Chapter 2: The Return of the Young One (2)

The cold moonlight shattered and scattered like broken glass.

A four-wheeled carriage cut across the main street of a city shrouded in thick darkness.

Each time its wheels rolled over the diamond-shaped paving stones, poorly laid on the road, the axles rattled precariously.

“…Did I really come back to the past?”

Inside the swaying carriage, Sien thought.

No matter how many times he doubted, no clear conclusion came.

Sien lifted his head.

Beyond the carriage window, with the moonlight at her back, sat a lady dressed entirely in black on the opposite seat.

“Everything is just as it was.”

The Mother of Assassins, Godmother Laila Nightwalker.

It was a landscape from decades past, yet to Sien, it all felt vivid, as if recalling something from just yesterday.

And now, Sien had been thrown right into the midst of that pitch-black memory.

“It feels like I’m dreaming.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact that I can be here at all.”

At Sien’s words, Laila let out a soft laugh.

“I’m sorry, but this is no dream.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s reality.”

That was her habitual saying.

At the same time, it was the creed the assassins of the family carved into their hearts.

They never let a marked target escape.

Not even the most powerful nobles or knights were exceptions.

The truth that no one in this world could evade the assassins of the Nightwalker Family.

“Reality isn’t something we choose to believe or not believe.”

“I see.”

That’s what reality is.

So Sien decided to accept the present in front of him.

“I will become a member of the Nightwalker Family.”

“Very well.”

Nodding his head, Sien spoke.

Perhaps thinking it was just a child’s bold aspiration, Laila let out a cold laugh and asked again.

“Becoming part of our family is not so easy.”

“I can do it,” Sien continued.

“If it’s for the sake of family.”

“Family, huh…”

The “noblest” Republic of Veneto in which Sien was born and raised was, in truth, a meager and barren petty state, built atop a silver stone lake.

And that country, with no proper territory or resources, had only one way to protect itself among countless great powers.

Overwhelming asymmetric power.

The founder of the Nightwalker Family had been a foreign assassin, hired centuries ago from the distant eastern continent under the policies of the Republic’s government.

The Old Man of the Mountain, Kasan, and his ancient assassin cult.

Even after being recognized for his achievements and granted the title of Duke by the Republic, their “old traditions” did not change.

Even when their family gained such power that they could rule the Republic from the shadows, it remained the same.

Their ties were not of blood, but of choice.

“I will become your son and succeed you as the family’s greatest assassin.”

“A wonderful dream.”

Laila smiled with satisfaction.

Sien did not smile.

“It’s not a dream.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s reality.”

Sien answered, as if whether Laila believed him or not was of little importance.

“Ah, is that so.”

For a moment, the smile vanished from Laila’s face.

The moonlight scattered in fragments beyond the window, casting a pale and dark silhouette behind her.

“Truly words to look forward to.”

Even so, the eyes she fixed on Sien were shining more brightly than ever before.

***

Laila Nightwalker is a cold woman.

No, she is a human without blood or tears.

So, when she brought a new child to the Duke’s mansion, the Shadow Knights loyal to the Duchy of Nightwalker held little expectation.

Whenever new children arrive, the Shadow Knights stationed at the mansion begin their basic training to forge them into members of the assassin family.

But strictly speaking, it could hardly be called training.

Their only role was to judge the vessel.

Whether this child has any chance of surviving to become a member of the family until the very end.

If so, to what extent.

Every year, not a few children are “chosen by the family” and brought to the mansion.

For most, the end that awaited was always the same.

This time would be no different.

There was no need to make exceptions for a child who might one day become the young master who would rule the Republic.

If they died or broke, that was the end.

If they lasted a week, they had done well.

When it came to surviving for several weeks, months, even years, the mortality rate was nothing short of hopeless.

In this way, they piled up a mountain of bones from the countless remains of young children, and only then would two or three “Serpents Who Walk the Path” be born.

Days of relentless tempering, breaking through their limits again and again amidst suffering worse than death, breaking and piecing themselves together anew.

That was the Nightwalker Family’s method of choosing their own, and Sien was no exception.

Yet, contrary to everyone’s expectations, Sien survived—triumphantly.

It wasn’t just the Shadow Knights who taught Sien, nor even Laila, the head of the family, who were caught off guard.

That child was a true genius.

***

Half a year later.

“Your Grace, the Duke.”

Upon Laila’s return to the Duchy, Shadow Master Hyde did not hesitate.

Had she been away from the territory any longer, he was prepared to seek her out first.

“There is something important I must report.”

“Couldn’t you have sent a message through a courier or secret messenger?”

“It concerns the Children of Night.”

When that name slipped from Hyde’s lips, a faint curiosity flickered in Laila’s eyes.

“Speak.”

“The grain of three children has ripened, and preparations for the baptism are complete.”

“The two must be Vigo and Giovanni.”

She answered as if it was only natural.

“And the last one? As I recall, there were no other children worthy of note…”

“It is Young Master Sien.”

At Hyde’s answer, Laila blinked, as if doubting her own ears.

“Did I mishear you?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“That child only arrived at the mansion half a year ago and would have only just begun to sow the seeds.”

Laila’s gaze chilled.

A frostbitten, sharp coldness clutched at Hyde’s throat.

One sows the seed and harvests the crop when it is ripe.

