The trajectory of Jett's leap went straight towards the front assassin.
They collided with a rough downward slam against the hard shell of the tortoise.
Mounting atop his stunned enemy, Jett's left dagger weaseled under the masked helm.
A fierce jolt of his arm pierced deep into the assassin's neck.
With his right, he quickly smacked the explosive artifact out of his dying grip.
BOOOOM…
The artifact created a fiery inferno of black ash almost immediately after being sent off the tortoise's side.
Flames from the explosion stunned the rear assassin while the other shielded himself from the blast with raised arms.
Something on Jett's collar began to sear his skin—though he had no time to process it.
The assassin closest to him recovered and was now preparing a downswing.
Transitioning his right hand's momentum, Jett batted the downward swing aside as it collided with his steel dagger.
The force of his parry was abnormally high, as if Soul immediately moved to strengthen his arm; much faster than his already deviant control speed.
The assassin's sword clanged against the hard shell of the tortoise.
With his enemy's entire body exposed, Jett swiftly rose to his feet.
His left dagger drove through the side of the assassin's head.
It punctured straight through the helmet like a needle through cloth. He could no longer see any steel directly—the blade entirely lodged in the enemy's head.
Jett had missed his intended target: the more exposed and less armored region underneath the helm.
But that didn't even matter, the force was too great, even for the likes of a steel helmet. A force that Jett never produced prior.
Jett shoved the corpse aside, removing the skull-embedded dagger simultaneously. The body limply fell off the tortoise, viciously tumbling into the distance.
There was a burning sensation on the skin of Jett's neck, its heat increasing over time. It was the talisman.
His thoughts became murky and clouded. Like a parasite eating at the logical parts of his mind.
Though his every sense had become enhanced. The whole world became smaller—as if he could reach it in an instant.
If he gripped too hard, he feared he would break the handle of his dagger.
There was still one more adversary to deal with.
The last assassin in the rear assumed a sturdy stance, sending a wide arcing horizontal slash.
Jett backstepped by reflex, his perceptive eyes seemed to track the sword's path for its entire duration.
His weight—forced onto his heels from dodging—swiftly transitioned as he firmly planted his soles.
The peripheral world blurred around Jett, solely trained on his enemy with a focused eye.
He closed the gap in an instant.
Pivoting his back foot, Jett sent a crushing kick to the chest, transferring a ridiculous amount of speed and power into his enemy.
The assassin's breastplate dented and contorted under the sheer pressure.
Already on the rear of the tortoise, his enemy was now condemned to a near-deathly tumble.
'It's over.'
A sigh of relief.
…
But that sigh quickly turned to fear as Jett hurled off the back of the tortoise.
As the assassin shot off the tortoise's shell, he managed to grab onto Jett's boot, dragging Jett off with him.
'Oh shit…'
Jett's stomach churned as he soared through the air.
He held his daggers forward and away from his body, bracing for the impending roll.
The assassin tumbled harder—and much heavier—his armor clanging against the ground as the rumbling of the transportation beasts faded into the distance.
Jett recovered to his feet, now in the vast open plane against the final assassin.
But the assassin was not as fortunate as Jett was; he couldn't stand up after such a brutal tumble
The assassin held out his longsword in defense lying flat with his back on the ground.
Daggers at the ready, Jett assumed a safe distance around his cornered opponent.
The assassin shuffled his body in response, keeping his sword between them despite being stuck on the ground.
Jett feinted an attack several times as he circled, even switching directions.
But the assassin kept him at bay. Jett couldn't move in for the kill without taking a brutal longsword slash.
He gave up on circling, instead standing his ground while maintaining a readied stance.
"Who sent you?" Jett probed with a commanding tone.
As expected, there was no reply. The assassin maintained a trained and unwavering gaze through the darkened eyes of the mask.
'I wanted to capture him, but it appears futile.'
There were no openings for Jett to even attempt to kill the man, let alone take him captive.
With the long pause in combat, Jett noticed that the talisman on his neck—previously a scorching hot—now cooled with time.
He could feel his newfound power slowly drain, his strength, movements, and perception returning to normal.
The assassin on his back attempted to stand up, but Jett quickly feigned an attack, forcing him to maintain his defense.
'Fuck this is annoying.'
The adrenaline began to wear off.
Only then did Jett realize how scared shitless he was. It was worse than usual.
This kind of fear was a normal response to such a situation. But at this magnitude it was abnormal.
'I have this guy by the balls! Come on you fucking coward…'
His fear was tempered with a scorching blaze of anger. A metaphorical self-face slapping.
Gritting his teeth, Jett forced his muscles into action.
