A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 373: Fated Enemies, One by One

By the time Rophod and his group arrived in the west, the forces of Viscount Mernes had already taken position before the city gates.

There are a lot of them.

Even at a glance, the enemy numbers were overwhelming.

Siege weapons were among them as well.

And standing at the front, gazing up at the city walls, were ten warriors—each one exuding an undeniable presence.

Their weapons varied, but their auras were unmistakable.

Among them was a familiar face—someone Rophod knew.

"A deserter."

A knight who had caused trouble in the order and fled.

The man spotted Rophod atop the wall and smirked.

"Idiot."

The word was mouthed rather than spoken, but Rophod felt a chill run down his spine.

This man had been his senior—far more skilled.

Not quite a knight, but ruthless enough to be the most dangerous type of opponent in a true fight to the death.

And if the other nine standing with him were of similar caliber...

What about the one behind them?

He stood taller, his presence more commanding than the rest.

He wore a helmet adorned with a single, sharp horn, his shoulder guards matching the design.

Whether his strength matched his eccentric taste in armor remained to be seen.

Even if the ten warriors ahead were formidable, what about the entire army stationed behind them?

As the weight of impending defeat crept into Rophod’s chest—

"A lot of fun-looking bastards here."

A beastwoman’s voice rang out.

Then came the voice of the swordsman who had trouble finding his way.

"One of them looks decent at least. The rest? Nothing special."

Rophod was baffled.

They showed no sense of urgency. Not even a sliver of tension.

"Open the gates! We are the forces of Viscount Mernes, here to capture the traitors!"

The enemy commander called out.

A man Rophod didn’t recognize—

Neatly dressed, helmet tucked under his left arm, a sword at his waist and a shield in hand.

The shield gleamed under the sunlight, blinding to look at.

The soldiers on the wall wavered, fear creeping in.

If they faltered here, they would lose before the battle even began.

Hold your ground.

The realization struck Rophod again.

There was a wall.

There was will.

As long as they held the will to protect, they could fight.

Taking a deep breath, Rophod stepped forward.

"That will not happen! The Queen has given no such order!"

He shouted, hoping he didn't sound like a frightened dog.

"Just open the gates already."

The deserter sneered.

As if saying, What do you think you can do to stop us?

"...Fall back."

Rophod said through clenched teeth.

Now, they had to stop the enemy’s advance.

There were only ten of them at the front, but they alone were enough to break the spirit of the soldiers atop the walls.

And Ragna was not a commander to unite them all with words.

He was more comfortable speaking through the sword.

So that was what he would do.

The same went for Dunbakel.

With a flick of her hand, she tapped the curved blades hanging at her hips.

Words were not their strength.

It was time to speak through battle.

***

Not long after Ragna had left, Enkrid spotted One-Eyed Jack.

He had been watching the commotion inside the city.

Enkrid spoke without hesitation.

"Give me a ride."

Jack was a friend. A favor was nothing between them.

Enkrid was already mapping the fastest route to the palace in his mind.

A horse was necessary.

Riding through the same roads he had previously taken by carriage would be the quickest way.

That was why he had made the request.

Jack blinked once before shifting his body aside—

A sign of agreement.

As Enkrid moved forward—

Whizz!

An arrow flew.

Enkrid leaned his head back.

A short bolt whizzed past his face.

Beyond the wall, masked figures stood atop the rooftops.

Even though the sun had not yet set, more than thirty of them were concealed in black.

Their clothing and aura were all too familiar.

"Aren’t you tired of this?"

Enkrid asked.

Why were they so persistent?

Because of a contract?

No. No assassin risked everything on a contract alone.

It was obvious.

Enkrid had already dealt with their mages and assassins.

Yet, for them to still possess this much firepower—

They had thrown everything into this fight.

It seemed they had bet their very lives on it.

"We don’t quit just because it’s tiresome. It’s duty."

One of them answered from the far-left side of Enkrid’s vision.

A man whose arms hung unnaturally long, nearly twice the length of his companions’.

Yet, they did not appear limp. He simply kept them relaxed at his sides.

