Chapter 18: Assassination Thief [2]

Chapter 18: Assassination Thief [2]That small revelation changed everything.

The image I had of him—a flashy, smooth-talking rogue—now had sharper edges. Deadlier ones.

This wasn’t just a thief offering me a new path.

It was a former killer offering me his legacy.

And that was something... much more dangerous.

I met his gaze.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure what my answer should be.

But I know for sure, If I declined his offer it would be big loss for me.

So with smrik on my face, I said "Sure it’s too good offer to decline. I’ll empty tresure of noble while at same time I will have deadly assassination technique in my arsenal."

"Wise choice."

His scar followed the curve of his eye as he smiled—a slow, dangerous grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.



"Let’s introduce ourselves again. Properly this time."

He extended his gloved hand.

"I’m Doran. Once an assassin... now a thief who steals without bloodshed. Some call me the Phantom Thief. But between you and me, they never knew the half of it."

I took his hand, gripping it firmly.

"Julies Evans. From Solhaven.

He laughed softly, a satisfied edge to his voice. "Good. Then listen closely."

A system notification chimed in.

> [You have accepted the Hidden Profession: Assassination Thief.]

...And with that I became an Assassination and Thief.

I looked over at Doran.

"So, what now?"

He shrugged, his usual sly grin flickering back. "Let’s get out of here. I don’t plan on having another chat with that monster anytime soon."

I nodded. "Honestly, I didn’t expect a skeleton king to be so... talkative. And handing out relics like party favors?"

Doran chuckled. "Yeah, that was unexpected. But hey, there’s always something to learn."

We stepped out of the dungeon, leaving behind a bizarre scene—skeletal soldiers bowing in respect as we walked past, their expressions eerily solemn after receiving the sovereign’s relics.

I glanced at the strange items tucked away in my bag. Doran’s eyes had lingered on them, glowing with a hungry kind of interest.

Careful not to show any sign of hesitation, I shoved the relics deep into my backpack, out of his line of sight.


The first relic I pulled out was a blunt, unassuming rod.

I summoned the info window.

[Echo Rod]

[Item Type: Magical Rod]

[Once a treasured artifact among the western tribes, this rod hung in the private chambers of a long-forgotten sovereign. It was said to ward off assassins, much to the sovereign’s frustration. In response, the sovereign imbued the rod with powerful enchantments.]

[When wielded, it doubles the magic strength of the corresponding base ability.]

[Can unlock any lock or seal through mere contact.]

[Equipping without the Nameless Sovereign’s permission invokes a permanent death curse.]

I blinked. Boosting my magic was definitely a plus—even if my magical skill was pitifully low to begin with.

Just a small nudge from the system confirmed it.

[Your Magic Power has increased.]

[Magic Power: 2 → 3]

A single point increase didn’t exactly make me jump for joy, but—

I smirked. "No big deal. The real value here is the second skill."

I tightened the straps on my backpack.

Unlocking any lock with a touch.

That was the real game changer.

At first glance, it seemed simple.

But in this world, being able to bypass any lock silently? That was the difference between success and death.

"Looks like I’m going to need to brush up on my sneaking skills."

Doran caught my eye, a playful glint flickering behind his scar. "And that’s just the start."

I ignored him for the moment and turned my attention to the relics scattered nearby.

[King’s Ring]

[Item Type: Ring]

A simple band once worn by the Grave King.

Can hold any non-living object inside, regardless of size or weight.

------

[Veil Mask]

Item Type: Accessory

A plain golden mask once favored by the Sovereign.

Distorts others’ senses, making it difficult to clearly identify the wearer.

[Hidden Trait]: Alters the appearance and voice of the wearer for two hour. Can be used once per day.



----

Normally, the rest of the artifacts in the game were just background fluff—little extras meant to add flavor.

But now that this wasn’t just a game anymore, these relics had real power.

I slipped a few things from my backpack into the King’s Ring. The weight on my shoulders instantly lessened.

