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… Ranon’s face had instantly paled. His fury was gone. His anger vanished. Doubt riddled Ranon’s face as he stared down at his feet. Then at his first rapier. He noted the painful sting of the muscles in his hand, struggling to grip the hilt. Then at his second rapier. It was laying on the ground. Blood spurted out from his severed wrist as his disembodied hand clung to the rapier tighter than ever.

Finally, Ranon looked to his left.

Hurman stood there, one step passed the fallen hand and sword.

Hurman had narrowly swatted the first rapier to the side, letting it pass less than a breath away from piercing his heart. In that same stroke, Hurman took a step closer to the boss assassin. His blade flew by and swiped through the assassin’s wrist while Ranon adjusted his rushed, unplanned swing of his rapier. Hurman’s shortsword cleaved through flesh, bone, and armor without prejudice, all while Hurman took his second step to the side.

Hurman turned his head to Ranon, meeting the assassin’s puzzled gaze. Hurman’s empty eyes looked down on the assassin the same way a private tutor stares at a capable student who turned arrogant and cocky by paying for others to do their homework.

“When was the last time you’ve been challenged?” Hurman’s placid tone cut further into the assassin. “How disappointing… I guess Marsel was right. Years of good business and lording over employees has dulled your senses.”

All of Ranon’s overwhelming shock was twisted into feral fury in an instant. An abundance of dark essence gathered around Ranon’s right hand and rapier as it was swung at the drab-dressed swordsman.

Still unfazed, Hurman turned his full body to Ranon, giving the assassin one last look at the ordinary blade.

.....

One edge of the shortsword carried condensed earth essence. The opposite edge carried sub-zero ice essence. Both essence types were wielded with perfect harmony and control with an utterly ordinary sword.

“You’re unteachable.”

Those two words crashed down on the assassin as Hurman repeated the exact same motion.

He swatted at the rapier with the compacted and sharpened earthen edge. The storm of dark essence on the rapier failed to penetrate the earth essence. Instead, the dark essence was parted by Hurman’s earth essence and the rapier was deflected with perfect precision, not so much power that would ruin Hurman’s movement but not too little that it would leave Hurman vulnerable.

Hurman brushed past the incoming rapier as it almost left a knick on Hurman’s stained robe. And the icy edge of Hurman’s blade streaked across Ranon’s torso, leaving it untouched.

Ranon’s neck, however, was cleaved through without no resistance whatsoever.

As the assassin fell forward, following the momentum of his own lunge, Ranon’s head was left behind. The head plopped to the ground as the rest of the body collapsed and tumbled into the dirt.

Sighing, Hurman dispersed his essence and inspected the bloodless blade, “I guess my final years as a moral and your recent years as a perennial don’t carry the same value. Perhaps, if you too had been stuck with only perfecting your essence control and sword form for half a century, then you might’ve been worth my time as a swordsman and cultivator.”

Sarpo and Marsel were speechless.

The Thunder Jaguar handled the scene a bit better than the human. As someone that had been fighting alongside and training with Hurman since the moment Hurman joined Iron Territory, Sarpo only needed a couple of seconds to swallow that dose of reality.

But it was both frustrating and awe-inspiring for Sarpo to see Hurman’s current ability. Compared to when Hurman had visited Iron Town for the first time as a peak-elder, just after Hurman had gotten the new earth cultivation technique, it was nigh unbelievable.

Marsel, though, struggled to swallow the heavy pill.

As a former citizen of Prodson, Marsel had heard about Hurman long before they had ever met. Technically, Marsel was older than Hurman, but no one would guess that based on their appearances.

That’s because Marsel, along with all of Prodson and the nearby territories first heard about Hurman when he claimed a spot at the prefecture qualifier of the Mortal Championship six decades ago. Then, when Hurman won a spot at the West Quadrant Finals, Trighton Territory paraded the young swordsman as a national hero. And after Hurman reached the second round of the quadrant finals, tales of Hurman’s excellence and potential were spread like wildfire among the human-based societies surrounding Trighton Territory.

Yet all that bravado and fame was matched by Hurman’s infamous, consistent failure to ascend and become a perennial.

Marsel had no idea why that was the case, and neither did anyone else, but it was reality. The prodigy heralded as Trighton’s Sword Saint failed to ascend. Despite being a peak-elder already, the prodigy never even pushed to ascend, seemingly.

