WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 270: Not Everything Goes as Planned (1)

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

So it was fair to call them one of the biggest plagues and blights festering in both Naurillia and the kingdom.

They were that dangerous.

A piece of cheese slipped out of one executive's mouth.

He had just heard something absurd.

He wiped his mouth roughly with a linen napkin and spoke.

"All the assassins got wiped out?"

They sent Swallow Blade. Slice.

They sent a mercenary unit. Total ruin.

After that, the Black Blade executive finally emptied everything he had.

He sent an entire unit of first-rate assassins.

And they failed.

Bang!

He slammed his fist on the table and roared.

"Are you trying to dump Black Blade's reputation into a shit pit?!"

So, you're good at fighting, is that it?

Then take this too.

He pulled in assassins from the branch. He sent every first-rate assassin too, without holding a single one back.

No matter how great a hero or warrior was, there was no answer to a blade in the back.

And if that blade was poisoned?

There were more than fifteen assassins skilled with poison and blades.

With that many sent, fine, maybe killing him was hard, but they should have at least left him gravely wounded, right?

"He's fine? What about our boys?"

"They're all dead."

"And the watcher we left to report back?"

"He's dead too."

If they had not left another set of eyes watching from afar for cleanup, they would not have gotten even this much.

"If I'd gone any closer, I think I would've died too."

Sweat pouring off him, one member spoke while kneeling on one knee.

His sweat fell onto the smooth stone floor and stained it.

Drops hit the pale gray stone and turned it dull.

More and more beads spread across the floor.

He had not seen Jaxon. He had only seen the end of the watcher who stayed closer to the assassin group.

'I couldn't even see it.'

He only saw a comrade flailing at empty air as if caught by something, then dying.

So he ran.

He felt no presence at all, but the instant he saw that death, he bolted.

If he had not, he would have died.

His instincts told him so.

"What the hell are those bastards?"

The executive's tone carried hollow disbelief.

Every assassin he had gathered over a lifetime was dead.

They were there, then gone. Vanished. He would never see them again unless he died too.

'What kind of fucking monsters are they?'

His jaw hung open, too stunned to speak. He questioned the member who gave the report.

The member lowered his head. He had nothing to say either.

His whole report was just that everyone died.

"What do we do now?"

An attendant standing behind him asked.

"What do you mean, what do we do?"

The executive answered, then mulled over the words from the gang member disguised as an attendant.

'Damn it.'

The situation had gone straight to the worst possible point.

One wrong step and someone below him would climb up and devour him. Too many people wanted his seat.

Of course, they could not replace him right away.

He had done too much from this position.

'The businesses first.'

There was a clear reason his position here had become solid.

He had spread drugs. Because of what he did, there were barely any kingdom nobles who did not know that drug.

The Krona from selling it went straight into Black Blade operating funds.

"I'll request support from the main group. Until then, we leave it alone."

There was no one left to send anyway. It was true that they could not touch anything until reinforcements came from the main group.

"In the meantime, we focus on the 'Dens' we already dug."

It was slang, but everyone in the room understood it.

As long as the Dens stayed intact, his foundation stayed firm. For now, he decided to forget Enkrid, or that damned mesmerizing idiot.

Of course, that grudge would be stirred up again soon.

He had no intention of letting it go.

"Where is that bastard right now?"

"Probably still inside the territory, swinging his sword around."

The attendant answered. Sharp-eyed and quick-witted, he was a handsome, smooth-faced man with no beard.

His judgment was trustworthy.

They had investigated Enkrid's daily life in detail before.

'Sword-crazy bastard.'

Marcus hid the fact that Enkrid and his group had left on a mission.

It was less a scheme and more a habit.

Marcus knew too well that the tighter the information, the better.

More than anything, Enkrid was easy to hide.

He was the type who would disappear into the training grounds or his lodging for days.

Sure, after enough time people would realize he was gone from the city, but for about a week, no one might notice.

Because of that, the Black Blade executive had no idea Enkrid had come to one of his Dens.

Sinar entered the room, stood still, and focused.

Faint sounds drifted in from the next room.

She judged the situation through the sounds around her.

