"If you want to be an adventurer, you need to master many skills," Hagart told Rhode.

Rhode’s young face flickered with a trace of suspicion. "Weren’t we talking about assassins?"

"Heh heh heh. In a way, an assassin is just an adventurer of the underworld," Hagart chuckled, stroking his white beard.

Rhode narrowed his eyes. *Master Hagart’s always so eccentric—always bringing up adventurers.*

"Alright, I see you’re getting impatient," Hagart laughed, catching Rhode’s look.

"An assassin doesn’t need combat skills. Only pure killing technique."

"Stealth. One-strike kills. Never engage irrelevant targets."

"These are the basics." Those who fought with unmatched fury weren’t assassins—they were berserkers.

"But before you truly become one, I won’t teach you to kill," Hagart added, tone shifting.

Rhode stared at him, confused.

"Once you learn it… there’s no turning back." Hagart’s voice turned grave. Rhode instinctively sat up straight.

"So I’ll focus on stealth, dagger work, and swordsmanship fundamentals."

"Wait!" Rhode abruptly raised a hand, rudely cutting him off. "Why swordsmanship?!"

"Because that’s what I told your family. Besides training assassins, I’m also a drill instructor."

"And I claimed I could persuade you to take up the sword—that’s why they felt safe leaving you here."

"Drill instructor?" Rhode’s face froze in shock.

*So that was it… I thought they didn’t care.*

Still, he genuinely disliked swords—an instinctive aversion.

"Yes. The Clinton guards occasionally ask me to train new recruits," Hagart smiled.

"Enough talk. Of the skills I listed—which do you want first?"

"Anything but swordsmanship," Rhode muttered dejectedly.

Hagart sighed inwardly but let it go. For a dagger-user, sword basics were optional—just homework for Rhode’s family.

"Then we start with dagger combat."

"Rhode, daggers aren’t every assassin’s choice—but most prefer them. Know why?" Hagart produced a dagger as if by magic.

Rhode instinctively drew his own black blade.

"Easy to hide. Fast," he blurted, recalling the fiery battlefield.

Hagart wasn’t surprised by the answer—but by how fast it came. "Hmm. Not bad."

"One more thing: in close combat, the dagger is the *fiercest* weapon. Remember—*the fiercest*."

"It’s the ultimate tool for explosive close-range strikes."

"Oh," Rhode murmured, studying his black dagger with puzzled eyes.

Hagart’s white eyebrows twitched slightly at the sight—then smoothed over.

*Whatever this weapon is… none of my concern.*

"So how do we start?" Rhode refocused quickly.

All his dagger knowledge came from modified sword forms taught by Uncle Black Sword. He knew nothing else.

"Attack me freely," Hagart said.

Rhode took a deep breath, face blank.

*Clang!* Steel met steel with a crisp ring.

Hagart effortlessly blocked the sudden strike.

Rhode pressed on without pause.

Hagart deflected every blow without shifting his feet.

Finally, after a parry, he shoved Rhode back.

Rhode tumbled backward, crashed into a bookshelf, and vanished under a cascade of books.

"HAHAHA! You’re seriously weak, kid!" boomed a voice in Rhode’s mind—the one who was actually Black Key but insisted on calling himself Black Sword.

Black Sword rarely spoke up. Mostly, he just mocked Rhode’s weakness.

"None of your business," Rhode muttered.

Prideful as he was, being called "weak" stung deeply.

"The guy facing you? Skilled. *Truly* skilled. At your level? You couldn’t reach his ankles no matter how hard you tried," Black Sword stated coldly.

When skill gaps were this vast, only time and grit could bridge them.

"That’s enough. Honestly, child—you surprised me," Hagart said.

From Rhode’s attacks, Hagart saw something raw yet terrifying. If someone had trained him… that teacher might surpass even Hagart. *Unimaginable.*

His gaze drifted to the black dagger. Suspicion stirred.

"Dagger techniques? I may have nothing left to teach you—at least not yet," Hagart admitted.

"HAHA! Of course! You’re using a modified ancient sword style!" Black Sword’s laughter echoed wildly in Rhode’s skull.

Rhode felt zero joy. At the word "swordsmanship," his head throbbed.

"Then I’ll teach stealth."

"Stealth ties to breath, mindset… many layers. Master it, and 'stealth' becomes 'disappearance'."

"But as a beginner? Skip the abstract stuff. Start with physical concealment," Hagart said softly, sheathing his dagger.

"Before that—listen carefully."

"Don’t draw your dagger in public unless absolutely necessary." He pointed at the pitch-black, light-swallowing blade.

It radiated a potent aura—as if a master stood before him.

That alone proved it was no ordinary weapon, however plain it seemed.

Most wouldn’t notice. But if Rhode met someone who *could*… danger awaited.

Rhode glanced at his sharp black dagger and nodded.

If Hagart said so—he’d obey.