WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 273: Not Everything Goes as Planned (4)

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Jaxon twisted his body the instant the blade that stabbed his side pierced his clothes and touched skin.

Rip, crack!

The blade only tore his clothes. It grazed his skin and left a tiny scratch. Still, the spot it brushed stung faintly.

'Paralytic poison.'

It meant nothing. He had hardened himself against all kinds of poison since childhood, so this did nothing.

Thought and action happened at once.

Jaxon smoothly reached out and grabbed the opponent's wrist.

From the other side's perspective, he got caught before he could even pull his arm back.

Every movement happened in a single breath, as if it had all been prearranged.

The man whose wrist had been caught put strength into it. Jaxon did not resist.

He let himself be pulled along.

That only made the man panic more, and he reflexively swung with his other hand.

It was a short dagger made for cutting, one edge sharpened hard and weighted to one side. Of course it was poisoned.

The blade came for Jaxon's cheekbone, so he leaned his head back, and the edge skimmed over the bridge of his nose.

This time it did not even scratch him.

The gap was so brief it could barely be called an instant.

Normally this was where thought had to continue so he could process the situation, but Jaxon's sixth sense swept all that calculation aside.

It was the realm of instinct, intuition, and raw perception.

He should have watched, reacted, identified what the opponent had, then decided what to do, but he skipped all of it.

It was the same compressed awareness Enkrid had used over and over, sharpened by intuition.

The one who taught that had no reason to be unable to do it himself.

So he did what needed to be done.

"Khk!"

A voice from an unseen opponent rang out in empty air.

Naturally.

While he blocked and dodged two attacks, Jaxon moved too.

His foot pinned the opponent's foot, and the blade in his hand stabbed into invisible space.

Holding the sword in his left hand, he thrust diagonally upward from below, and red blood burst into the air and sprayed out.

Only after finishing every motion did Jaxon grasp what the opponent had.

'An artifact that helps with stealth.'

Unless it was something magical, nothing could fully escape his senses.

Or maybe there could be an assassin skilled enough to fool them.

But if that were true, this one's stabbing technique was terrible.

Of course, all of this was relative.

The other side was used to stabbing from behind too, but they had met someone far worse.

Blood splattered from the air onto Jaxon's hair and face, but he did not even blink.

His hair almost looked like it was drinking the blood.

His reddish-brown hair looked like a dull dark crimson under moonlight.

Blood gushed through the air, wrist still caught.

Keeping that posture, he reached out, took the weapon from the opponent's hand, tossed it onto the roof as if it were nothing, felt around near the attacker's face, then suddenly yanked off the hood.

Naturally his hand came away sticky with blood, but Jaxon's expression did not change.

He touched the man like he was handling an inanimate object. The sight was strangely chilling.

Even the people around him, ruthless as they were, felt it.

Jaxon ignored them and checked what the opponent had been wearing.

'A full-body hooded robe.'

It was so valuable the seller could name any price.

He stripped it off bit by bit. There was a tie at the front to secure it, and another strap inside that wrapped around the waist.

'The hood is just worn over the head.'

There had to be key points to secure so it would not come off while worn.

He knew because he had something similar himself.

He silently untied the straps and packed it away, then dropped the used-up corpse to the ground like tossing a stone.

"...You bastard."

Black shadows appeared one after another on the roofs around Jaxon. They fully surrounded him on all sides.

There were also men below the roof gripping throwing daggers, and besides them, three or four others were clearly high-skill assassins.

Then the one in front, who looked like their leader, spoke.

He had stood there too stunned to speak, then finally opened his mouth.

He had seen all kinds of things in his life, yet this felt wrong, like watching a different species.

It was murder and combat carried out like disposing of an emotionless, worthless object.

Jaxon looked at him quietly. Kraiss was not here, so that gaze only shone bleak and cold.

Moonlight could feel different depending on the moment, and right now it was like a blade symbolizing cold, merciless winter.

His hair looked dark red with blood, yet showed no trace of blood at all.

That made him look even more demonic, less than human.

Still, if they got scared now, all the reputation they had built would be for nothing.

Hiss.

Air leaked through front teeth.

The leader, disguised as a market stall merchant, glared and clenched his jaw.

Blood vessels stood out in his eyes. He wore no mask. Neither did the others. They had no reason to hide their faces.

Jaxon took that in as information too and picked up several facts.

None of it showed on his face.

