Chapter 13: The Misunderstanding

  Age: 10 Years Old.Location: The Foggy Swamp – Border of Zone 2 & Zone 3.

  The Black Vipers were not common thugs. They were the Queen’s scalpel. When a Duke became too loud, they were the silence. When a village refused to pay taxes, they were the fire.

  They were a squad of five men, all Rank 3 (High) Assassins. In the geopolitical landscape of the continent, this squad was an absurdity of wealth and power. A Rank 3 was not a foot soldier. They were Elites the Vice-Captains of Knight Orders, capable of slaughtering a hundred normal men alone. A Rank 4 was a Commander, a leader of armies. A Rank 5 was a living legend, a name respected across borders, treated as a guest of honor by Kings. And Rank 6? They were the Rulers of Nations, or hidden monsters who had long abandoned worldly desires like fame and gold. Most Rank 6 masters vanished into the mountains to seek higher power, or guarded the world's most dangerous seals. They were nuclear deterrents, summoned by Kings only when the Kingdom itself faced annihilation.

  To have five Rank 3 experts working in the shadows as mere hitmen... it was a testament to Queen Isabella’s paranoia and her bottomless budget.

  Thorne, the Captain, wiped a smear of green slime from his leather pauldron. He hated this place. "Check in," he whispered, his voice carried by a wind spell to his team.

  "Why does Her Majesty care about a ten-year-old cripple?" one of his subordinates asked, wiping slime off his boot. "He's trash. Why send us?"

  "It's not about the brat," Thorne spat, looking around the eerie swamp. "It's about his sister. Princess Elena." Thorne lowered his voice. "The girl has awakened as a Saintess. She is the most valuable asset in the Kingdom. But she is unstable.

  The Queen is smart. She knows that to control the dog, you must hold the leash. This boy... Cain Valerius... he is the leash. We bring him back, the Queen plays the 'Benevolent Savior,' and the Saintess becomes her loyal puppet forever."

  "So he's a pet," the subordinate laughed.

  "Viper 2, clear. Just mud." "Viper 3, clear. I hate these bugs." "Viper 4, clear." "Viper 5... wait. I found a footprint."

  Thorne signaled for a halt. The squad converged silently on Viper 5’s position. They gathered around a patch of mud near a massive, rotting mangrove root. Viper 5 pointed down. "Look, Captain."

  It was a footprint. But it wasn't human. It was too deep. The shape was strange humanoid, but the toes were splayed wide for grip, and the impact force suggested something weighing over 200 kilograms. "An Orc?" Viper 2 suggested, hand drifting to his poisoned daggers.

  "No," Thorne shook his head, analyzing the track with his Mana Sense. "Too small for an Orc. And look at the stride length. It was running... on two legs... carrying something heavy." He looked deeper into the mist. "The report said the target is a ten-year-old boy. A cripple with a Mana Clog. This... this isn't him."

  "Maybe he was eaten?" Viper 3 chuckled nervously. "And this is the thing that ate him?"

  "Likely," Thorne stood up. "But the Queen pays for confirmation. We need a body, or a piece of clothing with the family crest. Push forward into Zone 3. Formation Delta."

  They moved out. They thought they were the hunters. They moved with magical silence, their boots enchanted to muffle sound. They used optical camouflage spells to blend into the foliage. To a normal eye, they were invisible.

  But they forgot one thing. They were entering a domain where "Magic" was just a dinner bell.

  The King of the Swamp.

  Three hundred meters away. I was sitting on the skull of a Rank 3 Iron-Hide Rhino. The beast had been a tough fight. Its skin was immune to slashing attacks, so I had to use Internal Force to liquefy its organs without breaking the skin. A good workout.

  I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I was ten years old now. I had grown taller. My frame was lean, like a whipcord. My skin was ghost-white, a stark contrast to the black markings of mud and dried blood that usually covered me. My hair was a wild mane of black silk, tied back with a piece of tendon. I wore a vest made of Rhino leather (freshly harvested) and trousers made of Crocodile skin. On my back rested Nameless. The cleaver had rusted even more over the years, looking like a piece of scrap metal. But looks were deceiving. It was now infused with three years of my Qi. It weighed nearly 80 kilograms.

