Barzist didn't expect to be woken up early, as he had given his men strict orders to make sure he was not disturbed. After a week of constant work, he finally had a chance to sleep, and he had been intending to enjoy it.

His week had been chaotic since he had stupidly made a greedy bet, and decided to believe a mysterious man with a mysterious deal. In the end, not only he lost precious cargo — half of it to that thief, the other half impounded by the guards — and almost a dozen men, but he also had to pay a huge bribe to the guards once they intervened to break the ambush.

Admittedly, things hadn't been as bad as it could have been. The thief also stole those red mana stones that were supposed to be destroyed.

He doubted the guards would have been willing to be bribed if they caught him smuggling those. The orders from churches about it were very clear about their disposal.

Barzist had done his best to find that old man and make him pay to gain back the reputation he had lost, but he was nowhere to be seen.

However, those were only passing thoughts when he was woken up prematurely.

The reason, he recognized the tool that had been used to wake him up. Too bad the cold, sharp presence around his neck was too distinct to be mistaken.

And the lone drop of blood sliding down his throat was just as unmistakable.

He wondered which one of his rivals would find on top of him, about to gloat before delivering that final blow. He opened his eyes … only to see a cloaked figure, one that didn't show even an inch of his body. The only thing he could see was his eyes.

Blue, glowing eyes. Unmistakable to be anything other than mana.

A magic user … a proficient one if the way mana danced on his eyes suggested, a dangerously competent one. And, that was not the only one. As he looked at the man, he could sense that his presence was light, muted, and shifty.

An obvious sign of the Concealment stat, a rare one that was rarely found on anyone other than a few classes that were universally reviled and hunted. Thieves, rogues … but as the figure stood on top of him, mana dancing in his eyes, he reached a much more dreadful conclusion.

Assassin.

One of the few classes that were forbidden, earning the penalty of death the moment they had been caught. Of course, Barsizt didn't born yesterday, and was smart enough to understand the implications of private executions.

He just never thought that he would one day earn the attention of one of them. Barzist had no idea what he had done to earn that 'privilege'. Thankfully, he was still alive, and that meant there might be a chance for his survival.

"We finally meet, little traitor."

Barzist froze as the anger in his tone hit him like a tornado, making his earlier hopes about survival evaporate.

"T-traitor?" Barzist found himself muttering, his brain unable to comprehend what he was trying to say as the fear doused his whole being. He tried to remember who he had betrayed, his mind working faster than it ever did in his life.

Only then, he noticed an important detail. The sword he had been displaying.

The exact same style of weapon that the old man had displayed. It wasn't the same weapon. The coloration of the hilt was slightly different, it had some scratches along, but it was enough to show the origin of it.

"I … I didn't betray him!" he said, but not as confidently as he would have liked.

"Explain."

He wished that his face wasn't concealed and he could get a hint of expression. Because, his frozen voice didn't give him any hint.

"I don't know what happened," Barzist answered. "Someone had managed to ambush our caravan, probably noticing our movement. But I'm more than willing to deliver another batch, free of charge, as an apology for my incompetence!"

Stolen story; please report.

Barzist didn't know if what he said was true. He had previously thought that the old man was just baiting his rivals to force him to move out, but the most recent evidence was forcing him to reconsider it. He just gave out the most reasonable explanation.

"Good," the cloaked figure answered. Barzist couldn't help but sigh as the blade moved away from his throat —

Only to freeze when it was replaced by a gloved hand, wrapping around his throat enough to cut his blood flow. Barzist recognized the ease with his fingers wrapped around his throat. Strength was one stat that the Assassins famously didn't have.

Barzist had dealt with many kinds of fighters all his life, and that helped him to estimate people's Strength relatively easily. Not a precise measurement, but from the way his fingers squeezed his throat with ease, he could guess his Strength was higher than thirty.

