Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 59: Bullet Knife Technique
On the eighth iteration of today, Encrid was hit by a quarrel in his side.
The bolt pierced through his ribs, ripping through his organs.
‘This wasn’t expected.’
He had dodged all the Whistle Daggers, kicked Roton away, and fended off the others.
Then, out of nowhere, a quarrel flew toward him. There was no way to avoid it.
‘They were well-prepared.’
Pulling out the bolt would likely cause more damage.
Lifting his head, Encrid saw the half-elf’s hideous face before him.
Do all half-elves look like this?
He didn’t know.
This was the first time he had encountered a half-breed of any race.
He was aware that most didn’t receive good treatment.
“You’re quick on your feet, aren’t you?”
The half-elf spoke from above, clearly enjoying himself.
“You could say that,” Encrid replied, trying to steady his breathing.
He memorized the half-elf’s position and distance, preparing for one final desperate move.
*Ping!*
In an instant, he drew his broad dagger and slashed upward from below.
The Guard Sword, as it was called, grazed the half-elf’s cheek.
The elf dodged, twisting his head to the side, and kicked Encrid in the stomach.
*Thud.*
“Ugh.”
Instead of a scream, a groan escaped Encrid’s lips as the bolt lodged in his intestines twisted painfully. The pain was unbearable.
It had hurt since the moment he moved, but now, after taking the hit, the pain was so excruciating that his vision blurred.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
It didn’t take long for death to arrive. The elf’s blade was precise and sharp.
Encrid’s throat was slit, and he closed his eyes.
In the next iteration of today, both the elf and Roton, along with Jack and Bo, attacked him simultaneously.
Despite fumbling with his movements, Encrid managed to kill Jack and Bo while cutting off one of the half-elf’s arms.
But the final strike, as always, was to his heart.
The half-elf had driven a stiletto hidden in his waist straight into Encrid’s heart.
And so, after experiencing death for the ninth time, the tenth day began.
After finishing his exercises with Audin, Encrid met Jaxson again. This routine was becoming all too familiar.
Determined not to waste any day, Encrid put forth his full effort once more.
“Can you check my form?”
Whether it was through equivalent exchange or not, Encrid didn’t mind. He showed Jaxson how he had been practicing throwing the dagger.
It was an entirely different level of skill from when he first started learning.
Encrid had grasped the edge of talent, mastering the technique to the point that it had become part of him.
It was a marked improvement from before.
He activated his focus, relaxed his body, and in one smooth motion, he used the muscles in his entire body like a spring.
His hand cut through the air, and the dagger shot forward with a *whip*.
It wasn’t as fast as a streak of light, but it was several times faster than before.
“The arm and hand are just the launch platform; you have to use the elasticity of your whole body. Does it look like anything’s missing?”
*Gape.*
Encrid saw something for the first time in his life: Jaxson’s mouth wide open in shock.
Jaxson, who always had a calm expression and spoke with a composed tone, was speechless.
His friend, who usually showed little emotion, was visibly shaken.
But the shock didn’t last long. Jaxson’s eyes still betrayed some confusion, but his expression quickly returned to normal.
His mouth had been open for less than a second.
“Jaxson?”
“Where did you learn this?”
“There was a guy on the battlefield who threw daggers spectacularly.”
“Threw them?”
“I picked it up by watching.”
“You *watched* and learned?”
Jaxson sounded like an echo, repeating Encrid’s words. It wasn’t surprising; this kind of technique couldn’t be learned just by practicing.
It wasn’t merely a matter of honing the basics.
Without innate talent, mastering such a technique was nonsense.
Jaxson knew this well.
That’s why he was so astonished.
How could his squad leader, of all people—who had only recently shown signs of improvement—suddenly display this kind of skill?
Jaxson stared at Encrid for a moment before speaking again.
“That’s enough. There’s no need to go deeper. But given the weight of the weapon you’re holding, it would be better to focus on heaviness at the fingertips rather than lightness.”
Jaxson offered precise advice.
Encrid nodded.
“It’s called the Bullet Knife Technique.”
Jaxson suddenly said.
Even though it wasn’t an exchange of equivalents, Jaxson wasn’t the type to withhold teachings.
Encrid corrected his posture.
