The Underworld Mercenary Guild’s private quarters smelled of stale tobacco and rain.
Raven sat behind her dark oak desk, her broad-brimmed hat tilted forward, blowing a ring of blue cigar smoke toward the ceiling. Her sharp blue eyes flicked over me as I walked into the room, taking in my muddy jeans and chipped dual katanas.
Behind me, Valeska sheathed her greatsword, her six-foot-two obsidian frame standing in the doorway like a shadow.
"You’re back early," Raven noted, her voice carrying a dry, amused edge. "Did you clear all three floors already?"
I collapsed into the leather chair opposite her desk and let out a long, dry laugh. "We cleared Floor 3. Then the dungeon literally kicked us out."
Raven paused, the blue cigar hovering near her lips. "Kicked you out?"
"The ancient stone slab at the gate of Floor 4 had a message," I said, rubbing my temples. "It said we were ’over-worthy’ and ejected us because Valeska obliterated the Floor 3 forces too fast."
Raven stared at me for three seconds. Then, she threw her head back and let out a husky, genuine laugh that echoed off the stone walls.
"Over-worthy," Raven chuckled, shaking her head as she took another drag. "The ancient automated arrays of Erebos weren’t programmed to handle an SSS-Tier Calamity entity. It assumed you were cheating the system."
"Yeah, well, it was deeply insulting," I muttered. "So what’s the next move? The Imperial Archons are still hunting the city?"
Raven’s smile faded, her blue eyes turning serious. She tapped her cigar against the wooden desk, ash falling onto a parchment map of Sol-Valen.
"I have a new job for you," Raven said softly. "This job requires a clean, silent elimination. An assassination. No loud explosions. No city-destroying fire. Just a blade through the heart before anyone knows you were there."
I looked at my hands. "Raven, I’m a former night-shift security guard. My idea of stealth is hiding behind a mop bucket when my supervisor walks by."
"Which is why you’re going to learn," Raven said, standing up from her desk and tossing her blue cigar into a tray. "Follow me."
Raven led us deep into the underground catacombs beneath Oakhaven, past three hidden iron doors locked with blood-magic seals.
The air down here was bone-chillingly cold, reeking of venom, damp moss, and copper.
We emerged into a circular, cavernous arena constructed from smooth, jet-black obsidian. Five figures stood scattered around the room in absolute silence.
They wore skin-tight, dark leather uniforms with silver serpent-scales lining their collars and wrists. None of them carried heavy weapons—only thin, curved stilettos and bundles of long, black needles tucked into their belts.
The moment Valeska and I stepped into the arena, all five figures turned their heads in unison.
Their eyes were cold, unblinking, and devoid of any human warmth. They looked at me with a flat, dispassionate assessment of a predator looking at a piece of raw meat.
"The Shadow-Serpent Order," Raven introduced, stopping at the edge of the pit. "Sol-Valen’s most lethal assassination group. They don’t take contracts from nobles, and they don’t answer to the Church."
To these elite killers, my F-Rank status and frail body made me look like a helpless child holding a toy sword.
A man stepped out from the shadows at the center of the pit.
He was lean, six feet tall, with pale skin and slicked-back, silver-black hair. A deep scar ran from his left jaw down to his collarbone, and his eyes were a pale, sickly yellow—like the eyes of a viper. In his right hand, he casually twirled a single, long, black needle between his fingers.
Master Vane. Leader of the Shadow-Serpent Order.
"Raven," Vane said, his voice a low, raspy hiss that sounded like dry scales sliding over stone. "You brought a child into my pit."
"You know everything," Raven replied calmly.
Vane’s yellow eyes flicked toward me, examining my stance, my dual katanas, and my posture.
"Hmm..... His center of gravity is loose. His breathing is loud. His muscles are stiff," Vane hissed, flipping the needle between his knuckles. "He will die ten times before he even reaches his target’s shadow."
I hastily reacted, drawing one of my katanas and stepping into the pit. "Then teach me how not to die."
Vane smirked, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. "That’s the Spirit, rejoice."
’I fucked up again. Didn’t I? Fuck meeee. I wanna dieee. That motherfucker is definitely gonna break me now.’
The next two weeks were a nightmare that made Valeska’s physical beatings feel like a massage.
Vane didn’t teach me how to swing a sword. He taught me how to destroy the human body from the shadows.
Lesson One: The Zero-Breath Posture. Vane forced me to stand on a single, narrow wooden peg over a pit of rusty spikes for six hours straight. If my chest rose too high during an inhale, he flicked a black needle directly into my shoulder nerve, instantly paralyzing my arm.
