Chapter 359 - Jaxen Benshino
"The biggest issue in the capital right now is the factions, and those who were fighting amongst themselves are now preparing for war," Andrew said, sharing what he knew, while Enkrid combined that with the information he had received from Rem.
"There's nothing useful," Rem had said after surveying the capital's market. "It's all just scrap being sold."
There were many people, and the goods were plentiful, but when it came to selling them...
"No, this belongs to a certain noble, you see," was the common excuse.
It was as if the goods were treated as military supplies. Weapons and food weren't flowing smoothly. What did that imply?
'It means they've stationed their troops around here.'
If something goes wrong, they would pull their forces in. The problem was, this wasn't being done with the Queen's consent.
"The Royal Guard is now divided into factions too. That's how ridiculous things have gotten," Andrew continued.
"Ridiculous?" Enkrid asked, his usual response whenever Andrew spoke—he wanted to show he was listening, even if it was to something trivial.
Andrew didn't stop, continuing with his story.
"Yeah, ridiculous. They're assassinating each other, and this inquisitor keeps rounding people up, calling them heretics. Recently, animal-like cries have been heard at night, and people have been disappearing every few days."
"This is the capital," Enkrid remarked.
"Yes, it is. I know. It's a big city, so disappearances are fairly common. But this is way too frequent. And there's no one leading the investigation into the assassinations or incidents. The only ones trying to act are the gate captains, but even they are powerless."
Enkrid folded his arms, taking note of the flushed look on Andrew's face. This was not something easily said.
Turning to him, Enkrid asked, "And in the middle of all this, one of the royal bloodlines has arrived?"
"That just adds fuel to the fire. The factions, who had been watching carefully, are now drawing swords. They claim they came to end the factional fighting," Andrew replied.
End the fighting? That raised obvious doubts.
"How?" Enkrid asked, curious about the method.
Andrew shrugged and raised his hands.
"I don't know how."
This was something for Krang to handle. But what was Enkrid supposed to do now?
When he first arrived in the capital, what had he hoped for most?
'Would I leave without meeting even a single knight?'
It was an opportunity to fight, to train, to open his eyes to new possibilities. As he listened to Andrew, Enkrid realized that those factions might send their best out soon.
They would come out to fight, putting their lives on the line. That was what he was hoping for.
Much like when he trained his students, he believed that once he entered the royal palace, new opportunities would come.
Sometimes, if the answer wasn't clear after thinking too much, the best course of action was simply to follow what felt right in the moment.
Enkrid decided to go with that impulse.
He would stand by the side of a friend and take a swing with his sword.
It was a sudden decision, but he had been warned about it. Was this a rash choice?
"What are you thinking so hard about?" Rem asked, sensing Enkrid's inner turmoil.
Enkrid smiled lightly, knowing Rem wouldn't mind whatever decision he made.
"I was thinking of cutting off the Queen's head and becoming a faction noble myself," he casually remarked.
"What?" Rem blinked in disbelief. "You're saying you want to fight? Alright, alright."
It seemed Rem could only hear the words about fighting.
"...What did you just say?" Andrew asked, taken aback.
"Just a joke," Enkrid said, calming him down.
Just as he was finishing his thoughts and organizing what he would do next, Enkrid felt a chill run down his spine.
Instinctively, he turned around.
In the corner of the lounge, leaning against a pillar and half-hidden in the shadows, was Jaxen.
"Hey, want to go for a walk?" Enkrid asked.
Looking at Jaxen's eyes, Enkrid knew that something would happen if he left him alone.
He had seen that kind of look before—just before he had nearly drawn his sword in a confrontation with Rem. It was the same expression.
Was Jaxen ambushed too? No, it was something else. Enkrid instinctively knew.
'He's supposed to be in the royal palace,' he realized.
That must be it.
"Sure," Jaxen replied, heading out the door.
It seemed as though he was restraining himself from some impulse.
"Did he take something?" Rem muttered to himself.
"I'll be back soon," Enkrid said, following Jaxen outside. They walked through the shadows, the wind tousling their hair as they moved side by side.
"There's something I must do," Jaxen spoke first.
"Hmm, okay," Enkrid nodded.
Whatever Jaxen was dealing with, Enkrid knew he would take care of it himself.
