Chapter 360

The Silent Thrust.

Jaxon’s specialty.

No sound. No intent. No presence. The blade advanced, fulfilling its purpose—to stab, to cut, to carve through flesh.

It moved soundlessly toward Enkrid’s back.

If he just followed through, the contract would be complete.

"You wanna spar?"

Jaxon found himself looking into Enkrid’s eyes.

The Silent Thrust had stopped.

His sword had frozen mid-motion, arm extended forward—caught in hesitation.

‘Did he sense it and react?’

If so, that meant it had failed.

Clink.

Enkrid’s silver longsword was already drawn, flicking lightly against Jaxon’s halted blade. A mere gesture.

Jaxon recovered quickly, pulling his sword back into a defensive stance.

The vibration from the contact ran up his arm.

"Named it Silver."

Enkrid spoke casually, raising his blade upright.

The sword reflected the moonlight, tilting at an angle.

That was when Jaxon realized.

It hadn’t been that the Silent Thrust failed—

It had been that he had never truly committed to it.

He hadn’t erased his presence completely.

Hadn’t put his full intent into the attack.

Why?

"Jaxon."

His name was spoken.

The moonlight reflected in those piercing blue eyes.

The pressure from the sword increased.

Enkrid’s shoulders shifted ever so slightly.

Jaxon reacted instantly.

He read the movement, predicted the strike, and retreated.

Whoosh.

Enkrid’s Silver carved a short arc through the air where Jaxon had just stood.

He had swung with precision, gripping the guard and ricasso, controlling the blade’s short trajectory.

A technique that trusted pure sharpness over brute force.

"Lose focus, and you’ll lose a limb."

Enkrid warned.

Between the twin grips of his blade, his blue eyes shone fiercely, piercing the darkness of the night.

Jaxon analyzed.

Accepted.

"You're playing to your weapon’s strengths?"

Normally, he would have acted instead of talking.

But he spoke anyway.

He realized he was different tonight.

And yet, he didn’t dwell on it.

He simply followed his instincts.

Was this for the contract?

Or for revenge?

Was this truly a stab in the back?

‘Who cares.’

He mimicked Enkrid’s tone in his mind, following the way he always spoke.

Unconsciously.

Enkrid exhaled deeply.

A visible mist escaped his lips, trailing in the moonlight.

"I'm serious. If you hold back, you'll get hurt, Jaxon."

Enkrid wasn’t the same anymore.

He had changed.

He was no longer the man who had once been beaten down from every direction, mocked as a so-called senior warrior in name alone.

That man no longer existed.

His presence felt twice as large as before.

Jaxon let his sword drop.

Thud.

The blade sank into the ground.

Then, he drew another weapon.

A stiletto.

"That one?"

Enkrid recognized it instantly.

A weapon Leona Lockfried had once offered as a prize.

Something Enkrid had won and given away without hesitation.

Jaxon ran a finger down the blade.

Had Enkrid known its value when he gave it away?

At the time, there had been no selfish intent in his eyes.

Now—Jaxon aimed the very same weapon at him.

"Don’t let your guard down. That’s a request."

A request.

It was the first time Jaxon had used that word.

Enkrid’s lips twisted slightly.

A smile.

"Half a life, then."

A declaration.

That was how dangerous this would be.

This wasn’t like their usual spars.

Enkrid’s eyes burned.

The two warriors locked gazes.

Jaxon’s hand fell.

A silent dagger flew toward Enkrid’s forehead.

Perception Arts.

Instinctive Evasion.

Even without sight or sound, he could sense it—

And dodge.

His head tilted.

The blade whistled past.

But then—

Another one followed.

‘Time lag.’

Jaxon’s own technique.

The tactic he had once taught Enkrid—

A precise staggered throw.

He hadn’t expected it so soon.

But the body moves faster than thought.

Enkrid raised his blade.

Clang!

Metal met metal.

Sparks flashed against the moonlight.

And even as the blades clashed—

Enkrid planted his left foot firmly.

He had subtly led Jaxon’s focus toward the weapon exchange.

Then—

A sharp forward kick.

Thud.

Dirt flew up.

A stray weed kicked up with it, obscuring Jaxon’s vision for an instant.

Jaxon’s eyes dropped instinctively, shifting his stance to counter.

Ping.

Right behind the dust, Enkrid’s sword lunged forward.

A silver thrust.

A precise and controlled strike.

Jaxon dodged.

His expertise was in direct engagements.

He thrived when he could control the fight.

But tonight—

Something felt different.

To Enkrid, Jaxon looked like a beast hiding its claws.

To Jaxon, Enkrid felt like a perfect, immovable stone.

No gaps.

No weaknesses.

He had grown.

Which meant—

"This is going to be fun."

Jaxon muttered.

And Enkrid—smirked.

"Damn right it is."

***

"Damn, where’d you get your ass kicked?"

Andrew had given out rooms for the night.

But there was only one staircase leading up to them.

At its base, Rem sat casually, tossing his axe in the air and catching it effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing.

His grin widened as he noticed Jaxon’s left cheekbone swelling.

"You didn’t go for a backstab and actually fought head-on? That’s not like you. What, got rejected by a girl? Is that why you lost your damn mind?"

He was talking nonsense, clearly enjoying himself.

Under normal circumstances, Jaxon would have ignored him.

If this were a few hours ago, he wouldn’t have even pretended to listen.

But now—his mind had loosened just enough for a sharp retort.

"Rejected? What, you think I’m you?"

