Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Off to Steal Again Today
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A blade digging into flesh.
Scattering powder.
Sharp screams bursting forth in an instant.
He was in agony.
Writhing from the searing pain, letting out screams.
And then.
This was the effect of the Tier 1 advanced weapon, Braincleaver.
Electrocution.
'Fuck, that startled me.'
On the other hand, Luke was utterly flustered.
He had been about to wrap things up when Gout suddenly opened his eyes.
Locking eyes with the bastard mid-process, he instinctively slammed down Braincleaver first.
'At least I hit the foot, the spot with the least damage...'
Thanks to that, Gout avoided instant death, but the real problem was elsewhere.
'Of all times, eye contact.'
Scout cancels if you make eye contact or get too far from the target mid-cast.
Remembering that, Luke scowled fiercely.
Didn't this mean he'd have to start Scout all over from scratch?
Not only would getting caught lower the steal success rate, but in the worst case, he'd have to redo identification entirely.
'How to handle this... Huh?'
He should have.
But as he was thinking that, what the hell was this?
It was unchanged.
Not just the lockpick he'd identified moments ago, but all the previous items too.
The Scout window remained exactly as it was, probabilities untouched.
'What? Normally, getting spotted mid-cast closes the Scout window entirely?'
As he panicked.
'Wait, no way?!'
He belatedly recalled the skill level up that had triggered right after identification completed.
'No matter how I think about it, that's gotta be the cause.'
He had his answer.
All that was left was to exploit this opportunity to the max.
'The shock effect just wore off, but...'
Gout was still struggling to get up, clearly taking heavy damage.
'The Scout window sticking around means I can still attempt Steal like this.'
And so Luke quickly reached for the green-text Infinite Lockpick.
'Please, just work on the first try this time!'
Before the probability dropped below 10%.
Before that.
He had to maximize his chances of success.
'Argh, come on already. Pleeease!'
As he desperately prayed inwardly and attempted the third Steal.
'Oh.'
Soon enough, joy bloomed across Luke's face.
'Yes!'
He did it.
He'd pulled it off.
The third advanced item.
And the Night King's second belonging: the Infinite Lockpick.
He'd stolen it in just three Steal attempts.
Unlike with Braincleaver, at a solid 50%+ probability.
'Kuhuhu, that's what I'm talking about!'
This thrill.
Words couldn't capture it easily.
This unstoppable rush.
And this bizarre addictiveness.
'Yeah, this is why I steal!'
Luke had fully awakened to the true flavor of thievery.
"Ah, comfortable."
"Kuuh... "
"Hm?"
As he inwardly cheered.
The battered Gout grabbed his foot.
"Spare me."
Desperately.
"I don't want to die."
Begging for his life.
If it were other players, they might hesitate.
Especially looking extra pitiful as a slum dweller.
Which was why.
Luke extended a hand toward him with a bright smile.
As if offering salvation.
"Ahh, thank y... "
"Stay still, you fucker."
"Kuhuk!"
But it was merely Gout's delusion.
Instead, his head was crushed, subduing him once more.
"Hand over the other items before you croak. Who said you get to die easy?"
Luke was already busily stealing items with his free hand.
It was just as expected.
Normally, Scout would cancel immediately if you made eye contact or distanced yourself mid-cast.
But now, even if interrupted, the results window stayed open.
In other words, as long as he didn't recast Scout, he could keep attempting Steal on the previously discovered items.
'And the scouting speed too.'
It had upgraded in line with the skill level.
'Perfect timing, even thinking back.'
Luke had just made full use of that effect.
Gout died in the process, but it didn't matter.
The slums had no patrols anyway.
The lord had abandoned these streets; one dead resident wouldn't cause a fuss.
Even if someone found the body.
Because.
The residents here would rifle through the corpse's pockets before reporting to guards.
'Alright then...'
Luke looked into his inventory with a satisfied smile.
Time to check his stolen goods.
A Night King's belonging: the lockpick.
This ever-regenerating Infinite Lockpick, no less.
