Chapter 420 - Not an End, but a Beginning
"Follow your heart?"
If someone asked Jaxen if he enjoyed killing, he wouldn't have an answer.
No matter how many times he pondered it, he couldn't tell if he enjoyed it or not.
There were people in the guild who would lose their minds if they didn't spill blood at least once a week, but Jaxen wasn't one of them. However, honing his skills was undeniably enjoyable. That much, he was sure of.
"It's not about stabbing your friend in the back but surviving, no matter what. Got it, kid?"
The master's tone was always lighthearted, but his words were often right. His father's words carried the same meaning.
Jaxen had simply interpreted them in his own way. Back then, it was necessary. He needed something to fuel the flames of vengeance burning within him.
"Isn't it about not clinging too much to the past rather than just keeping your eyes fixed forward?"
Once again, the master was correct.
His mother didn't want him shackled to the family.
Jaxen had turned even that memory into fuel for his fire.
He knew it all too well.
"What I'm teaching isn't the art of murder."
"Then what is it?"
"Figure it out for yourself! Do I have to spoon-feed you everything?"
It was a strange thing to say while teaching him how to detect poison in his meals.
When Jaxen first met the master, the man had asked him:
"Will you follow me? If you do, I'll teach you how to live."
Not just how to survive, but how to live.
It wasn't an art of killing, just one way to live.
Jaxen's latent killing intent remained intact. His energy hadn't waned. Yet, he couldn't stop his mouth from speaking on its own.
"May I stay here?"
The words escaped straight from his heart without passing through his head.
"Defeat me, and I'll allow it."
Enkrid replied as he always did, with words that came naturally from a prepared stance.
"Is there just one way to live...?"
There couldn't be a single reason to live.
It was a new realization, an epiphany that struck as he spoke.
Jaxen had never sought anything beyond revenge.
But now, he was certain of one thing.
He found more joy in competing with the man in front of him than in killing him.
Mastering skills and climbing higher brought him joy.
Watching his lover brought him joy.
Couldn't he do it all? He asked himself, and the answer was obvious. He didn't even need to think twice.
"Then I suppose I can stay."
Jaxen spoke.
The sunlight warmed his back. The summer rays added heat to his body, and a faint smile formed on Jaxen's face, shaded by the trees.
The simple suggestion to follow his heart brought a refreshing sense of liberation, breaking the chains that bound him inside.
Jaxen had techniques he wouldn't use on those he couldn't kill or with someone watching.
"Why did I follow that rule?"
Who had made him adhere to it? It wasn't the master. It was just an unspoken rule passed down in the guild of Dagger of Geogr.
A useless regulation he had obeyed out of habit.
Enkrid wasn't fooled by the smile on Jaxen's face.
"Is this some hidden ploy?"
He knew Jaxen's skills had improved, especially after acquiring Aker.
Enkrid frequently challenged his subordinates to spar, provoking them with sheer energy.
Jaxen was no exception.
Even now, Enkrid's words about beating him were half a joke and half a provocation.
Jaxen took the bait without hesitation.
Frankly, Enkrid didn't care if Jaxen stayed. He simply wanted someone to spar with, as he was restless without a partner.
The tension rose. Jaxen's presence seemed to swell as if he had grown larger, but Enkrid remained unfazed.
"If I can't trust myself, I'll never win."
Never overestimate the opponent's strength—an essential rule before a fight.
Still, one mustn't be careless and should give their all.
Easier said than done. Only through experience could one truly grasp it.
Enkrid placed his hand on the hilt, his posture firm. He scanned Jaxen's entire body and sharpened his senses.
As always, Enkrid gave it his all and almost found himself repeating the same day over again.
The weight in his heart—
Or perhaps the chains that had bound him until now—
Jaxen cast them aside and walked with lighter steps.
Thinking of Enkrid, whom he had just sparred with, made him feel even lighter.
"He's improved."
The knights called their art Will.
Why couldn't an assassin use it too?
"Keep on heading forwards, and you'll become the continent's deadliest killer."
The master's words weren't baseless.
Jaxen had talent, and the previous master had recognized it.