Six words.

And Rem instantly felt defeated.

If you looked at Jaxon’s face, there was no denying it—he was damn good-looking.

Could probably make a fine living as a noble salon’s poster boy.

"Real men got that raw charm, dumbass."

Rem grumbled as he caught his axe again.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

He could tell just from looking—Jaxon had come back in a much better mood.

"I don’t have the energy to break this up tonight. If you two are gonna fight, take it outside. Don’t go wrecking the furniture."

Enkrid spoke up from behind Jaxon, making his way toward the staircase.

Andrew was a cheap bastard.

The mansion barely had any candles inside.

Forget lamps—those were a luxury here.

One glance at the training swords the recruits used, and it was obvious—this place wasn’t exactly swimming in wealth.

So at night, the interior was shrouded in shadow.

Enkrid had seemingly materialized out of it.

Of course, Rem had already sensed him.

"You went a round with the Captain?"

Rem tilted his head as he glanced toward the flickering wall sconce.

In its dim light, Enkrid’s injuries were visible.

If Jaxon’s cheek was swollen, then Enkrid’s eye was half-closed and bruised.

His leg had a limp, and a small wound on his forearm bled through hastily wrapped bandages.

A puncture wound—a stab from a dagger.

"Well, damn."

Even Rem had to admit—Enkrid’s body had become a fortress.

And his skill?

Unquestionable now.

To injure someone like that?

Jaxon must’ve gone all out.

And so had Enkrid.

"Did he stab you from behind?"

Jaxon had fully lost interest in entertaining him.

"Move, before I clean that overworked brain of yours right off your neck."

"Try me, asshole. I ain’t cutting you any slack just ‘cause you got beat up."

"Rem, move."

Enkrid’s voice cut through.

Rem clicked his tongue but obeyed, pushing himself up with just the balls of his feet.

The creaky wooden steps groaned.

Then, with a light leap, Rem landed softly on the floor.

Despite his axe and broad frame, his landing made no noise.

Like a damn cat.

"Relax, just messing with you. Figured if we’re in the same squad, I should go pay back whoever messed you up. But this was a spar?"

Jaxon was already halfway up the stairs, his steps silent.

Rem watched him for a moment, then turned back.

"You look pretty messed up."

"It’s nothing."

Enkrid felt the pain in his hip, but it wasn’t anything serious.

The limp was just a method to speed up healing, not a sign of real weakness.

One of the wounds? He had let happen on purpose.

So it was all within expected parameters.

"So, what’s the deal?"

Rem wasn’t clueless.

He knew Jaxon had been different tonight.

And that meant Enkrid must’ve had a reason for fighting like that.

Enkrid mentally clicked his tongue.

‘Damn. He’s sharp.’

Rem, despite his loud mouth, was smart.

Quick-witted.

Always aware of his surroundings.

His words reminded Enkrid of something.

"I was on the run after killing a noble’s brat. Always on the move."

Rem had said that before.

Killing a noble’s son and running? That meant he could afford to.

If stealth had been required, he would have done it that way.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he had killed him openly and made sure everyone knew.

Why?

To draw all eyes onto himself.

Enkrid suddenly understood.

"You made yourself the villain on purpose."

He muttered it without thinking.

Rem blinked.

What the hell was this guy going on about now?

"You sick? Did your brain short-circuit?"

He tapped his own forehead with his index finger.

Enkrid ignored him.

Instead, he thought back to what Kraiss had once said.

"Captain’s lazy about using his brain, but Rem’s different."

"Different how?"

"Rem knows everything but pretends not to. Only steps forward when he needs to."

If he had killed the noble’s son in secret, what would’ve happened to the peasants he had been tormenting?

They would have suffered worse.

So Rem made sure all the nobles’ attention fell on him instead.

Made sure they chased him.

Then, he lured them, misled them, fought them when needed, and when the time was right—

He vanished.

‘This bastard’s a schemer.’

Rem stared at him for a long moment, then sighed.

"That look in your eyes is weird. You good?"

Enkrid shook his head.

"Nothing."

But in his mind, he kept thinking.

Rem had never caused real trouble before Enkrid joined.

His troublemaking only started after.

Why?

Because now he could afford to.

He had solidified his role in the squad.

Made himself untouchable.

A wild dog?

No.

A calculating son of a bitch.

"You still got that weird look, man."

"Let’s keep him entertained."

Enkrid deflected, walking past him.

Jaxon’s room was at the top of the stairs.

If he had wanted privacy, he would’ve chosen a different room.

So he had heard everything.

"Damn cat always bringing back trouble."

Rem grumbled, but didn’t say no.

Enkrid climbed the stairs, thinking back to the fight.

Not the fight itself, but the moment after.

"Stab me."

He had said that to Jaxon.

Jaxon hadn’t moved.

"I’m done."

He had shaken his head.

Enkrid had repeated himself.

"Once won’t kill me."

Jaxon had taught him techniques.

A stab in return wouldn’t be unfair.

When Jaxon had drawn his blade from behind, Enkrid had felt it.

The intent.

The hesitation.

The conflict.

It had all lingered on the tip of his blade.

One slash had been enough to tell him everything.

The enemy—whoever was pulling the strings—

They had put a lot of effort into this.

"There was a contract on you."

Jaxon had admitted it mid-fight.

And now, as Enkrid reached his room, one thought remained.

The one who set this all in motion.

The one who had sent warning after warning, assassin after assassin.

He would have to answer them.

And he would give them the answer they wanted least.