Chapter 386

“Daggers of Gaor was just a fool who relied on the power of artifacts to run wild.”

The long-armed assassin said as he twirled the dagger in his hand. One of his eyes glowed.

A mystical eye. A Magic Eye.

Since that eye looked strange from the start, it was no surprise that artifacts didn’t work on him. That was why Jaxson stayed calm.

Jaxson also saw the hole in his cloak. The dagger had grazed him.

That abnormally stretched arm rummaged through the cloak and then withdrew.

Yet there was no agitation. He remained indifferent, inside and out.

But the opponent didn’t see it that way.

“Looks like you’re flustered. You should have stabbed when I told you to.”

A white-haired man with a monocle spoke as if admonishing him.

“Is there any reason to stay under that guy? Change your mind now.”

A woman’s voice came from within the group of assassins—disguised. More precisely, she was throwing words from hiding. The cautious type, and a good liar.

Even if he changed his mind here, he wouldn’t gain anything. It was all a ploy to make him show an opening.

“What? Stabbed? Aren’t you ashamed to even say that?”

The white-haired monocle had been thoroughly provoked by the leader’s taunt and dragged up that story.

“Well, you’ve lost your artifact, so what are you going to do now?”

The voice came from behind.

He turned his head.

Even in broad daylight, only the area the voice came from seemed dyed in a drab color. A man half-hidden in the shadows between alleys—someone who specialized in hiding.

The method was obvious.

‘Shadow Walking.’

A technique of moving by choosing only places with different shades—a basic skill learned in Daggers of Gaor.

Jaxson had never used it since learning it. Against someone with good concentration or sharp senses, it could backfire easily.

‘It’s a trick that might not even work on the leader.’

Even Encrid wouldn’t fall for it.

Jaxson silently took off his torn cloak and unbuckled his belt.

“Giving up?”

The disguised voice asked from within the group.

“Heh heh. How about it—will you reconsider? It’s not too late. The opportunity to choose a different path is a privilege of the young.”

The white-haired monocle said.

“Hmph.”

The monkey-like man with long, dangling arms snorted.

The one in the shadows quietly retreated, concealing his presence.

Despite their words, a sinister aura pricked at the skin. They were taking their stances.

Jaxson lowered his gaze and spoke.

“Which crazy bastard ordered this? Was it Baron Mernes?”

To unite several assassin guilds under the name of an alliance, the opponent had to be at least a noble.

One request that could decide the fate of multiple assassin guilds required a powerful backer.

Given the current situation, it had to be someone prominent within a Royal Palace faction, or someone who’d gained power through unification—at the very least.

Otherwise, these people would’ve been acting on their own.

And adding their choice of target into it, he understood.

He could see the intention of the one who ordered this. He could see his thoughts.

‘A guy who finds my existence troublesome and annoying.’

That was why they were targeting him this obsessively.

They didn’t stop Encrid from going to the Royal Palace. They didn’t attack Markus Vaisar to kill him. They even left alone those who went to block the gates—while the assassin alliance chased after him.

Eliminating him was the top priority above all else.

Why?

Because he was annoying.

There were two kinds of people who sold information about the Black Lily.

One: those who found out by chance.

Two: those directly involved.

This time, it was the latter.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t be this sincere about getting rid of him.

Before things happened, it would’ve been different. But once it had come this far, the conclusion was easy.

And once he realized it, there was nothing more delightful.

Was it Encrid’s influence? He let his emotions show.

He smiled.

The white-haired assassin frowned at the sight.

“Are you going to insist you were stabbed, again? Or are you going to make up another excuse?”

He seemed furious about being verbally defeated by Encrid.

Right before they parted, the leader had been in high spirits, moving his tongue like a possessed man.

“You said you’d tell me if I stabbed him, and now you’re changing your mind?”

“What stab…”

“Where did you sell your trust! You made a name for yourselves as an assassin guild in the capital, but this is absurd!”

“No, that was a stab…”

“Shut up! How dare you move your tongue when you haven’t kept your promise! The scar on his arm proves nothing, it’s lamentable.”

“You crazy bastard, listen to me.”

“He said ouch ouch, what are you going to do about it?”

No matter what the other person said, he kept talking. At the end, he pretended to show his forearm, then threw a Whistle Dagger—pinning a dagger decoration into the head of an assassin who was just standing there blankly.