I learned to breathe through my stomach, reducing my heart rate and muffling the sound of my own pulse until I was virtually silent.
Lesson Two: Bone-Dislocation Movement. To fit through tight, anti-magical vents and narrow corridors, Vane manually dislocated my shoulders and hips, forcing me to crawl through obsidian tunnels while my joints were out of alignment.
CRACK!
"Aaargh!" I gasped, my forehead pressed against the cold stone as my right shoulder popped out of its socket.
[Innate Trait: [Endless Resilience Lv. 1] Active!]
[Joint Dislocation Detected...]
My trait tried to automatically snap the joint back into place, but Vane immediately stepped on my shoulder, driving a long, black Night-Shade Needle directly into my neck nerve.
BZZZZT!
A cold, paralytic poison flooded through my bloodstream.
[WARNING: Night-Shade Toxin Detected!]
[Effect: Passive Regeneration Suppressed by 80%!]
"Your trait is impressive, boy," Vane hissed, stepping off my shoulder as I lay panting in the dark tunnel. "It knits your bones quite instantly. But in true assassination, relying on automatic healing makes you careless. My needles will keep your regeneration locked. Now... popping the joint yourself and crawl."
The Mock Test: At the end of the second week, Vane stood in the center of the dark arena, his hands tucked behind his back.
"The test is simple," Vane said, his yellow eyes tracking me in the dim light. "Assassinate me. Use your katanas, your gauntlet, your traits. If you touch my collar before I drop you, you pass."
I moved.
Using the Zero-Breath Posture, I vanished into the shadows of the arena without making a single sound. I didn’t channel Aether—I suppressed it completely.
I flanked Vane from behind, stepping out of the darkness like a ghost, and drove my right katana toward his throat—Ci.
CLANG!
Vane didn’t even turn around. He raised a single black needle behind his back, catching the edge of my katana with impossible precision.
Before I could pull back, his left foot swept backward, catching my ankle.
BOOM!
I slammed face-first into the obsidian floor. Before I could scramble up, Vane’s boot pressed against the back of my neck, and three Night-Shade Needles bit into my spine.
"Test failed," Vane hissed. "Your blade carried intent. A true assassin strikes without intent. Again."
We repeated the mock test twenty times.
I tried flanking from above. Vane flicked a needle into my knee mid-air, sending me crashing down.
I tried using [Ashen Pulse] from the shadows. Vane read the Aether gathering in my gauntlet a millisecond before it fired, stepping behind me and driving a needle into my kidney.
Every single attempt ended with me smashed into the floor, my muscles screaming, and my body riddled with non-lethal, regeneration-suppressing poison.
Late that night.
I lay on the wooden bed in my private room inside the Shadow-Serpent sanctuary.
The room was dimly lit by a single, dying alchemical candle on the desk. Outside, the rain tapped steadily against the stone balcony.
"Ugh... gah..." I groaned, trying to turn onto my side.
Every single muscle in my body felt like it was being gnawed on by fire ants. The Night-Shade Needles Vane had driven into my spine and neck earlier were gone, but the non-lethal toxin was still circulating through my blood, actively locking down [Endless Resilience].
My body couldn’t automatically heal the deep muscle tears and nerve damage. I was forced to feel every single ounce of the excruciating ache.
I couldn’t sleep. The pain was too sharp, the throbbing in my back too intense.
Sighing, I forced myself out of bed. My legs trembled under my weight, but I managed to drag myself across the cold stone floor, pushing open the heavy wooden door leading out onto the terrace.
The cold night wind hit my face, washing away the smell of copper and sweat.
I leaned my elbows against the stone railing of the terrace, looking out over the misty, rain-soaked canopy of the Shadowfen forest below. The moon hung high in the sky, draping pale silver light over the dark trees and the distant, glowing towers of Oakhaven.
I looked at my calloused, bruised hands resting on the cold stone.
Tonight, I had survived twenty rounds against Sol-Valen’s most lethal assassin.
I was getting broken every single day. But slowly, painfully, I was becoming something that couldn’t be easily killed. ’I think I am starting to enjoy this....’
"Still awake, mortal?"
A quiet, grinding voice echoed in my head.
I didn’t turn around. I just kept looking out at the moonlit forest, a tired, bloody smirk creeping onto my face.
"Yeah," I murmured into the cold wind. "Just enjoying the view."