"To do that, I'll need to do something else first, but it's a bit troublesome," Jaxen continued.
"Troublesome?"
It didn't seem like a word that fit Jaxen.
Enkrid paused, sensing that Jaxen had something to say. He had the feeling there was more, but what could he really do to help?
"It's about killing someone," Jaxen said.
Right, that made sense. Given Jaxen's mood, it certainly seemed that way.
So, what was the right thing to say?
After a moment of thought, Enkrid spoke.
"Hang in there."
It was a typical response. Jaxen wouldn't be asking for help, and he would handle most things on his own.
Enkrid nodded and gave Jaxenn's shoulder a few gentle taps.
After a couple of pats, Enkrid turned around, feeling that Jaxen's eyes had calmed somewhat since before. He intended to head back inside.
But Jaxen stopped. He gazed at his superior's back, watching him as he moved under the starlight and moonlight.
'I knew something was off, but...'
Jaxen wondered about the encouragement.
'Do you trust me?'
Was it trust? Belief? Was that why Enkrid said it?
Jaxen's eyes glinted with uncertainty again. Enkrid walked, deep in thought.
If Rem and Ragna made a move, it would make a public spectacle. But Jaxen wasn't like that.
He wasn't called a scheming stray cat for nothing.
Jaxen would do what he had to—quietly, in secret.
Enkrid considered this as he turned toward Jaxen's back.
"Enemy and vengeance," Jaxen said. His voice reached Enkrid's ears at the right volume.
"What?" Enkrid turned back around. Jaxen was the type who would listen to any story, and today was no different.
Enkrid fully turned to face him, as if asking if he really had something to say.
Jaxen simply stared, and Enkrid naturally turned toward two stones resting by the wall.
He sat down, pulling out some dried jerky and his canteen.
Was this preparedness, or just coincidence?
The canteen smelled of alcohol, not sweet apple wine but the strong aroma of brandy.
Jaxen took the canteen, took a swig, and swallowed. The hot liquid surged through his throat and into his stomach.
It was a strong drink.
But Jaxen wouldn't get drunk. Since he was a child, he'd chewed on poisonous herbs to build resistance.
A body that could withstand poison wouldn't succumb to alcohol.
The memories of chewing on poison, swallowing it, and enduring it suddenly flooded his mind.
What had been the driving force behind enduring it all?
Death. That was the beginning.
The death of his family, his parents, and everyone he knew.
He had seen death and made it his weapon.
That was how he had lived.
Enkrid took the canteen, took a sip, and then asked, "Who's the enemy?"
"There was a faction called the Black Lily," Jaxen began, his voice calm and detached, as though there was no sorrow in his words.
His father had been cruel, his mother merciless.
"If necessary, stab your friend in the back."
Those had been his father's words, and they became his final command.
Jaxen had lived by that command ever since. If necessary, he would stab anyone in the back.
"That's harsh," someone had said.
Then, he met his mentor.
He went through many things, and over time, his position had changed.
His life had been one of surviving by chewing on poisonous herbs and carving scars into his body with knives.
Jaxen's path had been soaked in blood. In fact, he had made his path by cutting through it.
He walked, and walked again.
Jaxen had been the son of a noble family.
Saxon Bensino, that was his name.
The Bensino family was quite a powerful noble house.
They had succeeded in trade and business, but his father had always desired more success.
Was that a mistake?
He didn't know.
Jaxen decided it wasn't important to dwell on right or wrong. He simply set a clear, singular goal.
He would take revenge. He would kill everyone involved.
"Hey, you'll die young if you keep this up."
His mentor had warned him like that.
Jaxen didn't listen. He kept his eyes set on his one path.
"When will you become a real person?"
"Isn't that something someone running an assassination guild should say?"
In response to that, he remembered his mentor laughing lightly.
"Yeah, better to get angry. That's more pleasing to the eyes."
It was just small talk.
His goal had been clear. He gathered information and investigated.
His family had fallen. Had it been due to misfortune?
That was nonsense. Someone had schemed it.
Jaxen decided to hold those responsible for the scheme.
That's when he found the name.
Black Lily.
It was the name of a faction. What did they do when they gathered? They were in it for personal gain.
Some of them, working under a cruel lord, had turned into a band of thieves.
