A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 59

Chapter 59: Sword Flicking Technique

Enkrid was hit in the side by a bolt on the eighth repetition. The bolt pierced through his ribs and tore into his organs.

‘This was unexpected.’

He had dodged all the Whistling Daggers and kicked away Rottin, who attacked from behind. In that brief moment, a bolt had suddenly flown towards him. There was no way to avoid it.

‘They really were thorough.’

It seemed like removing the bolt would cause even more fatal damage. When he raised his head, the hideous face of a half-elf was before him.

Were all half-bloods this ugly?

He didn’t know.

It was the first time he had ever met a half-elf in his life. He knew that most of them didn’t receive good treatment.

“You’re quite perceptive, you.”

The half-elf said from above him. This one sure loved to talk.

“I suppose so. Hoo.”

Enkrid spoke as he caught his breath. He took note of the half-elf’s position and distance, preparing for his final desperate act.

Ting.

In an instant, he drew a broad-bladed dagger and thrust it upwards. The guard sword barely grazed the elf’s cheek. The elf dodged by tilting his head to the side and kicked Enkrid in the stomach.

Thud.

“Guh.”

A groan escaped instead of a scream. The arrowhead embedded in his intestines twisted inside him. It hurt like hell. It had already been painful to move, but getting hit made the excruciating pain turn his vision white.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He didn’t need much more time to die. The elf’s hand was clean and sharp. Enkrid closed his eyes as his throat was cut.

In the next regression of today, the elf, Rottin, Jack, and Bon attacked all at once. Even as he died, Enkrid managed to kill Jack and Bon, and took one of the half-elf’s arms. The final blow once again struck his heart.

The elf had hidden an awl-like sword in his waist and stabbed Enkrid’s heart. Thus, he spent nine iterations of today, and the tenth morning dawned.

After finishing exercises with Audin, he met with Jaxon. It was a repetitive day. Enkrid gave his all each day, knowing he couldn’t waste any.

“Could you check my stance?”

Equivalent exchange or not, Enkrid showed Jaxon how to throw a dagger to get him off his back. His proficiency was entirely different from when he first learned it. It was a skill honed to the limit of his talent.

Indeed, it was different from before.

Enkrid activated Focus Point, relaxed his body, and then used his entire body’s muscles as if they were springs in an instant. His hand sliced through the air, and the dagger in his hand flew off with a sharp sound. It couldn’t be called as fast as light, but it was several times quicker than before.

“The arm and hand act as the launcher, using the elasticity of the whole body. Up to this point, you understand well. Do you see anything lacking?”

Gape.

It was the first time Enkrid had ever seen Jaxon open his mouth so wide.

Wasn’t he usually a calm squad member with an indifferent look and tone?

He was a friend who showed little emotional change or expression. The shocked expression on his face quickly disappeared. His eyes still wavered, but his expression returned to normal. Even the open mouth lasted barely a second.

“Jaxon?”

“Where did you learn that?”

“There was a guy on the battlefield who threw daggers exceptionally well.”

“Threw them?”

“I learned by watching.”

“Learned by watching?”

He sounded like a parrot repeating the words back. It was understandable. This type of skill couldn’t be acquired just by training. It was different from honing basic skills. Without inherent sense, learning this skill itself was nonsense.

Jaxon knew that well. That’s why he was surprised.

But the squad leader?

Although his skills had recently improved, this was of a different kind. Enkrid, who was nodding, was staring at him intently, waiting for him to speak.

“That’s enough. It’s not a technique worth delving into deeply. However, what you’re holding now has some weight, so it’s better to add heaviness to your fingertips rather than lightness.”

Jaxon chose and spoke the necessary words. Enkrid nodded.

“It’s called the Sword Flicking Technique.”

Then Jaxon spoke abruptly.

Though not an equivalent exchange, Jaxon was not the type to withhold teaching. Enkrid corrected his stance. It was a habit deeply ingrained in him, a posture learned and expressed by observing Crang.

There was even a way to do one’s best at listening. Seeing this posture made Jaxon think it was enjoyable.

Who would listen so seriously to mere throwing techniques?