Yet there Hurman stood. A single, ordinary sword in hand. Aged and wrinkled from his decades stuck at the same, mortal realm.

And there laid Ranon’s corpse. Two costly rapiers with peak-perennial grades. With a toned body guarded by the best perennial armor money could buy, the fruits of Ranon’s decades as a successful, feared, perennial assassin.

It was one thing for Marsel to find the corpses of perennial mercenaries that dared to fight Hurman during the invasion of Iron a couple years back. It was entirely different to witness Hurman effortlessly cripple and kill an infamous perennial assassin, a crime boss with decades of reputation and achievements.

Storing his sword, Hurman nodded to Sarpo. As Sarpo leaped off the stone wall and ran off to join the still-ongoing chase, Hurman looked to Marsel. “What’s the matter?”

Stammering, Marsel replied, “How should I put this… I didn’t expect you to be that much stronger than me. I guess.”

Hurman laughed, “Oh, that’s all? From that look of yours, I thought you were thinking the same thing everyone has for the past two years.”

“And how would that be?” Marsel asked.

Chuckling, Hurman smiled and walked up to Marsel. Hurman patted the man’s shoulder. “It can’t be real? He can’t be this strong? That’s impossible after wasting years as a mortal… I get those comments a lot nowadays. And since you’re from Prodson, I’m sure you’ve heard all about the ‘prodigy-turned-potato’ that is Hurman Practor.”

Marsel scratched his head and offered a nervous chuckle, “Was it that obvious?”

“Those thoughts aren’t wrong to have,” Hurman continued, stunning the man further. “I would say they’re accurate. I failed to accomplish what I had hoped to achieve, wasting decades as an elder when I could’ve become a perennial by simply choosing stronger cultivation techniques.”

Caught off guard by that comment, Marsel asked, “Cultivation techniques? I thought the territory, region, and prefecture were all rooting for you, supplying you with the best techniques and battle arts?”

Hurman nodded. “They did offer it. But I turned them all down. Everything that I was and wanted to be was a result of my custom cultivation technique. And there was no way I would succumb to the temptation of trading it in for something newer and better… I was adamant to grow on my own without any help. That’s how I got stuck, despite my continued, relentless training regimen.

“If Iron Territory had stepped in and gotten involved, then I would’ve been preparing for my grave by now. I finally compromised on my stubborn morals and accepted help. And ever since then, my cultivation has been blossoming and my family’s prosperity has been solidified beyond expectation. That’s how I became stronger than you, in spite of my wasted years and potential. That’s how I became strong enough to kill an enemy you’ve longed to vanquish.”

When Hurman paused, Marsel raised an eyebrow in confusion. “... And why are you telling me all this?”

Patting Marsel’s shoulder again, Hurman answered, “Aren’t you slated to organize and manage Iron’s new mercenary guild, one that spans Iron’s soon-to-be doubled territory, Forell Territory, and beyond?”

Marsel blinked and hesitated. “... I suppose it’s no surprise for you to know that.”

“All I’m saying is that there’s nothing wrong with asking for help,” Hurman mentioned, walking away. “You’ll never know if asking for help would’ve saved your fallen guild and family members. It’s too late to find out. But you and I both know that by fully accepting Iron’s help, you and your family will grow ceaselessly. And you won’t need to worry about you or anyone in your family getting stuck in their cultivation out of pride…”

Marsel wasn’t sure what to say or how to feel in response to the Practor Patriarch’s words.

Hurman, however, changed the topic without batting an eye. He pointed at the camp in the distance and the cheering mercenaries flocking around the Mottz Patriarch.

“Let’s get back. With so many already after that Dallad, I don’t think either of us will make a difference.” As Hurman walked away, he sensed Marsel not moving his feet behind him. So Hurman briefly paused his steps and looked back at Hurman with a smile, finger pointing at the assassin’s hacked-up corpse. “His loot is all yours. Consider it as assets and materials deemed necessary for the rebirth of the Flaming Gale. His head is all yours, too.”

Having said that, Hurman left and didn’t look back.

Marsel stayed back a bit longer. His eyes were locked onto the assassin’s face, now frozen in time after death.

Twitching eye. Clenched fist. Stare inciting death… Marsel lingered there and wished for Ranon’s eternal suffering. Until a few minutes passed, when Marsel claimed the ownerless void ring and stored the body.