“You really are amusing.”
The rag-clad half-elf stuck out his tongue, licked his lips, and let his arms hang limp at his sides. The back of his white hand was visible outside the rags. One look was all it took to know.
It was a ready stance. The moment that hand moved, a terrible whistle would sound.
“If you try to dodge after seeing the projectile, it’s too late. So, watch the hand.”
This was Jacksen’s method for countering the whistling throwing knives, and a way to deal with those who wielded thrown weapons. Catching a fired arrow with your eyes is difficult.
“It’s truly hard unless you’re a knight. But there are ways to dodge an incoming arrow even if you’re not a knight.”
It was the method of selective sight. Even if the hand is cleverly hidden, the entire moving arm cannot be concealed. Keep the enemy before your eyes.
Fill your vision with their hands and arms. Then, take in their entire body and dodge. That was the key.
Jacksen’s tone was gentle, but his words stuck in the ear. When Rem taught something, he fundamentally used his body. His body moved before his words.
Jacksen was the opposite. He used his body after a quiet explanation. Understanding with the head came first.
Ragna was careless until something piqued his interest, but once it did, he combined body and explanation simultaneously. He was the type to ride the flow. Audin was similar to Rem, but his speech was like that of a god of endless positivity.
In a way, wasn't he the worst of all?
“You can do it, brother.”
“It’s alright, brother. A little thing like that won’t let you reach the Lord’s embrace.”
“Does it hurt? Then it’s working well.”
The process of learning the exercises had not been easy. But he had profited from it handsomely. The outskirts of the city, under the shade cast by the city wall.
The air was several times colder than in the sunlit areas. Even so, a moderate warmth circulated through his body. He felt no stiffness.
He had to thank the exercises he learned from Audin for that. Even as his mind wandered, Enkrid’s eyes never left the half-elf. The way to dodge the whistling throwing knives was to watch the fingertips.
The hand may be faster than the eye, but the entire swinging arm cannot be concealed. Trace its trajectory, feel it, and see it. If you can see it, you can dodge it.
He had already done it several times. Not looking away—that was what Enkrid had to do now. At the same time, Enkrid also let his hands hang loosely.
The half-elf was in the same situation. Though not on the level of the whistling throwing knives, his opponent’s throwing skills were not to be taken lightly either.
‘How can I land a single strike?’
The half-elf was thrilled. Originally, this was a boring and tedious job. A request to kill a single ordinary soldier.
There was no way he would find it interesting. The half-elf assassin had two quirks. One was to use the opponent's carelessness to stab them in the heart.
The other was to kill a first-rate or better warrior from the front. Both were to his taste. He had thought he would be unsatisfied and focused on the former, but…
‘This will be fun.’
Now, he had shifted to the latter. The half-elf repeatedly licked his lips. It was a habit when he concentrated.
His eyes constantly searched for an opening in his opponent. It wasn't easy to find. A clear feeling struck his mind.
Right now, no matter how he threw the whistling knives, his opponent would dodge them. Still, that was fine.
‘He’s prepared for me to throw the knives, is that it?’
He didn't know how, but the opponent had unraveled his prepared plan. And by the simplest of means at that. It happened because the location had changed.
Things had gotten complicated. Three people were dead and there had been a commotion, but no one was approaching. The place originally chosen for the assassination was the middle of a bustling market.
Bustle slows down one’s momentary perception. On top of that, two disposables named Jack and Bo would have been making a scene with some nonsense. That wasn't all.
He had brought a skilled crossbowman and hidden him on a roof. And he had made that fellow, Rotten, follow secretly. All these preparations were twisted by a single change of location.
There were no nearby buildings to hide in. Two idiots died before anything even started. And the moment they met, an unexpected throwing knife had killed the crossbowman.
‘Did he calculate it all?’
He licked his lips again. As his concentration reached its peak, his lips kept drying out. The half-elf tried to guess the actions his target had taken to get here.
‘He calculated it.’
He calculated everything. He didn't know how the target knew, but he knew beforehand.
‘Information leaked.’
Where it leaked from didn't matter. Only the result was important. Take out Jack and Bo, then immediately deal with the soldier holding the crossbow.
‘Clean.’
That was his conclusion after confirming the opponent's calculations, methods, and even his knife-flicking technique.
‘He’s in the same line of work.’
He either did similar work or was deeply experienced in it. It was a misunderstanding. But it was an understandable one.
The opponent had read his assassination method and countered it head-on. No matter how much information had leaked, this kind of reaction could only be seen as the work of someone experienced in such matters.
‘Then what means can I use?’
