It was a job well done- a sense of accomplishment that surely his father yearned to obtain for himself.

He had stayed just at a short enough distance from the Knight's house, and left the mule at the side of the road. He had already changed his whole equipment, the man who was walking down the road towards the Knight's house couldn't be mistaken in any shape or form with the farmer who had brought in the bloodied crates from before.

He saw three soldiers rush past him and a smile formed on his face. He recognized two of them, they were the ones stationed at the doors back when he had come to leave the boxes. In any other situation, they should have managed to easily identify him. However, none of them had even turned around to take a second glance at him. Was his face really that different while wearing the cloak of indifference? Since it didn't have any effect on himself while looking at a mirror, he couldn't tell.

「The passive skill [Convincing Disguise] has been acquired. Even in the simplest of disguises, people will find it 50% harder to tell from the user and their facade.」

So obtaining skills because of things like this is also possible.

He continued to walk down the path. Only a few feet away from the gate, he saw another pair of guards rushing to the opposite side of the road, probably trying to cover all bases when looking for the suspect. He noticed two more men standing at the sides of the gate, and smiled with certain anxiety while touching his fingers. He had emembered the use of the beautiful ring he had recently put on his left hand, and hoped that it would actually work.

[Ring of Honeyed Words. When using this ring, intelligent creatures that talk with the user may find them specially trustworthy and convincing. The effect remains even after conversation has ended, and the user will leave a lasting impression.]

He exhaled with still a bit of nervousness, and his brisk pace decreased to a calm walk as he neared the guards at the gate. Their sharp gazes turned towards him as they clenched their hands around the grip of their pikes. They had noticeably put themselves into alert.

"Hey!" Thom said from a safe distance before approaching any further. The guards looked at each other and twisted their mouths. They seemd to have relaxed when they saw his relaxed complexion as he was coming closer.

"What is your business? The house of Knight Piston is currently busy with matters of it's own."

"Oh, is it Sir Piston who lives here?" Thom feigned ignorance as he peeked trough the closed gates with curiosity. "I figured it was someone important because of the elegance this place exudes, and decided to approach. But never could I have imagined it was him. Too much security around for a celebrated knight!"

The guards' faces didn't move. They stayed in place without movement, looking at him from above and with a certain air of disdain.

"I will not repeat myself. What did you come here for?"

"Hm..."

After scratching his head with a very disappointed look, Thom crossed his arms as if his friendly cover had been blown. He exhaled in annoyance and put on a serious face, one that showed a seasoned fighter and not the weak look he had tried to push onto them before. The guards' expressions also hardened.

"I came looking for a man, I've been behind him for a good while. He has been known to stir quite the chaos in knighthoods and noble houses all around the continent, you see. The guy has a damn vengeance against rich people, and keeps popping up here and there to carry it out... Rather flawlessly if I do say so myself. I was hired to get the man long ago, but he managed to escape after he killed my employer. They say he looks a lot like me... I've even been framed for it before. It's been a personal grudge since then. I can't fucking sleep until he's dead."

The guardsmen sighed. They seemed to have lost all their previous on-edge behaviour, showing only a pair of tired and stressed-out faces. The one on the right looked to his partner, and hinted him with his head to go inside. The other one agreed without much debate, opened the gate, and went inside.

"That response... Huh. So you've seen him then?" Thom frowned and put on an even more serious face.

"Aye. The man came by and dropped a few gifts."

"Shit... So it's in that stage already." Thom pressed his hand against his lips. "Guess I got lucky this time. I've been asking around all month, but didn't think I'd hit the spot so close to Pontya. I followed his track here, and when I saw that mule out there, I imagined he'd be nearby. Let me guess, this gift you're talking about... A crate with heads and a pouch of silver?"

The guard nodded.

"Then he'll strike this night. It's important that I stay here, at least until twelve or so. I know exactly what he'll do, so I'll help. You should commend this information to your master, too."

