Chapter 273

Jaxson twisted his body the moment the blade brushing his side pierced through his clothes and touched his skin.

‘Thwack, crunch!’

The blade only tore through fabric. It barely grazed his skin, leaving a shallow scratch. But even from that light contact, he felt a sting.

‘Paralytic poison.’

It didn’t matter. He had built up resistance to all sorts of poisons since childhood—this was meaningless.

As soon as he realized it.

Jaxson fluidly reached out and grabbed the attacker’s wrist.

From the enemy’s perspective, it was like having their extended arm caught before they could even pull it back.

All movements happened within a single breath, as if choreographed.

The one whose wrist was caught resisted. Jaxson didn’t fight it.

He allowed himself to be pulled.

That surprised the attacker more. Reflexively, they swung with their other hand.

It was a dagger weighted to one side for a cleaner slash—sharpened only on one edge. Naturally, it was also laced with poison.

As the blade aimed for Jaxson’s cheekbone, he tilted his head back, and the edge merely grazed across the bridge of his nose.

Not even a scratch this time.

It was a fleeting moment—a sliver of time that should’ve been spent assessing the situation—but Jaxson’s intuition compressed every calculation into a single response.

It was pure instinct, pure perception.

Instead of seeing, analyzing, identifying, and then reacting, he bypassed it all.

The same type of intuitive processing Encrid had performed so many times.

And Jaxson, the one who taught it, couldn’t possibly be incapable of doing it himself.

So he simply did what needed to be done.

“Urgh!”

A voice rang out from an invisible enemy.

Naturally.

In the brief moment of parrying and dodging two strikes, Jaxson had already moved.

His foot stepped down on the attacker’s.

The enemy’s weapon struck at empty air.

With a dagger in his left hand, Jaxson thrust upward diagonally from below—and from midair, red blood burst and scattered.

Only after completing all the movements did Jaxson realize what the enemy had been using.

‘An artifact that aids concealment.’

If it weren’t magical in nature, it couldn’t have completely escaped his senses.

Well, perhaps there were assassins skilled enough to deceive even his perception.

But if that were the case, the stabs had been pretty pathetic.

Of course, all of this was relative.

The attacker had experience with backstabbing, but their opponent was simply too out of their league.

Blood splattered into the air, landing on Jaxson’s hair and face. He didn’t blink.

It was as if his hair drank the blood.

His reddish-brown hair, under moonlight, looked nearly black with a crimson hue.

Blood poured into the air. He still held the attacker’s wrist.

Just like that, Jaxson grabbed the enemy’s weapon and casually tossed it onto the roof.

Then he reached for the attacker’s hood and yanked it back.

Naturally, his hand was smeared in blood—but his expression didn’t change.

He touched the corpse like it was some inanimate object. It sent a chill through anyone watching.

Even among those nearby, who were cold-hearted themselves, it was disturbing.

Jaxson didn’t care. He inspected what the enemy was wearing.

‘A full-body hooded robe.’

The kind where price was determined by who was asking—an extremely valuable item.

He methodically removed it. It had laces in the front and ties around the waist to keep it from slipping.

‘The hood just goes over the head.’

He noted the parts that needed attention to keep it from falling off.

Since he owned something similar, he understood.

Calmly untying the strings and folding it, Jaxson then discarded the corpse like a pebble.

“…You bastard.”

By then, black shadows began rising across the rooftops surrounding Jaxson, encircling him from all directions.

Below the roofs, several men appeared, holding throwing daggers. A few clearly stood out for their skill.

One of them, presumably the leader, finally opened his mouth.

He’d watched in disbelief—and now he spoke.

He’d seen many things in his life, but this felt different, like seeing another species entirely.

It wasn’t just a killing—it was the cold disposal of a worthless object. A battle devoid of feeling.

Jaxson silently stared at them. Without Krys present, his gaze held only a chilling gleam.

Depending on the situation, moonlight can feel different—but right now, it was cold and sharp as a blade in winter.

Though his blood-soaked hair looked dark red, not a trace of it showed.

It only made him look more like a demon—or something inhuman.

But if they showed fear now, their reputation would be ruined.

‘Shhhk.’

