As a top-tier swordman-class awakener, Old Jaque had seen and practiced many powerful sword arts in his life.
And he had never once lost in battle.
But against John—against that utterly harmless-looking sword swing—he had been utterly defeated, reduced to a pitiful mess.
Something was off.
After calming down from the shock, Old Jaque began to suspect that John might secretly be a hidden expert like himself—perhaps even stronger.
But then he remembered—John had grown up before his very eyes. He had known the boy since he was little.
Sure, John had always been a bit of a weirdo—clever, eccentric, strange—but he had never been formally trained in any sword arts.
And that sword technique of his… was just too bizarre.
"John, we've been doing business together for a while now, haven't we?" Old Jaque said suddenly, his tone amiable. "How about this—if you tell me the secret of your sword art, I'll give you a potion that can help you advance to the next rank. Deal?"
"Potion?" John's interest was immediately piqued.
In this game-like world, potions were extremely rare. Most were priceless—especially those that could help an awakener ascend to a higher rank. They were virtually impossible to find through normal means.
If what Old Jaque said was true… then his chances of reaching bronze rank would greatly increase!
But just as he was about to agree, something made him pause.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"What kind of potion is it?" he asked cautiously. "Are there any side effects I should know about?"
Old Jaque was instantly annoyed. He waved his hand and huffed, "Even if there were side effects—which there aren't, by the way—do you think you're in a position to be picky with your talent level? The fact that you could even get a chance to ascend should be a blessing already!"
John twitched.
That hurt.
But… it was also kind of true.
His talent was terrible. Even after changing class, it hadn't improved much.
"Still, how do I know you're not trying to trick me?" John muttered, then tried to negotiate. "Why don't you give me a sample first?"
Old Jaque's face darkened. "What the hell are you talking about? Why don't I just serve you breakfast in bed while I'm at it?"
At that exact moment, Celia pushed open the kitchen door and walked out. She froze as she heard the tail end of their conversation, glanced between the two of them awkwardly, and quickly tiptoed away toward the kitchen like she hadn't seen anything.
John immediately noticed something weird in Celia's eyes.
The kind of look people gave someone when they were silently screaming "pervert."
Furious, John turned and glared at Old Jaque.
"Would you please stop talking like that?! People are going to think I'm into weird stuff!"
"Oh, come on. You're the one who started spouting nonsense—I just rolled with it!" Old Jaque huffed.
The two stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
But it didn't last long.
Eventually, John took the initiative.
"You want to know my sword technique?" he said slowly. "Fine. I'll tell you. But only after I take your potion and confirm it actually works."
Old Jaque didn't hesitate. He nodded in agreement immediately.
Which only made John more suspicious.
This guy was way too eager.
He knew Old Jaque well—if he agreed this fast, it meant there was definitely something in it for him.
John couldn't help but feel he'd made too generous a deal.
Still, since his so-called sword art had basically no real technique, being able to score a potion in exchange was a huge win.
No matter how he looked at it, he wasn't losing anything.
With both men in high spirits, they made their way into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
"Celia, how's your injury?" John asked while spreading tomato sauce on his bread.
Celia, who had been quietly eating, looked up and answered casually, "It's just about healed."
John nodded. "And your strength? Any lasting effects?"
"No," she replied without hesitation. As an assassin, she was trained to adapt to all kinds of conditions. This level of recovery was no problem.
"Good." John smiled faintly. "Then I'd say it's about time… we get some payback."
Killer Guild Headquarters
John and Celia stood before the guild's grand entrance, their expressions cold and sharp as blades. Dozens of assassins and killers stared back at them, tense and alert.
Behind them, the road leading to the guild was littered with corpses.
Dead assassins everywhere.
The earth was soaked in blood.
It was as if the two of them had crawled out of hell itself.
The assassins trapped inside the guild trembled with fear.
They had seen bloodshed before—of course they had. But what chilled them was the way it had been done.
That beautiful blonde girl—Celia—was a nightmare incarnate.
With a single golden sword in hand, she had butchered her way through the assassin ranks like slicing through paper. They hadn't seen that kind of raw, oppressive strength in years.
And then there was John.
God help them.
Anyone who approached him either collapsed in agony clutching their stomachs, moaning like their intestines had been ripped open—or started having very strange transformations.
Some large, muscular men had ended up with waists like willows and faces more beautiful than brothel courtesans.
It was terrifying.
Not just frightening—incomprehensible.
This wasn't the power of a man.
This was a demon in human skin.
"Damn it," someone muttered, "This is all the Guildmaster's fault. Why did they have to piss off someone this dangerous?!"
They had all recognized Celia.
She was the one they had tried to assassinate.
And that boy beside her…
That had to be the missing Furniture Maker.
Now both of them were back—and terrifyingly powerful.
Only now did they realize why Guildmaster Rocky and the others had quietly slipped away last night.
They'd known.
They'd sensed danger coming—and left everyone else behind to take the fall.
Unbelievable.
They'd been used like sacrificial pawns.
John took a step forward.
"Tell me," he said with a casual smile, "Where is your Guildmaster?"
His voice was calm—but carried a hidden edge like a dagger in the dark.
"And don't give me any of that 'we'd rather die than talk' crap. I promise you, I can show you a kind of cruelty that will make you wish you'd never been born."
As he spoke, the smile on his face grew wider.
That was all it took.
The dozen or so remaining assassins dropped to their knees, legs shaking, some even wetting themselves in pure terror.
They had seen what had happened to their comrades.
Some had screamed for minutes before passing out from the pain.
Others… others had been turned into beautiful women.
That humiliation alone was worse than death.
None of them wanted to experience that.
And no one knew what other horrific tricks John might have up his sleeve.
That smile of his…
It was the smile of a devil.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!"
One assassin broke down in tears, and the rest quickly followed, scrambling to be the first to spill their guts.
"The Guildmaster and Lord Rocky left town last night! We only found out this morning!"
"As for where they went, we really don't know!"
"Before they left, they just told us to keep searching for you inside the city—and especially to watch the gates. They didn't want you escaping!"
John listened silently for a moment.
Then he asked, "Why? Why are they so desperate to hunt us down? I don't remember offending your Killer Guild."