At fifteen, a child grows at lightning speed—
physically, mentally, even in skill.
Rhode was no exception.
Now fifteen, his features had sharpened into delicate handsomeness, though he remained slender.
He’d also dyed his hair black.
Reason? He didn’t want to be mistaken for Shilo on the street.
Unlike swordsmen who bulked up through training, Rhode lacked a heavily muscled frame—but his agility was undeniable.
Proof? He could hang upside down, perfectly steady, from the crossbeam inside Hagart’s house.
"Rhode, come down," Hagart said calmly from his chair.
He didn’t need to look up to know what the boy was doing.
Five years had taught him just how wildly energetic Rhode was.
Yet surprisingly, this restless kid showed real talent in stealth.
"I caught the crow last month," Rhode said, swaying slightly while inverted.
No mistake—he’d spent *five full years* chasing that crow.
Only last month did he finally catch it consistently.
Later, he learned it was Hagart’s "companion," working beside him for decades.
But… could a crow really live that long?
Hagart claimed it had followed him since youth—though he never called it a pet.
By that logic, the crow was practically an anomaly. Rhode wouldn’t have blinked if it spoke.
"Five years? Slightly slower than I expected," Hagart remarked.
Rhode fell silent, a trace of embarrassment flickering in his chest. Even he knew spending five years on a crow was… questionable.
Whenever he failed, Hagart offered tiny tips.
Truth was, Rhode’s stealth skills were now quite refined—
though "full of flaws" was Hagart’s verdict, and he *was* an old assassin.
"What you lack now is real-world experience," Hagart said without pause. He’d already mapped Rhode’s path:
no dagger kills, only stealth, close-quarters combat, and subtle nudges toward becoming an adventurer.
"Real-world experience?"
"If I recall," Hagart stroked his white beard leisurely, "Clinton has a proper Adventurers’ Guild. I checked recently—they’ve got a long-standing uncompleted quest."
Rhode’s expression twisted.
For years, Master Hagart had "accidentally" pushed him toward adventuring. Even a fool saw he was *up to something*.
But *why*?
"What’s the quest?"
"Steal an egg from the Swift Bird’s nest."
"Hard, sure—but not impossible."
"It’s from a monster researcher. Condition: retrieve the egg *without harming* the Swift Bird."
"..."
"You must sneak in. High difficulty. Low reward. Skilled thieves ignore it," Hagart shrugged.
Frankly, he never understood why researchers posted such quests.
"Any quest more… 'assassin-like'?" Rhode pushed back weakly.
"No. Your level only fits this one," Hagart said, face utterly calm.
(He lied. He could’ve found assassin quests easily.
But he and Waymen had agreed: Rhode must *not* walk that path.)
"Master Hagart… I have a question. Should I ask?"
Hagart smiled faintly. "Then don’t."
"..."
Rhode’s certainty hardened. *He’s scheming.* "Could it be… you don’t want me to be an assassin?"
"Ho ho ho ho ho—HA HA HA HA! How could you think that?" Hagart laughed, unnaturally forced.
"Why stop a promising youth?" He waved a hand, sipped tea to steady his nerves.
*The boy’s grown sharper.* Pride swelled—grandfatherly warmth—then dread. *Waymen and I… our plan’s slipping.*
No choice.
"Until you bring proof of completing this quest, I teach you nothing new."
Rhode’s face darkened.
---
*BANG!!!!* The door slammed shut.
Rhode stood locked outside.
Helpless. Powerless.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Black Sword’s laughter boomed inside his skull.
"Dying! A kid dead-set on being an assassin, shoved into adventuring!"
If Black Sword had a body, he’d be slapping his knees.
Five years bound to Rhode meant he knew *exactly* what his master felt.
"Listen," Black Sword’s tone turned serious. "Time you realized: assassin isn’t your path."
"…Sigh." Rhode stared at the wooden door.
That childhood obsession *had* faded.
Truth was, he never wanted to *be* an assassin—he wanted to *be like Waymen*.
To lend a hand. To help others.
And that didn’t require daggers.
"My last master was an adventurer. Honestly? Fun profession," Black Sword added.
"You mention him often. What was he like?"
"Doesn’t matter. Like a name in history books—you’d feel nothing hearing it."
"True."
"Kid. Plan now? Your teacher’s clearly blocking the assassin path."
"What else? Go obediently to this 'real-world experience'," Rhode muttered, trudging toward Clinton’s Adventurers’ Guild.
"Not bad. Shows resolve," Black Sword said. "Believe me—you’re stronger than you think."
"Heh." Rhode scoffed. *Flattery.*
"Don’t believe me?"
"Nope."
"That crow you spent five years catching? Not ordinary."
"Yeah. A crow that *looks down on people*," Rhode sighed.
