hundred combat-ready men, including someone of Knight-level strength.

Had they known the true identities of Encrid and his companions, they would never have attacked.

But ignorance often leads to misfortune.

* * *

Finn kicked the sword away and rolled to the side, raising her wrist.

The shortsword flew clumsily, but as soon as the blade flew toward the enemy, the enemy dodged.

He shifted his body to the side, but even as he dodged, he kept his eyes on Finn.

In that brief moment, Finn used the wrist-mounted device—a gift from Encrid—to fire a short arrow.

Ping! 

The arrow flew, but the enemy swung a club, blocking the arrow.

Thud!

With a loud noise, the arrow veered to the side. The eyes of the man who had swung the club were filled with killing intent.

'Damn it.'

Isn't it pretty dark right now? Even with the moonlight, it's still quite dim.

But he managed to deflect that short arrow in this darkness?

That means he fights at least as well as the Border Guard Unit.

Even though they were overshadowed by Encrid and the Independent Company, Finn knew that these opponents were no pushovers.

Finn was also well aware of her own strengths and weaknesses.

She had an advantage in close-quarters combat, but when it came to fighting with weapons, she was at a disadvantage.

She had many skills outside of combat, but when it came to individual tactics, this was the case.

So, what should she do?

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

After rolling on the ground and quickly assessing the situation, Finn honestly thought this was pretty dangerous.

"Damn it, this is a mess."

The man with a foul mouth said, patting his crotch.

"You're going to regret this."

If she got caught, it wouldn't end well for her.

Damn it, she had to escape somehow.

Finn was even prepared to make a run for it if things got worse, but she quickly felt relieved.

'Finally, about time.'

She saw Sinar, who had vanished without a trace, now silently slitting the throat of the crossbowman who had been aiming at Finn.

The touch of the Fairy was as cold and sharp as ever.

Slash! 

Blood sprayed into the air like a fountain. The light faded from the crossbowman's eyes as his carotid artery was severed.

Behind the falling archer, short daggers gleamed in the dark, and it looked as though only Sinar's emerald eyes floated in the shadows.

The darkness enveloped her.

"Bitch!"

The remaining man cursed, still foul-mouthed. Ignoring him, Finn charged at the third man, who was stunned by the sudden turn of events.

There had been three men waiting for her, one had already been dispatched by Sinar's dagger, leaving two.

The last man clumsily brandished a dagger, exposing a massive opening.

Finn lowered her stance and rushed forward.

The opponent swung his blade downward, but Finn had predicted this move and twisted her body to the side.

Using the momentum, she kicked off the ground and shot upward from below.

It was an Ail Caraz-Style tackle.

The man, who had been watching in a daze, had his wrist seized, his arm twisted into an unnatural angle.

Crack, crack, crack!

"Aaargh!"

"Shut up."

Finn spoke as she continued to break the man's finger bones.

Tears streamed from the man's eyes, snot and drool ran down his face, and his eyes rolled back in pain.

Finn grabbed the man's neck and twisted it to the side.

Crack.

The man, his neck broken, collapsed forward.

All of this happened in a rapid sequence of movements.

In the background, there were curses—"Damn it", "Crazy", "You bitch"—coming from somewhere nearby.

While Finn was busy breaking the man's joints and eventually snapping his neck, Sinar had gifted the foul-mouthed man two holes, one in his heart and one in his throat, with her dagger.

The man was now on the ground, trembling.

Gurgle.

Instead of words, blood poured from his mouth as he tried to speak.

Thick, dark red blood spilled under the moonlight.

In front of him, Sinar turned her gaze indifferently without a word. Blood splattered from the corpse had left specks on her face.

Her pale face, with its inhuman beauty, now adorned with a few drops of crimson blood, was illuminated by the moonlight.

It looked like the face of some nameless work of art.

The living artwork turned its gaze to Finn and spoke.

"Things have gone wrong."

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