Everything has its proper time.

Being late is bad enough, but being too early is even worse—it ruins everything.

“Is the Lord I know so foolish as to be ignorant of a truth even a mere peasant knows?”

“I can assure Your Grace, I was excessively cautious in teaching him.”

Even so, Hyde calmly shook his head and continued.

“But that child… truly possesses extraordinary talent.”

“Extraordinary talent, you say.”

Laila let out a cold, mocking laugh.

Hyde himself realized how ridiculous his words must sound.

This is the continent’s greatest family of assassins—a place where only those with the innate talent for assassination, selected through the most rigorous standards and the far-reaching information network across the continent, are raised.

Yet even here, Sien was different.

He was overwhelming, alone.

Enough to make every other chosen child seem dull in comparison.

“It was as if he knew everything from the very start.”

“Knew everything?”

“Once he sees or hears something even once, he never forgets.”

His learning speed was beyond belief.

No, it was beyond mere speed.

“Within just a week of arriving at the mansion, he had mastered every form and stance, every weapon technique we could teach…”

After a month, he sensed the existence of mana and figured out how to accumulate it through breathing.

After two months, he began to imitate the specialized sword forms and movements of the Shadow Knights.

“Even without being taught, he picked up skills by watching the other knights’ matches, as if he was learning with his eyes alone.”

“He’s a very observant child.”

After three months, he successfully subdued low-level beasts within the territory on his own.

Now, half a year later, there was nothing more left to teach Sien.

At least, not from Hyde or the Shadow Knights.

“I dare say, Young Master Sien’s learning ability is astonishing.”

It was something that couldn’t be explained simply by calling it talent—an unsettling, uncanny feeling.

“And it’s not just combat skills.

The tutors who teach him academic subjects say much the same.”

“The tutors?”

At this unexpected remark, Laila’s eyelids trembled slightly.

“Grammar, logic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy… He excels at every single one.

He’s been scoring perfect marks in every written exam.”

“An interesting tale.”

“And furthermore, the teacher who instructs him in pharmacology says that Sien is already developing his own poisons and recipes, and that the teacher would need to ask Sien to teach him in return.”

“Who is the tutor for pharmacology?”

“Fabio di Lorenzo.”

With those words, Hyde produced something from his breast.

“A former professor at the Salerno Medical Academy, a Poison Master, and the developer of the assassin’s poison ‘Solitary Death’ that is supplied to the Shadow Knights.”

It was a small glass vial filled with a transparent liquid.

“And this is a poison that Young Master Sien recently created from his own recipe.”

Laila accepted the vial and, as if tasting fine wine, sniffed its scent and took a few sips of the poison.

To most people, a single drop would be fatal.

But Laila savored the deadly liquid in her mouth like a rare wine, then blinked in surprise.

“He truly made this…?”

“Yes.”

There was a mountain of things one needed to learn to become a Nightwalker Family assassin.

Not to mention the strict etiquette and decorum befitting the most noble family in the Republic—they demanded far more.

“That child is a true genius.”

“Are you saying the other children are fake geniuses?”

“…Forgive me. Of course, both Vigo and Giovanni are also exceptionally talented.”

Shadow Master Hyde quickly corrected himself after realizing his slip.

Yet his voice carried no true sincerity, no more than formal politeness.

“But none of the Children of Night in the mansion can compare to Young Master Sien right now.”

“Truly remarkable.”

Laila smiled, unable to hide the pride of a mother boasting of her child.

She recalled the moment she first met Sien.

From the beginning, she had sensed something unusual about the child.

Even she, who rarely felt such things, could tell that Sien possessed an extraordinary something.

She had been looking forward to it.

At least three or four years, she thought, before any good news might come.

No matter how fast, it should have taken years.

“To think it would be like this.”

Even the two children who had shown the greatest promise before Sien—Vigo and Giovanni—had taken five years to mature.

Yet Sien, in just half a year, had completely outstripped them.

By such an overwhelming margin that comparison was meaningless.

He had a gift bestowed by the heavens, a growth so rapid that even the word “genius” fell short.

“It’s too fast.”

It was hard to believe.

Even for her, it was a story she could not easily accept.

Then suddenly, she remembered the words Sien had spoken in the carriage that day.

“I will become your son and succeed you as the family’s greatest assassin.”

A wonderful dream.

At her words, Sien had resolutely shaken his head.

It’s not a dream.

Then what is it?

“Reality.”

Laila murmured the word, as if struck in the head by a hammer.

She was skilled at reading people’s emotions.

With just a twitch of a facial muscle or a shift in a wrinkle, she could see right through anyone’s true feelings.

Even if they believed they were speaking the truth, if they harbored even a sliver of doubt deep inside, she could sense it instantly.

Obvious confidence, self-fulfilling prophecies, or grand delusions.

But with Sien, there wasn’t even a hint of such falsehood.

It wasn’t a child’s bold hope or one-sided confidence.

It was a voice as natural as saying the sun rises in the east and apples grow on trees.

Recalling Sien’s words, Laila smiled quietly.

With that smile, Laila rose from the reddish-brown desk in her office.

The black dress swayed around her, flowing over her body’s graceful curves like a dance.

“Your Grace?”

Ignoring the flustered Hyde behind her, Laila strode forward in silence.

To confirm the truth with her own eyes.