A hiss escaped the leader’s front teeth.

The one who had disguised himself as a street vendor widened his eyes, gritting his teeth.

Bloodshot veins filled his gaze. None wore masks. No one here had reason to hide their faces.

Jaxson took in that fact as well, storing it as information.

Not that it showed on his face. He still stood like an emotionless object, sword in hand.

“Kill him.”

The leader gave the order.

No need for lengthy speeches. He was not only an assassin but had raised many himself.

He had sent out one of his ‘puppets’ armed with an artifact.

The puppet had moved exactly as ordered—to kill.

But to be killed in return? And have the artifact taken?

What the hell was that guy?

How could he move so calmly even in this situation?

From the start, he seemed dangerous. That’s why they struck first.

It had been a valid tactic—an unexpected strike.

Encrid, Jaxson, Sinar, even Finn hadn’t predicted it.

But they had misjudged Jaxson’s capabilities.

At best, they assumed he was just a nimble blade.

Jaxson stood tall, without a trace of amusement.

In his left hand was the artifact, now his.

It might as well have been his from the start.

They were bandits because they took what wasn’t theirs.

But being robbed in return? Watching it happen twisted the leader’s guts.

“Don’t just take things like it’s nothing!”

The vendor-turned-assassin barked.

His voice rang in their ears. That, too, was part of the tactic.

The sudden shout drew attention—concealing the signs of those about to pounce.

Jaxson read the tactic easily. Of course he would. He used the same methods himself.

Three came at him from behind, while a fourth, hidden, waited for the perfect moment.

The veteran assassin grinned.

‘So what if you’ve jumped a few rooftops, dumbass?’

Assassins had levels. Dodging that earlier stab might’ve been luck.

The second strike wouldn’t be so easy.

Jaxson didn’t move.

Three razor-sharp assassination blades closed in behind him.

Only when they were nearly at his back did Jaxson vanish.

‘Pop’—he disappeared from his spot.

The leader’s eyes widened.

As a child, he had consumed elf blood, gaining some of their sensitivity.

Yet his senses had failed to detect this movement.

He had lost him.

Then—

‘Thuk thuk thuk!’

A squelch echoed, and suddenly, a sword was at his own back.

The leader dodged and counterattacked. In his mind, that’s what happened.

He spun, kicked near the shins, and drew his hidden blade.

A thin spike, like a fairy’s needle, crafted into a weapon.

His mind reacted—but his body didn’t follow.

Everything was already over.

His thoughts couldn’t move his body.

‘Why?’

He pondered—but couldn’t finish the thought.

His head spun. His severed neck allowed his head to rotate freely.

For a moment, the severed head still saw.

It saw the second puppet—wearing the sound-dampening belt, prepared in case the first failed.

That puppet had struck true. But nothing happened.

The opponent who had suddenly vanished and cut down three assassins brought his sword down.

‘Clang!’ A single motion blocked the secret strike.

The spike broke, and the assassin backed off immediately.

It was a disciplined retreat—something only trained assassins would do when a surprise attack failed.

Then—’thud’—someone collapsed in the distance.

That was it. The leader’s vision faded to black.

Once one of the most notorious assassins in the Black Blade Bandits, death came for him like anyone else.

* * *

‘Direction, position, vibration in the air.’

Nothing could be felt.

This enemy was as troublesome as that hooded robe.

A fairly skilled assassin. Not bad at all.

That’s why he used this technique: deflect the incoming strike.

From that, find the trajectory and detect vibrations.

Then it’s simple. Before the enemy could dodge—at the moment of blade clash—he threw a [Silent Knife].

The [Silent Knife] was weaker than the [Whistle Dagger].

Its blade was barely the length of a finger.

But it flew without sound at close range—making it harder to block.

That’s why it was also called a [Mute Dagger], a blend of weapon and skill.

When coated in dark paint and a few other substances, it reflected no light—becoming invisible and soundless.

It was one of Jaxson’s signature tools.

And that was the end of it. The knife embedded so deeply into the enemy’s forehead, it couldn’t be seen.

There had been six attackers in total.

The battle began and ended in an instant.

Such was the nature of assassin combat.

Jaxson checked the corpse. A belt came into view.