  Crunch. I bit into a Purple Swamp Apple. It was sour, acidic, and poisonous to normal humans. To me, it was a refreshing snack full of vitamins.

  "Master," a voice whispered from the tree above me.

  I didn't look up. "Report, Lys."

  Lysandra dropped down. At nine years old, she was turning into a deadly shadow. Her gray skin blended perfectly with the bark. She wore dual bone daggers at her waist. "Five intruders," she said, her voice devoid of fear. "Humans. High mana signatures. They are moving tactically. Not adventurers."

  I took another bite of the apple. "Assassins?"

  "Likely. They have the Queen's crest hidden on their inner armor. I saw it when one of them adjusted his gear."

  I smirked. "So, the Queen finally remembered I exist. Took her three years. She's getting slow."

  "Orders?" Lys asked, her hand hovering over her weapons. "Do we kill them?"

  I chewed thoughtfully. "They are Rank 3s. That's good XP. But simply killing them is wasteful. We need supplies. Salt. Spices. Maybe some actual cloth that isn't made of monster butt." I stood up, grabbing Nameless. "We'll play with them. I want to test the Fourth Stage techniques."

  "Understood," Lys vanished back into the foliage.

  I stretched my neck. Crack. Crack. I felt the dense power circulating in my limbs. At Rank 3 (High), my physical strength finally matched that of an elite Official Knight.

  "Welcome to the jungle, gentlemen."

  The Trap.

  Thorne was getting nervous. The deeper they went, the quieter it got. Zone 2 was full of noise monkeys, birds, insects. But here? It was a vacuum. Even the wind seemed afraid to blow.

  "Captain," Viper 4 whispered. "Do you feel that?"

  "Feel what?"

  "The Killing Intent. It's... thick. It feels like we're walking inside a stomach."

  Thorne felt it too. It wasn't the sharp, directed killing intent of a warrior. It was a heavy, ambient pressure. The pressure of an Apex Predator that had marked its territory.

  Suddenly, the mist ahead parted. They entered a clearing. In the center, sitting on a massive white boulder, was a boy.

  Thorne signaled a halt. He squinted. Black hair. Pale skin. About ten years old. It matched the description. But the report said "weak, sickly, mute." This boy was eating a poisonous apple like it was candy. His muscles, though small, were defined and dense. And that sword... that slab of iron on his back... it looked too heavy for a grown man to lift, let alone a child.

  ‘This is wrong,’ Thorne’s instincts screamed. ‘Abort mission.’

  Even if his squad was technically stronger on paper, his experience was screaming at him to run. No amount of money was worth this level of risk.

  The fear gripping Thorne’s heart wasn't due to a difference in Mana. If it were just a contest of magical power, his five elite Assassins could easily take down one boy. No, the terrifying weight he felt was Killing Intent.

  Killing Intent wasn't some magical spell or invisible string. It was something only true veterans could see. It was the ability to read the microscopic details of a predator how they sat, how they breathed, how they looked at you without a shred of hesitation. A normal person would just see a child sitting on a rock. But Thorne saw the truth.

  He saw a posture refined by a lifetime of slaughter. He saw eyes that had watched thousands die. Cain’s body was practically radiating the aura of a mass murderer from his past life, a scent of blood so thick it choked the air.

  ‘He isn't a child,’ Thorne realized, his hand trembling on his hilt. ‘He is a veteran wearing a child’s skin.’

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  But just as he was about to order the retreat, greed whispered in his ear. The Queen had promised a Title for the boy's head.

  Thorne stepped forward, putting on his "Benevolent Knight" face. He sheathed his daggers and spread his hands, smiling warmly. "Young Master Cain!" Thorne shouted, his voice dripping with practiced relief. "By the Gods! We found you! Your father sent us! We've been searching for years!"