Just now, he had landed several precise strikes on Enkrid's body with techniques he hadn't even shown against Count Molsan.
His steps carried him out of the barracks.
Two sentries saluted him as he passed, seemingly familiar with him.
Without replying, he exited and strolled along a tree-lined wall, where a waiting voice called out.
"Were you serious?"
The voice belonged to his lover, speaking not as a lover but as a fellow guild member.
Jaxen knew she had watched his sparring match with Enkrid.
"You even used techniques you shouldn't show to anyone but your enemies."
Her voice came from nowhere, but Jaxen sensed five others hiding in the trees.
Six in total. Three of them were veteran assassins who had taught him their skills.
Poison, dagger throwing, stealth—they were masters of these arts.
Jaxen hadn't learned solely from the master.
However, he had long surpassed them. They couldn't stop him now.
If they tried, it would be a futile death.
His lover, the master's daughter, wasn't foolish enough to attempt such a thing.
Jaxen was both highly skilled and quick-witted. There was a reason he had inherited the master's position.
"Why did you do it?"
Her question came, less as a guild member and more as the older sister she had once been to him.
"Just because."
His response echoed Enkrid's.
"I followed my heart."
Unintended, his answer was similar once again.
"Was the master's position so trivial to you?"
Had she been disappointed? Perhaps. Even so, Jaxen didn't regret his choice. There was no reason to. Life wasn't a binary choice.
"When did I say I'd give up the master's position?"
"…What?"
Only Yenatrice spoke, bewildered by his words. Jaxen replied calmly.
"I'm staying here. But that doesn't mean I'm abandoning Dagger of Geor."
"Do you think that makes sense?"
The poison master couldn't hold back and spoke up, his voice splitting to come from two directions. A cheap trick.
"Why wouldn't it?"
Jaxen turned to the precise spot where the man was hiding. His gaze seemed to say he would respect the elder, but if they attacked, they would die.
"Don't worry. No one will die here today. I'll convince them, one by one."
Such words were dripping with arrogance. Even as the master of Geogr's Dagger, how could one turn an entire guild into enemies and hope to survive?
That was what most people would think.
But Jaxen was calm. His demeanor said it was merely something that needed doing. That, in turn, made him appear even more unhinged.
Yenatrice emerged from the shadows cast by the wall.
Jaxen, already aware of her presence, didn't even flinch.
"You're so reckless."
"Am I?"
Yenatrice stared at Jaxen for a moment.
What was it about this man that she liked so much?
Ah, yes. It was that he could commit to things like this without hesitation.
***
"So, you're saying the former master must be killed?"
Geogr's Dagger was the most notorious assassination guild on the continent. The master of the guild would traditionally pass down their skills to their successor and then meet their end by that successor's hands.
Jaxen had broken that tradition.
"You mean to defy the rules?"
"I do."
During the succession conflict, three assassins vying for the position died. Five elders also perished, and counting their followers, the number of dead exceeded thirty.
All of them were Jaxen's doing—his work alone.
"Damn it, you lunatic. You sacrificed a third of the guild's power just to save me?"
Yenatrice's father, her teacher, and the guild's master had scolded him so, then closed his eyes peacefully.
A body worn out from years of overwork and steeped in accumulated poison had finally given out, yet he had died with a smile.
***
"There are still those who won't take your side."
Jaxen stared into the eyes of his lover. Her orange gaze met his as he reached out his hand. She took it without hesitation.
Much like her father, Yenatrice was quick to pick up on things, especially those involving Jaxen or herself.
She had already considered the possibility that she might not return and had taken measures to gather allies who would support her cause.
Now, she was merely confirming those preparations.
All the elders who had followed were already on Jaxen's side.
"Speak, and I'll convince them one by one."
Of course, his idea of "convincing" mirrored Enkrid's methods.
Perhaps by smashing heads until they listened.
Or kicking heads until they complied.
Just as Enkrid persuaded the city's constables in the capital.
And if they still wouldn't listen?
"Then keep going until they do."
That was how Enkrid would put it, and in that regard, Jaxen knew he shared a similar disposition.
