As his body yearned for recovery, Encrid busily toiled and wrestled, repeating the day once again.
Dunbachel and Sinar quickened their steps to confront the charging cavalry, clashing fiercely with the enemy.
When Ragna excitedly declared he had found an opportunity, calling it 'brown stool', Jaxon was also busy.
'Hmm.'
For the first time in a long while, a familiar scent from the same line of work pricked Jaxon's senses.
It wasn't an actual smell.
Jaxon's heightened senses merged and blurred, triggering his sixth sense, allowing him to perceive the 'scent' as a feeling.
Silent footsteps, a blade approaching.
What he sensed through his sixth sense visualized itself before him.
Jaxon slipped through the ranks of soldiers.
The group also recognized him.
They were from the family of assassins.
They were the ones who had created the Assassination Guild of Aspen known as 'Montaire's Swamp' and were the true masters of the guild, unlike the mere figurehead guild leader.
They were three assassins, all highly confident in their own skills.
As soon as they identified Jaxon, they moved.
'There's a clumsy one over there. Let's kill him and move on.'
With a mere exchange of glances, their intent was conveyed.
Jaxon deliberately leaked his presence, deliberately made noise, deliberately lured them.
Yes, it was a lure.
He was provoking them to kill him.
Though skilled in this kind of fight, he conveyed with his entire body that he was not as capable as them, drawing them in with temptation.
'Three.'
Jaxon gauged the number of enemies chasing him by the faint murderous intent he sensed.
Moving as if he were dancing the tango of seduction, Jaxon slipped through the ranks of his own soldiers, and the three who were trailing him began to act.
One soldier from his own side broke formation.
An old soldier, awkwardly pressing down his helmet, stumbled with his spear clutched to his chest.
There was something strangely eye-catching about this soldier.
His fall was dramatic.
With a loud thud, he fell to his knees and let out an exaggerated "ouch".
Even the surrounding soldiers, both ally and foe, turned their attention to this old soldier.
Amusingly, he had somehow donned a Border Guard uniform without anyone noticing.
Without even looking, Jaxon knew the old soldier hadn't really fallen on his knees but had instead slapped the ground with a gloved hand to create the sound.
At the same time, Jaxon felt the blade flying toward him from behind.
A skewer-like sword.
Watching the old soldier's antics, Jaxon mimicked a similar move.
"Ugh!"
He acted as if he were startled and lunged forward, pretending to stumble.
His unsteady fall was comically reminiscent of a clumsy rookie soldier.
"You fool!"
The Commander from behind shouted.
To the Commander, it appeared as though Jaxon had broken formation, and seeing this, the enemy soldier took advantage of the opportunity to strike.
It looked as though Jaxon had narrowly escaped death, so it was understandable that the Commander would be furious at the soldier who broke formation.
But Jaxon didn't prolong the fight unnecessarily.
He had grown tired of these kinds of battles long ago.
As he fell, he had already thrown a silent throwing dagger, the Whistling dagger, without a sound.
Thud.
The old soldier raised his hand to his chest.
The throwing dagger stuck in his chest like a flower in a vase.
"Blocked it."
Jaxon muttered indifferently.
He remained half-bent, eyes fixed on the old soldier, who had deflected the whistling dagger with his hand.
The assassin's gaze met Jaxon's as he raised his head, chin tucked.
His eyes were those of someone completely armored in indifference.
A crimson glow surrounded his pupils, dark brown swirling in the center.
Seeing those eyes sent a shiver down the assassin's spine.
With a flick, the assassin pulled out the blade that had pierced his hand.
He moved his fingers, signaling in hand gestures.
[Kill him.]
It was a reflexive action.
Dread coursed down his spine.
Soon, the other two assassins unleashed their skills.
The assassin threw a poisoned dagger and released a cloud of poisonous smoke at Jaxon's feet.
The allied Commander, who had been rushing to save the 'rookie', halted in his tracks.
He was from the Border Guard.
Upon closer inspection, the 'clumsy recruit' wasn't a rookie at all—it was Jaxon.
In truth, Jaxon had intentionally shown his face to signal not to interfere, though the Commander couldn't have known that.
Even if someone approached and died, that was their fate. It was none of Jaxon's concern.
He hadn't ventured far enough to die if they didn't come closer.