Jett ran circles around his enemy. The assassin shuffled—keeping his sword between them—but began to lag behind Jett's maneuverability.
Twisting and turning on the ground couldn't hope to keep up with Jett's murder game of duck duck goose.
The assassin's shuffling became slower as he lost stamina. Yet Jett still couldn't make a move.
The real issue was the longsword; no matter what direction he attacked from, the longsword could still be swung at him, even if he was directly behind the downed foe.
'What the hell am I supposed to do?'
Throwing his dagger wasn't reliable, especially against an armored opponent.
There wasn't any distance to close between the two—which, as a dagger user, was Jett's only response to ranged weaponry.
Failing to recover to his feet ended up creating a perfect defense for the assassin.
Jett gave up on trying to tire his opponent out, instead deciding to try and nip at his heels.
He couldn't possibly lose in this position, but getting injured was still possible. This strategy was safer and had a chance to inflict some kind of damage.
From a distance, Jett used his daggers to slash at his downed enemy's boots, then weaved back out in time to avoid the longsword.
There was little to no real damage despite connecting. Good quality boots were impervious to light dagger slashes.
'Fuck, this is stupid.'
A light rumble reverberated behind him.
Jett took the quickest of glances, ensuring he gave his opponent no time to recover.
It was Valeria. She had turned the wagon around, arriving straight toward the stalemated battle.
The wagon arrived as Lord Joffrey ground to a halt not too far behind Jett.
Valeria hopped off the wagon front nonchalantly, her footsteps slowly approaching Jett.
"You're crazy," Valeria said with amusement.
"Quiet, just help me out."
Valeria walked up to the last assassin chuckling.
"This guy giving you trouble? He's on his ass," she said while facetiously staring at Jett.
"Yes."
"That's cute."
…
Valeria raised her right arm, covered in a spiral of a black tattoo.
The black lines of her Imprint emitted a radiant white.
Out of her palm shot an ear-whistling string of energy.
THUNK…
The assassin's masked helmet shattered. His head flung back as his arms collapsed.
A blithe execution.
She gave Jett a wry smirk, to which he responded with a contemptuous glare.
"You take this too lightly," Jett scolded as he relieved his tense stance. "Fighting isn't something to joke around with."
"Fighting is quite fun. You're just weak, you don't get the option to joke around," Valeria rebutted. "And says the madman who jumped straight onto a convoy of assassins! Fucking hypocrite."
"We would've been blown to pieces, I had to!" Jett exclaimed. "And when I become a Stalwart I'll still have the same mentality."
"Show some respect to your savior. You would've starved without me."
"Call it even then. Let's go."
Jett began walking toward the wagon, though with an unexpected wobble in his step.
He was then abruptly grabbed by the collar.
"Look over there, idiot. Three more assassins," Valeria turned Jett around, pointing into the distance.
They were like little ants across the horizon line. Jett had to squint to see them.
The three assassins were scrambling to run after their White Tortoise, which ran around at high speeds out of fear. They weren't the smartest of creatures.
"I only knocked them off, but they're still breathing."
"Come on, let's just go," Jett argued. "They're so far away. It's a detour. There's too much risk in it. And I'm hurt from that tumble."
"All these damn excuses, stop being such a—"
"No, no, no, you're taking these people too lightly. They probably have an artifact or something—"
"What? Don't you wanna get stronger? You really think I got to Stalwart by avoiding—"
"It's just simple risk and reward! The potential for something to—"
"You killed three already, we can just do it—"
"These guys are Acolytes! We were just lucky to get out unscratched, and should now cut our losses. It's just the smart decision, not cowardice."
…
"Fine," Valeria conceded. "Giving me a fucking migraine…"
Jett rolled his eyes as he began they began towards the wagon. Though his body now began to hurt all over from the tumble, he walked at a sluggish pace.
'Was I really making excuses? I mean sure, but they're warranted. And there's just no way that those last three don't have an explosive artifact of their own…'
Sure, Jett needed to get stronger…
'I suppose that need might outweigh my desire to mitigate losses…'
Not wanting to take unnecessary fights was a universal desire, especially when one would be at a disadvantage.
Valeria was just an outlier, twisting his relatively normal thought processes with her own foolish notions of thrill-chasing.
But the reality was, Jett had entered the battle with near full disregard for caution.
Yet now he ended with a whimper.
It was like him, but it was too much like him. Something about his own decisions irked him.
Everything 'Jett' had been amplified.
He fiddled with the jet-black talisman on his neck, rubbing the spot on his skin which it burned.
'Is it you? What the hell kind of talisman are you?'