The assailant's methods were too similar to those of a thief. Their main weapons were blackened daggers, crossbows, and throwing knives.
‘Well now.’
However, their skills were inferior.
‘They don't even seem to be at the level of the Gilfin Guild.’
“You dodged?”
The way he said that in surprise after I dodged the dagger showed he was no expert. Assassination wasn't their specialty to begin with. Enkrid twirled the dagger he had taken from the dead man's hand.
He flicked his fingers to change the knife's position, gripped the blade between his thumb and index finger, and then extended his arm forward. This series of movements brought about a result. With a whiz, the dagger flew and embedded itself in the forehead of a masked assailant.
The assailant's body fell backward, the knife still in his forehead. A thud echoed as his head hit the floor, and red blood began to flow across the inn's floorboards.
“Uwaaah!”
A few citizens who had just been eating a meal at the inn screamed and ran outside. The waiters and waitresses who had been serving food were already hiding under the tables. The attack brought screams.
And the screams caused a commotion. But Enkrid's group was unscathed.
“... Kill them all!”
One of the assailants shouted.
“It's an ambush! Fight back!”
“Grab your weapons!”
The guild's guards also signaled the counterattack. Each of them drew their weapons. The ringing sound of blades scraping against scabbards echoed.
Hearing this, Enkrid did not forget that this was an escort mission.
“I'll go.”
Enkrid said to the Elf Company Commander and turned on his heel. Someone had to ensure the safety of the person they were escorting. If the first floor was in this much chaos, there must be trouble on the upper floor as well.
They have close-protection guards with them, but still.
‘If something happens here, it's our responsibility too.’
He couldn't help but wonder what kind of madman had ordered this. To attack a guild being escorted by the Border Guard's standing army, within Border Guard territory. Enkrid headed straight for the upper floor.
No one blocked his path. It was understandable. Because Jacksen was blocking the way.
He picked up a chair and swung it like a shield, blocking all the incoming daggers. The chair quickly became a piece of metaphysical art. A wooden chair studded all over with daggers and quarrels.
When throwing weapons failed, some approached with shortswords or clubs. Whenever they entered his range, Jacksen swung his sword, separating soul from body, one man per strike. It was the very picture of clean work.
He blocked and cut. The trajectory of his blade was ordinary, yet his opponents repeatedly failed to block it.
Clang!
One man barely managed to block, but Jacksen had swung with a snapping cut, and he thrust the recoiling sword like lightning, shoving it back into the opponent's face. With a crack, the man's nose bridge broke, and he collapsed with a new hole above his nose. Jacksen pulled out his sword and began the same work again.
He blocked incoming daggers with the chair and cut down approaching enemies with his sword. His dagger-throwing skills were several times better than Enkrid's, but he didn't use them. There was no need.
“Shit, what the hell is this guy?”
Jacksen did not answer. What was there to discuss with men who were about to die? While Jacksen drew their attention, the Elf Company Commander walked right into the middle of the assailants.
She drew the Naeidel from her waist. As the Leaf Sword danced, assailants began to clutch their necks and fall. She cut, and cut again.
Droplets of blood splattered in the air. A painting made of blood was drawn across her face and body. No one could counter the nimble movements of the elf.
They were not a group of such skilled individuals.
“If this is all you've got, I'm disappointed.”
The elf spoke, one foot on the floor, the other raised two spans high, pointing her Leaf Sword at an opponent. She looked as if she were about to start dancing. Her voice was clear and cheerful, but to those who heard it, it must have sounded like the demon king of the underworld.
One of the masked men unknowingly took a step back.
“Shiiiit.”
One of the remaining men said with a grimace. It was a murmur from one of the attackers. The leader of the group attacking the first floor thought.
‘As long as we achieve our goal.’
They had stalled for long enough. Whether the job on the second floor succeeded or not, delaying any longer here meant certain death. The skill of the guards was several times greater than he had anticipated.
Had they brought the butchers of the frontier with them? He didn't know. He didn't need to know.
He considered his job done. Now was the time to pull out.
“Kill them all!”
The leader shouted as he ran for the door. His plan was to slip away while his subordinates bought him time. He considered the operation a success.
“Glory to Azpen!”
One of the remaining subordinates shouted. Letting the shout fade behind him, the leader fled. They were the remnants of spies left in the city.
They threw their lives away for their country and honor. The leader, of course, was just doing it for the money. Isn't this what loyalty is cultivated for?
Jacksen, who had been watching the fleeing leader's back intently, touched the thin blade hidden at his waist, then removed his hand.
