Her fingertips trembled.
The past flickered before her eyes like a mirage, just as fine sand slipping through her fingers.
"Are you loyal to the Duke?"
When Vladimir had picked her up, he had asked her the sa question, also addressing her as "Solomonik" then.
Both of his parents were murderers. His father was an Elite Sneaker capable of assassinating a Formal Wizard, and his mother was a follower of the Black Widow, able to concoct potent poisons; both had innocent blood on their hands.
They deserved to die—at least, that’s what Solomonik logically understood.
But having witnessed his mother’s murder by enemies and his father’s disappearance, he was then chased out of the village by the people... In the howling snowstorm, alone, clutching his father’s short sword, he was expelled from the minor protective barrier.
The young Solomonik was filled with fear and unease.
He trekked through the snowy terrain until he reached a great city.
He wanted to join the Hand of Winter but was rejected due to his parents’ cris; he was attacked by Frost Beasts kept by mind thieves and barely escaped death in the snow-covered wilderness; he offered his sword to a caravan in exchange for stable work and a full al, only to be turned down because of his youth and lack of skill with the blade.
He begged and worked odd jobs across various places, but his money got swindled away. Furious, he beat the thief and took the stolen money to learn swordsmanship, only to be turned down by the swordsmanship master.
"I’ve heard about what happened in your hotown, Solomonik. I won’t teach you swordsmanship because you are a born killer. When you draw your sword, you instinctively attack the fatal weak spots of others.
"You haven’t killed anyone yet, and it’s not too late to turn back—you have a good physique, and you can do so manual labor; you’ll survive. There’s always a need for hard labor. Alternatively, you could learn to read and study; that too could lead you to beco an important figure.
"If you learn swordsmanship... no, should you learn any combat skills, you might use them to kill. And once you kill the first person, you’ll never be able to stop. What I teach here is swordsmanship for guards, not for assassins."
The old instructor’s assessnt of Solomonik quickly spread throughout the city.
This skinny boy from the countryside, always clutching a sword and as untad as a lone wolf, had gained quite a reputation in this small town.
But after these words spread, even those who would hire him to work turned away.
—If he continued to stay here, he would die.
Solomonik was very clear about that within his heart.
However, he knew that the old instructor’s assessnt wasn’t quite accurate.
Because he was not defiant by nature, but rather was hiding his own sharpness. It was just that his sharpness was too overwhelming to be hidden even if he covered it with his hand.
He had killed a man—it was on his ninth birthday.
Solomonik indeed had never learned swordsmanship.
But killing doesn’t necessarily involve a sword.
When his father had played with him, he demonstrated the weaknesses of the human body on him, and Solomonik, giggling, had indeed committed it to heart subconsciously.
No need for a fierce duel with clashing blades.
Just spill a pool of slippery grease in a dim, unlit alley. Anyone passing by would slip.
He would hide nearby, holding a heavy stone. When a person fell, he would pounce and smash their temple, the back of their head, their neck, and then use the dagger at the person’s waist to pierce their heart and slice their throat.
—Such was Solomonik’s plan.
But he quickly discovered... the human body is so fragile.
His plans were not even necessary.
His mind went blank at that mont.
He just kept striking the back of the head with all his might... and by the ti he ca to his senses, the person was already dead.
Killing was so simple.
Solomonik thought.
He snatched the wallet from the corpse, planning to flee the town... but then he was robbed by an even bigger thug.
Neither stone nor sword triumphed over a gun. He obediently handed over the stolen wallet, only managing to keep one silver coin he had subconsciously hidden in his mouth, and his sword was stolen too.
Had he not kneeled and begged for rcy in ti, sparing himself from a lead bullet... there might have been no future for him.
With a silver coin in his mouth and empty-handed, he left the town alone under the surveillance of the thugs.
—This ti, he wasn’t as lucky as before.
Or perhaps it was the punishnt for his murder; the blizzard this ti was exceptionally bitter.
And just when he was almost losing consciousness, he vaguely saw a pair of boots and a staff.
The person held the staff and with no pity or dignity offered to him... coldly flipped over his powerless body with the icy staff, tore open his clothes, and pressed it against his left chest.
