The Orphans Like Me Way Too Much (1)
As the lady of a great western noble house, the Confeld Marquessate, my talents had been rigorously tested from a young age. The verdict? First-class aptitude for the sword, but third-class when it came to magic.
But the skills I'd inherited from the Rogue Master's Legacy completely defied that conventional system.
Succeed in 100 thefts.
Clear a quest, and it grants or upgrades a skill. A whole separate system from magic.
Life really does come down to lucky encounters and artifact power, huh.
My attempt to patch up my lacking talents with a swordmaster's legacy had failed, but this path didn't seem half bad. I'd end up a master either way, right? So who cares if it wasn't a swordmaster?
I scanned the quiet street for targets, then silently tailed a man hurrying along. Time to use Steal.
What a fun skill. Normal pickpocketing requires pinpointing and snatching an item from someone's pockets. But this? It just yoinks something randomly, regardless of where it is.
Stolen: Wallet!
I tapped the shoulder of the guy, oblivious to his missing wallet as he rushed on.
"What is it!?"
"You dropped your wallet."
"No way? I swear I buttoned my pocket tight."
He patted his coat, baffled that the buttons were secure yet his wallet was gone.
"Anyway, thanks. Here's a little something for your trouble."
But when he saw my face, the suspicion melted away. Ugly looks shady; pretty gets trust. Life's unfair like that.
"No need for a reward. Just be more careful next time."
I wasn't hurting for cash. No point swiping pocket change from regular folks.
I kept switching spots, grinding away.
"Why's my pants pocket feel so empty?"
"I lost my love letter!"
Some stolen items were too embarrassing to return. Once, I accidentally turned a woman into an unwitting exhibitionist.
Even equipped items get stolen? This skill's busted.
Luckily, I trained in deserted areas, so no ruined reputations on my watch. And yeah, I didn't peek—girl code or whatever.
Once the weird thefts piled up, guards swarmed the city. Time to bail. Stick around too long, and they'd catch on.
After splitting with Erph, I headed east through the empire's south and central regions. The north had lax law enforcement—great for thieving without worry—but sparse population meant slim pickings for practice. And stirring trouble in Father's western domain? Bad idea.
So south-central-east it was, hopping cities for training. That's when a fresh quest popped.
A proper thief quest: infiltrate a mansion.
Discovered a mansion hiding secrets. Infiltrate and uncover them without getting caught.
The skill I'd been waiting for! A thief without Stealth? Unthinkable. Had to clear this one.
No guilt over crime? If you don't get caught, it's not a crime.
Prep work's not my style.
A strong body means less brain strain. Thieves usually scout patrol routes, shift changes, weak points. Me? My superior physique skipped the grind.
Footsteps, for one. My remodeled Rogue Master body was light and flexible—no noise even at speed, let alone cautious steps.
I could enhance hearing with mana, detecting people or movement from afar. Unless I slipped up, detection was unlikely. Focus hard, and I caught breaths or heartbeats. No undead guards? Impossible to evade me.
So a peaceful city's boring mansion security? Easy pickings.
Sneaking through, I probed for secrets.
Acquired!
Jackpot in a hidden fireplace compartment. No label on where it led, but c'mon—quest reward? Obviously treasure.
Mission complete, secret nabbed.
Stealth. I willed it active, and my body vanished. My hand? Completely transparent.
Full invisibility? Jackpot!
Then it wore off mid-gush. Level 1 meant pathetic duration.
About 7 seconds? Useless for thieving. Feels more combat-oriented.
Higher levels would extend it, probably.
[Cannot use yet.]
[Cooldown: 23 hours, 59 minutes, 30 seconds remaining]
Shorter cooldown would be nice.
Had to move before the mansion owner noticed the missing map. Luckily, it was detailed—matched local terrain, pinpointed the spot instantly.
A suspicious cabin in nearby mountains. What secrets hid in this plain-looking shack?
Whoosh! Searching, I spotted a crossbow trap.
Good thing I had dungeon experience and post-human specs. Any normie triggering it? Arrow to the skull, dead.
Not even scared of murder charges?
Another mechanism nearby—activate it, and the floor opened to stairs below.
Made it this far; gotta check inside.
Pitch-black underground. I lit a lamp from the cabin and descended.
The corridor was narrow—barely room for one adult male. At the end: heavy iron door with a padlock.
Thieves pick locks, sure. But I infused my thigh dagger with sword aura and snipped it clean.
Got the original map; stealth's blown anyway.
Speedrun mode—no time to waste. Inside: kids turned into living mana batteries.
What the—?
Random house raids, and boom—world's underbelly.
Magic circles everywhere, massive glass jars big enough for small children. The kids glowed faint blue—some special treatment.
"Hey, kids. You didn't climb in for fun, right?"
"Eek!"
"We're sorry! We're sorry! We're sorry! We're sorry! We're sorry!"
Over ten jars, over ten kids. My adult frame entering triggered panic—thought I was the usual villain.
Stay calm. Dismantle traps first.
Free them willy-nilly, kids freak, trigger traps, someone dies? I'd be pissed for days. So I smashed the magic circles and traps first.
Dungeons pay off.
Year chasing swordmaster legacy in northern dungeons honed this. No idea the mage's level, but I decoded it all.
Safety confirmed, I sword-smashed jars to free them.
"Waaah!"
"Don't kill us! We'll work harder!"
"Hic."
Crying, hiccuping, pleading usefulness. How to handle these kids?
Not impulse, though. Stole the map original, smashed the lock—traceable intrusion. Time race.
Evacuate fast as possible. Then—oil jars rolled down the sole passage.
"Fuck."
Whoosh! Basement compromised? Standard playbook: torch it.
I'd survive a roast, but the kids? One, maybe. Over ten? No way to save 'em all unscathed.
Stealth, Steal, Disguise? Useless crap.
Rogue skills? Zilch. Sword training? Swordmasters cut mana and fire, but I wasn't there yet.
Think. Think. Think!
Fuck. Thinking won't douse the flames.