  It was the standard 'Rescue Protocol.' Lower the target's guard with hope, get close, then snap their neck.

  The boy stopped chewing. He looked at Thorne. His eyes were dull red. Dead eyes. "My father," the boy rasped, his voice deep and rough, "wouldn't send men who smell like arsenic and bloodroot."

  Thorne froze. ‘He smelled the poison on my blades from twenty meters away?’

  "I assure you!" Thorne stepped closer. "We are Royal Guards! We are here to take you home to your sister! Princess Elena misses you!"

  The boy tilted his head. "Elena?" For a second, a spark of humanity appeared in those red eyes. Then it vanished, replaced by amusement.

  "If you knew Elena," the boy said, "you would know she hates men with bad fashion sense. Leather and velvet? Tacky."

  Thorne’s smile twitched. "Enough games. Come with us, boy. Or we will have to use force for your own safety."

  The boy sighed. He tossed the apple core over his shoulder. "Only five?" he muttered. "I was hoping for a bigger loot drop."

  Thorne blinked. "What?"

  "XP," the boy said a word Thorne didn't understand. "Well, whatever. Lys, take the left flank. I'll take the trash in the middle."

  ‘Lys?’ Thorne thought. ‘Who is Lys?’

  Suddenly, the mist to the left screamed. Hiss. A blur of gray shadow moved through the fog. Viper 2, the team’s scout, gasped. He reached for his throat. A thin red line appeared. Then, his face turned purple. He fell to his knees, clawing at his neck as his veins turned black. Thud. Dead in three seconds.

  "Ambush!" Thorne roared, drawing his poisoned daggers. "Kill him! Kill the brat!"

  The "Benevolent Knight" mask shattered instantly. The four remaining assassins charged at the boy on the rock. They were Rank 3 experts. They reinforced their bodies with Mana, moving faster than the eye could follow. Viper 3 lunged with a spear. Viper 4 and 5 flanked with swords. Thorne aimed for the heart.

  It was a perfect kill box. But the boy didn't move. He just watched them come, looking bored.

  "Formation A!" Thorne yelled. "Pincer attack!"

  Just as their blades were about to make contact... Zwoom. The boy vanished.

  "What?!" Thorne slashed at empty air. The rock where the boy sat was empty.

  "Too slow," a voice whispered behind him.

  Thorne spun around. The boy was standing behind the formation. He wasn't holding the cleaver yet. He was unarmed.

  "You guys rely too much on Mana," Cain said, sounding like a disappointed teacher. "Your footwork is loud. Your breathing is chaotic. You announce your attacks with your Killing Intent. Is this the standard of the Royal Assassins? Pathetic."

  "Shut up and die, monster!" Viper 3 screamed, thrusting his spear, the tip glowing with wind magic.

  Cain didn't dodge. He stepped into the thrust. Form 1: Shadowless Step. He slipped past the spear tip by a millimeter. The wind magic ruffled his hair, but didn't cut him. He raised his free hand. His fingers were coated in a dark, dense energy that wasn't Mana. It was heavy. Oppressive. Form 2: Iron-Crushing Claw.

  Snap. Cain grabbed the spear shaft made of reinforced steel-wood and snapped it like a dry twig. In the same motion, his hand continued forward and clamped onto Viper 3’s face.

  "Sleep," Cain whispered.

  He slammed the man’s head into the mud. CRACK. The sound was sickening. The assassin’s skull collapsed like an eggshell. The man went limp instantly.

  "He... he crushed a Rank 3 barrier with his bare hand?!" Viper 4 yelled, terrified. He swung his sword in a panic. "Die!"

  Cain didn't even look at him. He reached over his shoulder and grabbed the handle of Nameless. He didn't draw it gracefully. He ripped it off his back. He swung. He didn't use a technique. He just used brute force and the sheer weight of the 80kg iron slab.

  CLANG. Viper 4’s fine steel sword an enchanted blade worth 50 gold shattered upon impact. The cleaver didn't stop. It continued its arc and hit Viper 4 in the chest. SPLAT. There was no cutting sound. It was the sound of a tomato being hit by a sledgehammer. Viper 4 was launched ten meters backward, his ribcage pulverized. He hit a tree and slid down, dead before he hit the ground.