A few remained. He had three types of poison in his pouch. And behind his back was his own custom-made short weapon.
A long bodkin the length of a forearm. Its name was Needle, one of the weapons favored by the elves, along with the Naeidel. Draw and thrust.
That would be the end. So far, only one person had survived this technique—to be precise, a certain Frokk. That damn Frokk bastard.
“Why do you look so damn filthy?”
That crazy frog bastard who had unabashedly disparaged his own looks. The half-elf had a complex about his appearance. Elves were supposed to be beautiful, but as a half-elf, he was excluded from that blessing of beauty.
Ever since the day he met that Frokk, the half-elf had made sure to finish his jobs by bursting the opponent's heart. Licking his lips when concentrating and always aiming for the heart for the final blow. These had now solidified into habits.
‘The poison would be a waste.’
Thinking of the Frokk made him want to split the opponent's heart. It didn't feel like a very difficult task.
‘Close the distance, then pierce him with the Needle in one go.’
The opponent might be skilled with a sword, but that was probably only when fighting head-on. The half-elf believed in the trump card he possessed. So, how to close the distance?
As he was thinking of a few methods, he felt that idiot Rotten flinch.
‘You moron.’
The half-elf said, “Don’t move, you idiot.” At those words, Rotten swallowed hard. He had been about to discreetly take a step back.
An overwhelming pressure made him feel the urge to flee. Having been active in the Thieves' Guild for a long time, Rotten knew this was the air of death. His gut feeling was screaming a warning of danger.
“How many do you have?”
The half-elf held Rotten in place with his words, then raised his voice toward the front. Enkrid shrugged his shoulders. He was probably asking about the number of daggers in his hand.
“I only have two.”
The half-elf lied. He had already moistened his lips several times.
“I have one.”
Enkrid answered honestly, knowing everything.
“Seems I have the advantage, don’t you think?”
“That’s what you think.”
The dagger Enkrid had thrown was a secret weapon he had acquired by pestering Krais since morning. He had asked for something thin and light, and Krais had gotten it for him. Thanks to that, a soldier lost the knife he used to slice meat.
And Enkrid had gotten a throwing knife whose blade had been ground down so much that it was as short as a finger.
“You really are amusing,” the elf murmured.
If things went wrong, a whistling throwing knife would fly. Yet, Enkrid agreed with the elf's words. Tension warmed his entire body.
A single wrong blink, and the hand of death would seize and choke his throat. Yet, it was enjoyable. To gauge his own skill against his opponent's and clash.
To pit his prepared moves against the opponent's prepared moves. A competitive spirit, along with a desire to win, filled his chest. It was something he could not easily have before.
Had there ever been a moment when he could set his mind on winning? He had been too busy struggling just to survive. So, what about now?
This repeating day, this day where he had met death on countless front lines. Thanks to that, it wasn't just his swordsmanship that had changed. His nature was one that didn't know how to give up, but he couldn't easily wish for victory.
Especially against opponents with a certain level of skill.
But now.
‘I can win.’
He wanted to win, and he could win. It was a change in mindset.
“Pick up the corpse. Use it as a shield.”
The half-elf spoke to Rotten, not caring if Enkrid heard him.
“If he throws it at you, that guy dies too. He won't use such a tactic. Grab the crossbow as well.”
The half-elf chose the most rational, efficient, and certain method that came to his mind. He would leverage the advantage of numbers. There were two of them.
Rotten hesitated.
The half-elf explained the situation in a calm tone. It was necessary.
“This is inside the city. Won’t the patrol be coming this way soon?”
He was right. Enkrid had the advantage if he just stalled for time. Soon, the patrol would come this way.
Then, it would be over. The moment he faced them, Rotten knew that not only would his gut be torn out, but he would also have a hard time surviving.
“Damn it.”
Rotten cursed at how messed up the situation had become and carefully lifted the corpse. His back was soaked with sweat, a testament to his tension.
‘When did he get so skilled?’
Rotten’s movements were slow as he glared at Enkrid while moving. He fumbled on the ground, first gently placing the crossbow to one side, then lifting the corpse with the throwing knife stuck in its head. It was heavy.
He grunted with effort. If he staggered here, it was the end. Rotten focused, and sweat from his forehead dripped onto the corpse.
‘Just move carefully. That bastard can’t throw his knife.’
Just as he thought that and held the corpse up as a shield… Huk, ssaek! Enkrid’s arm moved. A throwing knife flew.
It was before the corpse could completely cover his body. Rotten desperately twisted his body. Thanks to that, perhaps, the flying knife lodged in his shoulder.