If he hadn’t shown such an attitude, Jaxon would have ignored and dismissed the squad leader long ago.

“A long time ago, a legendary assassin named Geor established the basics of this technique. There’s a theory that he was inspired by the five sword techniques compiled by Leonessis Oniac, but the details are unclear.”

It was a technique with history. Enkrid’s focus burned even more intensely. Jaxon explained and simultaneously showed the way forward. Listening intently, Enkrid’s eyes shone with seriousness.

Though it was called the Sword Flicking Technique, it wasn’t just a technique for throwing swords. It encompassed handling all throwing weapons. In the midst of this, the topic of Whistling Daggers came up unprompted.

“There are throwing daggers called Whistling Daggers. If you encounter them, avoid them. They’re difficult to deal with. The reason the word ‘sword’ is in the Sword Flicking Technique is because of the Whistling Daggers.”

Additional explanations followed.

Whistling Daggers were originally made by layering thin blades. Geor pursued the ideal of using just one layer, one single dagger. Once only one blade was thrown, it wouldn’t even make a sound, hence it wouldn’t be called a Whistling Dagger anymore.

‘How many layers were there?’

Enkrid instinctively recalled the Whistling Dagger the half-elf had thrown. He remembered it when it was stuck in his arm. The dagger in his arm had three layers.

“Hey, isn’t it your shift today?”

Bon came to the front of the quarters and called for Enkrid. He was so engrossed that he didn’t realize the shift time had approached.

“Ah, I forgot. Let’s go. It’s the same shift today, right?”

“Yes, it’s Bon.”

“I know. From the recon squad.”

Enkrid responded casually to Bon and then spoke to Jaxon.

“Learned well.”

“Did you?”

Jaxon never thought of himself as talkative, but he had to admit he spoke more than usual in front of the squad leader. Though he only spoke what was necessary, he did speak a lot.

‘Did I go too far with the Whistling Daggers?’

Why did that topic come up?

Upon reflection, it made sense. It was a topic bound to come up.

Because of the posture Enkrid showed.

‘The throwing technique resembles it.’

Although Geor’s Sword Flicking Technique didn’t have a set way of throwing, there was a basic framework. The posture the squad leader showed earlier reminded him exactly of the Whistling Daggers. It was as if someone had taught him directly.

Jaxon couldn’t possibly know, but the one who corrected Enkrid’s posture was him.

“Let’s go this way.”

Enkrid arbitrarily changed the patrol route.

“Huh? The orders were to patrol the market. Damn, we’ll get disciplined for this.”

Jack protested.

“I’ll take responsibility.”

He was the squad leader, a high-rank soldier, and a talent desired by both the 1st Company and the Frontier Slaughterers. A late-blooming new talent, who only started receiving attention at the age of thirty.

That was Enkrid.

There was nothing the two recon squad soldiers could do against him.

“I said I’ll take responsibility. We should patrol at a leisurely pace too. Let’s go.”

Enkrid took the lead. The two naturally followed.

“Leaving the patrol route is a disciplinary offense.”

Bon muttered, looking at Jack. Jack’s hands moved quickly.

‘What do we do?’

‘I don’t know.’

Bon shook his head. Even without looking, Enkrid could hear the two conversing. Discussing wouldn’t lead to any answers. Some things in the world were inevitable. Like when a superior ordered you to do something, you do it.

And right now, he was the superior and senior.

The assassin had prepared the place, time, and people.

Was it necessary to comply?

‘Change the location.’

The opponent was an assassin; there was no need to enter the stage he prepared. That was the answer Enkrid came up with after pondering. He moved arbitrarily. He walked around the outskirts of the castle gates, avoiding the urban areas.

Jack and Bon were troubled. They tried persuading him to head to the market, but Enkrid remained steadfast.

After walking for about half an hour. Enkrid suddenly stopped.

“Huh? Why did you stop?”

The two, who had walked past Enkrid, stopped two steps ahead and turned around. They had given up on entering the market. After giving up, they had secretly left signals everywhere.

So now, the time had come.

Enkrid, who had been looking at them blankly, asked.

“Why did you do it?”

