Kyle took note of the three assassins, perched up in hidden spots, then he turned to his two escorts, speaking softly.
"Two of them are at the peak of the Foundation establishment realm, and one is at the early core formation realm. They pulled all the stops on this one."
They both nodded in acceptance.
"What would you like to do?" Sebastian asked.
"Sebastian, you take the core formation expert, my dear, and I will each take on the other two." He responded.
Sebastian frowned. Kyle was the weakest here, fighting two stages above his strength would be a tall mountain to climb.
He had no doubt that Kyle could hold his opponent off, given the skills he had been displaying, but defeating him was another matter.
'I just need to finish off my opponent quickly so I can assist him,' Sebastian thought. 'If worst comes to worst, I will abandon my fight immediately.'
After taking a moment to think about it, he nodded.
Kyle looked toward Nuna, smiling. She nodded calmly to him, "I will take the other one."
"Okay, let's move to outside the city, there are too many people around." The people around them were already looking at them with suspicion.
They were very close to the gates, and the amount of people leaving and entering was quite the number, and it looked like none of them could see the assassins.
And so, moving quickly, they darted out of the city walls.
The trio of assassins, thinking the target was trying to get away, gave chase, but they came to a halting stop when Kyle and company stopped a ways into the forest.
They were perched up in the trees, eyeing them warily.
It was a well-known fact that the arts assassins practiced were heavily reliant on the element of surprise.
Most of them relied on agility and sometimes on poisoned weapons. Take away the element of surprise, and you probably have an easy fight.
Under normal circumstances, once an assassin failed to kill the target on the first try, they would withdraw and prepare once more.
But that was off the table right now. Noah had demanded that Kyle not leave the city alive.
The three masked assassins emerged from the shadows: lithe, precise, and deadly silent. They drop onto the ground, without making a sound, silently.
Kyle's heart registers what his senses confirm: his opponents move with refined grace, clearly higher in cultivation.
Kyle nods, and Sebastian and Nuna do not waste a second, darting quickly toward their individual matchups.
That left Kyle face to face with a lanky, tall Peak Foundation Establishment realm.
"Hello there..." He greeted. At the same time, the gears were turning in his head.
'How do I approach this?'
The assassin did not answer.
"I would appreciate it if you told me who sent you, since I am about to die, and all, it wouldn't change anything if you told me. Well, except maybe giving me peace of mind when I'm in my grave."
The masked assassin did not answer, instead drawing two daggers from the belt around their waist.
A frown appeared on Kyle's brow, but inwardly he was thinking, 'I will have to fight cautiously, feign weakness, draw him in, and find on opening.'
He drew his one‑handed longsword.
The assassin holds his twin daggers, their curved blades reflecting the dying sun. Nuna and Sebastian each charge another foe.
The clash began.
Kyle advanced with measured steps, sword point forward. He uses his phantom step movement technique, appearing just before his opponent.
The assassin's form suddenly flickered, darting to the side as though moved by the breeze, slipping between Kyle's strikes.
Blade whispers past leather, and Kyle's swing meets air.
Kyle exhales sharply, "Who sent you?" His sword arcs low, threatening a foot, blocked deftly with a dagger. No answer, only suppressed breath and masked stillness.
The assassin dances away, his blades flashing.
Kyle's eyes narrowed, analyzing every movement, searching for an opening.
His opponent's movements were light, almost ethereal, his blades cutting through the air in perfect arcs. But Kyle had no doubt that he could catch him if he just waited.
He continued to circle, his own blade held high, ready to strike at any moment. The assassin seemed to be waiting for something, but Kyle couldn't tell what.
Kyle pivoted, letting his blade slide across the forest floor, stirring a cloud of dust and pine needles. The assassin darted, water-light, wrong-footing on the soft undergrowth.
Kyle seized the moment: he feinted left, driving the dagger-point down towards the assassin's chest.