When the other guard returned, Thom was told to enter. He was ushered past a beautiful garden, from where he could see a vast yard and stables big enough to house a dozen horses. He went up a set of wooden stairs that ended in a clean and fancy porch, where he found the doors wide open as if inviting him in. Thom grinned. At least a third of his plan had gone smoothly.

The guard ran up to a tall and brawny man at the end of the massive living room, leaving Thom awaiting at the porch. The guard seemed to discuss something with the tall man who Thom assumed was Piston, and the latter's eyes immediately opened wide in disbelief.

After a few more seconds of chatter, the guard came trough the door again.

"The knight says you may enter."

Thom did his best to suppress the chuckle coming from his throat, and instead simply demonstrated a grateful smile.

"For your efforts." Thom grabbed a gold coin from his bag, and placed it on the guard's hand.

"This...!" The guard was quite shocked, to say the least.

Thom swaggered his way inside the fancy living room, and his eyes soon met with the knight's. Thom almost couldn't advance any further after seeing the difference in their height and build, but did his best to not feel intimated and pushed forward to shake the man's hand.

"I see I'm not dealing with a dirty commoner." The knight said with a rather relieved face as he gripped Thom's comparatively small hand.

"Oh, gods spare me. This is exactly why I come to your aid. We're both men of high class. A mutual struggle isn't something that should be pushed to a side, no. Call me Arbur, please." He returned a convincing smile and then retired his hand, feeling it slightly pained after the man's handshake.

"Mutual struggles aren't shit if you don't have a real reason to help. You said it was a personal vengeance?" Piston went to his desk, and served himself a shot of a fine whiskey bottle he kept at his side.

"Of course, I also expect some form of compensation. Rather than money which I'm not lacking, a bit of an introduction to the duke, per say?"

"..." Piston chugged the shot down his throat and sighed while brushing his teeth with his lips. "Why would I need someone else's help with a small fry like this? Surely it's just a fucking dirt farmer that didn't accept his fate as the lower stepping stone he was."

"Hm-hm." Thom nodded with a wicked smile. If he wasn't sure before, he was now— he wanted this man out cold. "He may be that... A dirt farmer. But he's a fearsome enemy when you're in his territory."

"His?" Piston looked back with rage in his eyes. "Watch your words, Sir Arbur. Is this his manor where we stand, then?"

"No need to get violent. Sir Piston, what you've failed to understand is..." Thom extended his arms, and revealed a smile that didn't have any particular meaning. "The moment you let him in, this place became his playing board, and your tomb."

Piston couldn't help but twist his mouth and scoff. What a ridiculous notion that seemed. The knight pulled the bottle once more, and started pouring another glass.

"So you're saying this man is stronger than me, a celebrated knight of Goldblack?"

"He has the advantage exactly because of that reason, Sir Piston." Thom stepped forward, slightly closer to the knight. "This man is a specialist in what the iron-clad knights lack— indirect confrontation. Regardless of this, he's an expert in swordsmanship and I've dueled him more than once to no avail. I learned from my first fights with him that wearing full plate armor... Is a cruel mistake. I have preferred since then to fight with light robes."

Thom looked at the full plate of armor at the side of Piston's desk, and swallowed dry. Even he wasn't sure he'd be able to kill this man if he was wearing such thing, so he had already started to fabricate an excuse for Piston to keep it off.

"Why?" Piston frowned, seemingly realizing that his advantage in defense had been quickly negated.

"Have you... Perhaps heard of magic that can heat metal, Sir? Hmph... Last noble I talked to didn't believe me. The man went to battle dressed in plate. Poor man...  I had to scrape his molten remains from the inside of the armor to hand them to his family."

Piston opened his eyes and flinched in disgust. He took the whiskey glass away from his mouth as if he couldn't swallow it any longer, and scratched his forehead with his thumb.

"So you're saying I have to fight without the armor I'm so proud of, against a magic user that could very well make me drop my weapon in the spot. This man is also proficient in stealth so my guards wouldn't see him, and he's good with the sword? A commoner? Are you perhaps putting up a comedy show, sir Arbur? Because... I'm not laughing."