He had already mastered the stance of attentive listening, having learned it while observing Crang’s training. He was dedicated to learning even in how he listened.
Seeing Encrid’s earnestness, Jaxson couldn’t help but feel a bit of joy.
Who else would take throwing techniques this seriously?
Had Encrid not shown this level of dedication, Jaxson would have disregarded and ignored him long ago.
“In the past, an assassin named Georg pioneered this technique. It’s said he was inspired by the five sword styles perfected by Leonis, but no one knows for sure.”
This technique had history. Encrid’s concentration intensified.
Like Ragna, Jaxson explained as if showing him the path forward, and Encrid absorbed every word with unwavering focus.
Although it was called the Bullet Knife Technique, it wasn’t limited to throwing swords.
It encompassed all types of thrown weapons.
While he was at it, Jaxson also touched on the Whistle Dagger, even though Encrid hadn’t asked.
“There’s a throwing dagger called the Whistle Dagger. If you ever encounter it, avoid it. It’s difficult to deal with. The reason Georg’s technique has ‘sword’ in the name is because of the Whistle Dagger.”
Jaxson continued with some additional explanation.
Whistle Daggers were made by stacking thin blades.
Georg’s ultimate goal was to use only a single blade—a single dagger, thrown so silently that it wouldn’t even whistle.
‘How many layers were there?’
Encrid reflexively recalled the Whistle Daggers the half-elf had thrown.
He remembered the one that had pierced his arm. It had three layers.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”
Bo appeared outside the barracks, calling for Encrid.
So absorbed in the lesson, Encrid had lost track of time.
“Oh, I forgot. Let’s go. It’s the same patrol as yesterday, right?”
“Yes, in the market.”
“I know. You’re in the scout unit.”
Encrid casually responded to Bo and turned to Jaxson.
“I learned a lot.”
“Did you?”
Jaxson didn’t consider himself talkative, but he had to admit that he always seemed to say more than usual in front of Encrid.
He only said what was necessary, though.
Still, he had spoken a lot.
‘Maybe I went too far with the Whistle Dagger?’
Why had he even brought that up?
Thinking about it again, it made sense. It was a natural topic to bring up.
It was because of the posture Encrid had shown.
‘The way he threw… it resembled it.’
Georg’s Bullet Knife Technique wasn’t a rigid throwing style, but it had a fundamental structure.
The way Encrid had thrown the dagger earlier had immediately reminded Jaxson of the Whistle Dagger. It was as if someone had guided his form.
Jaxson couldn’t have known, but the person who had refined Encrid’s posture was, in fact, himself.
—
“This way.”
Encrid unilaterally changed the patrol route.
“Huh? The order from above was to patrol the market! If we do this, we’ll get disciplined,” Jack protested.
“I’ll take responsibility.”
A squad leader, recently promoted to senior soldier, someone coveted by both the First Company and the Border Guard.
Encrid was a late bloomer, finally gaining recognition at the age of thirty.
There wasn’t much Jack or Bo could do to resist him.
“I said I’ll take responsibility. Sometimes you need to take it easy. Let’s go.”
Encrid walked ahead with a confident air, as if it were only natural for them to follow.
“Patrol abandonment is a serious offense, you know.”
Bo grumbled, glancing at Jack.
Jack’s hands moved quickly.
‘What do we do?’
‘No idea.’
Bo shook his head.
Even without looking, Encrid could sense the conversation they were having behind him.
Discussing it wouldn’t lead to any conclusions. Some things in life are inevitable. When a superior says “jump,” you jump.
And right now, their superior was Encrid.
The assassin had prepared the place, time, and targets.
Did he have to follow along with that?
‘I’ll change the location.’
Encrid’s answer was simple.
The enemy was an assassin. There was no need to step onto the stage the assassin had set.
With that thought, Encrid made his move. He led the two soldiers outside the city walls, avoiding any populated areas near the heart of the city.
Jack and Bo were frustrated.
They tried to convince him to return to the market, but Encrid remained unyielding.
After about half an hour of walking, Encrid suddenly stopped.
“Huh? Why’d you stop?”
Jack and Bo had passed Encrid by two steps and turned to face him.
They had given up on entering the market. Instead, they had discreetly left signals along the way.
Now, the time had come.