‘It's a pointless act.’
Killing that one man probably won't change anything. Letting him go now won't cause any major problems either. Jacksen turned his head and continued what he was doing.
Brutally slaughtering and killing the enemies that charged him. The role of a gatekeeper, blocking the stairs to the second floor. Considering his usual attitude, it wasn't a role that suited him well.
But in terms of skill among those gathered in the inn's main hall, he was second only to the Elf Company Commander, so no one could get past Jacksen. Even while joyfully swinging her Naeidel, the Elf Company Commander glanced behind her from time to time.
The skill of the squad member blocking the way stood out more than Enkrid, who had gone up the stairs.
‘He's remarkable.’
Was it the troublemaker squad, she'd heard? A squad member more skilled than his squad leader. Such cases were not unheard of, but here, the skill gap was obvious.
‘At least city-level.’
The soldier ranking system was a system created by Naurilia. Out in the wider continent, skill levels were expressed in a different way. To the company commander, who had lived a nomadic life, that way was more familiar.
Village, city, continent. Among these, there were distinctions between a large village or a small city, and for continent, whether it meant a region or the entire continent. But that was the basic structure.
Is he skilled enough to make a name for himself in a village? Or is he skilled enough to be known throughout a city? How skilled would one have to be to be known across the entire continent?
By her standards, a continent-level powerhouse was at least a Knight-level powerhouse. It was difficult without awakening the ‘power' they wielded. Excluding the frauds who hired bards to sell their name, that is.
“Interesting.”
She murmured.
To the attacker who had just lost all four fingers on his right hand trying to block her Naeidel, it was a horrifying sound.
“Kkheuk, what?”
The man who lost his fingers spoke, tears streaming down his face. The Elf Company Commander silently struck the back of the man's head with the pommel of her Naeidel.
Thwack.
He was knocked out. Should she staunch the bleeding from his hand? No, it wouldn't matter.
If he died, she would just leave him dead. There were plenty of mouths to testify anyway. She hadn't killed them all.
Jacksen was the same. He hadn't killed a few who looked young and seemed like they would have loose lips, instead slashing their thighs or just knocking them out. He had also left the one who first shouted 'Azpen' alive.
He would be useful in many ways.
‘What about upstairs?’
The elf fought while sending a part of her consciousness upstairs. Her hearing sharpened, informing her of the situation above. She gave a strange smile.
‘Interesting.’
The thought came to her again. Was it when she was young, when she first received her Naeidel? She thought she had been this happy back then, too.
With that thought, the elf's Naeidel moved once more. Before she knew it, the number of assailants had been cut in half.
Enkrid took the stairs to the upper floor two at a time. Whoosh, whoosh– his body felt light as he bounded up the stairs.
‘Technique of Isolation.’
It had definitely created a change in his body. Audin said it was slow, but Enkrid himself clearly felt the difference. That his body was lighter than before.
The moment he reached the second-floor hallway, an assassin with a knife dropped down from above. His level was lower than the assassins he had faced before. He could almost see the man's presence.
He twisted his body in the narrow hallway with a whoosh. As he dodged by pressing himself against the wall, the knife-wielding opponent dropped to the floor. The fallen opponent's eyes met Enkrid's. Enkrid gripped his longsword with his right hand and bent his knees halfway.
It was the drawing stance of the Heavy Sword Style. The opponent who had fallen to the floor regained his balance and held his shortsword perpendicular to the ground. It was an excellent defensive posture to block the draw of the Heavy Sword Style, an attempt to counter a horizontal cut.
But it was a terrible stance for blocking the vertical cut that came from Enkrid's left hand.
Thwack!
He deceived the opponent with his right hand and his stance, then cleaved the man's crown with the shortsword he had secretly drawn with his left hand. It was the Vallen-style Mercenary Swordsmanship's double draw. The deceived opponent's eyeballs trembled.
But he couldn't say anything. The dead have no words.
“Are you crazy? Who hires an assassin here of all places?”
A woman's voice was heard.
“Where do you think you're going!”
Another woman's voice was heard. Enkrid leaped over the corpse and started running down the narrow hallway. He saw a room with its door half-open.
And a masked man blocking the way in front of it.
“Stupid fools.”
The man saw Enkrid running toward him. He swung his hand. A throwing knife flew with a ping.
Compared to a Whistle Dagger, it wasn't even half as fast. The boldness given by the Heart of the Beast allowed him to look the flying knife straight on. His concentration, burning with Single Point Focus, made the flying knife seem to slow down.
