Chapter 59: Level 5 Assassin

I felt the blade before I saw it.

A thin, dark dagger stopped less than an inch from my throat. The cold steel radiated a faint metallic bite against my skin, sending a subtle shiver down my neck.

Standing behind me was a guard dressed in black leather armor, his face covered by a tight cloth mask.

His eyes were completely bloodshot, filled with an unnatural reddish tinge, and his mana pathways were visibly pulsing with thick black threads under my vision. The guy smelled faintly of dried sweat and dark mana corruption.

"A little rat broke into the Count’s office," the assassin whispered, his voice sounding like two heavy grinding stones rubbing together in a dry cave. "How unfortunate for you, child. What is a brat like you doing snooping around high noble property?"

He didn’t know I was a locksmith. He thought I was just some curious noble kid who wandered into the wrong room, looking for a toy or escaping the boring speeches downstairs.

"Wait," I said, raising my small hands innocently in front of my chest. "I was just looking for the bathroom. I think I took a wrong turn at the main corridor."

The assassin let out a cold, dry laugh that lacked any real humor. "A wrong turn that led straight past a heavy oak door, behind a hidden oil painting, and right in front of a locked star steel safe? Do you take me for an absolute idiot, boy?"

"Well, all the doors look the same in this huge place," I replied, forcing a nervous tremble into my voice while widening my eyes to look as small and harmless as possible. "Everything is made of polished wood and fancy gold trim. Can we just pretend I wasn’t here? I won’t tell anyone you were creeping around in the dark either. We can just walk away and pretend this never happened."

"You really think you have any room to bargain with me?" The assassin pressed the flat of his dark blade slightly closer against my neck, forcing me to tilt my chin up. "Who sent you here? Was it Duke Voulstridge? Or one of the other grand council members trying to dig up dirt on House Cecilion?"

"Nobody sent me," I grumbled softly, letting out a small whimper that sounded completely convincing. "I just wanted to see if there were any sweets inside the room. The cake downstairs ran out fast."

"A thief and a liar,!" the assassin growled, his grip tightening on the hilt of his weapon. "Whatever master sent you made a mistake employing a child."

"I’m fucking serious," I whined gently. "If you let me go right now, I promise I won’t eat any more strawberry tarts."

"Lie to the dead," the assassin growled, stepping back half a pace to thrust the dark dagger directly toward my heart.

He was fast, probably a Level 5 physical assassin. His movements were smooth, practiced, and backed by years of lethal conditioning.

But I didn’t need to dodge.

Locksmith’s Eye!

My vision shifted instantly into the golden grid of structural mana pathways. The world around me slowed down into a sequence of glowing lines and internal tumblers.

I identified his body’s primary mana pathway. It was the main control node located right near his collarbone that allowed him to circulate physical enhancement magic down into his arms and legs.

To my vision, it looked just like a tightly wound spring mechanism holding back a massive reservoir of compressed force.

Close!

I slammed my golden mana directly into his collarbone node, locking the flow instantly like slamming a heavy iron deadbolt shut inside a brass keyhole.

The assassin’s body froze mid-thrust. The physical enhancement magic supporting his explosive muscle speed vanished instantly, causing his heavy body to stumble forward awkwardly from his own unchecked momentum.

I ducked neatly under his outstretched blade, pulled out my trusty iron lockpick from my sleeve, and struck the primary nerve point located right behind his left knee.

Thump!

The grown assassin crashed face-first onto the thick carpeted floor, unable to move a single muscle because his mana pathways were completely locked in place and his nervous system was temporarily short-circuited.

His eyes widened in utter disbelief and horror as he lay pinned to the floor, staring up at an eight-year-old boy looking down at him with cold, calm eyes. His breathing came in ragged gasps as he realized his body was no longer obeying his brain.

"Who... what are you...?" he choked out, his voice trembling with genuine terror now.

"Just a locksmith," I replied softly.

I leaned down and searched his heavy leather coat, rummaging through his inner pockets until my fingers brushed against a cold piece of metal. I pulled out a small black iron token stamped with the exact same serpent emblem I had seen in Count Cecilion’s hidden ledger.

"What is a Level 5 assassin doing carrying a token for the Black Circle?" I asked, holding the cold black token right in front of his bloodshot eyes.

The assassin gasped for breath, his eyes twitching in violent shock as he stared at the emblem. "You... how do you know that name? A kid like you shouldn’t know anything about the Circle."

"I know a lot of things," I said, crouching down beside his paralyzed form. "Like how Count Cecilion is paying enormous sums of gold for corrupted subterranean monster cores. Or how those nasty black threads creeping through your chest are slowly eating away at your natural mana circuit."

The assassin’s jaw tightened in sheer terror. "You can see my internal mana pathways? That’s impossible. Not even archmages from the Royal Academy can analyze internal magic circuits without a specialized divine artifact."

"I told you, I’m a locksmith," I said, twirling my iron pick between my fingers. "And right now, your body is built like a very poorly maintained lock mechanism. The dark mana you’re using isn’t yours. It’s parasitic. It’s slowly locking up your own life force from the inside out."

"Shut up," the assassin hissed, trying frantically to twitch his fingers, though my golden mana lock held firm. "You know nothing about the glorious work we are doing."

"Glorious work?" I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. "You mean triggering dungeon breaks that murder innocent commoners in the West District? Or corrupting ancient spirits just to see how much chaos you can cause?"

"The world needs to be cleansed," the assassin growled, his bloodshot eyes glaring up at me with fanatical devotion. "When the true master awakens, all of you will crawl on your knees."

"Right, the ancient entity" I noted casually. "I saw the transaction records in the safe. Who gave you that black mana infusion? Was it Count Cecilion, or does he just handle the money?"

The assassin’s eyes widened even further at the mention of the sewer conduit. "You... you read the entire ledger?"

"Every page," I lied smoothly to gauge his reaction. "Including the coordinates for the lower distribution records."

"You’re a demon!" the assassin whispered, his voice cracking. "No child could do this. The Circle will hunt you down. They will find your family, your friends, and everyone who ever looked at you. They will erase your entire bloodline from the kingdom."

"You guys really love dramatic threats, don’t you?" I sighed, rolling my eyes in mild annoyance. "Is there a script you all read before joining this cult?"

"Go to hell," he spat out, his teeth grinding together in rage.

"Fair enough," I said, standing up and dusting off my knees. "I didn’t expect a fanatical hired blade to give me an organizational chart anyway."

I leaned down once more and tapped his neck near the base of his throat with my pointer finger.

Close.

I locked his vocal cords so he couldn’t scream or make a sound, ensuring he would remain completely silent inside the study.

Next came the annoying part. I was still in the body of an eight-year-old child, and dragging a full-grown man dressed in heavy leather armor was an absolute nightmare for my small frame.

I grabbed the collar of his leather vest, gritting my teeth as I hauled him inch by inch across the carpet toward the dark storage closet in the back corner of the room.

"Fucking heavy! You really need to go on a diet," I muttered under my breath, wiping sweat from my forehead as I dragged his lifeless weight. "Why do assassins always wear so much useless iron padding?"