That's why he broke from the formation.
While using an allied soldier as a shield would have made the fight easier, he didn't resort to that.
At this point, even Encrid, the Captain, wouldn't give him strange looks.
After all, the Captain disliked using allied soldiers as meat shields.
'Why do I even care about such things?'
Jaxon felt like the metaphorical blade he carried in his heart was dulling.
Of course, that didn't mean the techniques engraved into his bones were any less sharp.
Swish, swish!
The air rang with the sound of daggers flying, and the steel wires tightened, aiming for his ankles.
Jaxon saw it all and dodged.
It was a monstrous level of perception.
Naturally so.
The Sense of Evasion, the Gate of Sixth Sense—Jaxon had taught all of these techniques.
In terms of raw talent, Jaxon was a genius who had surpassed even the Fairies through sheer effort.
What happened next was predictable.
The assassins attempted to flee in defiance, and Jaxon pursued them one by one, creating a 'second mouth' in their throats or planting a dagger in their hearts.
By now, he had distanced himself quite far from the battlefield.
No one, friend or foe, had truly witnessed their fight.
Even if someone had been watching, all they would've seen were flashes of movement.
"Damn it, is that Geor's Dagger?"
This was the final enemy.
The one disguised as the old soldier muttered, nearing death.
He looked resentful.
"Would knowing make it less unfair?"
"Damn…"
Blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth.
If the dagger lodged in his chest wasn't pulled out, he might live for just a little while longer.
But there was no reason to grant him that mercy.
Jaxon yanked the dagger out with a swift motion and leapt back.
In a last act of defiance, the assassin spat out a needle he had hidden in his mouth.
The needle cut through the air, flying harmlessly into the void.
"This bastard."
How could someone be so wary at all times?
Regardless of the assassin's attitude or gaze, Jaxon remained indifferent.
As the trembling assassin breathed his last, Jaxon inspected his own wounds.
The signs of poison use were clear.
Black foam bubbled up on his skin.
It was a potent toxin, though not fatal to him.
He even recognized the poison.
While Jaxon examined his injuries, the last assassin died.
Out of habit, Jaxon searched the body.
Needles, poison powder, smoke bombs—standard assassin tools.
He also noticed a tattoo on their bodies.
It was a distinctive symbol.
The Black Lily, one of the traces Jaxon had been chasing.
He hadn't expected to find it on an Aspen assassin.
Jaxon stared at it for a while.
It seemed like something he couldn't just overlook.
That meant, even if only for a short time, it was time for him to leave.
'A short time?'
Jaxon felt a strange sensation as he realized he was considering the fact that he might return.
When was the last time he had a home or a place of rest?
The idea of a place to return to—how absurdly fortunate did that sound?
Regardless of his thoughts, Jaxon also realized that he would do everything in his power to come back.
For now, he still wanted to see what Encrid would do.
There was something about that man that made him impossible to look away from.
'I should tell him before I go.'
A simple report stating he needed a short break would suffice.
* * *
Encrid found himself in a cycle of waking and sleeping.
He knew better than anyone that eating well and sleeping were crucial when injured or in pain, so that's exactly what he did.
More than anything, whenever he woke up, he was always starving.
His body, shaped by the Isolation Technique, asserted its need for recovery.
It was a very strong assertion.
And it all boiled down to one thing: hunger.
He wasn't just hungry—he was absolutely ravenous.
"Is there anything to eat?"
That was the first thing he said after nearly dying and then waking up.
"What? Oh, yes! Just a moment!"
A medic, who had been standing by with full military discipline, bolted out of the room.
When he returned, he was holding a bowl of thin porridge.
"I'll feed you!"
"No need."
Though his arms were heavily bandaged, it wasn't as if he couldn't lift a spoon to his mouth.
After snatching the bowl and spoon, he quickly devoured the contents. The medic tried to caution him.
"You shouldn't eat so quickly."
"I'm fine."
Even before mastering the Isolation Technique, digesting food had always been his specialty.
If you don't want to die, being good at sleeping and eating is essential.
No strength, no skill? That's a quick ticket to dying in the mercenary life.
And now?
He could probably digest dirt if not iron at this point.
"Brother, eating well and doing your business are the basics."
The Isolation Technique was a method of building the body.
