After a brief, cold moment of tactical planning within the shadows of the inn, I settled on my sequence of targets. The adventurer had to go first. He was the most perceptive of the two, the one who had caught the first glimpse of my escape earlier. If I could take him down while he was lulled into a false sense of security, I could use the inevitable commotion of his death as bait to catch the knight off guard.

  I slipped out of the inn, moving with a silent, predatory grace that felt increasingly natural. Outside, the village was a hive of grim activity. The survivors were moving in a hectic but surprisingly coordinated fashion, collecting the corpses of their neighbors and stacking them for burial. It was clear that Sir Nareth had been utilizing his authority well, imposing order on the chaos to keep the villagers' minds occupied. I kept to the periphery, moving through the blind spots of the buildings until I spotted my target.

  The adventurer was in the thick of it, helping the villagers lift heavy debris and directing them toward the areas where they were most needed. He was surrounded by people, which made a direct assault impossible for the moment. I crouched in the shadows, my heightened senses—thanks to the Hero job—tracking his movements more clearly than normal. I waited for the tide of people to ebb.

  After several minutes, the immediate circle around him cleared. A few villagers were still nearby, but they were focused on their own burdens. I knew I couldn't simply sneak up on a man with his level of awareness; I had to be more clever. He was busy, but he wasn't entirely oblivious. The key was to blend into the environment, to look like just another survivor seeking guidance. I took a deep breath, schooling my face into an expression of frantic worry, and began to approach with steady, unhurried steps. I even paused once to look at a pile of rubble, acting as though I were struggling to process the destruction, ensuring that any villager glancing my way would see nothing out of the ordinary.

  I had observed how the locals addressed him, noting the deference in their voices. When I was finally close enough, I didn't reach for my blade. I spoke.

  “Sir. There is a problem,” I said, my voice pitched with a convincing tremor of urgency. “The bodies of two people have not been found. We checked the cellar, but—”

  “Hmm? What are you talk— Kuhh!”

  He turned around, his brow furrowed in confusion, and that was all the opening I needed. I didn't let him finish his sentence. My sword moved in a blur, the steel plunging into the exact spot where I knew his heart to be. His eyes went wide, his mouth working silently as the light of life began to flicker. A look of pure, dumbfounded surprise crossed his face as he stared at me, finally recognizing the "peasant" from the inn.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, leaning in close as the strength left his limbs. “But you and that knight have to die today.”

  I pulled the blade back, and he collapsed.

  Thud.

  The sound of his body hitting the dirt was followed almost instantly by the piercing scream of a woman. It was a perfect, blood-curdling sound that rang out across the village square. This was exactly what I had counted on. There was no way to execute a man in the middle of a work site without being noticed, so I turned that necessity into my greatest tactical advantage. I knew exactly where the knight was positioned, and I knew he would come running the moment he heard that cry.

  I ducked behind the corner of a nearby house, pressing my back against the rough stone wall and slowing my breathing. I listened. Almost immediately, I heard the rapid, heavy footsteps of an armed man sprinting across the cobblestones. The metallic jingle of mail and the rhythmic thud of steel-shod boots told me it was Nareth. As he rounded the corner, fueled by his duty to protect, I launched my ambush.

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  “Kuhh! What the?!”

  He gritted his teeth, his reflexes as a Level 10 Knight saving him from an instant death. He managed to bring his sword up to block my overhead strike, but the impact was devastating. I didn't give him a chance to find his footing. Because he had been running, the force of my blow sent him reeling; his upper body snapped backward, leaving his legs and waist wide open.

  I didn't want to engage in a long duel. I wanted him dead. I lunged forward, my blade slicing into his thigh. I had intended for a deeper, bone-shattering cut, but his reaction time was incredible. He twisted just enough to turn a lethal blow into a glancing, though deep, laceration. Crimson blood began to soak into his leggings almost immediately.

  A brief, heavy silence fell between us. The villagers had already scattered, their survival instincts finally overriding their curiosity. This was the ideal scenario; there was no one to interfere, and no one to warn him of my movements. Nareth stood his ground, his breathing heavy as he looked from my face to the corpse of the adventurer lying in a spreading puddle of gore. His eyes sharpened, turning from shock to a cold, focused fury. He recognized me—not just as a fugitive, but as the survivor from the mountain.

  He didn't waste breath on words. He attacked with a fierce, desperate intensity. I found myself admiring his skill; he was a master of the blade, his swings coordinated and fluid. Under normal circumstances, his technique would have overwhelmed a raw talent like mine. But I wasn't normal. My stats were an order of magnitude higher than any Knight of his level should face. I kept him at bay, my sword meeting his in a constant shower of sparks.

  I didn't counterattack yet. I fell into a familiar habit: the "gauge." I stayed on the defensive, absorbing his strikes and analyzing his patterns, waiting to see if he possessed any hidden skills or magical items that could turn the tide. I knew he was dangerous, and I knew a Knight of his caliber would have a trump card.

  The stalemate continued for several minutes. His breathing grew more ragged, the wound on his thigh clearly taking its toll on his endurance. That was when I saw the shift. His expression hardened into one of grim determination. He knew he was running out of time.

  Suddenly, my limbs felt like they were encased in lead. A heavy, oppressive weight settled over the air, making every movement feel like I was trying to sprint through waist-deep water. This was his skill—an Agility debuff. He had saved it for the moment he was most exhausted, knowing it would be his only chance to bypass my speed.

  Sensing my stiffness, Nareth abandoned all pretense of defense. He put every remaining ounce of his Strength into a final, reckless lunge, his sword extended in a stabbing motion aimed directly at my vitals. He was betting everything on this one second.

  I was at a crossroads. Blocking was an option, but in my current, "slowed" state, a block would be clumsy and might still leave me vulnerable to a lethal injury. I decided on a riskier path. I shifted my weight, maneuvering my waist to ensure the blade would miss my organs, even if it meant taking a hit to the flesh. As he committed to the lunge, I swung my own sword at his exposed neck.

  The impact happened in a blur.

  I felt the sharp, cold bite of his steel as it carved through the right side of my waist. At the same instant, my own blade met no resistance but the soft snap of bone and sinew. My Strength had been unaffected by his debuff, and just as I completed the swing, I felt the "Pressure" vanish. My sword finished the arc with lightning speed.

  Nareth’s head was gone. It flew into the air, a spray of dark blood painting the sky before it landed on the ground with a dull, wet thud.

  What happened next was a sight I won't soon forget. Nareth’s body remained standing. His arms were still stretched forward, his fingers locked around the hilt of his sword in that final, desperate stabbing posture. His muscles had been so intensely tensed for that last strike that even without a brain to command them, the rigor held him upright for a few gruesome seconds.

  Finally, the sword slipped from his fingers, clattering against the stone. The body swayed for a heartbeat and then collapsed entirely into the dirt. I stood over him, my own blood dripping from the wound in my side, and immediately began channeling Healing Touch. The golden light washed over the injury, sealing the flesh as I looked down at the last of my pursuers. The tail was cut.

  [Edited]