On top of that, his Sense of the Blade read the knife's trajectory. And because the muscles and reflexes to support this entire process were now part of his body. Enkrid simply tilted his head to the side.
In the past, before he started repeating this day, it was a move he could never have imagined. He had thought it was just a trick. Dodging a flying knife by just tilting his head.
Hadn't he been unable to dodge the arrow from that guy, Hawk's Talon or whatever, on the battlefield, forcing him to use a shield? Now, it seemed he could even dodge that arrow. Only the whizzing sound of the projectile flying past his ear remained.
As he dodged with a tilt of his head and charged forward, the opponent's eyes widened. He was surprised. Even so, the opponent moved his hand.
It seemed he intended to throw another dagger. Enkrid, holding his shortsword upright in his left hand to feign a charge, swung his right arm once.
Piiik.
Following the arc of his arm, a whistle sounded. The Whistle Dagger pierced the opponent's neck.
“Kk-ruck.”
Blood burst from his neck, and bloody foam trickled from his mouth. The man reflexively finished the motion he had started. He threw the dagger in his hand.
However, as he was already dying, there was no strength behind it, and it just fell to the floor with a thud. The entire sequence of dodging and throwing had happened within a few breaths. Without slowing his run, Enkrid slammed his shoulder into the man with the pierced neck, sending him flying sideways.
Thwack, Voom, Crash! As the man flew into a door on the opposite side of the hallway, a startled cry of 'Ugh!' came from inside. This was an inn.
Of course there were guests staying here. It wasn't broad daylight, but to stage such an attack in the middle of a city, and in an inn no less. His opponents had nerves of steel.
Or they were all just morons and idiots.
“Kkeueueu!”
Just after dealing with one man, he kicked open the door and stepped into the room. He saw a guild guard fall, stabbed in the stomach. The opponent, a masked man who had stabbed the guard, pulled out his sword and tried to cut down the person they were escorting.
A fleeting moment. A Whistle Dagger flew from Enkrid's hand.
Piiik! Tang!
He had thrown it in such a hurry that it wasn't at full power, but the Whistle Dagger did its job. It made the opponent hesitate to block it. Enkrid ran as he threw.
The opponent didn't engage the charging Enkrid. Instead, he swung the sword he had used to block the Whistle Dagger once more at the escort target, the young lady of the guild.
‘Son of a bitch.’
Enkrid cursed the persistent assassin. Because there was no other way. For a moment, he imitated a move he had seen a Squire use on the battlefield.
Of course, he couldn't replicate it perfectly. He didn't have that kind of talent. But it was a short distance.
A room that wasn't very large, with just a bed and a few pieces of furniture. In such a small space, an imitation was worth a try. He lowered his stance and kicked off the ground.
Closing the distance in a single breath. Thinking that drawing and throwing another Whistle Dagger wouldn't be enough to stop the opponent, Enkrid threw his body.
Thwack!
And so, the blade struck Enkrid's back as he stepped between the sword and the escort target. His padded armor was cut, and the blade went through, slicing his lower back. Enkrid reflexively twisted his waist to deflect the sword that had struck him.
As he blocked the blade with his body, Enkrid's eyes fell upon the person he was escorting. He had expected to see surprised eyes and a pale face, but instead, he saw a woman with a determined expression, her jaw clenched tight. This was an escort mission.
And what is a mission? It is a duty. Something that must be done.
Having taken the sword with his back, Enkrid bore the full impact with his body. At the same time, he thanked Audin inwardly.
‘Thanks, Audin.’
“The right way to take a hit, that comes first.”
He'd said it was the basis of wrestling. A body-deflection of a blade, taking the hit while letting the force flow. It felt like he was going to die when he was learning it.
But now that he'd learned it, he was putting it to good use.
“Just a moment.”
Enkrid said, pushing the young guild lady with his hand.
“Mm!”
Instead of screaming, the young lady held her breath. She seemed to be the resolute type.
“This bastard?”
The assailant, grasping the situation, glared at Enkrid, holding a thick-bladed sword, a gladius.
“Shall we go down and talk?”
Enkrid turned back, spoke, and then charged. The opponent's blade thrust toward the space between his eyebrows. Enkrid had never dreamed that his experience facing the Whistle Dagger would be so helpful.
This thrust was slower than a Whistle Dagger. He dodged, lowered his stance completely, and wrapped his palm around the back of the opponent's thigh. Just like that, he lifted the opponent from below and ran for the window.
Bang, Crack.
The wooden frame splintered and the window shattered. Enkrid and the assassin fell straight out of the second-story window.