One week later.
Rick's room was plastered with tracing papers mapping Brown's routes, the topographic map from Pai Mansion to the apartment refined to mark even roadside trash cans. The seven dated route charts, initially showing five parallel lines, now displayed five separate paths. No wonder—Brown had spent a week on edge, expecting Rick's ambush, but to his frustration, Rick's patience was uncanny. It was as if the combat drill had been forgotten; not even a probing strike came. This bored Brown's four temporary bodyguards, who also resented sleeping alongside the burly man every night.
After clocking out today, the five left Pai Mansion as usual, but split at the first junction, heading to separate destinations. Rick's inaction had worn down their patience—they didn't notice him trailing like a ghost from afar.
Once they parted, Rick paid four street urchins to tail the bodyguards, arranging to meet at the apartment. He continued shadowing Brown. Ten minutes later, after watching Brown enter his building, Rick met the urchins in a nearby park. Hearing they'd followed the men to their usual haunts, Rick smiled, tipping each ten Silver Beetle Coins.
Tonight was D-Day. The two-week limit disadvantaged Rick—prudent defense for two weeks would leave no opening. But Brown and his men had underestimated Rick, the man who'd braved forbidden zones, and their patience had snapped.
At 10 PM sharp, Rick monitored the apartment entrance. From surveillance, Brown always went downstairs for midnight snacks—his favorite skewered meats from a roadside stall. Unbeknownst to Brown, tonight's skewers were spiked.
Right on schedule, Brown appeared, shirtless, sprawling on a plastic chair at the barbecue stand. He ordered dozens of skewers and two bottles of cheap Wheat Aphid wine. As he ate, Rick scaled the apartment's drainpipe, slipping through the bathroom window and hiding inside.
Soon, a full Brown lumbered upstairs. Minutes later, stomach cramps sent him cursing into the bathroom. "Damned vendor—rotten meat. I'll teach him tomorrow—ngh..." His words were cut off by a symphony of flatulence, his face relaxing in relief.
In that moment of lowest guard, a serrated, dark green sickle landed on his shoulder. Brown's expression froze as the blade's edge pricked his throat.
"You lose again." Rick's amused voice came from behind. Brown shuddered, too stunned to notice his pants sliding down.
"Still unconvinced?" Rick pinched his nose, leaning in.
"When did you get in? I didn't—"
"I have my ways." Rick had no intention of revealing his breath-concealing technique. He patted Brown's fleshy face and chuckled, "By the way, I spiked your skewers with laxatives. Could've used poison, but since it's just a game, I went easy. I could've stayed hidden and killed you in your sleep, too—heh."
Brown's face paled. Gritting his teeth, he bowed his head. "You're ruthless. I concede—you win."
"Good. Don't backtrack tomorrow." Rick released the blade, leaping to the bathroom window. Eyeing Brown's awkward pose, he added, "Oh, and your shit reeks. Need more veggies—watch out for heatiness. Hahaha!"
Ignoring Brown's beet-red face, Rick vaulted out the window.
The next day, Brown sheepishly admitted defeat to Gria, who was so intrigued he summoned Rick. Rick proudly showed off his tools and plans, detailing the operation.
Gria was full of praise. "You're a criminal prodigy. If I didn't know you're an adventurer, I'd think you were born a hitman."
"Eh, natural talent—can't help it." Rick had developed a thick skin from flirting with barmaids. He wiggled his fingers at Gria. "The bonus..."
"Relax, it's yours." Gria beamed, pulling five 100 Golden Beetle deposit slips from his pocket. "Hope your friend never comes to Ison, so I can keep you at the Pai Mansion."
"Hey, don't jinx me! Lav will definitely come find me." Rick sprang up like a cat with a stepped tail.
"Lav? Sounds like a girl."
"She is—gorgeous." Rick puffed out his chest.
"Really? How'd she fall for a ugly bastard like you?" Gria sneakily leaned in.
"Hey, you—"
Before Rick could push Gria away, the office door burst open. The four bodyguards charged in, freezing at the sight: Gria looming over Rick, who was half-lying on the desk, looking like he was about to pounce.
"Lord... Lord Steward..." The leader stammered, red-faced.
Gria, caught off-guard, saw Rick pinned against the desk and his own forward-leaning posture. His handsome face turned as red as liver.
The dignified steward of the Pai Mansion, Gria—renowned as the Merchant Guild's finest butler—never dreamed he'd be mistaken for a depraved middle-aged man preying on boys. The culprits, obviously, were these four imbeciles who couldn't even knock.
"Idiots! Don't you know how to knock before entering?!" Gria roared, furious.
"We..." The leader stammered, then pointed at Rick to change the subject. "We're here because we disagree. He's despicable—ambushing us after work."
"Assassins ambush by nature."
"But during normal protection, even after work, there are rotating guards. How could Instructor Brown be alone at home—"
Rick snapped. These four clearly wanted to renege. He stepped forward, glaring. "Spit it out. What do you want?"
"I want you to defeat us head-on. Fair and square." The man sneered, confident Rick—an Insect General Level 1 with a mere Soldier-Class Scythe Insect—couldn't beat four.