Metal clanged, not the sharp ring of steel, but dull, breath-caught resonance as Kyle's blade struck dagger on dagger.
The assassin staggered ever so slightly.
They both darted backward to reposition, only to clash once again a second later.
With a swift and precise swing, Kyle brought his blade down, aiming directly at the assassin's center.
The assassin seemed to sense the attack, and he raised his daggers to block. But this time, instead of dodging out of the way, he stood his ground.
Their blades clashed, sparks flying as metal met metal. Kyle's heart pounded as he pressed the attack, feeling the familiar rush of battle.
A flurry begins.
Clank! clank! clank!
A quick exchange of multiple strikes. It looks like Kyle is matching the assassin stride for stride, but he is the only one breathing heavily.
And the multiple bruises littering his body said otherwise. Kyle hadn't even felt it when they landed.
'Looks like we are evenly matched so far, but he's too fast to follow accurately... I have to change things up.
Kyle knows he must use perception to track his opponent more easily.
He closes his eyes, or nearly, and activates his Qi-based perception art. [Cosmic awareness]
The world slows: the assailant's limbs draw lines in space, each footstep, shift, flick becomes traceable.
Breath by breath: inhale… strike… exhale… step… strike…
Kyle blocks a backwards thrust, using the flats of his blade to meet the dagger's point. He staggers from the force but steadies.
His muscle fibers scream; sweat mixes with dust. 'These techniques are taxing as usual.'
He tries another question: "Was it Noah Von Gaussian?" The assassin only whirls away, posture calm.
Kyle lunges, binding his blade over one dagger, slipping under the next, but the assassin circles out of the bind, forcing Kyle to sprint forward, shield his guard with his limb.
The assassin's movement art, something like lightning-step, makes him vanish and reappear behind Kyle, forcing Kyle to swing his sword around in a wide arc.
Sparks of steel-on-metal clang. Kyle staggers, and a shallow cut opens on his side.
Kyle's bruises throb, and exhaustion creeps in. Cuts sting, each breath ragged. He is bleeding, battered, but vigilant.
Using perception, he notices the faint shift in the assassin's stance just before each dash. Foot hits stone; Qi pulses subtly in his shoulders. He matches that rhythm.
As they danced around each other, Kyle noticed something peculiar.
His opponent's movements seemed almost... predictable. It was as if he were following a set pattern, one that Kyle was familiar with.
A thought flashed through Kyle's mind, it was like the movements of an art that followed a systematic pattern.
He felt a surge of understanding, and his eyes snapped into focus.
'If he keeps doing those repetitive, predictable movements throughout, with my perception on full throttle, finding an opening will be easy.'
He drops his guard low, baiting a dash.
He lunged, and the assassin's eyes widened behind his mask. The assassin twisted, pivoting on a single toe.
The assassin lunges, his blades crossing. Kyle steps inside range, grips the longsword, and channels his Qi into a concentrated wave along the blade's edge.
Qi crackles, bright as sunrise, along steel. Kyle swings upward in a single fluid motion, slicing across the assassin's chest.
Kyle's sword slid into the assassin's open flank, not enough to kill, but enough to anchor him to pain. A hiss. A breath stolen. The assassin staggered, blade wavering.
Blood sprayed, a suppressed gasp meets the wind. The blade cuts through leather, cloth, and flesh deeply.
The assassin staggers, eyes wide beneath the mask.
He is badly wounded, breathing ragged, Qi crashing. Not dead, but bleeding out fast.
As the assassin reeled, Kyle pressed, stepping in close. "Now," he murmured, half to himself, half to the winds.
He delivered a precise strike to disarm: the dagger flew, embedding in a rotted tree trunk. The assassin's eyes darted in disbelief and surprise behind the mask.
Kyle didn't hesitate. He swept the assassin's other blade with a crisp pivot, sending it skittering across the mossy floor.
The assassin dropped to a knee, his chest heaving.