Rhode opened his eyes. What met his gaze wasn’t the white desert and fortress—but a house engulfed in flames.
And a masked assassin.
The night was thick. The boy had no idea what was happening to his home.
Only one thing was certain: this assassin was a threat to his younger brother, Shilo.
"..." Rhode crouched low, gripping the black dagger in reverse.
Usually lively, he was now silent as a lone wolf waiting to strike.
Black Sword couldn’t teach complex combat techniques in such a short time—especially since Rhode disliked swordsmanship.
So it had only shown him how to wield a dagger properly… and how he might stand a chance.
"Still standing?" The assassin sounded surprised, but didn’t dwell on it.
Then—everything shifted.
The room vanished. Desert sands stretched endlessly. In the distance, a majestic fortress loomed faintly.
Rhode crouched beneath an ancient desert poplar, eyes sharp—as if *he* were the hunter.
A cold sweat drenched the assassin’s back.
He blinked. The vision shattered. Only the lunging boy remained.
*Clang!* The assassin deflected the dagger effortlessly and kicked Rhode into the wall.
Flames roared higher. Beams crashed down, spitting sparks.
But before impact, Rhode’s blade had carved a deep gash into the assassin’s foot.
"Hiss… You really don’t care about living, do you?" The assassin tore off his mask, glaring fiercely.
He hadn’t held back. Rhode’s ribs should’ve been shattered. A child taking that kick? Dead.
Gritting his teeth, he glanced at his bleeding wound. Charging through fire like this hurt.
"Huff… hah…"
Yet Rhode pushed himself up, gasping.
Pain hadn’t faded—but somehow, he stood.
His body felt broken, yet an unseen force kept him moving.
Head bowed, breath ragged, he whispered, "Can I really win?"
—"Who knows?"
—"Just fight. Stop overthinking."
—"Right now, you’re a berserker."
"No. I don’t like berserkers," the boy retorted instantly.
But… was there any other choice? None.
"You’re far more troublesome than I imagined." The assassin pulled throwing spikes from his waist pouch and hurled them all.
Rhode sidestepped, using a table as cover.
Too late—the assassin kicked off the table, closing in.
*Clang—!* Steel clashed. Sparks flew.
Rhode stumbled back.
As Black Sword warned, the Mind Manifest Realm didn’t grant sudden power.
But it offered something: as long as he maintained it, even grievous wounds wouldn’t stop him.
This wasn’t a typical "ability." It was feedback—the Realm’s rules bleeding into reality, sustaining its master.
Using it drained mental energy. Pure, sharp exhaustion.
"Stop dodging! Annoying!" The assassin snarled.
Small and agile, Rhode weaved through furniture.
How was this brat still moving after so many hits?
*Crackle… pop…* Fire chewed through wood.
***CRASH!!!***
A burning beam slammed into the assassin’s shoulder, searing his skin crimson.
Rhode’s clothes smoldered too.
"Damn it…" The assassin shook his head. Rage had nearly made him forget his mission.
He was here for Hilo Carasco—not some nameless kid.
This brat had trapped him: flee? Fail the mission. Stay? Risk everything.
No time left. Let the wounded boy bleed out on his own.
"Don’t run." Rhode’s voice drifted from the shadows—persistent as a ghost.
"Get lost!" The assassin slashed for his throat. No time for cat-and-mouse.
But Rhode dodged—and drove his dagger toward the man’s back.
"..."
Both froze.
*He dodged.* Rhode’s first successful evasion.
"You… this brat!?" The assassin dropped his dagger, seized Rhode’s head, and hurled him toward the flames.
Mid-air, Rhode scrambled—fingers caught the table edge, slowed his fall, rolled clear.
*Cough… cough…*
Rhode stared. The assassin was wounded, but still mobile. One more strike needed.
But he lay exposed. No cover. A direct charge would fail.
*Sneak.* Like the assassin did.
Rhode focused, recalling Black Sword’s breath control. Conceal presence. Reach the blind spot.
*How?* Unknown. *Must try.*
Abilities could be born.
Or awakened.
---
Ability Acquired: [Re-Stealth D]
---
The notification flashed—and vanished from his mind.
Too focused. Only one thought remained: *defeat him.*
A slow breath.
Rhode’s figure "vanished" from the assassin’s sight.
"!?" Pupils shrank. Confusion flashed.
Less than half a second later—he pinpointed Rhode’s location.
Too late.
The dagger was already buried in his abdomen.
Not fatal.
But the assassin couldn’t believe it.
*A child… stabbed me.*