Aside from the time he saved his father-in-law, Jaxen had never done anything simply on a whim.
Even then, he sometimes doubted whether saving his father had truly been his choice. Perhaps it wasn't for his father's sake at all.
That was how Yenatrice saw Jaxen.
And for that reason, she inwardly welcomed his decision.
"Sometimes in life, you have to act on impulse."
Before his death, the guild master had entrusted his daughter to Jaxen and Jaxen to his daughter, whom he cherished like a son.
"Even if that bastard leaves the guild one day, look after him."
Yenatrice recalled her father's words.
Jaxen returned to the barracks.
On his way in, he saw Audin praying.
"May blessings be upon you."
Audin, hands clasped and eyes closed, looked up at the unexpected words.
What did he just hear?
The shock was enough to momentarily halt his prayer.
Ragna, dozing in a rocking chair, quietly opened his eyes.
As Jaxen walked past, he spoke.
"Get some more sleep."
Dunbakel squinted.
Has he lost it?
Her gaze made it clear what she thought, but Jaxen maintained his indifferent expression as he replied.
"Go wash yourself."
Normally, Dunbakel would've ignored such remarks, but she immediately moved to bathe. It felt like a final warning. If she didn't comply, Jaxen might slit her throat in her sleep.
Theresa witnessed this and began praying.
"Lord, banish this evil spirit."
Her husky voice echoed softly as she directed her prayer, not to her usual deity but to the god of war.
Passing by, Jaxen noticed Rem sharpening a small hand axe with a whetstone.
Their eyes met.
"Still alive?" Jaxen asked.
"Yeah, I'll probably die later than you," Rem replied.
It was as if they spoke in perfect unison.
Like a pair of swans, the speed and tenor of their exchange were seamless.
"Doppelgänger?" muttered Krais, observing from the side. Doppelgängers were magical creatures that mimicked others' appearances.
Though Jaxen wasn't his usual self, he didn't scold Krais and simply continued to his room.
Enkrid lay sprawled out, arms and legs stretched wide.
"My judgment was off a few times."
He should've thrust instead of swung. With Aker, a famed sword, he should've leveraged its unique properties.
"I was inexperienced."
Every fight offered lessons and takeaways, especially when the Madmen Unit introduced something new.
Though embarrassed to admit it, that was one reason they weren't formally part of the knightly order.
"Unless you directly observe knights," Enkrid thought, "you wouldn't understand."
For now, he was certain that training here surpassed anything the knightly order could offer.
The warm sun made him think he could drift off. It wasn't laziness; he finally understood why Ragna always dozed off in the sunlight.
Such days wouldn't last long. In a few weeks—or even days—the gentle warmth would turn into sweltering heat.
Summer, the season of heat and fire, was fast approaching.
Winning and losing didn't matter.
There was no time to hesitate or dwell on such concerns.
Now that the civil war was over, would the kingdom become one of unbroken peace?
Would there be fewer reasons to wield swords than before?
Unlikely. The new king's views were the opposite of his predecessor.
The former queen had envisioned a stable nation. Krang, however, did not.
Before parting with Enkrid, Krang had shared part of his ambitions.
"The central continent is divided into three nations. This division makes us weaker than the western, eastern, or southern regions. Especially since we face periodic wars with Aspen."
"Are you planning to negotiate a peace treaty?"
Halting Aspen's aggression would certainly allow Naurilia to consolidate its strength. That much was obvious.
The sheer resources consumed by war were staggering.
Not to mention the lives lost on the battlefield.
Krang smiled gently at the question, his tone as light as if plucking a flower from a nearby garden.
"No, I plan to subjugate Aspen."
When it came to dreams and ambitions, Krang was no less daring than Enkrid.
Using his distinctive charisma, Krang spoke with unwavering conviction, pouring his soul into his words as if addressing only Enkrid.
Just as Enkrid staked his life on the sword, Krang burned with passion as he declared his intentions.
"I will become the sole ruler of the central continent."
At that moment, Krang had made it clear—being the continent's ruler was merely a step in his grander vision.
Just as Enkrid viewed knighthood as the beginning, not the end.
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