The fight started right then, and the opponent didn’t even get a chance to defend himself after that.

Was it frustrating?

Maybe.

No matter how hard he tried to maintain composure, the leader always provoked his opponents.

Even he himself got heated sometimes, so there was no need to mention these people.

“I did stab him.”

Jaxson said.

“Damn it, kill him!”

With the white-haired assassin’s shout, they rushed in from all directions. Jaxson already knew there were twenty-eight.

He counted. It was a habit.

Then he disappeared.

“Huh!”

The long-armed monkey, watching with his Magic Eye, shouted in surprise.

Thud!

The sound of flesh tearing rang out.

Jaxson appeared in the alley’s deep shadow.

One of the alliance executives who had been hiding inside coughed up blood, dropped to his knees, and collapsed forward.

“How?”

He couldn’t be caught by the Magic Eye? And he didn’t have the artifact anymore.

Jaxson, suddenly thinking of Encrid, answered.

“Hard work, through training.”

It was the perfect answer to ‘how.’

After that, Jaxson’s figure vanished and reappeared again and again.

The second to die was the female assassin with the disguised voice.

She quickly hid among her group, but Jaxson had already disguised himself as one of her subordinates. Right beside her, he drove a Stiletto into her stomach.

Thwack, thwack, thwack.

Three fork-like strikes punched through her intestines.

He’d pierced her lungs and heart as well—so even a high-ranking priest couldn’t save her.

“Guh.”

Neither a scream nor a groan—just a sound that became both her cry and her last words.

Jaxson kept moving.

Artifact?

He only used it because he had it. He’d never relied on artifacts in the first place.

So he didn’t need one.

His body felt light today.

He knew what he had to do, and he could see clearly where he had to go.

‘Mernes.’

He’d suspected from the beginning that a member of the Black Lily was a noble. Even if Baron Mernes wasn’t the mastermind, he had to be connected somehow.

So Jaxson’s destination after killing them was decided as well.

The Royal Palace—where Baron Mernes was.

He did exactly that.

He killed them one by one until there were no more.

Then he headed for the Royal Palace.

It was when the sun had passed overhead and shadows stretched long.

As Jaxson turned his gaze toward the sinking sun, he saw something strange.

A human ran across the rooftops, smashing them to pieces.

It was someone he knew.

But he didn’t acknowledge him.

—

The fight began with Dunbakel.

At least she had more motivation than Ragna, so this was the right call. She went through the open gate and out.

Roford was already deploying troops outside the castle.

‘If the front of the gate is seized, it’s over.’

The difference in numbers was clear, so they had to hold the front.

With archers, arrows, and siege preparations lacking, they had to make up for it with strength and bodies.

Of course, all of this rested on one premise:

They had to block the ten enemies in front first.

‘If we just hold out.’

He didn’t even expect them to kill them all.

Dunbakel, who had gone forward, caught Roford’s eye.

She scanned the ten blocking her path and smiled.

An innocent-looking smile—like a girl who’d just come to the city from the countryside.

Of course, she hadn’t just come to the city, and there was no innocence in her smile.

She was simply putting into practice what she’d learned from Encrid.

Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship—a smiling face.

She was using what Encrid had used on her countless times, in her own way.

That was the frightening thing about talent.

She digested techniques and used them without hesitation.

Rem had beaten her to raise her overall physical ability. Dunbakel handled the technical training herself.

And it was paying off.

“What is it?”

As one of the mercenaries blurted out, the Beastkin kicked off the ground and leapt.

Feet as fast as a panther’s tore into the formation.

In an instant she closed the distance, and the soldiers in front froze, unable to move a finger.

A curved sword came down on a man’s head.

Thwack, chop!

His skull split under the chopping motion. The soldier beside him thrust out his spear.

It was a reflexive movement with no real power. Dunbakel tilted her head to dodge, then trapped the shaft between her neck and shoulder, twisting to wrench the spear away.

“…Ah.”

The soldier who lost his spear made a stupid sound.

He didn’t die.

Dunbakel dropped the stolen spear and charged forward as she was.

“Block her!”

The enemy commander finally snapped out of it and shouted.

Two warriors who had been standing in front moved. Speed was their specialty.

Even so, they barely managed to chase Dunbakel’s back.

“Get out of the way!”