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Piston raised his lower lip as he kept talking, and cracks started to appear on the glass he was holding. Thom could see it clearly, it's not that this man couldn't shatter the glass in an instant, but that he chose not to. Thom did his best not to get his breathing accelerated and hid his nervousness behind a smile. If he were to face this man head-on, he'd die. So, firstly, he'd have to earn his trust. And, incidentaly, he remembered this man had a massive ego.

"Oh, please." He chuckled, and got one step closer to the knight. "I'm not laughing either, sir Piston. The reason why I am so confident while speaking to you is because I believe we may be able to defeat this man if we work together. With my knowledge and your... Overbearing strength, and your constitution! Look at those muscles no other man in the region could have. I'm a meek man, but you..."

Piston started to get rather interested as he prompted him to continue. Thom smiled.

"You may be able to crush this man's head with your own hands, and well, you may get recognized as a hero troughout the continent. How many nobles slain, to end up dead at the hands of sir Piston Cavalle? The duke would surely appreciate it. How does it sound to pave your way to become a baron, hm?"

"Heh." Piston quietly looked at the whiskey with a smile on his face. "That does sound good. You've got a brain on you, sir Arbur."

"Of course." Thom said with a calm exterior, but he was inwardly sighing in relief. "How else would I have survived this long?"

"Right." Piston said. "And now that you mention it... He did have a very small build. A small head, barely any muscle. The shape of a weak brat, if I do dare say. And I do. Fuck him."

"Haha..." Thom laughed while looking at his own body with very self-conscious eyes.

"Yeah... Kind of like you, sir Arbur. No offense." The knight grinned. "He also had a very similar aura to yours. A shapeless, but clear aura. The one of an experienced man that had never actually trained it. Much... Like you, sir Arbur."

Badump

Thom felt his heart beat in his ears and a cold sensation spread trough his body. He put his hands behind his back before Piston could see how much they had started trembling, and smiled. He did not have the time to think what an aura was, and neither prive into what the knight meant. He could only roll with it.

"That is true, sir. To be honest, that is one of my biggest regrets, to be so similar-looking to him. You see, we grew in the same place. A faraway land. He looks rather distinct to me in reality, but I do understand that a foreigner to our culture sees us all alike. The same happens with out aura. Since I was his master for so long... He may have obtained a similar aura to mine."

Thom acted as if he knew what an aura was, but that was far from reality. By the words coming from Piston, he could deduce it was intangible, but could be sensed. That it had form, and could be trained. And most importantly, that if it wasn't weird for two strangers to have one, it was universal. With this, he could make up a feasible excuse.

"You were his master?" Piston seemed surprised.

"Yes. He killed a baron who my father, an earl, was close friends with. I was issued to hunt him, and since then, I've been looking around with no fruit to my actions. Mostly because he had never actually attacked someone of your calliber, you see. But now that I've got Sir Piston helping, it'll be just fine."

"Hmph." Piston smiled and nodded. "Very well. I'll take those words for true and will not put my armor tonight. Better safe than sorry... Even if he attacks me in short distance, I'll be able to fend for myself."

Thom's hands finally stopped shaking. It seemed like he had somehow adverted the crisis.

"Yes, that would indeed be the wisest decision. And... he's quite good with armor himself. I had to get myself a special sword to boot with his agility. If you don't mind, I'll reveal it to you."

Thom finally revealed his trump card.

He unsheathed the black blade from his belt, and carefully brandished it in front of the knight, lowering the heavy blade, and placing it on the wooden floor.

"Th... That..."

Piston's breath inmediately accelerated. He placed the glass on the desk, and then approached the sword in complete disbelief. The guards at the door were the same, gasping in awe at the sight of it.

Eh... I knew it was a good sword, but this reaction... Is this an epic item or something?

