Return of the Dragon-Devouring Assassin

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Feyr slowed his pace and looked at Beheli, who was muttering something with a puzzled expression.

He was someone who could never be befriended unless approached first.

'Even in his past life, he always walked alone every single day.'

Feyr's thoughts drifted back to his past life.

The time he had grown close with him.

'Was it during the gorge suppression campaign?'

A mission to track down a key figure from a foreign nation, the Meibel Theocracy.

The Beilhart assassins had been lying in wait within the gorge for several days.

After a long wait, the target—a noble and his entourage—finally appeared, but contrary to the intelligence, they were accompanied by knights.

And not just any knights—Mid-Tier Experts, knights of the 5th Star.

Because the combat strength of the intended target had differed from expectations, the battle in the gorge descended into a chaotic melee.

The operation had originally called for swiftly eliminating only the target.

The unforeseen presence of those knights was the problem.

A fierce battle broke out, and the Feyr of that time had been an untempered hound—and he had nearly tumbled off a cliff.

The one who saved him then was none other than Beheli.

"Get up here! Hurry."

Thanks to that, he had been able to collect himself.

Not the most sociable sort—but steadfast, and deeply loyal.

Feyr gave a faint smile and called out to Beheli.

"Hey, you've got some stamina. You run pretty well."

"……."

But Beheli's brow furrowed. He seemed to have interpreted it as Feyr looking down on him.

Which was probably why he gave no response at all.

‘……So that's how it's going to be, is it?’

Feyr tried again, speaking to Beheli, who still kept his silence.

"But you know—the way you run looks exactly like a foreign tribesman?"

At the word foreign tribesman, Beheli answered for the first time. His displeasure came through plainly in his sharp reply.

"……Get lost. Imperial."

‘What to do with this one?’

Feyr swallowed a smirk.

He owed this one a debt of gratitude—but the fellow was stubborn. Persuading him with words would take too long. He'd need to take a few hits before he'd open his ears.

'Yeah. That'll do.'

Feyr put the answer he had arrived at after brief deliberation into practice immediately.

Thud!

"Keuk?!"

A punch out of nowhere from Feyr.

Beheli, struck square, clutched his face and crumpled.

"What do you think you're—!"

What on earth?

Beheli started to demand an explanation, then froze, staring blankly ahead.

Feyr had already surged far ahead, and turned his head slightly back.

The moment their eyes met—

"Ha."

Beheli ground his molars. Feyr had curled one corner of his mouth upward and was openly mocking him.

Gri

The indignation was so fierce that Beheli's whole body trembled as his face contorted with fury. Unable to contain his rage any longer, he let out a shout.

"I'll kill you!"

Beheli shot to his feet and broke into a full sprint toward Feyr.

At a speed far greater than before.

Enough to kick up a small cloud of dust.

Seeing that, Feyr put more force into his legs. He ran faster to match Beheli's pace—staying just within reach, just out of grasp, threading the gap with precise calculation.

That seemed to infuriate Beheli even further, and he let out a roar as he charged.

"Kraaaaaaah!"

Before anyone had noticed, Feyr—already at the head of the pack—had lapped the trainee at the very back.

That was right.

He was already an entire lap ahead.

Watching that, Zak gave nothing more than a quiet nod. As if satisfied.

***

Morning training ended and mealtime arrived.

All the trainees hurried off toward the kitchen.

The meal was a reddish, unidentifiable gruel served in worn-out bowls.

Feyr received his portion of the red gruel and took his seat.

'It's been a very long time since I've had this.'

Commonly known as Blood Gruel.

Called that because its red color made it look as though it had been made from blood.

A food that tasted awful and smelled foul—everyone suffered through it.

But bitter medicine works.

The nutritional value of Blood Gruel was, without question, top-tier.

Just eating it caused flesh and muscle to build.

Though it made you want to retch with every swallow—it was food worth enduring for.

'Better eat as much as I can while I still can.'

Two years from now, the supply would be cut off.

Why would the supply be cut?

Shortage of resources?

No.

The financial power of the Beilhart family eclipsed even the most prominent houses of the Empire.

There could be no shortage of resources.

Then why?

'Obvious.'

To train them in the art of surviving by their own means.

An assassin must be capable of adapting to any environment.

Procuring food—at the very least—had to be something they could manage on their own.

And that wasn't all.

To survive even a moment longer, one had to be versed in all manner of things—shelter, sustenance, clothing, and more.

While one could still eat this comfortably—one ought to be grateful.

Just then, Beheli passed in front of Feyr. Their eyes met briefly—and Beheli was still thoroughly furious.

"I won't forget this. Not ever."

A warning from Beheli.

Feyr didn't bat an eye and smirked.

It was simply beneath him.

Beheli scowled at that and went to sit in a corner.

And the moment Beheli lifted his spoon to eat his Blood Gruel—

"Hey."

A trainee Beheli had never seen before suddenly spoke to him. At the same time, five other trainees closed in.

Beheli narrowed his eyes and looked at them.

"What? Get lost."

At Beheli's reply, the trainees glanced at each other and started snickering.

"Heh, what's this one saying now?"

"Seriously. Kekeke."

And from among them, the one who appeared to be the ringleader stepped toward Beheli.

"I kept wondering where that musty smell was coming from…… so it was you?"

As he said, a faint musty odor, almost like the scent of a beast, did come from Beheli.

It was a distinctive trait that foreign tribesmen gave off whenever their hearts beat faster.

Feyr watched them silently and thought.

'Same as last time, these ones.'

In truth, right now, one couldn't even be certain that Beheli's body smelled of anything.

