That Assassin Appears! #1

Late at night. Loria felt a chill similar to when a friend on a school trip whispered, "There's something behind you." She whipped her head around, scanning the surroundings with a shiver, but sensed nothing.

Then, with a glare, she shot a look at Lawrence, who never hesitated to pull a mischievous prank.

"Don't joke around, you—"

"Not joking. Be careful for real. Got it?"

"……."

Lawrence gave a slight smile as he spoke. The rippling shadow fell still. It seemed the lurker had decided to observe for now.

'Of course they wouldn't strike openly. If it were me... yeah, I'd wait for the subjugation battle day.'

They were the type who would gladly kill without getting blood on their hands if possible. With a solid alibi in place, they wouldn't resort to hasty tricks.

After sending off the worried Loria, Lawrence returned to his room. That's when it hit him—the method felt strangely familiar.

'Wait...'

Lawrence closed his eyes, dredging up old memories. The assassin uncle who had kept him company in that cramped storage room, where he spent his days lost in research. Amid those recollections of chatting with the man from the shadows, a few stood out vividly.

The assassin uncle had said:

Assassins often handled long-term missions, he'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said. And that they didn't suit his temperament.

The clincher was:

"You said you enjoy chatting with your targets, didn't you, Ades Benoman?"

At the same instant, a poisoned projectile shot out from the shadowed corner. An attack too fast to dodge or react to.

But for Lawrence, any strike without aura was useless.

The blade clanged harmlessly off his hardened skin, dropping to the floor with a racket. The sweet scent from its tip confirmed it was thoroughly poisoned.

Even that failed against Lawrence.

"Heh. Come on out, mister."

"……."

No response. Lawrence smirked, muttering to the empty air as he edged cautiously toward the shadow.

"Man, an assassin with no patience? The Benoman family head would love that. Should I drag you back?"

"……."

His Dragon Eye saw it clearly. The rippling mana, perfectly blended with the shadow—but its essence couldn't be hidden. Unless one became one with nature itself, human mana always felt out of place.

Time to give him a little scare.

Lawrence approached the shadow slowly. Then, without warning, he activated an artifact.

Shraaaak—!

Steel spears rained from the void. Blades sharp enough to split skin on a graze flew straight at the shadow.

"Gah—!"

"Heh. There you are, Ades."

"H-how did you spot me!?"

The firstborn of the Benoman family tumbled away, forced to roll clear. He drew a razor-sharp dagger from his robes, aiming it at Lawrence.

This isn't what they said. It's not a kid—why's a monster here!?

'What the hell is this psycho? Chantless casting? That's possible? And... how'd he know my habits? Already scouted me? Or...'

His mind reeled. An inside job? Or what?

Lawrence felt half glad, half annoyed. The annoyance was aimed at Media, not Ades. Seeing the man so flustered was oddly nostalgic.

'What? That's what it was?'

He'd wondered at first. An assassin who loved to blab and couldn't focus. Fascinated by everything, packed with trivia. Conversations veered wildly from topic to topic.

All because of this. Lawrence was surprised.

Sure, modern society had all sorts of mental conditions. Why not here? Probably even more undiagnosed ones.

"Gonna run? Not a good idea. I've seen your face, and I've got this dagger as proof."

"……."

"Here's a deal instead. Ades, I know why you bolted from your family."

"Hoo... What the hell are you, really?"

Ades finally spoke, realizing silence was pointless. Infuriating, but what could he do? Running was his only realistic option.

'Gotta dodge that warrant.'

He half-resigned himself, waiting for Lawrence's words.

"Can't sit still, always itching to wander, info flooding in like a tidal wave. High success rate, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but you stick to intel gathering. Makes sense."

"You... seriously, what are you? And that insane casting speed?"

"Lawrence Montemer. Youngest of the Montemer family."

"……."

A monster. For the first time, Ades felt fear from an outsider. He'd never expected it from anyone outside the family. Sure, he'd felt it during raw training days.

But now he was a seasoned killer.