"I can't believe it... This black blade, the fine level of craftsmanship... Am I perhaps looking at a Titite blade?" Piston said with eyes agape.

"Hmph. That's right." Thom said with confidence.

What the fuck is that? Thom thought.

"Very well. If you're really that convinced that you can help me, I shall allow you to lend me a hand."

Piston poured yet another glass of whiskey, and handed it to Thom. Then he grabbed his own, and proposed a toast.

"To getting rid of that dirty commoner with a god complex." Piston said, elevating his glass.

"I'll drink to that." Thom replied with a smirk.

「Learning succesful. The passive skill [Way With Words] has been acquired. Creatures engaging in conversation with the user will find themselves more agreeable and find the user to their liking more easily. This skill is prone to ineffectiveness when speaking to an intelligent creature with high wisdom.」

After an hour of worthless conversation, Piston started doing exactly what Thom instructed him to do.

Firstly, the servants and non-combatants of his manor would have to be locked up at the stables. This was because "the suspect never tended to damage animal residences unless his target was nearby".

Thom made sure none of the servants got a good look at his face as they were shunned into the stables. The only ones left were the guards for protection, around twelve men that Thom had already decided how to dispose of.

"The man tends to come trough second story windows, attics, or basements to enter inadvertently. As a master of stealth, he never comes barging trough the front door. Wide spaces in closed rooms like this magnificent living room are the best."

The guards were divided. Six of them stationed at the windows in the upper corridors, three at the chimney vent of the attic, and three watching over the sewer holes in the cellar.

That should have been enough.

Piston stared trough the big window in front of him with a candid smile. Thom had the same expression on his face as he played with the whisky on his hand, leaning against the desk of that proud knight. Thom had stared at the man's back for a while, pushing his unsheathed sword against the wooden floor.

It had been five minutes already without speaking a word.

"Huff... I think I might be a little drunk." Thom sneered.

"You're not the only one, friend." Piston said without taking his eyes away from the moon he could see from his window. "When this bullshit is over I'll treat you to the finest brothel in Goldblack and a good night of drinking. Ha... I honestly had a bit of a scare when everything started crashing down so fast. Bad things lapped on each other. My life has been hard these last few weeks. Know what I'm saying?"

Was it perhaps because of the drink? The man who did not let go of a single drop of confidence was now acting like Thom was a life-long friend. Thom wouldn't complain. It put him in a position of utmost advantage, and he was gladly going to take a stand in it.

"Oh please, Sir. I know it fully well." Thom took the opportunity, and stood up from the desk to admire the armor besides him. "But weeks, you say. Had anything else happened besides this madman after you?"

"A few... Trades of mine were cancelled, yes." Piston sighed.

"Well, I can imagine the hardship." Thom took his eyes away from the armor, and walked slowly, very slowly, towards Piston. "Perhaps refused by a lady? A man of your portent... I doubt it."

"Hmph." Piston closed his eyes with a smirk. "I wouldn't see it that way. But refused... That's the right word. The general of the army is a hard man to crack."

That man again... Everybody keeps mentioning that general Miel again and again. I wonder if he's really that good.

Thom took a shot of whiskey, and placed the glass inside his bag while still playing with the burning liquid in his mouth.

"Ha... I understand the pain of refusal, Sir Piston. That frustration and emptiness only achievable after being robbed of something that by right belongs to you. Honestly, alcohol has never been enough to dwell in such pain. And women... Well, that looses it's meaning after a while. What never vanishes is that pain. Yeah... It's like... A sharp, quick, nefarious stabbing pain in your chest that just won't go away no matter how damn hard you try."

Thom poetically expressed himself, and the drunk Piston, with eyes closed and feeling the radiance of the moon in his face, could only agree with a nod.

"Yes." He whispered. "A pain that never goes away. One that engulfs you... A sharp... Stabbing..."

He thought of those words. It was at that moment that his just-opening eyes caught a glimpse of Thom's movements, but it was already too late.

Splurt!