“Kuk.”
Rotten swallowed a scream. At the same moment he was struck, the elf’s hands also moved. Both hands, up and down, exactly four times.
Ppiiiik! The whistling sounds overlapped and rang out loudly. Four throwing knives flew. Even as he threw the knife in his hand, Enkrid did not take his eyes off the half-elf.
Because he hadn't blinked even once. He read the trajectory of the whistling throwing knives and immediately spread his feet forward and back, lowering his stance as if to prostrate himself on the ground. His back was bent, and both hands touched the ground.
Four whistling throwing knives flew through the space where Enkrid's head and chest had been. All this happened in the time it took to inhale just half a breath after Enkrid threw his knife. And in the time it took to take the other half of that breath, the half-elf’s hands moved again.
It was after a very brief pause after throwing the four knives. A delayed attack. Two more whistling throwing knives flew, aimed at the head and thigh of Enkrid, who was in a stance with both hands on the ground.
Enkrid reflexively rolled to the side. Thwack! The knives struck the ground. After rolling, Enkrid quickly raised his head to find the enemy.
If he missed the knife throw, it was over. Enkrid's gaze moved left and right. The enemy was not in his sight.
Rotten, with a throwing knife in his arm, and a flapping rag spread open in the air, caught his eye first. Enkrid's eyes pierced through the rags. He wasn't there.
The assassin was nowhere to be seen. He had missed him because he had instinctively been looking for a position to throw a knife. In that time, the half-elf had lowered his stance and was charging.
It was inside his wide field of vision. His ears perked up, telling him the position of the one kicking off the ground. Enkrid's eyes finally fell on the half-elf.
He had closed the distance in an instant. He was only a few steps away.
Distract with the rags and close the distance. The opponent would not have been able to predict that he would close the distance. It was the half-elf's gambit.
His prediction was correct. Enkrid's expression was one of pure bewilderment. Yet, he moved.
Ping! ‘Son of a bitch.’ The half-elf, without a thought for his own lie, cursed the opponent inwardly. The opponent had a third throwing knife in his hand.
But it wasn't aimed at him. It was the most efficient method the half-elf had devised. Having more numbers is always an advantage.
That was why. If Rotten held the crossbow and provided cover, it would have been over. That guy would have had no other choice.
Ssaek, the flying knife lodged in the forehead of Rotten, who was holding the crossbow instead of the corpse shield. Of course, the half-elf did not see this scene. He just ran with all his might.
Like that, within two steps. He reached for his waist. He saw the opponent, after throwing the knife, desperately gripping his longsword.
Much faster than drawing and swinging, the half-elf's short, bodkin-like sword stabbed at Enkrid's heart. Jjeong! Tiding! ‘Blocked?’ The half-elf was surprised.
So much so that he was genuinely terrified. This shouldn't be blocked. It was his trump card, a fatal blow.
One could never block it without knowing beforehand. But it was blocked. For him, it was an unfair situation.
Enkrid had already seen the bodkin sword, Needle, in his ninth death. Instead of drawing his longsword, Enkrid had blocked and deflected the bodkin with the flat of the guard sword he had drawn while throwing his knife. It wasn't a perfect Flowing Sword technique, but he could imitate it similarly.
Thanks to that, the blade shattered instead of being pierced. The shattered blade scattered like a halo of light from his chest and fell. Enkrid, letting go of the guard sword's grip, drew his longsword.
All of this happened in a single breath. Block, discard, draw. There was no pause.
It was a series of smooth motions. Drawing the longsword like that and bringing it down with all his might from above was like flowing water. It all happened in the short moment it took for the shattered blade to fall to the ground.
The half-elf, despite his surprise, blocked above his head with the Needle. It was too late to dodge, so this was the best defense he could manage. And Enkrid made full use of the heavy-sword fundamentals.
A sword that shatters and crushes whatever it strikes. Jjeong! The Needle broke like a twig, sending sparks flying, and the longsword's blade fell upon the half-elf's head, fulfilling the sword's original purpose. Thwack, deudeuk! The half-elf's hideous appearance, once mercilessly criticized by a passing Frokk, could now never be confirmed again.
His face had been split in two. The longsword in his hand split the elf's jaw and descended. The dead elf, without even a final scream, pitched forward, his face split open, blood pouring out in a torrent.
“Huu.”
Enkrid let out the breath he had been holding. Then, after retrieving his sword, he thought.
Ten times.
It was only ten times. The number of repetitions it took to bring this day to a close. Of all the 'todays' he had ever experienced, this had been the shortest repetition.