  Thorne froze. Three men down in ten seconds. This wasn't a fight. This was feeding time.

  "Who... who are you?" Thorne stammered, backing away. "The report said you were a cripple! A mana-less defect!"

  "I am," Cain said, flicking a piece of lung tissue off his cleaver. "I have zero Mana."

  He took a step forward. The killing intent rolling off him was suffocating. It wasn't the angry heat of a warrior; it was the cold, infinite void of an abyss. "But who decided that Mana is the only power in this world?"

  Thorne turned to run. "Abort! Retreat!"

  He sprinted toward the treeline. He was the Captain. He was the fastest. He had Wind Magic. He could escape. He activated [Haste]. His speed doubled. He reached the edge of the clearing. Freedom.

  Then, a shadow dropped from the trees. Lysandra. She didn't land with a thud. She landed like a feather. She stood in his path, holding two bone daggers. Her purple eyes glowed with cold malice.

  "Move, Elf!" Thorne slashed at her, desperate. Lys didn't block. She weaved under his blade like liquid smoke. She slashed his Achilles tendon. Slice.

  "Argh!" Thorne collapsed, screaming. He tried to crawl, but his leg was burning. The cut wasn't deep, but the poison... it felt like liquid fire was rushing up his veins, turning his blood to acid.

  "Master said to leave one alive," Lys said, her voice devoid of emotion. She kicked his sword away.

  Thorne rolled onto his back, wheezing. Cain walked over. He towered over the fallen Captain, blocking out the moonlight. Cain looked down at him with those dull, red eyes.

  "P-Please..." Thorne begged, clutching his useless leg. Tears streamed down his face. "I... I was just following orders! The Queen... she forced me! I have a family!"

  Cain crouched down. He didn't look angry. He didn't look vengeful. He looked bored.

  "I don't care about your family," Cain said calmly. "And I don't care about your Queen." He reached into Thorne’s pocket and pulled out a pouch of gold coins, a map, and a small bag of salt. "Oh? High-grade rock salt. Nice."

  "What... what are you going to do?" Thorne whispered.

  Cain stood up. "I'm going to let you go."

  Thorne’s eyes widened in hope. "Really?"

  "Yes. Because I need a messenger." Cain leaned in. His eyes flashed Crimson. For a split second, Thorne saw an illusion behind the boy a mountain of corpses, a sea of blood, and a smiling demon sitting on a throne of bone. Thorne pissed himself. "P-Please..." Thorne begged, clutching his useless leg. Tears streamed down his face. "I... I was just following orders! The Queen... she forced me! I have a family!"

  Cain crouched down. He stared at Thorne for a long, uncomfortable silence. Then, he tilted his head.

  "You have a family?" Cain asked, his voice sounding genuinely curious. "Are they tasty?"

  Thorne froze. "W-What?"

  "I'm joking," Cain deadpanned. He didn't smile. "That was a joke. You're supposed to laugh."

  Thorne let out a strangled, terrified squeak that might have been a laugh in a different dimension. "H-Heh..."

  "Good," Cain nodded, satisfied. "Now, listen carefully, Mr. Assassin. I have a dilemma." Cain began counting on his fingers, looking very serious. "If I kill you, I have to hide your body. That's manual labor. I hate manual labor." "If I let you go and you tell the Queen the truth... she sends a Rank 4 Commander next week. Then I have to kill him. Then she sends a Rank 5 General. Then I have to run away. That is very annoying. I have farming to do."

  Cain looked at Thorne as if he were a broken tool. "You see my problem? You are very inconvenient."

  Thorne trembled. "I... I won't tell! I swear!"

  "Of course you won't tell," Cain said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his own shirt the one he was wearing and ripped a chunk of fabric off the shoulder. It had the Valerius Family Crest on it. He tossed the dirty, torn rag onto Thorne’s chest.

