Chapter 359

"The biggest problem in the capital right now is the factions. The ones who were once just playing political games are now preparing for outright war."

Andrew spoke within the limits of what he knew. Enkrid, meanwhile, added what he had learned from Rem’s observations.

"Nothing good to buy. They’re all selling junk."

That was what Rem had said after checking the market.

Plenty of people, plenty of goods—yet the moment you tried to buy something:

"Sorry, this item was pre-ordered by so-and-so from such-and-such noble family."

They were treating weapons and supplies like military provisions.

Which meant only one thing.

"They’re stationing private armies nearby."

If things went south, they would just call their troops into the capital.

And the problem?

"The Queen hasn’t authorized any of this."

"Even the Royal Guard is divided into factions now. And that’s where things get ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?"

Enkrid had a habit of repeating words back, giving the speaker room to elaborate.

Andrew didn’t hesitate.

"Yeah. Ridiculous. Assassinations between factions, inquisitors declaring people heretics and taking them away at random. And recently? There’ve been strange animal cries at night. People go missing every few days."

"This is the capital."

"Yes. The capital. I know. It’s a big city. People go missing all the time. But this is different. This is excessive."

Andrew leaned forward over the worn table, his face slightly flushed.

"And yet, there’s no one to investigate the murders or the disappearances. The best we’ve got are the gate captains, but they’re shackled by politics. What can they really do?"

Enkrid crossed his arms.

"And now, a member of the royal bloodline shows up in the middle of this mess?"

"Like pouring oil on a fire. The noble factions that were just watching from the sidelines? They’re drawing their swords now. And we all know why. He’s come to end the faction wars. That’s the stated goal."

"End them? How?"

That was the real question.

Andrew raised his hands in a shrug.

"I don’t know."

Crang’s plans were Crang’s problem.

So, what was his role in all this?

What had he been looking forward to the most when coming to the capital?

"Am I really going to leave without even meeting a single knight?"

He had come here for battle.

For training.

For an opportunity to see beyond his current limits.

And from what Andrew was saying, the hidden warriors of the noble factions would soon be making their move.

They would come for blood.

They would fight for their lives.

That thought stirred excitement in him.

Just as training the trainees had led to insights, the royal palace would surely hold new lessons.

Sometimes, when logic failed to provide an answer, the best move was simply to follow one’s instincts.

Enkrid decided to do just that.

To stand beside a comrade he liked and swing his sword once more.

A warning had been given.

And he had chosen to ignore it.

Was this an impulsive decision?

"What are you thinking so hard about?"

Rem, as usual, didn’t really care what the decision was—just that it was happening.

"Thinking I might cut off the Queen’s head and join the noble factions myself."

He said it offhandedly.

"Oh? You wanna start a fight? Sounds good. Sounds great."

That was all Rem had taken from his words.

Of course.

That was Rem.

"What did you just say—?"

Andrew looked horrified.

"Joking."

Enkrid reassured him.

By the time he had mentally outlined his next steps, he suddenly felt a chill.

Something brushed against his back.

He turned instinctively.

Jaxon.

Leaning against a column in the corner of the lounge, half-shrouded in shadow.

"Hey. Walk with me for a bit."

Enkrid met his gaze.

If he left Jaxon alone, he would do something reckless.

He had seen that look before.

Right before Jaxon had been about to draw his sword on Rem.

Right now—he was in that same state.

Why?

Had Jaxon also been attacked?

No.

It was something else.

His gut told him.

"It’s about the palace."

That had to be it.

"Fine."

Jaxon answered and moved toward the door.

He looked like he was holding something in.

"The hell’s up with him?"

Rem muttered.

"I’ll be back."

Enkrid followed Jaxon outside.

They walked along the shadowed exterior of the estate.

A cold breeze stirred his hair.

Soon, they were walking side by side.

Enkrid glanced at the moonlight, the distant torches, the faint glow of the stars.

The two of them moved along the estate walls.

"There’s something I have to do."

Jaxon spoke first.

"Alright."