Without an inventory screen, this ring might just be my best tool for carrying everything I needed.

And the mask? Its effects were subtle but unmistakable.

Just putting it on made the air feel different—like the room itself was warping around me, making it harder for anyone watching to catch my exact movements.

This wasn’t just equipment.

It was a new way of bending reality.

Doran smirked beside me, clearly enjoying how fascinated I was.

"How about giving me one of these?" he teased, nodding toward the relics I carried.

I shot him a glare. "Shut up. I’m never doing that."

"Tch! You’re no fun."

Without warning, he placed his hand over his face and slowly peeled it off like it was a mask.

Rip.

The skin—his face—fell to the ground, fluttering like a discarded cloak.

"So, is this your real look?" I asked, trying to keep my guard up but failing to hide my surprise.

Without the scar over his right eye—one of his most distinctive features—he looked completely different. The rough, mercenary edge vanished, replaced by the plain, weathered face of a middle-aged man.

’He’s damn good with disguises. I wouldn’t recognize him even if we passed each other on the street.’

Doran caught my thoughts and chuckled. "Who knows? I’ll leave that one to your imagination."

Before I could respond, he swapped his coat in a blink, now dressed like a dirt-smudged farmer.

"Remember this," he said, voice low and serious. "A master thief has to keep their everyday look and their thieving disguise worlds apart."

"To avoid trouble, right?" I guessed.

"Not just trouble," he corrected me sharply. "In this line of work, it’s a matter of life and death."

He fixed me with a steady gaze. "If you slip up even once, it’s over. So you learn to vanish before anyone even knows you were there."

I nodded, the weight of his words sinking in.

This wasn’t just about stealing shiny things. This was survival.

And if I wanted to survive—and thrive—I had to master the art of becoming no one.

"Here. Take this."

Without warning, Doran tossed something at me.

I caught it by reflex—a worn, leather-bound book. The kind you’d see in old martial arts novels or manhwa, pages yellowed with age, spine cracked from years of use.

I raised an eyebrow. "What is this?"

"It’s an technique," he said casually. "You need to learn it."

Curious, I flipped it open. Each page was filled with hand-drawn illustrations and accompanying notes—precise stances, flowing movements, breathing patterns. My eyes narrowed.

"...It’s a assassination footwork technique."

"Exactly," Doran said, folding his arms. "Memorize every step. I don’t take lazy students."

I glanced up from the book, deadpan. "You said you were going to teach me personally."

He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I did say that, huh? Well... slight change of plans."

"Let me guess," I sighed.

He pointed at himself with both thumbs. "Currently being hunted by the Western Duke. His hounds are annoyingly persistent."

I couldn’t argue with that. Last I heard, the Western Duke had put a hefty bounty on Doran’s head. Posters were probably already plastered across half the continent.

"...Fine," I muttered, closing the book. "Can’t blame you for not sticking around to get stabbed."

"Exactly!" he said, cheerful. "You get it."

It really couldn’t be helped. He was on the run, and I had my own problems to deal with.

I was heading north soon anyway.

This book would do for now.

"So, we’ll meet in the north next time," I said, tucking the manual away.

Doran raised a brow. "The north? Why the sudden detour?"

"My so-called ’everyday life’ is tied up with a northern ducal house," I replied. "I have to be there in about a week and a half. If I don’t show up... well, let’s just say the consequences won’t be pretty."



"A northern ducal house?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "Draken, maybe?"

I gave him a tight smile. "Something like that."

He let out a low whistle. "You’ve got a rough road ahead."

"Tell me something I don’t know."

We stood there in silence for a moment, the ruined dungeon around us still and quiet. Then he clapped me on the shoulder.

"Don’t die before our next lesson."

"No promises."

With that, Doran disappeared into the shadows—just like his title suggested.

And me?

I turned toward the exit, clutching the assassination manual under my arm.

It was time to move north.

And start walking this deadly path for real.