Chapter 270

The Black Blade Bandits were large enough in scale to be called a small territorial state.

Because of that, they were considered one of the greatest plagues and afflictions that Naurilia and the kingdom harbored.

They were that dangerous.

One of the gang’s officers had cheese dribbling out of his mouth.

It was because of the absurd news he had just heard.

He wiped his mouth roughly with a linen napkin before speaking.

“All the assassins got wiped out?”

He sent Swallow Blade—gone.

He sent a mercenary squad—obliterated.

Afterward, the Black Blade Bandits’ officer decided to use everything he had.

He dispatched a full unit composed of first-rate assassins.

And they failed.

Bang!

The officer slammed his fist onto the table and shouted.

“Are you planning to drag the name of the Black Blade through the sewers?!”

So, you’re saying you’re good in a fight?

Then take this too.

He gathered every assassin stationed in the branch. Not a single elite assassin was left behind.

Even the mightiest warrior or hero can’t fend off a dagger in the back.

Especially not if it’s coated in poison.

More than fifteen assassins skilled in both poison and blade were sent.

If that was the case, then even if they didn’t kill the target, shouldn’t they have at least inflicted serious injuries?

“He’s fine? What about our men?”

“They all died.”

“And the watcher we left to report back?”

“He died too.”

If they hadn’t left a distant observer for cleanup, they wouldn’t have even gotten this much information.

“If I’d gotten any closer, I probably would’ve died too.”

A member said, kneeling on one knee, sweat dripping down his face.

The sweat soaked into the smooth stone floor beneath him.

As it hit the light gray floor, the sweat stained it darker.

More drops joined, dotting the floor.

He never saw Jaxson. He only saw the final moments of the watcher who had been closer than him.

‘Didn’t even see what killed him.’

All he saw was a comrade flailing at the air, caught by something invisible before dying.

So he bolted.

The moment he saw that someone had died without making a sound or sensing anything, he ran.

Had he not, he would’ve died too.

His instincts told him so.

“What the hell are those bastards?”

The officer’s tone carried defeat.

Every assassin he’d built up over a lifetime was dead.

They had existed, and now they didn’t. Gone. Dead or not, they were now unreachable.

‘What the hell are those freaks?’

His mouth hung open. He was too stunned to speak. He turned to the member who had given the report.

The man buried his head low. He had nothing more to say.

The entire report could be summed up as: they’re all dead.

“So what do we do now?”

A servant standing behind asked.

“What do you mean, what do we do?”

The officer replied, mulling over the words the servant-turned-member had said.

‘Damn it.’

The situation was spiraling out of control.

If things went wrong, someone from below would take a bite out of him. There were countless people eyeing his position.

Of course, they couldn’t replace him immediately.

He had too many things running here.

‘From the businesses, to everything.’

There was a clear reason why his position had become so solid.

It was because of the drugs he supplied. Thanks to him, there weren’t many nobles in the kingdom who didn’t know what it was.

The money made from selling that drug became funding for the Black Blade’s operations.

“I’ll request support from the main branch. Until then, we lay low.”

They had no one left to send. Until someone came from the main branch, it was best not to touch anything.

“In the meantime, we focus on the ‘burrow’ we dug.”

It was code, but no one here misunderstood.

As long as the ‘burrow’ was untouched, his foundation remained solid. For now, he decided to forget about whether it was Encrid or some idiot from the Demon Realm.

Of course, the grudge would resurface soon enough.

He had no intention of letting it go.

“Where is he now?”

“He’s probably swinging a sword somewhere in the territory.”

The sharp-eyed, quick-witted servant answered. A strikingly handsome young man with a smooth, beardless face.

His judgment was reliable.

They had thoroughly investigated Encrid’s daily routine once before.

‘Sword freak.’

That nickname described him perfectly.

Markus had concealed the fact that Encrid and his group had left for a mission.

It wasn’t with any particular aim—it was just a habit.

Markus knew very well that information became more valuable the more it was restricted.

Above all, Encrid was the perfect person to hide.

He’d vanish for days at a time into the training hall or his room.

Of course, eventually, people would realize he was gone. But for about a week, no one would notice.