He still stood motionless like an object, sword in hand.

"Kill him."

The leader spoke.

No long speech was needed. He was a trainer who raised assassins, and he himself belonged among first-rate assassins.

He had sent out the "doll" he raised, equipped with an artifact.

The doll had moved exactly as ordered and tried to kill the target.

And that got blocked?

No, not just blocked. Countered, killed, and the artifact stolen?

What was that thing? How was he moving so calmly in this situation?

He had looked suspicious from the start. That was why they struck first before he could pull any tricks.

It was a sound operation. It was an unexpected strike.

Enkrid did not predict it, Jaxon did not predict it, and neither did Sinar or Finn.

The only problem was that they had failed to gauge the skill and ability of the man named Jaxon.

They had judged him as nothing more than a nimble swordsman.

Jaxon stood straight without a hint of a smile.

In his left hand he held the rolled-up artifact.

It looked like it had always belonged to him.

They were thieves because they took other people's things.

And now they were the ones getting robbed? Just watching it twisted their guts.

"Do not stand there proudly collecting loot!"

The merchant, also a master assassin, spat the words out.

His voice rang oddly in the ear. That too was part of the plan.

It was meant to cover the sound of attackers rushing in. A sudden shout drew attention.

Jaxon read that tactic at once. Why would he not? He used it all the time himself.

Three aimed for Jaxon's back, and behind them one more who had erased his presence moved to seize an opening.

The front-tooth-missing merchant who trained assassins sneered at him.

'So he has run across a few rooftops? Idiot.'

Assassins had ranks. Dodging that thrust just now was surprising, but it looked like luck.

The second wave would not be so easy.

Jaxon did not move.

Three sharp, skewer-like assassination blades stabbed in from behind.

Only when they were almost at his back did Jaxon move.

He vanished from his spot in a snap.

The trainer's eyes bulged. As a child, he had swallowed elf blood and gained part of that race's unique sensitivity.

Yet the opponent's presence and movement slipped beyond his senses.

So he lost him. Even that sensitivity could not catch it.

Then.

Thud, thud, thud!

The sound of flesh tearing rang out, and suddenly a sword touched his back.

The trainer dodged and counterattacked. In his head, that was what he did.

He turned, kicked near the shin, and drew his hidden trump blade.

It was a thin skewer, almost like a needle, cutting upward from below.

A unique weapon modeled after the elves' Needle Blade.

His head reacted and moved, but his body did not.

Everything had already ended.

His body would not move the way he thought.

'Why?'

The leader thought for an instant, but no second thought came.

The world simply spun.

His severed head stayed alive for a brief moment more.

Those optic nerves in the severed head captured one thing.

He saw his second blade, his true backup doll, wearing a belt artifact that killed sound.

The second doll he had prepared in case the first failed.

That one did stab the target properly. But what he expected did not happen.

The target who had vanished and cut down three assassins brought his sword down with a sharp clang. One simple motion blocked that trump strike.

The skewer blade snapped, and the assassin who had rushed in with the artifact pulled back at once.

A proper assassin's stance, never attempting anything but an ambush.

Then a thump sounded from somewhere as someone collapsed.

That was the end.

His vision went black.

He had once been the most infamous assassin in this area under the Black Blade Bandits, but death was fair to everyone.

'Direction, position, vibration in the air.'

Nothing could be felt.

An enemy as troublesome as the hooded robe.

A capable assassin. His skill was not bad.

So Jaxon used that method.

He knocked away the incoming strike.

He used that to catch direction, then read the vibration to locate the target.

After that it was easy. Before the target could dodge, or to be exact at the moment their blades met, he threw a Silent Knife.

The Silent Knife had less power than a Whistle Dagger.

Its blade was barely as long as an index finger.

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

That was why it was also called the Soundless Throwing Dagger, a close-range throwing weapon and art.

It was one of those cases where weapon and technique merged into a single art.

Paint the blade black and coat it with a few chemicals, and it became a throwing knife that reflected no light, could not be seen, and could not be heard, one of Jaxon's signature weapons.

That ended it. The thrown dagger buried itself so deep in the center of the target's forehead it was almost invisible.

There were six attackers in total.

The fight broke out in an instant, and it ended in an instant.

That was what assassin combat was like.

When Jaxon checked the dead man, he saw a belt.

'This one kills sound.'

He recognized it at a glance and took it.

