A new skill?!
John felt genuinely delighted. Though at first glance, the skill didn't seem particularly powerful, its practicality was off the charts. As a Furniture Maker, he frequently needed various tools, and every ti he traveled, he had to haul around a whole toolbox.
But now, with this new skill, he could easily conjure the tools he needed wherever he went. Life would be so much easier from now on.
anwhile, Celia looked at the suddenly materialized longsword in John's hand with a hint of confusion.
She was sure John had been holding a hamr just monts before—how had it transford into a razor-sharp sword in the blink of an eye?
Do Swordn have this kind of skill?
But then again, considering it was John, she found herself not that surprised. After all, John had always been a bit... unusual. Nothing about him seed to follow the normal rules.
"Thank you for everything today," John said with a smile as he gently helped her onto the bed. "It's getting late. You should rest."
Outside the window, the moon had climbed high above the treetops. Without them noticing, the night had grown deep.
Celia nodded, then paused as sothing occurred to her.
"There's only one guest room here. I'll sleep on the bed. Where are you going to sleep?"
The guest room was quite spacious, but it only had one bed.
"No worries. I've got a solution," John replied with a grin. He looked at the longsword in his hand, focused his mind, and the weapon shimred—morphing into a soft, comfortable-looking mattress.
However, as he lay down on it, he imdiately frowned. It looked like a mattress... but it felt like a hamr.
Hard as steel.
So the transformation was only skin-deep—the essence hadn't changed.
Still, John wasn't too disappointed. After all, the system's reward skills always had a quirky, abstract nature. The important thing was that he now had sowhere to sleep.
Celia, on the other hand, was left speechless as she watched the sword change into a bed.
What kind of skill is that?
Was John really a Swordman? Or was this so kind of scam?
...
anwhile, in the Lord's Manor.
Rocky's face was so dark it seed like storm clouds might start pouring from it. He glared at the masked Killer Guild mbers kneeling before him, their heads bowed low.
"This is what I get?" he growled. "After all the resources I spent? This is the result you bring ?"
"Where is she?"
"Where is the golden-haired girl?!"
As his fury erupted, the masked assassin—still wearing a jester mask—was carried in by other mbers of the Killer Guild and laid on a stretcher before Rocky.
"She had help," said the Killer Guild's vice leader in a low, grim tone. "We dispatched a large force, but it was a trap. They were slaughtered. Only the Jester Assassin managed to escape using his shadow evasion technique, but he was gravely injured."
Rocky's cold gaze fixed on the vice leader. "I asked for results, not excuses. Don't try to spin this."
Then he turned to the jester-masked man lying on the stretcher, took a deep breath, and asked, "Who helped her?"
The Jester Assassin spoke hoarsely, "We didn't see clearly. The mont we stepped into the courtyard, we were ambushed. It was horrifying. We didn't even have ti to react."
"The others were all blown apart by fire and flying tal. I barely escaped. If I hadn't reached gold rank, I wouldn't have made it out alive either."
As soon as he finished, the exhausted assassin tilted his head to the side and passed out.
Rocky's brows twitched with frustration.
He had always taken the golden-haired girl seriously. That's why he had sent so many elite operatives. He thought everything had been arranged perfectly.
But the result?
Total annihilation.
Now even after hiring a gold-ranked assassin through the Killer Guild, the mission had still failed. Worse yet, they hadn't even seen the girl or her mysterious accomplice.
It was a humiliation.
"Who was originally living in that courtyard?" Rocky suddenly asked, turning to a scholarly-looking man nearby.
The man flipped through a registry book and replied, "We've checked—there was a resident, a low-class Furniture Maker. Rumor has it he went blind recently. Nothing remarkable about him."
"Should we notify the city lord?" soone asked cautiously from the shadows of the room.
But before he could finish, another voice interrupted firmly, "No. That scroll concerns our very survival. If the city lord finds out what we're doing... we'll all be finished."
A heavy silence fell over the hall.
The golden-haired girl was clearly not soone to be trifled with.
Now, it seed she had a companion—soone dangerous beyond belief. Even a gold-rank assassin had been ambushed and severely injured.
The enemy's capabilities were terrifying.
If they launched a direct attack, they might all end up dead.
They had provoked sothing they should never have ssed with.
"Send word to the Nascent Duchy at the border."
Rocky's voice was cold and decisive.
"At this point, we have no better option."
The others looked hesitant.
The Nascent Duchy was a neighboring nation that had long coveted Winterhold. Inviting them in was like opening the gates to a wolf.
"This isn't the ti for hesitation," Rocky said sharply. "If that scroll gets exposed, we're as good as dead. From what we know, the girl is still alive, and the Furniture Maker might be backed by soone powerful. If we want to survive, we have to act."
Even if Winterhold were plunged into chaos... even if its people suffered... it didn't matter.
Their own survival ca first.
The others exchanged glances and, after a brief pause, nodded in agreent.
"Alright. Let's do it."
...
Three days later.
Rumors had spread like wildfire.
John's courtyard had exploded, sending tremors across a wide radius. Naturally, the incident beca the talk of the town.
So claid there had been a sinkhole, causing the ground to collapse and create the upheaval.
Others whispered that a mysterious Awakener had passed through the area and casually unleashed a blast of unimaginable power.
As for the supposed occupant of the courtyard—a humble Furniture Maker—no one really cared.
After all, that class was widely regarded as garbage. Most people saw Furniture Makers as background characters—barely a step above commoners.
So what if one of them died?
No one cared enough to investigate further.
The Killer Guild had already covered their tracks. They had redecorated the courtyard to match the aftermath of an explosion, planting a charred corpse among the rubble—one they claid was John's.
Even the investigators from the Lord's Manor found nothing suspicious. The case was closed quickly and quietly.
anwhile, in the courtyard behind Old Jaque's shop, John calmly trained with his sword, fully aware that word of his "death" had spread.
And that was exactly what he wanted.
He didn't bother explaining. He simply focused on his training.
Now that he had beco a Swordman, his mind wasn't filled with preloaded skills or techniques. He had to start from scratch—learning the basics, refining each movent, building himself up step by step.
From the shadows of the shop, Old Jaque watched with a puzzled expression.
"Hey, Old Jaque," soone whispered nearby, "do you understand any of John's sword moves?"
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