Among them, one figure stood out—unmasked.

At the center of the rooftop wall.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Unlike the others, who crouched or hunched over, this one stood upright.

White-haired, wearing a monocle, dressed in a neat shirt and jacket.

He tapped his cane sword against the wall as he spoke.

"You were ordered to be stabbed, yet you still stand. Do you take our contract lightly?"

His gaze flickered toward Jaxon.

So this is the one who tried to recruit Jaxon.

Enkrid did not bother looking back.

The fact that Jaxon had not rejected the offer on the spot meant he had accepted the contract.

Yet he had not followed through.

He had failed to kill Enkrid.

"No, he followed orders. Now, you owe us an explanation."

Enkrid spoke in Jaxon’s stead, his tone unwavering.

Jaxon bit his lip, shifting his gaze away.

It was clear he wanted no part in this conversation.

"What are you talking about? You’re still alive."

The white-haired man was part of the Assassin’s Union leadership.

They had all gathered here.

The Union leader herself was hidden, observing.

She was skilled at blending in as a common assassin before striking with lethal precision.

"He stabbed me."

Enkrid answered bluntly.

"What?"

"He stabbed me. Right here. Look—if you don’t believe me, I can let him stab me again right now."

Enkrid pointed to his left arm.

The wound was gone, leaving only a faint scar.

But to see it, one would have to get close.

Besides, it was covered by a protective bracer.

There was no way they could see it from where they stood.

So what the hell is this bastard talking «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» about?

The Union leader, hidden among them, considered the possibility.

The white-haired assassin, having come to the same thought, narrowed his eyes.

"...You were stabbed?"

"He was told to stab me, so he did."

Enkrid responded without a pause.

A brief silence fell.

If the order was to stab him, then the contract was technically fulfilled.

The fact that he hadn’t died?

That wasn’t Jaxon’s fault.

He had been stabbed. That was a fact.

With a smug expression, Enkrid repeatedly gestured to his left arm, emphasizing his point.

The white-haired assassin’s cheek twitched in irritation.

Some members of the Union’s leadership were slack-jawed in disbelief.

Others seethed with murderous rage.

That bastard is mocking us.

Behind Enkrid, Jaxon let out a quiet sigh.

He was really doing this.

"He was told to stab me. So he did."

"That’s not what that order meant."

It was the same argument they had had during training.

And Enkrid, grinning, had answered the same way.

"Yeah, but you did tell him to stab me, didn’t you?"

Enkrid kept repeating the same words, refusing to acknowledge anyone else's reasoning.

They were likely furious.

Furious because he had tricked them?

What an odd man.

He had taken their anger and returned it to them with gentle, indirect mockery.

"It hurt, you know? I was in pain."

As Enkrid added those words, his opponent finally reacted.

"This bastard is completely insane."

The white-haired assassin clicked his tongue.

Jaxon felt a bit embarrassed.

There were things you could insist on, and things you couldn’t.

Ignoring coded language and implied meanings was simply absurd.

Of course, Enkrid wasn’t actually trying to insist on anything.

It was provocation—meant to get under their skin, to let them know just how much they had annoyed him.

And now, it was creating an opening.

A few assassins listening to the conversation visibly stiffened, their expressions contorting in confusion.

Some of them even shifted uncomfortably, thinking, What the hell is this nonsense?

But Enkrid’s hands were faster than their thoughts.

The moment the words "insane bastard" left the assassin’s lips, Enkrid’s arms shot forward.

A sharp whistle rang out as two Whistle Daggers soared through the air.

Thunk!

Both blades struck assassins clean in the forehead.

Their bodies toppled backward—

Before they even hit the ground, Enkrid and Jaxon were already in motion.

"You go ahead."

Jaxon said, and Enkrid nodded.

Splitting up, Jaxon darted sideways, flipping his hood up and tightening his belt before vanishing into the shadows near the wall.

Enkrid glanced at him briefly, took a deep breath, and roared.

"Come at me, all of you!"

His left foot stomped the ground.

Boom!

The sheer force of Heart of Might cracked the earth beneath him.