She checked whether any watchful eyes were on them.

There were none.

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

It was sign language known only to part of the Elf Company.

"This is the last one, right?"

Finn asked.

"Looks like it."

The Elf Company Commander replied while sitting at an angle on the bed, stretching her legs out long.

Soft, flexible muscles lengthened smoothly.

She did not seem to feel the cold much, wearing only leather pants, and that seemed to let her move with less restriction.

In every other way, her attitude was calm.

There was a small brazier in the inn room, but she shoved it aside as soon as she came in, as if it bothered her.

When asked why, she said,

"It might start a fire."

"But is it really okay to kill time here like this?"

Finn asked again, pulling closed the front of her layered leather-cloth armor.

Hardened leather was set between fabric layers, but the leather quality was poor and stiff, so the front kept falling open.

Still, it was warm and durable.

Sinar spoke without a trace of a smile.

"This matters too."

"True."

Finn dragged a chair to the window and leaned back halfway.

She had to keep watch outside and oil the hinges too.

They needed that to slip out at night.

As a former Ranger, Finn had worked all kinds of operations.

She was skilled at this kind of job. Not on Jaxon's level, but still.

"Seventh."

Finn muttered. She meant the number of jobs they had done by pulling in Sinar and part of the Elf Company.

* * *

Jaxon missed nothing.

He was extremely meticulous.

Watching him, Enkrid kept feeling like something was almost within reach.

So close he could almost touch it. It could have been frustrating, but he was not impatient.

No, what amazed him was this moment itself.

Since when had watching something like this made thoughts spark in his head?

That too was proof that he had grown.

As he watched, Jaxon spoke.

Kraiss's soul was gone, so this was purely Jaxon's own voice.

"Small things gather and make big things. Tiny streams join into rivers, rivers into lakes, and all of it flows to the sea."

It sounded vague, but Enkrid felt that half-grasped idea move one step closer.

Now he could almost make out a pale shape.

"Swordsmanship and training are all good, but one small preparation can decide victory or defeat. What if that fight has your life on the line?"

Enkrid had always lacked natural physical talent.

Now that those weak points were mostly filled in, his originally decent mind spun tight and fast, repeating thoughts, retracing processes, and pulling ideas into view.

Most of them were about swordsmanship and fighting.

In one sense, what Jaxon said was closer to Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

Now Enkrid could classify sword arts himself.

For example, the nameless orthodox sword art was about swinging the blade. It was swordsmanship built through accumulation.

Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship, by contrast, followed a different track.

'That's closer to personal tactics.'

"Anyone stepping into a fight has to use his head."

That was written when he first learned Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

That line itself had helped, but realizing it again now made him think,

'Maybe I should say it kept me alive.'

After learning it, how many times had it saved him?

His thoughts kept connecting. A chain of small realizations.

This would not suddenly evolve his swordsmanship or trigger some explosive leap.

He knew that instinctively, but the experiences and lessons piled up so far blended together and still left something meaningful in him.

If the opponent used a long sword?

If his waist looked thick? If he was hiding something underneath?

If he wore a curved blade like Swallow Blade at his waist instead of a belt?

Could he infer habits from the direction of a sword belt?

Before any of that, could he claim an easier stance and a favorable position first?

All of it was possible, and Enkrid himself could prepare that way. This was the realm of personal tactics.

So the blurry shape became clear and settled into his hand.

A thrill rose again, the joy of growth. Still, he did not suddenly drool or cackle.

'It's not like I'm Rem.'

When Enkrid focused too hard, he did sometimes drool. He refused to admit it.

"Let's eat first."

Jaxon said, and Enkrid nodded.

The inn's first floor doubled as a dining hall. Once they sat down, Jaxon called Kraiss back into his body.

Sinar played the role of a silent elf guard.

In truth, she did not need to act much. She just had to skip her usual jokes.

"An elf, now that is a rare guest."

The innkeeper personally brought stew and roasted pork while saying it.

He kept glancing at Commander Sinar again and again.

He looked genuinely fascinated.

Sinar had entered town with her hood up, so her face had not been clearly visible.

So people probably realized she was an elf only after they entered the inn.