A streak of blood exploded from Piston's chest and covered the window with dark red stains, as a gleaming dark blade stabbed trough his ribs. He felt the blood welling up in his throat, only to be promptly thrown up by his mouth. Thom removed the sword, and the knight fell to his knees with a loud thump. He rotated just before falling to the ground, lying face-up, directing his eyes at Thom's cold and rage-filled gaze looking down at him.

"Arbur... I... Trusted you..."

Piston spat out those words with his last breath, and stretched a hand forward as if to grab the young man's neck with his thick, trembling hands.

"I know." Thom said as he swayed his sword and painted a long red streak on the floor. "That's what I'm most proud of."

Piston's hands fell down, and his head rolled to the side. Those lifeless eyes cried a small tear, and the knight's heavy breathing stopped.

Thom wobbled his way to the stairs with his still-shaking legs, and smiled when he saw the guards directing their faces at him.

"How's the guard, boys?"

"Ah, fine, sir. We have still not found—"

Before the man could finish speaking, Thom kicked him trough the window, his screams quickly stopping after he hit his head against the ground and a loud snap declared his death. The other guards immediately readied their weapons and jumped against Thom, who didn't bother to lift his sword.

The noise reached the attic, and the guards stationed there came rushing down while Thom had already started the fight. It had become an eight-against-one in no time.

"As it should be. This way I'll have no remorse!"

Weapons clashed, and sparks danced in the air. The movements he performed with his whole body came off as extremely natural although he had never had any proper practice besides his fights at that prison. It was as if his mind couldn't follow up with the movements his muscles knew from memory. The vicious strikes to the midriff, aiming for the fingers and the eyes, parrying the swords coming his way, those things he had never been taught surprised him as he did them repeatedly and without effort.

Slash after slash, scream after scream. The blood running down his wounds didn't matter, the ecstasy of holding the upper hand in such an unbalanced fight made him feel like not even the most grievous of wounds would hurt.

"Gyagh!"

He cut a man's sword off, and followed with his throat. Another man threw himself at him with his weapon cleaving down, but the movements were so rough and slow that Thom could only laugh as he dodged.

This feeling was unnatural to him. But the despair in these men's faces wasn't. He perfectly understood how they felt, about to cower in fear after realizing their swordsmanship was in a level way below his.

It was the same when he fought his father countless times with the vane hope of putting a strike on him.

So this is the power of Skill Master, huh? This is the power of a real [Swordsman]!

「Learning successful. The job class skill [Swordsman] has met the conditions for an upgrade. The skill [Swordsman] has been updated to [Swordsman II]. All sword-related skill will be 20% more effective from now on. Control and strength have been upgraded.」

He finished the fight with a clean stockade to a man's gut, and then slowly retired his sword. His eyes were bloodshot, and his breath was extremely ragged. He felt his muscles grow just slightly once more. The blood dripping from his wounds was dripping his shirt and the ground, but he decided to ignore the pain, and shove away the sweat-covered hair from his eyes.

He descended down the stairs, out of the building, and opened the doors to the cellar. The screams of three mean could be heard, and then he exited the cellar with a grim look on his face. The calm coming from the blood-dripping inside of the manor called him in again. He couldn't leave a trace of himself behind.

Fwooosh!

Thom walked away from the flaming rug in which Piston's body rested. He kicked to a side the chandelier he had thrown on the floor, and nonchalantly exited the late knight's territory with a satisfied grin on his face.

He mounted the mule, seeing the flaming house behind his back and the servants quickly exiting the stables to check on what had happened.

The young man chuckled as he pulled from the bridle at the mule's mouth, and it slowly started to walk away.

Was this the so-called proactive action he had been planning on taking?

No.

This was vengeance. Vengeance for something that man named Piston hadn't done. For the past his family and himself had been put through. Yet, he couldn't shake off that feeling in his heart of extreme satisfaction. Was it because he had fred other families from the same fate? He wasn't sure. For now...

"All I know is that it felt god-damn good."