'They sent me to assassinate this? That bitch...'

His resentment naturally turned to Media. The client hadn't even properly assessed the target.

Then, words he couldn't ignore reached Ades's ears.

"I'll cure those symptoms clean. In return... work for me."

"Ha, fuck—."

How was he supposed to hold back? Or trust this!?

Ades's dilemma deepened. #2

Finally escaping the little monster, Ades climbed onto a rooftop, kicking his legs ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as he sank into thought.

Lawrence had nailed it. Assassins needed patience. But he was the opposite.

Too much info swamped his brain, always pulling his attention elsewhere. His only relief was chattering away.

Without childhood training, even that might've been impossible.

'But... can he really fix it?'

Logically, complete the contract. Why? The client was Montemer's lady of the house. Connections were everything.

Politics, funds, trade—easier with the right network. Equal skill? They'd pick someone they knew.

But...

"Hah, trust the kid or not? Contract's already busted anyway..."

Whirr—.

A dagger danced in his hand. His go-to when thoughts scattered. Otherwise, his focus drifted elsewhere.

"No choice. Gotta roll the dice. Writing a contract means he's that confident..."

He'd observed countless people. Passersby, talkers, fighters, walkers, runners, eaters...

The flood was tormenting, but they became precious data points. That vast experience screamed: the kid wasn't lying. Something real was there.

'Plus... that poison resistance ain't no joke. Damn, what to do? Hit a casino? Penalty fee? Ooh, what's that? Curious...'

In the end, Ades couldn't sustain a single train of thought.

He'd sworn off targeting Lawrence and Loria. The young master would call when the job was "done."

"Time to play a round."

He chose an all-night casino. #3

The next morning, before dawn broke, Lawrence headed to the training ground to loosen up. He bounced around, checked his artifact capacity, tried intense movements. Then grabbed a wooden sword ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and swung it about.

Leila's overwhelming swordsmanship unfolded flawlessly from his hands.

From afar, the tower master Iron Hanma and elder Duncan spoke up as they watched.

"Think the military academy's trying to steal our youngest?"

"Hm... Even if he goes, he won't shine."

"Why?"

"The kid can't use aura."

Duncan nodded calmly at the bombshell. His hunch was right. A body without mana roads. Cursed, no exaggeration.

"Fascinating."

"The world's full of things we don't know or imagine. Stay humble."

"Hm..."

As sweat beaded on Lawrence's skin, cadets from the military academy appeared. Thanks to the duel rules, they looked utterly relaxed.

"Yawwwn—."

"Hey! Peter, wrap it quick. Got it?"

"Duh. It's just a mage. Sword fight? Pfft..."

Snickers rippled out.

Lawrence already stood ready with his sword.

Peter. A commoner who always claimed top seats among cadets. An elite prospect dreaming of the vanguard.

"Noble or not, duels are sacred."

"Yeah. So get in quick. No stalling. Gotta train."

"Arrogant bastard..."

Three rounds, best of two wins. Winner advances. Clean hierarchy sort. Losers shut up.

Lawrence smirked at Peter, who entered without warming up. Who was calling who arrogant?

'Still, mage or not, end it with magic.'

Sword duel, right? Then...

"Everyone ready? Peter, don't kill him?"

"Got it."

Wahahaha—.

The knight cadets' laughter boomed. Obvious intent. Not kids, my ass... they were.

"Let's start. As long as no killing?"

"If you can manage that."

Argon Bredley, head instructor at the Imperial Central Military Academy, said with a grimace.

Lawrence nodded with a quiet smile.

The duel began.

"Begin—!"

"Cocky shit—!"

Whoosh—!

A fierce strike flew at Lawrence. But compared to Leila's, it was sluggish.

Lawrence dodged leisurely, then lightly triggered an artifact.

Slice—!

Hair fluttered. A steel blade sprouted right before his forehead.

Everyone gasped at the sight.

"What? Isn't this a sword fight?"

"……."

The Iron Sword was still a sword.