'But it won't vanish like last time, right?'
The Night King-infused cape.
He'd stolen it from the sleazy merchant at the entrance and successfully learned the job skill Parkour, but the cape containing the skill vanished on the spot as payment.
Sure, it was a cape with no real stats, so no big loss, but this was different.
This was a useful lockpick.
No point in a related skill if you lacked the tool to use it.
'Nah, it'll be fine.'
Shaking off his anxiety, Luke pulled out the lockpick.
Black haze seeped into his body immediately.
Same phenomenon as with the cape.
But unlike then, the lockpick wasn't vanishing.
Luke's eyes gleamed at the sight.
'No way, two for one?!'
The lockpick.
And a job skill on top.
Sensing it, Luke stared holes into the lockpick.
And then.
'Huh?'
His consciousness began to blur.
One day, a young man visited a forge.
He bluntly asked the blacksmith to make him something.
But the response was refusal.
Or more precisely.
'I'd love to, but I can't. Why? That damn lizard bastard took my anvil and hammer. Said I wouldn't make his crap, so he got pissed.'
It was impossible.
'What, just use different ones? Hah, easy for you to say. Listen up, kid. Our clan gets one anvil and one hammer at birth. We cherish them as clan sigils and lifelong companions. And now you want me to toss them aside? Bullshit! Don't lump us with fake-ass smiths.'
Indeed.
The clan sigil he'd shared his life with.
His personal anvil and hammer, stolen by a dragon.
That's why the blacksmith couldn't make anything.
'What, you'll fix it?'
Then this random young man shows up claiming he'll solve it.
A human who didn't even look that strong.
The blacksmith couldn't help but scoff.
'Puhahaha! Fine, go wild! If you actually pull it off, I'll swing my hammer for you for life!'
He'd spat those ridiculous words in anger, mocking him.
Days later.
The young man returned, handing over the anvil and hammer, flipping the situation instantly.
'H-How?! Did you kill the damn dragon?!'
The blacksmith asked in shock.
The youth shook his head and replied.
'What, you raided the dragon's nest? Wait, so... you stole these and brought them back?'
The youth nodded.
'You expect me to buy that?'
Kept nodding.
'Gods... Fire God Parmyani.'
Unbelievable.
But the anvil and hammer before him were real.
His clan's pride and sigil.
He could smith again, wielding his companion.
That realization made the how irrelevant.
What mattered: this youth was his lifesaver.
And it was time to repay him.
'You're as good as family. Lifetime might be a stretch, but I'll craft whatever you want for free anytime. Materials required, of course.'
His clan kept their word.
The blacksmith embodied it.
'Right, you mentioned needing something when you first came. What was it... Huh? Magic metal?! Makes sense—only our clan handles this stuff. No wonder you came to me.'
Magic metal.
One of the superior metals infused with various spells.
The youth requested one item from it.
But.
'What, a lockpick?'
The request was suspicious.
'You serious? Not a sword or bow—a lockpick? From magic metal, no less?! If you doubt my skills... You trust me, yet still want a lockpick?!'
It was his first gift to his benefactor.
And a mere lockpick for that debut?
No.
His pride as a master smith forbade it.
'Th-Think again. This metal can make so much. Shrink it to a lockpick, and its value—its infused power—drops drastically... Just infinite regeneration?'
The youth's resolve was ironclad.
Impossible to sway.
'Damn it all! What's the reason? At least tell me why you want a lockpick!'
Frustrated, the blacksmith snapped.
The youth answered without hesitation.
'Wh-What?! Lockpicks keep snapping on doors and chests, it's annoying? So you want one that regenerates infinitely?!'
The true reason.
'Grrrr...!'
The blacksmith wanted to smash his own head on the anvil right there.
But he couldn't do that to his benefactor.
Nor could the clan rep break his promise now.
So, seething with rage, he gripped the hammer anyway.
'You bastard, you're a real bastard!'
Red Anvil Clan's head smith.
Dwarf Edchan.
Those were his final words in the memory.