Everyone had just come off training—the stench of sweat was thick on all of them.

And yet, singling out Beheli specifically—it was provocation and harassment born from rivalry toward the top-rankers.

'Tsk tsk, this is why inferiority is dangerous.'

Going after Feyr would probably risk a brutal response—so it seemed they had set their sights on Beheli instead.

Then the ringleader trainee smashed the table with his fist and shouted.

Bang!

"Hey—stop stinking up the place and get lost!"

At his move, the rest of the group cheered him on.

"Nice one, Kal!"

"Yeah, go on, give him more!"

‘His name is Kal huh.’

Feyr thought briefly, then promptly erased it from his mind. If he had no memory of the name, the fellow was someone inconsequential.

'Well, I figured as much—the moment I saw the kind of behavior he was up to.'

Emboldened, Kal kept shouting.

"Hey, you hear me? Disappear from my sight already! Looking every bit like a savage tribesman."

Savage tribesman—a slur for foreign tribesmen.

The fellow stared at Beheli a moment longer, then prodded him once more.

"Wait, you're not actually a savage tribesman……? Pfft! So do your mom and dad smell too?"

"I'll kill you!"

At last, unable to contain his rage, Beheli shot to his feet and drove his fist into Kal's face.

Thud!

"Keuk?!"

Kal sent flying by a single punch.

The moment Beheli mounted him and was about to land more—

"Not a chance!"

The surrounding gang rushed in all at once, seizing Beheli by his four limbs.

Pinned down, Beheli thrashed to break free, but it was no use—he remained caught.

In the meantime, Kal, who had been sprawled on the ground, clutched his swollen face and stood up.

"You son of a bitch…… stomp him!"

At Kal's shout, the gang began to beat Beheli without restraint.

Thud! Bam! Thud!

Still only a child, Beheli was outnumbered—he could do nothing but endure the blows, unable to resist.

It was brutal enough to make everyone wince. That was when Feyr rose from his seat.

It seemed about the right time.

"Eok?!"

Kal, suddenly kicked square in the chest, flew into a table.

"Kal?"

"What? What's happening?"

"What's this all of a sudden?"

The bewildered gang turned their eyes.

Crash!

"I was aiming for his head—missed a little."

It was Feyr.

"Ugh…… what the hell do you think you're doing all of a sudden!"

Kal picked himself up and glared at Feyr. At that, Feyr opened his mouth impassively.

"Who knows."

"……What?"

But Feyr, instead of an answer, launched another kick at Kal.

Thud! Crash!

Kal sent flying backward once more.

Humiliated at being struck again, the boy screamed with fury.

"You bastard…… just who the hell are you?! What's your problem!"

"You're being loud while people are trying to eat."

Then Feyr grabbed Kal by the collar and began slapping him.

Smack!

"You little—……!"

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Let go of me!"

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"……Kheuk!"

"Say something else."

Feyr stared Kal down and said.

"……."

Kal, blood trickling from his mouth, lowered his head. He couldn't even meet Feyr's eyes and shut his mouth entirely.

It couldn't be helped.

By this point, even a beast would hold its tongue.

Feyr raised his hand again.

"Going to be loud in front of me again?"

"When did I ever——!"

Smack!

"Again."

"Please stop——!"

Smacl!

"Again."

Feyr paid no heed.

He simply kept slapping Kal—over and over.

How many times had it been?

By the time Kal's face had swollen up like something stung by a swarm of bees, Feyr raised his hand once more and asked.

"Again."

The hand gripping Kal's collar tightened.

Meaning he would not go easy this time.

At that, Kal instinctively began to beg forgiveness.

"Shor…… shorry……! My fawlt……!"

"Good—don't pick fights with friends. Say you'll get along from now on."

"Get…… a-awong……!"

A reply as garbled as could be.

Satisfied with the slurred response, Feyr let go of Kal with a pleased expression.

Crash!

Kal tumbled to the floor.

Feyr turned his head and looked at the gang.

Drained of all color.

The rest of the trainees were no different.

Feyr ignored them and walked over to Beheli, extending a hand.

But.

"Don't…… need help…… get lost……."

Beheli swatted Feyr's hand away.

Then, as if in wounded pride, he leaned against the wall and muttered.

"Those bastards…… I'll kill them."

Beheli clenched his fist with murderous intent in his eyes.

Unfair. He had every right to feel that way.

Feyr understood.

He had had similar experiences himself.

Which was precisely why he showed no sympathy.

He only offered a brief piece of advice.

"If you want to kill them—build up your strength first."

"……What?"

Just then.

Rumble…

The rumble of an empty stomach.

Coming from inside Beheli.

The boy clutched his hungry belly and grimaced.

But his Blood Gruel had been spilled across the floor in the earlier commotion.

And there was no second serving here.

Beheli was going to go hungry—no way around it.

At that moment.

"You eat this."

Feyr set his own bowl of Blood Gruel down in front of Beheli.

‘What's this about?’

That was precisely the expression on Beheli's face.

Feyr asked in return.

"Not going to eat? If not, I'll throw it out."

"……Wait."

The moment Feyr moved to pick up the bowl, Beheli grabbed it.

"……Wasting food gets you punished."

"That's right—waste it and you get punished. So eat plenty."

"……."

Beheli said nothing and took the bowl, shoveling down the Blood Gruel ravenously.

Watching that, Feyr found himself smirking before he even realized it.

Because he looked exactly like a starving stray dog wolfing down a meal.

"Eat plenty."

Eat a lot and grow big.

Feyr looked at Beheli with a warm, satisfied gaze.