It wasn't just about creating strong exterior muscles—it was a technique that regulated everything inside the body as well.
That included eating and resting properly.
Encrid ate well and closed his eyes.
He intended to rest fully.
And so, after eating and resting, he drifted off.
When he briefly opened his eyes again, Jaxon was there.
His hair was matted with dried blood, and his expression was grim.
The scent of earth and blood tingled Encrid's nose.
He had wondered where Jaxon had gone right after the battle, without even a farewell. It seemed he had been up to something.
"I need to step away for a bit."
Jaxon said.
"If I stop you, will you stay?"
Encrid, without blinking, asked the question again.
It was out of sheer curiosity.
Normally, he wouldn't have asked such a question, but he was half-asleep at the moment.
Despite his words, Jaxon's expression didn't change.
He was going to go. Encrid knew that without needing to hear it.
"Go and come back."
People like Jaxon, and the rest of the unit, had things they couldn't compromise on.
Encrid didn't know exactly what those things were, but he understood that they existed.
And he respected that.
They weren't just his comrades, they were the ones who had brought him this far.
It was through their skills that he had been able to build his current self, day by day.
As he met Jaxon's gaze, Encrid added one more thing.
"Don't be late."
"I'm not one to get lost."
It was a joke, though there was no hint of a smile in Jaxon's response.
Neither Encrid nor Jaxon smiled, but they exchanged the joke as a farewell.
After a few more words, Encrid felt a wave of fatigue wash over him.
"I'm going to sleep."
"Yes."
When he opened his eyes again, Jaxon was gone.
Now that he thought about it, it had been early morning when he woke up before.
This time, when he opened his eyes, Sinar was sitting there holding a spoon.
"Huh."
The Fairy, possessing an otherworldly beauty, expressionless, was holding a spoon and urging him to open his mouth.
She was offering to feed him.
Her intent was clear.
"Aren't you busy?"
What on earth was this Fairy doing here?
"My Fiance nearly died. This much is the least I can do."
It was a Fairy joke.
Encrid blinked, feeling too tired to argue, so he opened his mouth.
The Fairy promptly pushed the spoon into his mouth.
"Should I chew it for you?"
"How can you chew porridge?"
"I mean, it's the thought that counts."
"The Fairy society must be very chaotic."
"Is that an insult?"
"No, not really."
"It's just me. And only for you."
Encrid still found Fairy jokes awkward.
This was about as much as he had gotten used to them.
"Shall I prepare a Fairy meal for you next time?"
Sinar said without the slightest hint of a smile.
"What's in it?"
Frogs eat bugs, after all.
"A green nutritious porridge full of premium fiber."
"And the taste?"
"Heavenly."
"I'll pass."
No matter how he thought about it, it sounded like something that would torment his taste buds.
Besides, he quite liked the porridge he was eating now.
It had finely minced meat and onions, seasoned with spices.
Who made this?
It was a superb dish.
Since returning that evening, Encrid had been bedridden.
He spent most of the day sleeping.
In between, he had seen Jaxon off, eaten some porridge, and briefly woken to see Ragna sleeping as well.
Dunbachel had also come by, grumbling.
"This time, the fight was dull. I can do better."
But why was she saying that to Encrid?
Yeah, I know you're good at fighting. Anyone could tell just by watching you get beaten up by Rem.
"You'll do better next time."
For some reason, he kept emphasizing that point, though Encrid couldn't understand why.
It was a cycle of sleeping, eating, and resting.
His body demanded recovery, and Encrid listened.
His waking hours were short, so there wasn't even time to reflect on the battle.
He occasionally wondered where Jaxon had gone, but knowing wouldn't change anything, and he didn't really care to find out.
If it was something he needed to know, Jaxon would have told him.
Encrid focused on eating, drinking, and resting.
"Is this something you need to put effort into as well?"
One time when he briefly woke, a female soldier asked him.
Encrid blinked twice and remembered the soldier's name.
"Helma."
Next to her, he saw another soldier, the one who was a master at seasoning food. He was wrapped in bandages around his head and shoulders, probably from injuries during the battle.
There was also another figure standing awkwardly beside them.
Who was that?
"Why are you hiding your identity like that? You startled me."
Helma said, and the soldier next to her nodded in agreement.