As she ran in Beastkin form, the soldiers parted.

They weren’t a disorganized rabble, but they weren’t elite either.

Baron Mernes’ army was basically a collection of assorted troops.

A unit with a barely functioning command system.

Dunbakel stirred the inside up as she ran, stepping on shoulders and heads, swinging her curved sword.

She rushed in, reached her target, and swung wildly—not to cut, but to strike. She turned the grip and smashed with the back of the blade.

Bang! Crack.

They had prepared three mangonels.

The central frame of one cracked with a creak.

Dunbakel knew the walls were her side’s advantage. How many years had she lived as a mercenary, wandering the continent?

Seasoned by countless battles, she knew she had to eliminate the biggest threat first.

So she lowered their guard with a smile, then charged.

Simple, and the most efficient.

“Are you crazy?”

An opponent appeared right beside her.

One of the ten who had been in front until just now.

He rushed in and thrust a short spear.

Fast feet. Quick hands.

Dunbakel struck the spearhead aside with her curved sword, then stamped her left foot down—bang—and reversed her body, feinting a charge.

The opponent widened the distance.

And another man chasing her moved to catch her from behind in the same way.

“Let’s finish this.”

Dunbakel said, then flung herself in the opposite direction—an absurd, eccentric move.

Of course, it was something she’d learned from Encrid.

Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship—acting in reverse.

A trick that shattered expectations and rode momentum.

What did she gain from it?

She reached her goal faster.

She wasn’t here to fight the two of them. She was here to break the mangonels first.

The two mercenaries chasing her stumbled for a moment.

What was that?

The Beastkin—who was clearly skilled—kept using odd tricks.

Compared to Encrid or Rem it was nothing, but it was enough to throw these two off. Dunbakel enjoyed it.

She was a little excited.

It had been a long time since she’d fought someone weaker than herself.

As Dunbakel rampaged, the enemy finally surged in.

“Kill them all!”

The owner of the one-horned helmet shouted.

His name was Yon—the number one warrior from the east.

A blond man approached him, walking with a leisurely gait. Even as the Baron’s army pushed forward at the shout, he stayed composed.

Arrows flew over his head, and he acted like it didn’t matter.

Ragna, a thick, long sword slung over his shoulder, opened his mouth.

“Come at me all at once. It’s annoying.”

“You.”

Yon didn’t get excited or rush in. He raised his beloved weapon instead—a glaive. The blade at its end gleamed blue.

Valerian steel.

Ragna wondered what it’d be like to take it and melt it down.

“We’ll do it together.”

Yon said.

Some frowned, but no one objected.

At a glance, the opponent was formidable.

“Time is on our side. Let’s slowly mess him up.”

Yon spoke, and they followed.

A mercenary swung a rattling chain over his head, then snapped it forward.

A pointed weight, fueled by centrifugal force, shot toward Ragna’s head.

Clang.

Ragna angled his sword down and knocked it aside.

The heavy iron lump looked like it could crush a man’s skull outright.

“Mess him up!”

Struggle. Blood. Carnage.

Yon loved that kind of thing. That was why he ran toward it.

He dashed in and drove the glaive down in a vertical strike—fast and powerful, cutting the air with a whoosh.

Bang!

Ragna knocked it away.

Then, from Yon’s side, a warrior from the Baron’s army thrust a spear.

The flexible shaft whipped unpredictably with a whoong whoong sound.

Ragna’s sword deflected the glaive, then struck the flexible spearhead as well.

Clang!

The spear veered off.

Even after blocking three attacks starting with the chain weight, the next came immediately.

Another spear.

This one wasn’t flexible. It shoved forward with brute force from a different man—someone confident in his strength.

Ragna knocked it aside with his fast, heavy sword.

Clang!

Metal rang.

That ended the first exchange.

Yon roughly understood the opponent’s level.

A monster.

And Ragna…

He was protecting because he’d been told to protect.

But in truth, he was fighting half-heartedly—because he lacked motivation.

Why did he have no motivation? He didn’t even think about it.

It was everyday life.

If he committed to killing, he could kill them all.

But that would mean doing something like an adventure. He might even take minor injuries.

Was there any need for that?

No.

The genius who had lost his purpose was slacking off even while fighting.

Maybe it was because he’d been too motivated lately.

He’d been moving too actively, so now he had no motivation at all.