  "Here is the script," Cain said, sounding like a strict theater director. "You went into the swamp. You found me. But alas! Tragedy struck!" Cain gasped dramatically, putting a hand on his chest. "A giant Swamp Crocodile appeared! Chomp! Poor Young Master Cain was eaten in one bite! All that remained was this bloody shirt!"

  Thorne stared at the rag. "You... you want me to report you dead?"

  "Yes. If I'm dead, the Queen stops spending money to hunt me. She is a stingy woman, isn't she? She'll be happy to save the budget."

  "But..." Thorne hesitated. He looked at Cain’s cold eyes, then swallowed his fear. "But... your father. Baron Valerius. If the official report says you died... it will destroy him. And your sister."

  Cain stopped. The playful insanity in his eyes dimmed for a second. He looked toward the direction of the Capital. "Ah. The Old Man. And the Crybaby." He scratched his head. "You're right. If Father thinks I'm dead, he might do something stupid. Like invade the swamp with an army to recover my corpse. That would ruin my vegetable garden."

  Cain sighed. "Fine. Extra work." He grabbed Thorne’s collar and pulled him close. "You are going to be a Double Agent. To the Queen, I am dead. You will cry crocodile tears and present this shirt." "But..." Cain’s eyes narrowed. "You will find a way to slip a message to my father. Secretly. Do not let the Queen know. Do not let the spies know."

  "A... a message?" Thorne asked. "What should I write? 'I'm alive'?"

  "No, you idiot. If you write that, the Queen's spies might intercept it." Cain tapped his chin. "Tell him this exactly: 'The snake jerky was delicious.'"

  Thorne blinked. "The... snake jerky?"

  "He will understand," Cain said. "It's an inside joke. Very funny. He'll laugh." (It wasn't a joke. It was the conversation they had in the carriage three years ago. It was proof that Cain was still eating well, still hunting, and still the same "Wolf" he was back then.)

  Cain stood up and snapped his fingers. "Lys, give him the juice."

  "Yes, Master." Lysandra appeared from the shadows holding a small vial of green liquid. She poured it onto Thorne’s slashed leg. Hiss. Thorne screamed as the liquid bubbled. "Argh! What is that?!"

  "Antidote," Cain said. "If we didn't give you that, your heart would have stopped in ten minutes. You can't be my mailman if you're dead."

  Cain patted Thorne’s cheek. The assassin flinched violently. "Go now, Thorne. Become the hero who confirmed my death. Get your reward. Live a long, happy life." Cain’s face suddenly dropped all emotion. He looked like a corpse. "But if you betray me... or if you fail to deliver the message to my father..." He leaned into Thorne’s ear. "I will find you. I will peel your skin off. And I will use it to make a very nice pair of boots. I need new boots. Size 9."

  Thorne scrambled backward, nodding so fast his neck almost snapped. "I understand! I'll do it! Snake jerky! Dead by crocodile! I understand!"

  "Good dog." Cain waved his hand dismissively. "Now shoo. You're ruining the ambiance."

  Thorne didn't look back. He got up, limping heavily but alive. He clutched the torn shirt to his chest like it was a holy relic. He ran. He ran faster than he had ever run in his life. He had come to kill a cripple. He was leaving as the terrified, confused, and unwilling subordinate of the craziest monster in the kingdom.

  The Aftermath.

  He tossed a steel dagger Viper 4's backup weapon to Lys. "Good work on the ambush. Your stealth has improved. You completely masked your killing intent until the strike."

  Lys caught the dagger. A rare blush colored her gray cheeks. "Thank you... Master."

  Cain looked at the mutilated bodies of the assassins. "Strip them. We need the leather armor leather is actually quite durable, though the stitching is shoddy. And check for spices. These royal dogs usually carry good rations."

  "Yes, Master!" Lys chirped, happily looting the corpses of the elite killers as if picking flowers.

  Cain took another bite of his apple.

  He turned back to his camp. "Tonight, we feast on salted pork and assassin rations. Tomorrow... we hunt the Hydra King."