The raw power was overwhelming.

The assassins were momentarily shaken.

The battle cry, the shockwave—every assassin on the wall instinctively turned their gaze toward Enkrid.

His previous taunting had already drawn their attention.

Who the hell is this lunatic?

Still, the assassins weren’t ones to be easily intimidated.

Rather than hesitating, one of them—a particularly impatient one—pulled out a vial labeled Ten Breaths.

A modified poison designed to burst into a green gas upon impact.

One breath was enough to kill.

Ten breaths meant certain death.

As the assassin cocked his arm back to throw it—

Thunk.

A scorching sensation bloomed in his throat.

Heat, not pain, was the first thing he registered.

His vision darkened, the sound of rushing water filling his ears.

He was already dead.

Jaxon had erased his presence entirely.

The relics helped.

The ones he had acquired during the raid on the Black Blade bandits.

His cloak blocked his life force from leaking out.

His belt silenced his movements.

Blending into the shadows, Jaxon had crept up and driven his longsword straight through the assassin’s neck from below.

The tip of his blade emerged from the man’s throat, sending a spray of blood onto the ground.

Four nearby assassins reacted, leaping backward.

At the same time, poisoned darts whizzed through the air.

They struck the spot where Jaxon had been—

But he was already gone.

Pressing himself against the wall, he stayed hidden.

"Find him!"

The white-haired assassin shouted.

Yet Jaxon was already repositioning.

He flicked three Silent Flying Daggers into the air.

Two found their mark, embedding into the throats of two assassins.

The third was blocked.

Blocked by the long-armed assassin.

His eyes glowed unnaturally—a magic implant embedded within his artificial eye.

"There!"

He shouted, pointing at Jaxon as he ran beneath the wall.

Silencing his presence didn’t make him invisible.

Jaxon was still visible in the narrow gap between the buildings.

He didn’t care.

With a light jump, he swung his longsword in a wide arc.

From the assassins’ perspective on the wall, it must have looked like the blade of a guillotine rising from below.

Whoosh!

The blade sliced toward an assassin wielding a modified crossbow.

Thunk!

The strike wasn’t powerful enough to sever the wrist entirely—

But it embedded itself halfway through the assassin’s forearm.

The man had been aiming at Enkrid.

"Aagh!"

A scream rang out.

"There! He’s over there!"

Another assassin shouted.

One immediately vaulted off the wall, flipping midair as he hurled a dagger downward.

Whizz! Whizz!

A pair of Whistle Daggers soared toward Jaxon.

Rather than dodging, Jaxon simply stopped moving—

And the daggers whistled past him, embedding themselves in the stone wall behind him.

Resuming his sprint, Jaxon yanked out one of the buried daggers and flung it upward.

The assassin in midair barely managed to twist out of the way.

The second dagger was intercepted by a shield.

An assassin carrying a shield?

It seemed absurd, but it made perfect sense.

A good assassin adapted to their target.

So throwing daggers won’t work on him.

Jaxon thought, kicking off the wall.

His movement was as fluid as Esther’s when scaling walls.

Landing atop the stone barrier, Jaxon surveyed his surroundings and spoke.

"If you don’t want to die, don’t chase me."

Then, he leapt down and ran.

"If we let our guard down, he’ll take us out one by one."

"That’s why we’re here together."

The two higher-ranking assassins exchanged words.

Meanwhile, the long-armed assassin searched for Enkrid—

But he was already gone.

Fast.

No, perhaps this had been planned all along.

Of course not.

While Enkrid had drawn attention, Jaxon had hidden.

While Jaxon had drawn attention, Enkrid had done what needed to be done.

The moment Jaxon had said, "You go ahead," they had instinctively fallen into sync.

Training together, sparring every day—this level of coordination was second nature.

"Him first."

The white-haired assassin tapped his cane sword against the ground, pointing in the direction Jaxon had fled.

From the start, their mission had been to eliminate the assassin affiliated with Geor Dagger.

Enkrid going to the palace?

That didn’t change anything.

Because within the palace—

Monsters far worse than them awaited.

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.