"A holess pup, have you killed?"
A deep, emotionless voice sounded: "Your desires are strong, indeed...
"So I ask you—if you have another chance, what sort of person do you want to beco?"
...Is this person an idiot?
That was what the dying Solomonik thought at the ti.
He had no strength to respond.
—That’s how it should have been.
But a warm current entered his heart through the staff.
His chest felt unusually cold, but his body, on the other hand, was gaining strength.
He was revived.
Having only just beco aware of this miracle, Solomonik rose to his feet and knelt in disbelief in the snow, looking up at the middle-aged man cloaked in a heavy cape.
At that mont, he seed as grand as a deity.
"If you had another chance, what kind of person would you want to beco?"
The middle-aged man’s deep voice sounded again, "Or should I say... do you desire power?"
"...Ah, I do! Wizard sir!"
He blurted out, "I want power! Give the strength to kill people!"
In Solomonik’s heart at that ti, only a wizard possessed such miraculous strength.
But the mont he uttered those words... he regretted them.
Yet at that ti, his mind was hazy, and he could only speak the raw truth instinctively.
"Oh?"
Hearing Solomonik’s words, the middle-aged man chuckled softly, "Strength for killing, you say?"
"Then... to what extent would you go for this power?"
"You saved my life, sir."
Young Solomonik hesitated not a mont to say, "If it’s for your sake, sir, I can kill... If you have any enemies, I’ll help you kill them! I will certainly not divulge any information about you, and if I fail, I will take poison—I am willing to sacrifice my life for you, sir!"
These were the words he learned from his father.
"[I am willing to sacrifice my life for you, sir]."
The middle-aged man repeated the phrase, laughing a second ti, "Then rember these words, little dog."
"Yes, sir!"
"So—are you loyal to the Duke?"
The Duke...
To be honest, the concept was very vague to Solomonik.
He didn’t even know the different ranks of nobility, nor had he ever seen the estates of the noble lords. He had only heard occasionally and knew that Duke Ivan was a good man... and that was all.
—But what did that have to do with him?
He was the child of a murderer, and also a little murderer himself. He was not a subject protected by Duke Winter, and perhaps instead, he should have been sent to the gallows.
"Loyal or not... you have the final say, sir,"
Solomonik answered without a second thought, "I will listen to you."
"A good answer.
"So, take my staff and stand up. Holess little dog—"
The middle-aged man replied in a voice devoid of any emotion, calmly stating, "From now on, you are human."
—From now on, I am human.
This voice echoed in Solomonik’s ears.
He took a deep breath, grasped the staff the middle-aged man handed over, and expressed his submission.
...Even after that.
After he joined the Hand of Winter, he never cared about the political situation in Winter.
He was not trained in interrogation or counter-interrogation techniques, nor did he study military, politics, and interpersonal relations, even though these courses were taught within the Hand of Winter.
What border nobility, what divine-blooded nobility, what wizard families, what ritualist families... Solomonik did not care about any of that.
Whoever his teacher, Vladimir, said was a traitor, who betrayed the Duke, he would go and kill that person. What he was most gifted at, what was irreplaceable, was his skill in murder.
Anything within reach could serve as a weapon for killing—with innate talent and a hundredfold diligence, his skill in murder advanced further, even surpassing the "Ten Fingers."
Just as the old instructor had said... he was a born killer.
From the mont he killed his first person, his talent could no longer be hidden.
He could easily kill those much older and stronger than himself. It was not only due to their underestimation... but because he acted without any reservations.
Blood of a [killer] coursed through his veins.
—Beyond that, he was worthless.
Until...
The "Wolf Professor" gave him a second chance at life.
"I..."
Selicia’s voice trembled.
She fell silent for a mont.
Under Zoya’s unseen gaze, she lowered her head, "I am of course loyal."
"Solomonik, whatever it may be, he’s just a stray dog..."
The magnetic voice of the Wolf Professor seed to echo in her ear, "But the respected and beloved ’Miss Selicia’ might not be the sa...
"She is a person. A free person... a beautiful woman who always pleases people."
Reviews
All reviews (0)