Otherwise, everyone passing by would have stared.

When the owner saw the elf, Jaxon spoke with a faintly smug air.

"Oh dear, don't speak too casually to her. She's a guard my father assigned to me, and she's a bit sensitive."

With that one line, Jaxon revealed he belonged to a merchant group and exposed part of his personality.

In other words, he became the obnoxious son of a merchant house.

Watching him strut, he looked beyond calm, almost natural. Like he had been born and raised to be that annoying.

'Feels a bit different from Kraiss, doesn't it?'

At that moment, a servant walking behind the owner suddenly stumbled and dropped the cup in his hand.

Thunk. The wooden cup hit the floor, and wine spread across it.

"You little-"

The owner strode over as if ready to shout, and the servant kept bowing.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

It was hardly a disturbance.

A man with a beard as thick as brush and another man with plain brown hair glanced over while drinking wine or fruit liquor, then quickly looked away.

"Hey, go easy on him, easy."

Seeing that, Jaxon tossed in a comment.

At this point he was at drugged-up Kraiss levels. He kept stepping in to add one line every time.

Sinar stood like a doll, eyes fixed on one side of the table without even shifting her gaze.

Next to her, Finn said things like, "Young master, you must return to the caravan in two days."

Every line was prearranged.

It was a simple script Jaxon had prepared.

"We should be able to buy one day."

The logic was simple. They were leaving in two days, so people could afford to watch them until then.

Putting an elf up front was a warning too: do not try cheap poison or cheap tricks while she is here. Emphasizing her prickly personality served the same purpose.

If the enemy could not identify who they were and only saw them as troublesome targets, they could buy a day.

"This is enough for me."

Sinar also showed full commitment to her role.

She held up dried fruit in one hand, showing that she did not need a proper meal.

"You don't even know the joy of eating!"

Jaxon still tossed in one more line and dipped his wooden spoon into the stew.

Enkrid also ate at ease. What Jaxon was doing signaled there was no poison.

During that, the tavern servant brought wine over again. Judging by how carefully he walked, he had no intention of spilling it this time.

"Careful now."

Jaxon soothed him with words alone, not giving even one copper coin. As he did, the servant glanced sideways and scanned Enkrid's waist.

He was looking at the proper sword belt and sword hanging there.

Jaxon saw that and smiled.

"This one is my friend, and the man who agreed to help me with this matter. He's not that rough, so you could even ask him to show you the sword."

Among swordsmen, some had twisted tempers. Men like that might threaten to gouge your eyes out for a glance, or draw on you on the spot.

"Huh? No. No, it's fine."

"I'll just show you the blade."

Enkrid readily drew it halfway.

Shrring.

The way Enkrid drew his blade looked awkward.

In other words, he showed small, deliberate bits of preparation.

He intentionally hid how skilled he really was. It was not hard.

He only had to remember when he first drew a sword.

Enkrid had clawed his way up from the bottom, so imitating a beginner was easier for him than for anyone else.

He just had to do everything people said never to do.

For example, gripping the scabbard tightly with the left hand right near the blade path while drawing was peak idiot behavior.

That was something you should never do, because you could cut your own hand by mistake.

As for everything else, he made it look flashy enough. Was that not the basic style of a show-off swordsman?

"Wow, the blade looked blue."

The servant said with wide eyes.

Enkrid thought the kid had some nerve.

His gait and mannerisms clearly said he was trained, yet he dropped a cup and made a big fuss like this was his first time seeing a sword.

Either way, Enkrid played the role of an immature swordsman tagging along with a merchant brat, and it seemed to work well.

That night, after everyone fell asleep, the window opened without a sound thanks to the oiled hinges.

"Then."

Jaxon went out for a night walk.

In the next room, Finn moved too.

The two met on the inn roof.

They ignored each other and split apart.

Each would find what needed to be found, then regroup and sort it out in the morning.

Jaxon went out and crossed over two houses from the inn roof, while Finn went down below.

Then Jaxon suddenly saw a blade thrusting in from the side.

No presence, no warning.

A blade that never registered in his senses.

Riiip, it tore through his clothes.

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