Enkrid nodded.

Whatever it was, Jaxon would take care of it.

"But to do it, I need to take care of someone first. And I’m debating whether or not it’s worth the effort."

"Debating?"

That word didn’t quite seem to fit Jaxon.

Enkrid thought about it.

He had followed Jaxon out here because he had sensed something.

But was there anything he could actually do?

"It’s about killing someone."

Jaxon finally said it.

Yeah.

That made sense.

Given the look in his eyes, it had to be that.

So what was Enkrid supposed to say?

After a moment of thought, he gave his answer.

"Do your best."

Because that was all there was to say.

Jaxon wasn’t the type to ask for help.

And he wasn’t the type to leave things unfinished.

So Enkrid patted his shoulder a couple of times and turned to head back inside.

At least, now, Jaxon’s gaze seemed a little calmer.

That was enough.

Jaxon stopped walking.

He watched his captain’s back.

A silhouette carved against the starlight and the moonlight.

"I always knew he wasn’t normal."

But even so—

Encouraging this?

"Does he trust me that much?"

Trust?

Faith?

Was that what this was?

Doubt flickered in Jaxon’s gaze once more.

Enkrid, meanwhile, was thinking.

If Rem or Ragna caused a commotion, it would be an international incident.

But Jaxon?

Jaxon wouldn’t make a scene.

There was a reason people called him a sneaky alley cat.

He would do what he needed to do.

Quietly.

That was Enkrid’s expectation.

And then—

"It’s revenge."

Jaxon’s voice reached Enkrid’s ears.

"What?"

Enkrid stopped.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

He was the kind of person who listened when people talked.

This time was no different.

He turned back fully, facing Jaxon directly.

Are you really going to say something?

Jaxon just stared at him.

Enkrid, unbothered, walked over to a nearby pile of stones, sat down, and pulled out a strip of dried meat.

Then, from his belt, he took out a flask.

Preparedness?

Or just luck?

The moment the flask was uncorked, the scent of strong alcohol filled the air.

Not a sweet cider.

Not a mild ale.

Brandy.

Jaxon took the flask and took a long drink.

The burn spread from his throat to his stomach.

It was strong.

But, of course, he wouldn’t get drunk.

He had built up resistance since childhood—chewing poisonous herbs to strengthen his body.

After all.

He had seen death.

And he had made death his weapon.

That was the life he had led.

Enkrid took back the flask, took a sip, and spoke.

"Who’s your enemy?"

"The Black Lily Order."

Jaxon’s voice was calm.

A simple statement.

No sadness.

No hesitation.

Just the beginning of a story.

***

A cruel father. A merciless mother.

"If necessary, stab your friend in the back."

Those were his father’s words. And in the end, they became his dying words.

Jaxon had lived by that creed ever since. If necessary, he had stabbed anyone in the back.

"Cold bastard, aren’t you?"

Then, he met his mentor.

He had gone through many trials, and before he knew it, his place in the world had shifted.

His life had been one of chewing poisonous herbs and covering his body in scars.

The road he had walked was drenched in blood.

No, he had paved that road with blood.

And then, he had kept walking.

Jaxon Vensino.

That was his name.

The Vensino family had once been a powerful noble house.

They had built their fortune in trade, rising rapidly in influence.

But his father had wanted more.

Had that been his mistake?

Jaxon never bothered to decide.

He simply set a clear, singular goal.

Revenge.

To kill everyone involved.

"You'll die young at this rate."

His mentor had criticized him for it.

But Jaxon didn’t listen.

He had walked that path regardless.

"Will that one ever become human?"

"Is that something an assassin guild master should be saying?"

His mentor had laughed at his response.

"Good. Get angry. It suits you."

It was a meaningless conversation.

His objective was clear.

He gathered information.

He investigated.

The Vensino family had been destroyed.

Had it been bad luck?

Not a chance.

It had been someone’s design.

Jaxon had decided to hold them accountable.

That was how he had found the name.

Black Lily.

A cabal.