Encrid stared at them and asked quietly:
“Why did you do it?”
The two soldiers blinked.
Jack and Bo exchanged glances. *What’s he talking about?*
*I don’t know.*
“Huh?” Bo asked on behalf of both of them.
“Why did you do it?”
“What the hell are you talking about? Speak clearly.”
Jack snapped, his tone sharp.
“Did it not occur to you that placing your hands on your sword hilts while backing away is a poor excuse for a defense?”
At Encrid’s words, they exchanged another look.
Then—
*Shing!*
Both drew their swords.
Bo’s was a slender stiletto, while Jack wielded a broader shortsword.
Encrid stood still.
“Damn, you’re quick to notice.”
“Guess we’ll have to kill you here.”
Their plan was ruined, but the mission remained. Jack and Bo nodded to each other.
As they stood ready, Encrid calmly drew his sword.
*Shing!*
The long, freshly sharpened blade reflected the sunlight as Encrid took a step forward, slashing in a wide arc.
The wide swing forced Jack and Bo to readjust their distance, evading the strike.
But Encrid didn’t stop there.
Since he had swung wide, it created an opening. Bo rushed in to exploit it.
Bo was a soldier known for his physical prowess.
Pushing off with his back foot, he lunged forward. At the same time, Encrid had shifted his weight to the right, gripping his sword with both hands.
Bo closed the gap, coming within striking distance with his shortsword when—
*Thud!*
Suddenly, a blade shot out from under Encrid’s left armpit.
The blade pierced Bo’s throat.
It was Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship: *Shadow Thrust.*
It began by pretending to swing the sword wide, drawing the enemy in.
Then, Encrid supported the longsword with just his left hand, while his right hand remained concealed, ready to draw the dagger from his right side and thrust it through the gap under his arm.
Bo never expected a blade to emerge from there.
He had relied too much on his reflexes and had closed the gap too quickly. Encrid had anticipated his reaction.
Bo, whose specialty was quick movements, couldn’t resist closing the distance.
Just because Encrid had built his foundation on the northern sword style didn’t mean he had to forget what he had learned before.
This was a realization from his final battle at Azpen, during his fight with the mustached soldier.
The basics are just that—basics. It’s up to the wielder to add or subtract as needed.
You could swing a heavy sword and then flow into a soft counter, or you could go for a decisive strike.
Blending Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship with his current techniques was perfectly fine.
As long as the foundation remained steady, that was all that mattered.
Bo collapsed to the ground, gurgling as blood gushed from his pierced throat.
“…Damn, that was dirty.”
Jack’s face turned pale as he witnessed Bo’s fall.
He had no confidence to flee, nor the courage to fight.
But what could he do?
“Why did you do it?”
“And what will knowing that do for you? Damn it.”
Jack was as foul-mouthed as ever, and Encrid wasn’t in the mood to offer him a merciful death. Their fight was quick.
Encrid feinted a downward strike with his longsword.
Jack dodged rather than block.
Predicting his movement, Encrid swung horizontally instead of following through with the feint.
*Slash! Tear!*
The sharpened blade cut a gaping hole in Jack’s side.
“D-damn…”
That was the last thing Jack muttered before collapsing. His final words were a curse.
Encrid stood still for a moment, waiting.
He plunged his sword into the ground and took several deep breaths.
After a long moment, the others arrived. A quarrel flew at him from behind with a *twang.*
Encrid tilted his head, avoiding the bolt, and saw the masked crossbowman, Roton standing next to him, and finally, the half-elf assassin in rags.
Encrid, still leaning on his sword, asked:
“You all coming at once?”
It didn’t seem like they’d be up for a one-on-one duel.
And that’s exactly how it was.
The crossbowman aimed at him again. Encrid took a short breath.
He relaxed every muscle in his body. Leaving his sword planted in the ground, he let his arms hang loose.
His hands swung like pendulums.
Then, his right hand snapped upward like a whip, hurling the dagger he had gripped.
*Whip!*
It was the Bullet Knife Technique, using the full elasticity of his body.
The flying dagger buried itself in the masked crossbowman’s forehead.
It truly looked like a flash of light.
The half-elf assassin’s shoulders trembled ever so slightly.
“Interesting.”
The elf muttered.
It was exactly what Encrid wanted to say.