Which left two possibilities. Either he had a class that was even rarer than Assassin, one that he had never heard, which gave both Concealment and Strength, or he was working for someone that supplied him with more than thirty high-grade Strength Stones.

Either way, Barzist was dealing with forces far above his comprehension.

"If they had followed your men, how did they manage to raid our base?" he asked.

"No that has nothing—" Barzist tried to explain, but the fingers around his throat tightened. Choking was not a risk, not with his Health blocking it, but that hardly meant anything when his opponent could break his neck or squash his head.

As for reaching the dagger he kept under his pillow, he didn't even dare to make an attempt.

"That's a lie," the cloaked man said. "I have checked the area myself, and I found the footprints of two rats, one that followed my coworker right back to the base."

Barzist remembered the two that he had sent to follow the old man. They had disappeared, but Barzist hadn't thought much about them after they sent the message, assuming that they went back to reinforce the others, only to die in the battle, their bodies disposed of by the guards.

However, if there had been a raid to their base, which only they knew of its location — even Barzist wasn't aware of it, as the message scroll they used didn't communicate knowledge, and just alerted him once they were broken — it had a different meaning.

Those bastards, he had trusted them with such an important task, and they betrayed him!

For a moment, he thought of denying that he had sent them … but his experience was telling him that it wouldn't be a smart choice. He didn't know whether he could lie well enough to convince him.

"Yes, but I only sent them to follow him enough to make sure the deal was not a trap. I haven't heard from them since they sent me a magical message."

He didn't say anything. Barzist would have loved to continue explaining, but his fingers tightening around his throat gave him no chance to do so. Seconds passed as he wondered whether it was the end of his life.

[-1 Health]

Then, the grip weakened, allowing Barzist to breathe. "Smart man. I already detected that one of the messages they had sent was targeted at your building. It seems that you're just guilty of poor management."

Barzist wanted to say a lot of things, but he swallowed all of them and just rubbed his throat as he pulled back. The offhanded statement he had delivered told him a lot. He didn't even know that detecting the destination of the message scrolls was possible after some time passed, but he wasn't arrogant enough to assume that he knew everything about magic.

Their art was secretive.

And the mention of one of the messages solved his problem. Barzist had no idea who was the other recipient — though he guessed it was one of his rivals rather than House Maell — but if they sold him out, it explained just how badly that mission had gone.

As for being tricked by that old man, he had already removed that possibility. The man in front of him, his eyes still glowing blue, was more than enough to reveal that possibility. Anyone that could mobilize such a dangerous man had no need to scam someone like him.

The cloaked man pulled back, but didn't leave. Barzist kept his mouth shut, not daring to make a comment even after the situation was cleared.

Angering the mysterious men that would treat his murder only as a slight annoyance was not a smart way of doing business.

After a minute, he spoke, his voice even sharper. "There's still your negligence slightly delaying the business of the young master…" he added, his voice even chillier.

"Please sir, give me a chance to apologize. I'll make sure to solve the problem I caused."

The man paused a moment, nothing but the glow his eyes moving … as for the glow, it got even more intense. "You have until dawn. I want a box I can carry, with three samples of the best products the dungeon could produce. Either complete that task and leave the box on the roof … or I'll pay you another visit."

"As you wish, sir," Barzist bowed his head, but as he did so, he felt a whisper of the wind. He raised his head … but the man was already gone.

Barzist chilled, not knowing whether it was Speed that he used to disappear, or he used magic to turn invisible. Not that it mattered much when either could get rid of him just easily.

He jumped off his bed, rushing out without even bothering to change. Every moment mattered to complete the mission.

Not only his life was on the line … but also, maybe he could impress them. He still remembered the great price they had offered for the trivial task they required.

Maybe, just maybe, he would have a chance to repeat the earlier task.

And, even better, he was sure that he could sell the information of a mysterious high-ranking noble house being interested in the dungeon to his contacts with House Maell…

No need to limit himself to only one payer, after all.