At the same time, Jaxon thought.

If it were him, he would have given both artifacts to one person.

'Ah, maybe not.'

Then the one holding both might cut down his own superiors.

Maybe they were meant to keep each other in check.

Could be.

That was exactly the case. The dead leader had used the two dolls to keep each other in check.

Still, no words would come from the mouth of the dead.

Jaxon opened his senses on top of the roof.

Damp murderous intent could be felt everywhere.

'There are a lot.'

The whole village was a den for a bandit group.

So this would not be a problem.

The Black Blade Bandits did not know. They had more than a hundred combat-ready members, but they could not handle a junior knight.

If they had known who Enkrid and his group were, they would never have attacked.

What could they do? If you do not know, you pay for it.

* * *

The moment Finn kicked the sword away with her foot, she rolled sideways and thrust her wrist forward.

The shortsword flew clumsily, but a flying blade was still a flying blade, so the opponent dodged.

The man shifted aside while keeping his eyes locked on Finn.

In that gap, Finn used the wrist-mounted short-bolt launcher she had received earlier from Enkrid.

A short bolt shot out with a ping, but the opponent swung a club and knocked it away.

Tak!

With that sound, the bolt flew off to the side. The man who swung the club had murder in his eyes.

'For fuck's sake.'

Wasn't it pretty dark right now? Even with moonlight, it was still very dark.

And this bastard knocked away that short bolt in this darkness?

That meant he could fight at least at Frontier Guard level.

They only looked weaker because Enkrid and the Independent Company were so overwhelming. In Finn's eyes, these guys were no pushovers.

And Finn knew her own strengths and weaknesses well.

If she closed in and went hand to hand, she had the advantage. If she closed in while both sides had weapons, she was at a disadvantage.

She had plenty of strengths outside direct combat, but in personal tactical combat, that was the truth.

Then what should she do?

As always, she had to make an opening and get in.

After rolling once across the ground and finishing his read, Finn honestly thought this was pretty dangerous.

"You little shit."

The foul-mouthed bastard tapped his own crotch and spoke.

"You better brace yourself."

If Finn got caught, the ending would not be pretty.

Fuck it, somehow she had to get out.

She was ready to bolt if it turned bad, but then she relaxed at once.

'About time.'

Sinar, who had vanished without a trace, was suddenly there, slitting the throat of the crossbow archer aiming at Finn.

The elf reached him without a sound, her hand cold and vicious.

Puhk, blood sprayed into the air like a fountain. Light vanished from the crossbow archer's eyes as his carotid was cut.

Behind the collapsing archer, with a short dagger in hand, only dark green eyes seemed to float in the dark.

Darkness wrapped around her whole body.

"You bitch!"

The remaining thug spat a curse. Still foul-mouthed. Finn ignored him and dashed at the third man, who had frozen at the sudden turn.

Three had been waiting for her here. One had already left this world to Sinar's dagger, so two remained.

The last one raised his dagger clumsily and showed an opening. A huge opening.

Finn lowered her stance and charged.

The opponent chopped down with his blade. Finn had predicted it, so she twisted aside.

Still in that twisted posture, she kicked off the ground and shot upward from below.

It was an Ael Karaz-style tackle.

The man who had been watching blankly had his wrist grabbed, then that wrist folded, and his whole arm twisted backward at a grotesque angle.

Crack-crack-crack!

"Gaaaah!"

"Shut up," Finn said.

She snapped finger bones one after another as she spoke.

Tears flooded from the man's eyes, snot and spit ran down, and pain rolled his eyes back.

Finn grabbed his neck and twisted it to the side.

Crack.

The man with the broken neck collapsed forward.

All of it happened as one chain of motion in a brief instant.

In the middle of it, curses like fuck, crazy bitch, and damn whore came from the side.

While Finn shattered one man's joints, ruined him, and finally broke his neck, Sinar put two holes in the foul-mouthed bastard with her dagger, one in the heart and one in the nape.

The man was down, twitching.

Gurgle.

Blood came out instead of words from the mouth trying to speak.

Thick red blood spilled out, catching moonlight as it ran.

Standing before that, Sinar turned her gaze away without a word. Blood from the corpse had speckled her face.

A white face and inhuman beauty, a few red drops scattered over it, then moonlight whitening that face again.

Her face looked like some unnamed piece of art.

That artwork turned its gaze to Finn and spoke.

"Things got complicated."

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