‘This one dampens sound.’

He recognized it instantly and took it.

At the same time, he had a thought.

If it were him, he wouldn’t have given both artifacts to one person.

‘Or maybe… no, that might let one cut down their superior.’

Maybe they were used to keep each other in check.

That was probably the reason.

And in fact, that was exactly why the dead leader had split the artifacts between the two.

But from a corpse’s mouth, no truth ever emerges.

Jaxson opened his senses atop the rooftop.

He felt killing intent all around.

‘A lot of them.’

The whole village was a den of bandits.

That alone wasn’t the problem.

The Black Blade Bandits didn’t know—

Even if they had over a hundred active combatants, they couldn’t handle a Junior Knight.

Had they known Encrid’s group’s true identities, they would never have dared to act.

But if you don’t know—then you suffer.

* * *

As soon as Finn kicked the sword, she rolled sideways and raised her arms.

The short sword flew awkwardly—but it was still enough to make the enemy flinch.

The enemy dodged while keeping his eyes on Finn.

In that opening, Finn used a wrist-mounted shooter—gifted to her by Encrid—to fire a short bolt.

‘Whip!’ The bolt flew—but the enemy batted it away with his club.

‘Smack!’

With a sharp thwack, the bolt spun off course. The man’s eyes gleamed with killing intent.

‘What the hell.’

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

Yet he batted away that tiny bolt in the dark?

That was at least Border Guard-level combat skill.

He may have been overshadowed by Encrid and the Independent Platoon, but to Finn, this one was no pushover.

And Finn knew her strengths and weaknesses.

She had the edge in close martial combat—but with weapons drawn, she was at a disadvantage.

She had many non-combat talents, but in personal combat, this was her limitation.

So, what to do?

As always, create an opening and close the distance.

While rolling across the floor, Finn finished her analysis. She honestly thought this was pretty risky.

“Bastard.”

The foul-mouthed thug tapped his groin and spoke.

“You’re dead meat.”

If she got caught, the outcome wouldn’t be pleasant.

Damn it—she was ready to run if things went south.

But then she relaxed.

‘About time.’

Sinar had vanished without a trace—only to reappear behind the crossbowman aiming at Finn.

With icy precision, the elf slit his throat.

‘Splurt!’ Blood sprayed like a fountain. The crossbowman’s eyes dimmed as his carotid artery burst.

From behind his collapsing body, a short dagger gleamed—and eyes, glowing green in the dark, floated like disembodied orbs.

Darkness wrapped around Sinar’s form.

“You bitch!”

The last one cursed. Still filthy-mouthed. Finn ignored him and lunged at the third guy, who was still stunned.

There had been three lying in wait for her. One now lay dead by Sinar’s blade—two remained.

The last man fumbled with his dagger, revealing a gaping opening.

Finn lowered her stance and charged.

He swung his sword—but she anticipated it, twisting her body sideways.

With her body angled, she sprang up from below.

It was an Aile Carraz-style tackle.

The stunned man had his wrist grabbed and twisted the moment she touched him.

‘Crunch crack crack!’

“Aaaagh!”

“Shut up.”

Finn muttered as she dislocated every finger joint.

The man’s eyes streamed with tears, snot and drool dripping down as he howled in agony.

Finn grabbed his neck and twisted.

‘Snap.’

He dropped forward with a thud, neck broken.

It was a flurry of movements in the span of seconds.

Meanwhile, someone was still swearing—”bitch,” “crazy,” “filthy”—all the classics.

While Finn broke joints and snapped necks, Sinar calmly gifted the foul-mouthed one with two holes—in the heart and the nape.

He collapsed, twitching.

‘Gurgle.’

He tried to speak—but blood poured from his mouth instead.

Thick, red blood shimmered under moonlight.

Sinar, without a word, turned away. Drops of blood dotted her pale face.

Her otherworldly beauty, now speckled with crimson, lit by the white glow of the moon…

She looked like a nameless work of art.

That piece of art turned her gaze to Finn and spoke.

“It’s all gone sideways.”

(T/N: That fight with Jaxson is so satisfying to read. Damn! I think its the first time we fully see Jaxson fight someone.)