Blinking blankly Jack and Bon looked at Enkrid and then at each other.

What the hell is he talking about?

I have no idea.

“Yes?”

Bon asked on their behalf.

“I asked why you did it.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Speak clearly so we can understand, damn it.”

Jack responded gruffly.

“When you stepped back and placed your hands on your swords, didn’t you think that was a pathetic excuse?”

At Enkrid’s words, the two exchanged glances again. Then.

Shing!

Both drew their swords. Bon had a stiletto-shaped dagger with a thin blade. Jack had a relatively thick shortsword.

Enkrid stood still.

“Damn, you’re really perceptive.”

“You’ll have to die here.”

Though the plan had been disrupted, their task was clear. Jack and Bon exchanged glances and nodded. While they hesitated, Enkrid drew his sword as well.

Shing!

The longsword, its blade sharpened, gleamed as it reflected the sunlight. He took a big step forward and swung the sword in a wide arc. As he swung it widely, Jack and Bon read the distance and evaded.

But they didn’t stop there.

Since Enkrid had swung his sword widely, there were many openings. Bon took advantage of one and lunged forward. He was a soldier with exceptional physical skills. Putting strength into his back leg, he charged forward. Enkrid had just grabbed the sword with both hands and was shifting his weight to the right.

When Bon got within range of his shortsword.

Thunk!

A blade suddenly protruded from Enkrid’s left armpit. That blade pierced through Bon’s neck.

Vallen Style Swordsmanship, Shadow Stab.

It began with pretending to swing wide to draw the enemy in. Then, supporting the longsword with his left hand, he concealed his right hand with his body, drew a dagger from his right waist, and thrust it through the armpit.

The opponent would never have expected a blade to come from there. Bon had relied too much on his agility and closed the distance too quickly. Enkrid had predicted Bon’s reaction.

A guy who prided himself on agility wouldn’t miss an opportunity to close the distance. Just because he had adopted the Northern Heavy Sword style as his base didn’t mean he had to forget what he had learned before. It was a realization from his last battle with the mustached soldier on the battlefield with Azpen.

Basics are just basics; adding or subtracting from them is up to the user. Swinging a heavy sword softly and flowing, or aiming for a counterattack was all possible. Thus, mixing in Vallen Style Swordsmanship was also permissible. As long as the foundational frame didn’t waver, it was fine.

Gurgling, Bon collapsed to the ground. Blood poured from the pierced neck, soaking the ground.

“…Damn, that’s filthy.”

Seeing this, Jack’s face turned pale.

He had no confidence to escape, nor to fight.

What could he do?

“Why did you do it?”

“Why would you care, damn it?”

Jack remained consistent, and since Enkrid didn’t prepare a blade of mercy for his opponent, their fight was brief. A short, downward strike with the longsword. Jack dodged rather than blocked. Predicting his move, Enkrid, who swung as if to cut short, swung horizontally.

Slash! Tear!

The well-sharpened blade created a hole in Jack’s side where it shouldn’t have been.

“Huuk, damn it.”

Those were Jack’s last words. Instead of a death cry, he collapsed with a curse. Enkrid paused for a moment at the scene. He planted his sword in the ground and took a long breath.

Only then did others arrive.

Ping—

A bolt flew from behind. Enkrid dodged it with a tilt of his head and saw one masked guy, Rottin hesitating nearby, and an assassin in rags.

Enkrid asked while still holding his sword in the ground.

“You’re all coming at once, right?”

A one-on-one fight wasn’t going to work. It was as he thought. The guy with the bolt aimed at him again. Enkrid took a short breath.

He relaxed his entire body. Leaving the sword planted in the ground, he dropped his arms. His hanging hand swung like a pendulum. Then, his right hand whipped upwards, flinging the dagger he had been holding.

Swoosh!

Using the elasticity of his whole body, he executed the Sword Flicking Technique. The flying blade embedded itself in the forehead of the masked crossbowman. It was indeed as fast as light.

Seeing this, the half-elf’s shoulders briefly flinched.

“Interesting.”

He muttered soon after.

It was exactly what Enkrid wanted to say.