Because of that, the Black Blade officer didn’t even know Encrid had come to his ‘burrow.’

* * *

Sinar stood still in the room, focusing.

Sounds trickled in faintly from the adjacent room.

She used the surrounding noises to judge the situation.

She checked if anyone was watching.

No one.

The moment she confirmed that, she raised her right index finger and traced a small circle in the air.

It was a sign language only some of the Elf Company knew.

“This is the last one, right?”

Finn asked.

“Seems so.”

The Elf Company Commander reclined on the bed, stretching her legs out.

Her smooth, supple muscles extended visibly.

She didn’t seem to feel the cold much. Wearing only leather pants gave her unrestricted movement.

She was composed in every other aspect.

There was a small brazier in the inn room, but she had pushed it aside the moment she entered, as if it bothered her.

When asked why—

“It might catch fire.”

She said.

“But is it okay for us to waste time like this?”

Finn asked again, fastening the front of her armor, which doubled as leather clothing.

Between the cloth was hardened leather. Though not the best quality, it was warm and sturdy—though it made it hard to keep the front closed.

Sinar answered without a hint of a smile.

“This job is important too.”

“That’s true.”

Finn dragged a chair to the window and leaned against it halfway.

She had to oil the hinges.

That way, they could slip out into the night without a sound.

A former ranger, Finn had experience in many covert operations.

She was good at this kind of thing. Though not quite at Jaxson’s level.

“The seventh one.”

Finn murmured. That was the number of jobs she and Sinar had carried out together with selected Elf Company members. (T/N: I’m glad Finn found her place in Sinar’s company.)

* * *

Jaxson missed nothing.

He was meticulous to a fault.

Watching him, Encrid felt like something was just barely out of reach.

Almost there, yet not quite. It could’ve been frustrating, but instead, he found it fascinating.

Had he ever looked at things like this and come up with something before?

This too was proof that he had grown.

While watching, Jaxson spoke.

Krys’s soul had departed, so it was purely Jaxson speaking now.

“Small things add up to something greater. A tiny stream becomes a river, a lake, and finally flows into the sea.”

It sounded vague, like talking in circles, but for Encrid, the blurry image he’d been reaching for started to come into view.

He could almost see it now.

“Swordsmanship, training—those are great, but sometimes one small preparation can decide the outcome. Especially if it’s a life-or-death fight.”

Encrid had always lacked physical talent.

Now that he had that more or less covered, his sharp mind began to spin, reflecting and revisiting things, triggering new ideas.

Especially in terms of swordsmanship and battle.

By Jaxson’s explanation, it was close to Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship.

Encrid could now distinguish different types of swordsmanship.

For example, the nameless, orthodox sword style focused on building up fundamental strikes. Layered swordsmanship.

Valen-Style, on the other hand, took a different path.

‘That’s closer to personal tactics.’

— A fighter must use his head in battle.

That was written at the start of Valen-Style training.

The phrase itself had helped, but now that he’d understood it anew—

‘Maybe I should say that line saved my life.’

Since learning that, he had escaped death more than a few times.

The thoughts kept flowing. A series of small epiphanies.

It wouldn’t lead to a major leap in swordsmanship or some explosive breakthrough.

He instinctively knew that.

But the accumulation of experience and learning left something meaningful in Encrid.

If an enemy used a long sword?

If their waist looked bulky? Were they hiding something?

If, like Swallow Blade, they carried a curved blade at their waist instead of a proper sword belt?

Couldn’t you infer habits just by the direction of their sword belt?

Before that, what about finding the most mobile stance or seizing the most advantageous position?

All of that was possible—and Encrid could now prepare for those things. This was the domain of personal tactics.

And then, the once-blurry shape became clear enough to grasp.

Excitement—joy from growth—welled up again. But he didn’t drool or grin like a fool.

‘I’m not Rem, after all.’

Encrid sometimes drooled from over-focusing, though he would never admit it.

“Shall we eat dinner?”

Jaxson asked. Encrid nodded.

The inn’s first floor also served as a dining hall. Once seated, Jaxson summoned Krys back into his body.

Sinar resumed her silent role as the Elf escort.

Not that she had to try hard. All she had to do was hold back her usual jokes.