"I committed an unforgivable sin!"
The third soldier suddenly dropped to the ground, his forehead hitting the dirt, causing a small cloud of dust to rise.
"What?"
"I spoke out of turn…."
"Oh, forget it. It's in the past. You didn't know who I was, so technically, I was the one who deceived you."
"No, no, that's not it!"
Now Encrid remembered—the soldier who had been running his mouth, telling him to step up if he was going to fight.
Encrid didn't take it seriously.
He was more interested in the bowl next to Helma, catching a whiff of something delicious.
He was hungry again.
'It's like I've got the God of beggars living in my stomach.'
In reality, his body was simply demanding more food to recover from the blood he had lost.
His body had already been optimized for healing, thanks to its regenerative abilities.
If Audin saw him, he'd probably feel proud.
"Brother, they say the ground hardens after the rain. Once you've recovered, you'll be stronger. Let me break your leg for you."
Audin would have made such a grim joke without hesitation.
The thought almost made Encrid smile.
His comrades were all the same, pretending not to, but always eager to engage in banter with him.
Rem was the worst of them in that regard.
He wondered what Rem would say if he saw him now.
"Hey, does it hurt? Can I poke it?"
That's probably what he'd say, right?
What a crazy barbarian.
Rem always got cursed at, even when he did nothing. By now, he was probably digging in his ear with his pinky finger, clueless.
As Encrid's mind drifted, staring off blankly for a moment, Helma lifted the bowl and asked,
"Would you like some?"
Encrid reflexively opened his mouth.
It wasn't until the porridge was in his mouth that he realized he could feed himself. Why was he acting like this? Probably because of Sinar's influence, leading to strange habits.
But after already being spoon-fed, it felt awkward to suddenly say he'd feed himself.
As Helma fed him a spoonful, then another, he noticed a different flavor this time.
Soft, well-cooked beans mixed with savory meat.
"I used slow-cooked chicken and beans together."
The soldier next to him said.
The seasoning expert soldier apparently had a knack for cooking, too.
"It's good."
"Thank you."
The soldier replied, looking bashful.
"I want to feed you too."
The third soldier said something crazy.
Is this guy out of his mind?
"Are you nuts?"
Helma cut him off before Encrid had to say anything.
Good job, Helma.
Encrid had only woken up briefly.
After eating and staying still for a moment, drowsiness began to overtake him again.
His body was still demanding recovery.
"It was an honor."
Helma said as he finished eating, just before he drifted off again.
Encrid simply nodded in response, too sleepy to say anything more.
"I'm going to put in a transfer request. I want to fight by your side."
Helma added as he was falling asleep.
The chatty soldier also spoke, but whether he transferred or not was his own business.
Just before falling asleep, Encrid faintly heard Ragna's voice from beside him.
"Aren't you going to feed me too?"
Helma's response followed.
"Your arms seem to be working fine."
In truth, Encrid's arms were perfectly fine as well.
In his dream, Encrid swung a sword with his toes, having no arms. Ragna appeared and asked why he was doing that, to which Encrid replied that it was because he had no arms.
It was a ridiculous dream.
And so, the cycle of sleeping, waking, and eating continued.
The next afternoon, Krais came by with news that Aspen's forces were retreating.
"That's good news."
"Who knows if they'll try something else."
Krais said, suspicion written all over his face.
It was the kind of look you'd give someone who had swindled your Krona.
Was he thinking they'd been deceived this time?
Encrid didn't ask and went back to sleep.
After two days of rest, he was finally able to move.
"Unbelievable."
Sinar, seeing this, was truly surprised, though her expression remained as neutral as ever.
Still, it was clear she was impressed.
How was his body even able to get up so soon?
A normal person would've been dead, not just half-dead, from such wounds.
Could the ointment she had given him really be a miraculous cure-all?
She had heard of Holy Water-infused remedies with Divine Powers, but the ointment she had given him, made with Fairy methods, had no divine elements.
"Have you been secretly eating something special?"
"What are you talking about?"
Encrid dismissed her words as nonsense and proceeded to check his body.
"Let's see."
If his usual condition was a ten, he was at about a five now.
His body wasn't fully healed, but there was no longer any need to stay bedridden.
Besides, he was getting restless.
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