Rhode couldn’t care less about little Princess Leona.

As for why she was nicknamed the “Ironfist Princess,” he was, at most, mildly curious.

Digging deeper? Not worth it. Let Leona bond with Shilo instead.

Lost in random thoughts, Rhode arrived at the Swiftbird nest.

He waited until Leona was completely out of sight before moving closer.

Crouched low, he slipped past undetected.

The Swiftbirds patrolling outside strutted proudly, heads held high, utterly unaware of the boy brushing past them.

Swiftbirds resembled ostriches—but with thick neck feathers and legs far more slender and powerful.

Flightless yet lightning-fast on land.

Normally, adventurers needed traps or restraints to catch them.

Otherwise, only speed-specialized hunters stood a chance.

Any underpowered fool barging in would be mobbed.

A storm of beaks could leave even a Rank C adventurer dead or crippled.

Then again, provoking any species was suicidal.

Avoid Swiftbirds? Pick another monster—same grim outcome.

Beyond beaks, their kicks were lethal. Rhode moved with extreme caution, leaving zero chance of detection.

He was fifteen. He had no intention of dying young, torn to shreds.

“You look the part,” the Black Sword remarked, “but isn’t this tedious?”

Rhode didn’t flinch or spare time to chat with the old man.

He desperately wanted to clarify: he was an assassin, not a berserker.

Slaughtering enemies in a rampage wasn’t stealth.

Patiently, he bypassed every patrolling Swiftbird and slipped into the pitch-black cave.

*Drip… drip…*

Water fell nearby. Rhode shifted slightly to avoid it—drops hitting cloth sounded different than stone.

The nest was dark—not pitch black, but walking normally was nearly impossible.

Luckily, years of catching crows late at night had sharpened his night vision.

He crept toward an egg. A female Swiftbird sat guarding several, one or two slightly askew.

Rhode lifted a still-warm egg and tiptoed away.

Huh? Way easier than expected.

He’d braced for a near-impossible quest, fearing instant discovery.

Yet from start to finish—grabbing the egg included—zero difficulty.

Could it be… he was actually skilled? Rhode felt a flicker of pride.

“Don’t get cocky,” the Black Sword muttered.

Rhode snapped back. *Right. Still inside the nest.*

Clutching the egg, he turned to flee—

—but his smug moment betrayed him. A tiny sound.

Ahead, a wide-awake Swiftbird.

Its head swiveled 180 degrees, locking eyes with the crouched boy.

They froze, staring at each other in stunned silence for half a minute.

Then—*screeee!*—the bird let out a piercing cry.

“Run,” the Black Sword urged.

Rhode bolted.

Instinctively focusing on stealth, his presence suddenly faded in the bird’s perception.

Amid the darkness, he vanished for a split second.

By the time the Swiftbird relocated him, Rhode had gained ground.

Outside, he ran for his life—but held the egg tight.

Behind him, thunderous stomping. A whole flock in hot pursuit.

*Thud-thud-thud!!!*

Believable? Absolutely. He’d stolen their egg—an unforgivable offense.

“AAAAHHHHH!!!” Rhode screamed.

“You’re overreacting. It’s just a chase,” the Black Sword drawled.

“I’LL DIE!!” Rhode gasped. One misstep, and they’d tear him apart.

“Kid,” the Black Sword mused, “you just accidentally activated your ability.”

“What? Really?”

“Yep. Crisis-triggered potential. Classic.” A hint of exasperation.

“Is that a compliment?!” Rhode wheezed.

“Nope.” Blunt.

Someone like him? Useless in peace. Too few crises.

“Aren’t you the assassin?” the old man added. “Why run so clumsily?”

“I can’t hurt them! Quest fails if discovered!” Rhode panted.

“I didn’t say slash them. Why not *hide*?” The Black Sword’s tone sharpened. “Aren’t assassins stealth masters?”

Rhode’s eyes widened. …He had a point.

“Quit assassin. Seriously.”

“Berserker suits you better,” the Black Sword concluded.