Others had become nobles in some country, and still others had vanished like smoke.
The first person Jaxen had found was someone who had lost everything, whose life had crumbled, and who had been cast into the gutter.
"Why did you do it?"
He was curious. A family was ruined, and several merchant guilds were consumed.
Many had died because of the Black Lily.
There must be a reason for it.
"The reason is simple."
The fallen powerholder chuckled.
"How much do you think you can tear apart the Bensino family? Damn it. Everyone lives by screwing others over."
The man who had given up everything no longer cared for his own life.
Wasn't it actually more considerate to give death?
Could sending someone to hell be seen as something to be thankful for?
Killing with a simple slash to the throat would be a blessing.
But that wasn't the path. Jaxen hadn't done it himself.
Instead, he severed tendons and threw the person into a beggar's den.
Four days later, the man was torn apart alive and died.
That year, a drought made people kill for a handful of wheat.
At a time when even a single blade of grass was precious, survival in a beggar's den was impossible.
The dying man's final words echoed in his ears.
"Everyone screws others over to survive."
The man had once been the friend of his cruel father. Or, rather, he had been.
"Just keep moving forward. There's no need to look back."
The merciless words of his mother also stayed with him.
For a purpose, was it permissible to do anything?
If that was the case, then he would do it.
Years were spent searching for the masterminds of the Black Lily, and during that time, his teacher passed away.
He would never understand the teacher's last words, so he buried them.
He never recalled them.
"Stab a friend in the back if necessary."
"Just keep moving forward."
Instead, he repeated his father and mother's words in his mind. Their words tangled together.
"Everyone screws others over to survive."
The dead man's words mixed in.
He had killed the four main masterminds of the Black Lily.
It was only when he was searching for the fifth that he learned one of them had targeted the Bensino family.
Should he call it the real enemy?
He didn't know their name or identity.
After several clues and deductions, he finally met Abnaier.
He was told to go to the Naurilia royal palace, and Jaxen had made his way there.
When Enkrid was ambushed, and Rem, Dunbakel, and Ragna complained about selling worthless goods on the market, Jaxen entered a mansion in a residential area.
The old mansion, covered in cobwebs, showed little sign of human habitation.
He saw the one who had lured him here.
It was a man with white hair, wearing a monocle.
His body was thin, and he carried a cane-sword, his eyes narrow and hard to read.
It was obvious.
They were of the same kind, in the same industry.
"You must be from Geor's Dagger."
The man guessed his origin. Of course, it was easy to deduce—he had deliberately leaked information to get here.
Geor's Dagger was the continent's most powerful assassination guild.
Yet, the man didn't seem afraid. Was it confidence in his skill? Or did he believe he had found Jaxen's weakness?
"I know what you're looking for," the white-haired man said.
"What is it?"
Jaxen asked, his brown eyes absorbing the darkness like they were pulling in the night.
"You are the heir to the Bensino family, aren't you?"
Ah, yes, he had figured that out.
"I will give you all the information you seek. Everything, anything."
Jaxen waited for the next words.
"However, you must stab him."
Who was "him"? There was no need to explain. The man with black hair and blue eyes—the leader of Jaxen's former squad.
"Enkrid, stab him."
It was an offer to kill the leader, Enkrid. The reward? Information he had sought for years.
Enkrid sat silently, gazing at the moon. The sound of the water jug in his hand sloshed quietly.
Jaxen spoke of vengeance and enemies, mentioning that one of them was in the royal palace and that he would have to enter and find them.
He omitted the part about meeting a fellow assassin from the same industry.
"Alright, let's find them."
Enkrid said. There was no hint of a smile. It wasn't a joke. His words were sincere, filled with determination.
He would help if Jaxen asked for it. If Jaxen didn't refuse, he would do his best.
He knew Jaxen. He was that kind of person.
However, could they really find someone who had eluded them for so long with just effort?
Jaxen had an easier path ahead of him.
The words of his father, mother, and the first enemy he killed intersected in his mind.
"If necessary, stab a friend in the back."
"Just keep moving forward. There's no need to look back."
"Everyone screws others over to survive."
This was the path Jaxen had walked. A road carved with blood, blades, and poison.
It would be the same path now. He would walk it again, as he had before.
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