The man in the black mask was flustered.
He was sure he had struck the back of the boy’s head with a pouch filled with iron balls. How was it possible that he wasn’t knocked out?
Did I miss? No, that can’t be it.
He had used this weapon to kill people dozens, hundreds, even thousands of times before. He distinctly felt the impact against flesh—a solid, heavy blow.
The only explanation for his target surviving was sheer luck.
This weapon was powerful enough to instantly kill small monsters, and even orcs, known for their toughness, would be rendered senseless if hit by the pouch.
…Could Strange kids be naturally thick-headed?
The man in the black mask had no way of understanding how Verdin had withstood the blow. If he ever found out the reason for his failure later, he would be utterly shocked.
In that split-second moment, not even a full second, Verdin had sensed the danger and enveloped his body in aura.
“Why, why won’t you die, you little brat!?”
Shhkt!
The man in the black mask drew his sword.
If blunt force wasn’t enough, then he would just cut him down. It was a simple solution.
But he didn’t understand why the boy before him was smiling.
“An assassin?”
“……”
“No need to answer if you don’t want to.”
Swish.
Verdin unsheathed his sword. It was a blade he had barely finished training with, and while it was somewhat dull, it was still sharp enough to cut someone down.
“What are you waiting for? Not going to attack?”
The boy’s expression was calm, almost casual.
In contrast, the man in the black mask was breathing heavily, overwhelmed by tension.
He had thought he could easily deal with a mere child and leave, but now he found himself in an unexpected duel. How could he not feel bewildered?
I need to hurry.
If this dragged on any longer, the guardian knights protecting the castle would show up.
Damn it. I need to finish this quickly before things go sideways.
The masked man infused his sword with aura and spoke.
Swoosh.
“Don’t get cocky.”
Tatatat!
The man in the black mask charged at Verdin, aura surrounding his feet. His movement was impressive.
It was no wonder he had managed to infiltrate the Strange family’s castle by bypassing the guardian knights. A certain level of skill was necessary for an assassin to survive in this world.
Clang!
Their swords clashed with a clear, ringing sound. It was so precise it almost seemed like the same spot had been struck intentionally.
He’s holding his sword backward?
The assassin’s blade pointed toward the ground. His proficiency with weapons was apparent, as he had switched his grip on the hilt seamlessly.
But even such skill couldn’t reach Verdin, who was hailed as the Sword King in his previous life.
Clang!
“For an assassin, you’re pretty good with a sword.”
The assassin’s blade, which had been cutting in an arc, suddenly shifted into a thrust.
Verdin’s mind began piecing together the assassin’s identity. There weren’t many who could use swordsmanship refined to the level of a secret technique.
“Shut up, brat. What do you know to be spouting nonsense?”
“I’ll show you what I know.”
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
They exchanged exactly four strikes. That was enough for both to gauge each other’s skill. The man in the black mask realized he couldn’t defeat this child with his sword.
Even after just a few exchanges, the edge of his blade had started to chip, and the shock traveling through his weapon made his arm tingle all the way to his elbow.
Damn Strange family monsters, are they born like this?
If a sword wouldn’t work, he would just have to use another weapon.
The masked man extended his left hand, pointing his sword forward, while his right hand reached for the small crossbow strapped to his back.
“Die, you little brat!”
Without hesitation, he loaded a bolt and aimed at Verdin. But this was his biggest mistake.
Perhaps it might have worked against anyone else.
But the opponent before him now was someone who, in his previous life, had wielded his sword as if it were an extension of his soul—a former Sword King.
Swish!
A slicing sound echoed past the assassin’s ears, barely audible. He couldn’t even see what had happened.
The moment he pulled the trigger to load the bolt—
Thud.
His right arm fell to the ground.
“……?”
With a sickening sound, blood gushed from the severed arm.
“Aaaargh!”
The pain was unbearable, and he let out a scream.
Before he knew it, Verdin, whose hair had turned golden, was holding the severed arm.
“If you’d only used your sword, I wouldn’t have cut your arm off.”
“……”
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter since you were trying to cut my head off anyway.”
The man in the black mask felt a chill run down his spine.
How could a mere five-year-old say such things?
The moment he locked eyes with Verdin, his entire body froze. Those golden eyes held an overwhelming killing intent he had never encountered before.
It felt like he was standing before a predator—paralyzed, unable to move.
The assassin’s ragged breathing filled the room, while the blood pooling from his wound had already soaked the floor.
The outcome was clear.
An assassin skilled enough to bypass the Strange family’s defenses had been defeated by a five-year-old child.
“…Damn it!”
The masked man frantically scanned his surroundings before leaping toward the window.
Crash!
Verdin didn’t chase after the fleeing assassin.