A network of scheming elites who sought nothing but power and wealth.

Some had ended up as bandit lords under vicious rulers.

Some had become nobles in other nations.

Others had simply vanished like smoke.

The first one Jaxon had tracked down?

A fallen aristocrat, ruined and rotting in filth.

"Why did you do it?"

Jaxon had wanted to know.

They had devoured his house.

They had swallowed several trading companies whole.

Many had died because of Black Lily.

There had to be a reason.

"Reason? Fucking reason?"

The wretched man had cackled.

"Do you have any idea how much Vensino’s assets were worth? Fucking idiot. Everyone screws over someone else to get ahead."

The man had given up on life.

Giving him death had almost felt like a mercy.

Sending him to hell might have been doing him a favor.

Simply cutting his throat would have been a blessing.

Jaxon had refused to grant it.

Instead, he severed the tendons in his arms and legs—then threw him into the beggars’ pit.

Four days later, he had been torn apart and eaten alive.

That year, the drought had made even a handful of wheat a precious commodity.

A man like that?

He had never stood a chance in the beggars’ pit.

His final words had echoed in Jaxon’s mind.

"Everyone screws over someone else to get ahead."

That man had once been his father’s friend.

Or rather—had been.

"Keep moving forward. Never look back."

His mother’s words had remained in his heart as well.

If anything was justified in pursuit of a goal—then so be it.

He had spent years hunting Black Lily’s ringleaders.

By the time he found the fifth, he had realized—

One of the main conspirators had personally targeted the Vensino family.

His true enemy.

But he didn’t know their name.

Didn’t know their face.

All he had were fragments of evidence.

The final lead he had found was Abnaier.

And Abnaier had told him:

"Go to Naurillia's palace."

And so—he came.

While Enkrid was dealing with assassins, and while Rem, Dunbakel, and Ragna were grumbling over the trash being sold in the market—

Jaxon had entered an old manor in the residential district.

Cobwebs covered the walls.

There were few signs of life.

And there, in the shadows, he met the one who had summoned him.

A white-haired man with a monocle.

He was thin, but held a cane sword.

His eyes were small—narrow and unreadable.

One look was enough.

He was the same kind.

A colleague.

An assassin.

"You were from Geor Dagger, weren’t you?"

The man had correctly guessed his origins.

Of course.

Jaxon had deliberately leaked that information to get here.

Geor Dagger was the greatest assassin guild on the continent.

And yet—the man showed no fear.

Because he believed he held the advantage.

"I know what you’re looking for."

The white-haired assassin had said.

"Oh? What is it, then?"

Jaxon had asked.

His reddish-brown eyes, glimmering faintly in the darkness, seemed to absorb the light.

"You’re the last heir of the Vensino family, aren’t you?"

Well, at least he had figured that much out.

"I can give you everything. Every piece of information you want."

Jaxon waited for the catch.

"In exchange—kill him."

There was no need to ask who.

A man with black hair and blue eyes.

His own commander.

"Kill Enkrid."

The one he called ‘Captain’.

The price was the answers he had been searching for his entire life.

Seated beneath the moon, Enkrid stared silently at the sky.

The flask in his hand tilted, the liquid inside sloshing softly.

Jaxon spoke of revenge and his enemy.

That one of them was inside the palace.

That he would have to enter and find them.

He left out the white-haired assassin.

And Enkrid—simply listened.

Then, finally—

"Alright. Let's find them."

There was no laughter.

No joking tone.

He was serious.

He meant every word.

He would help.

And if Enkrid had made up his mind to help—

He would give it his all.

Jaxon knew that.

Because that was who Enkrid was.

But—

Would effort alone be enough to find someone who had eluded him for years?

The easier path lay before him.

His father’s words.

His mother’s words.

His first enemy’s words.

"If necessary, stab your friend in the back."

"Keep moving forward. Never look back."

"Everyone screws over someone else to get ahead."

This was the path he had always walked.

A road paved with blood, blades, and poison.

And if he walked that road again—

He would find his enemy.