“A real Elf—what an honored guest.”

The innkeeper brought out stew and roasted pork himself.

He glanced repeatedly at the Elf Commander as he spoke.

Clearly awestruck.

She had worn a robe when entering town, hiding her face.

They only realized she was an Elf once they were inside the inn.

Otherwise, she would’ve drawn stares on the street.

As the innkeeper stared, Jaxson said with a smirk.

“Best not to speak so freely to her. She’s a bodyguard assigned by my father, and her temperament is… sensitive.”

With that one line, Jaxson indicated he was from some merchant company and hinted at his own personality.

He became the typical obnoxious merchant heir.

The way he played it off was so natural it seemed like he was born to be irritating.

‘He’s starting to act less like Krys.’

Just then, a servant following behind the innkeeper tripped, dropping a wooden cup.

Thunk—the goblet hit the floor and wine spilled across it.

“You fool!”

The innkeeper rushed over, clearly ready to scold him, while the servant repeatedly bowed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

It was hardly a commotion.

Two men—one bearded and rugged, the other an ordinary brown-haired fellow—glanced over but soon returned to their drinks.

“Easy on him, will you?”

Jaxson commented. He sounded just like the drugged-up version of Krys. Always butting in with comments.

Sinar stood motionless, eyes fixed on one corner of the table like a doll.

Meanwhile, Finn leaned in and whispered, “Young Master, you’ll need to return to the upper route in two days.”

It was all scripted.

Jaxson had drafted a simple play.

“We’ll buy about a day with this.”

It was a simple strategy. Since they’d leave in two days, their enemies would watch and wait until then.

Using the Elf was a warning—don’t try any poison or tricks. Emphasizing her touchy personality served the same purpose.

If the enemy didn’t know who they were and saw them as troublesome, they’d win themselves a day.

“This is enough for me.”

Sinar played her part well.

Holding a piece of dried fruit, she showed she had no need for dinner.

“You don’t know the joy of food!”

Jaxson still threw in a line as he dug into his stew with a wooden spoon.

Encrid ate comfortably. Jaxson’s behavior signaled there was no poison in the food.

During all this, the inn’s servant brought more wine. His careful steps showed he wouldn’t be spilling anything again.

“Careful now, boy.”

Jaxson scolded him lightly, giving no coin. The servant glanced warily at Encrid’s waist.

He was staring at the sword belt and the blade hanging there.

Seeing that, Jaxson chuckled and said:

“This one here is a friend of mine helping with a task. He’s not particularly dangerous—he’ll probably let you look at his sword.”

Some swordsmen were so temperamental that just a look would earn you a death glare—or a drawn weapon.

“N-no, that’s alright. Really.”

“I’ll show you just the blade.”

Encrid drew his sword halfway.

Srrng.

It looked awkward.

He intentionally showed signs of inexperience.

It wasn’t hard.

All he had to do was remember what it was like when he first drew a sword.

Encrid had clawed his way up from nothing, so pretending to be a novice was easy.

He just had to do everything people said not to do.

Like gripping the sheath tightly with the left hand and drawing the blade close—that was a great way to slice your fingers.

Just that part made him look completely incompetent.

The rest he left to seem flashy. That’s how vain swordsmen usually acted anyway.

“Wow, the blade’s blue!”

The servant exclaimed, eyes wide.

Encrid thought the kid was ridiculous.

His walk, his behavior—he was clearly trained. And yet he fumbled a cup and made a fuss over a sword like it was his first time.

Either way, Encrid had successfully portrayed a naïve swordsman tagging along with the merchant heir.

It seemed to work well.

That night, after everyone had fallen asleep, the oiled hinges allowed the window to open silently.

“Alright then.”

Jaxson slipped out into the night.

In the room next door, Finn moved.

The two met on the inn’s roof.

Without acknowledging each other, they split up.

Each would find out what they needed and regroup in the morning.

Jaxson jumped across two rooftops, while Finn dropped down to the street.

Then—Jaxson suddenly saw a blade sweep toward him.

No warning. No sign.

A blade undetectable even to his senses.

It sliced through his clothes with a zip.

(T/N: Whhhatttttt?!)