He simply held the severed arm, watching through the shattered window as the man disappeared.
Moments later, the guardian knights arrived and pounded on the door.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Young Master, may we enter?”
“Sure, come in.”
Three guardian knights entered the room. The leader of the group scanned the blood-soaked floor and asked with wide eyes,
“What… what happened here?”
“An assassin came.”
“An assassin?!”
“Yeah, he escaped that way.”
Verdin pointed out the window toward the forest. One of the knights rushed over, spotted the assassin’s trail, and shouted toward the castle guards.
“Assassin! Guards Pursue him!!”
The assassin ran through the forest at full speed. He must not be caught by the knights of the Strange family. If he were caught, death would not be the end of it.
As he ran, he loosened his belt, stretched it out, and used his mouth and left arm to pull it tight. He then tied it around the upper part of his severed right arm.
Pop.
The bleeding reduced significantly. Taking a mysterious powder from his pocket, he sprinkled it over the severed area. With a sizzle, the blood stopped coming from the wound.
The blood trail on the ground became fainter, and the knights’ pursuit slowed. Over time, the distance between them grew until, finally, the knights lost the assassin.
Had the sun risen even slightly earlier, they might have caught him. The overcast sky, heavy with dark clouds, had aided his escape.
“Phew… That was close.”
The assassin who had shaken off his pursuers hid himself in a nearby cave.
This place was deep within a forest where large monsters roamed—an area avoided not only by adventurers but even by veteran merchants.
“Damn brat,” the masked man muttered, biting his lip in pain.
As he steadied his breathing and held his severed arm, a middle-aged man with a face full of scars emerged from the shadows.
“You’re late,” the man said.
“…Commander,” the masked man replied.
The one referred to as the commander looked at the assassin’s severed arm and sighed.
“Did you fail?”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Was it the guardian knights?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
The masked man hesitated to admit he had been bested by a child. Feeling humiliated, he merely lowered his head.
The commander slowly approached and pressed his finger against the assassin’s forehead.
Thunk.
“Explain why you failed.”
“…I managed to attempt the assassination, but the target didn’t die.”
“What?”
“I… I successfully infiltrated and waited for the guardian knights to leave. I even managed to strike the brat’s head with a blunt weapon.”
“And you’re telling me that the kid survived a blow to the head? A five-year-old child?”
“…Yes. I’m sorry.”
The masked man dropped to his knees, casting nervous glances upward.
The commander clenched his fists, veins bulging on his forehead.
“What about the pursuit?”
“I evaded all of them.”
“Did they discover your identity?”
“N-no. I only lost an arm, nothing else—”
“You fool! That means your arm is now in the Strange family’s hands?”
“…Yes.”
“Why didn’t you retrieve it?”
“I didn’t have the time….”
Slap!
The commander struck the masked man across the face. Drawing a dagger, he pressed it against the man’s throat.
“There’s someone in that family who can track people by their voice alone. And you left your arm there? Do you even understand what you’ve done?”
The commander fell into thought. If the Strange family launched a full-scale pursuit, capture would only be a matter of time.
“…You, head east.”
“East? Do you mean back to Glazer’s territory?”
“Yes. Explain the situation to our client. They’ll arrange for someone to smuggle you to another continent by sea. If things go south, the client’s life will be forfeit anyway.”
“To another continent….”
“Hurry. Find them and disappear from this land before the Strange family makes their move.”
“Interesting,” a voice said.
From the way he handled his weapon, it was clear the intruder was an assassin.
His grip on the sword’s hilt matched the techniques of assassins from the East. The person who ordered the hit must have ties to Eastern assassins.
If it’s someone from the East…
It had to be him.
Siegfried furrowed his brow, scratching his head.
“Why didn’t you chase down that assassin, disciple?”
“I wouldn’t have caught him anyway,” the boy replied.
“Why not?”
“The assassin who came after me was a veteran. And I’m only five years old. Even if I gave it my all, I couldn’t keep up physically.”
The boy placed the severed arm of the assassin on the table and continued.
“Besides, he’ll be caught soon enough.”
“Huh? How do you figure?”
“I know who he is.”
“You know who he is?”
“Yes. Assassins skilled enough to infiltrate the main Strange estate are rare.”
Siegfried picked his nose with his pinky as he replied, “True enough.”
“And the number of people capable of ordering such assassins—or at least commissioning them—and who have reason to keep me in check is small.”
“Who is it, then?”
The boy glanced up at the portraits hanging above the door—pictures of the Strange family’s current direct lineage.
Led by Lois, six brothers were pictured beneath him, excluding the youngest: himself.
One of them is targeting me.
And it was none other than the family’s most likely heir.
“…Gunter.”
The eldest had made his move.