"Win, and you'll concede?"
"Absolutely!"
"Fine. Remember your words." Rick slammed the door and stormed to the training hall, Gria and the four trailing uncertainly.
Arriving at the training hall, Rick found the 100m² combat ring surrounded by onlookers. Word of Gria's game had spread; lunch-break guards and servants had come to spectate.
"Hmph, better with an audience. Let you lose with no excuses." Rick sneered, grabbing the ring's hemp rope and flipping in. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a taut, muscled torso beneath his compression vest.
He taunted the four with a finger wave, stretching like a predatory beast. Sensing his aggressive gaze, the quartet shivered, but with the crowd watching, they had no choice but to enter. Wary of Rick's unarmed skills, they transformed instantly, forming their pre-trained encircle formation to box him in.
On the surface, this was clearly no fair fight, but Rick—though outnumbered—showed no trace of weakness. Facing four armed opponents, he didn't even transform, which to onlookers seemed wildly overconfident.
In truth, Rick aimed to practice Shust's combat style. Spending time with Shust, he'd been most impressed by his ability to partially transform in an instant, blending human martial arts with battle insect power to the extreme. This was the path Rick aspired to—though he didn't yet realize that such absolute control over transformation was the prerequisite to becoming an Insect Master, and he was slowly edging toward that powerful realm.
On the stage, the battle stalled: Rick looked calm at the center, while the four surrounding him panicked. They'd misapplied the encircle formation—Brown had taught them the Iron Barrel Formation, a defensive stance meant to protect a central VIP, facing outward. Using it to encircle Rick created an inward-facing formation they'd never drilled.
Rick saw this at once. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his figure blurred.
Ghost Step!
If the old man were here, he'd have shouted again. For the first time, Rick used "Ghost Step" consciously, not in a drunken haze—he'd truly mastered the Tanzan royal secret.
The crowd saw only a blur: one of the four was sent flying off the stage with a chop from Rick, while the other three flailed at the afterimages, still locked in defensive stances. It all happened in less than a second—from Rick's Ghost Step dashes to closing the gap, to transforming his hand into a scythe and striking, a blink was all it took to down one opponent.
Click. The serrated scythe reverted to a hand—he wasn't as fluid as Shust yet, but the speed amazed onlookers. And Rick didn't stop: leaping forward, he planted a hand on the ground, legs coiling like scissors around another man's knees. A quick twist snapped the unarmored joints unnaturally. The remaining two, finally reacting, jabbed forward with lance-like wasp tails, but their spearwork paled next to Lant's Spirit Lance mastery. Rick clamped the broken legs, sprang up like a spring, dodged the stings, and smashed an elbow into a chest.
The moment his elbow made contact, it transformed, sprouting a hard elbow plate and blade. Another crack: the elbow blade pierced the man's ribs. Only Rick's intentional avoidance of vital organs kept him alive.
In an instant, two of three were disabled. The leader's face turned ashen. The gap was too wide—though similar in level and strength, Rick outclassed him in skill. In real combat, he stood no chance.
But it was too late to concede. Rick, intent on teaching a lesson, charged. The leader raised his lance desperately.
Entangle, wrap, disarm.
"Let go!" Rick's arms coiled around the lance like snakes, twisting and yanking. The tip veered past his right rib, and the off-balance man could only watch as Rick's palm sliced his wrist. The lance clattered to the edge of the ring.
Weaponless, the man was done. Rick kicked him down, scanned the groaning others, and fixed him with a hard stare. "Concede?"
"...Concede."
At the word, Gria waved. Medics rushed in to carry off the wounded. Though Rick held back from killing, his habitual heavy-handedness meant they'd have died without immediate care—something Gria, who'd watched closely, knew well.
Even after the four were carted out, the crowd remained stunned. Defeating four in an instant was shocking, and Rick's brutality left a deep impression. No one would underestimate him now; their glances shifted from scorn to awe—something Rick hadn't expected.
Snatching his coat from the ring rope, Rick leaped down, striding to Gria as the crowd parted.
"Impressive. I didn't know you were this good," Gria said, smiling sincerely.
"Hehe, I've sorted some things out these past days and broke through a bottleneck. A few days ago, I couldn't have done that."
Rick spoke honestly, but Gria took it as modesty. Rarely showing such familiarity in public, he slung an arm over Rick's shoulder. "Come, let's talk. I have a plan, and since you're part of it, you deserve to know more."
To everyone's astonishment, they left the hall, ascending the Pai Mansion's spiral staircase to the sixth floor VIP suite, reserved for distinguished guests. Pushing open the ornate door inlaid with gold filigree, Gria gestured to the luxuriously decorated suite. "How does this room look?"
"Beautiful," Rick replied, then added, "Very beautiful."
"Agreed."
"Are you letting me stay here?" Rick pointed to himself, eyes lighting up.
"In your dreams." Gria flicked the back of Rick's head. "This is the Pai Mansion's finest suite—only one person qualifies: the Merchant Guild's master."
"Oh." Rick pouted. "Then why drag me here if I can't stay?"
"Because in a few days, Lady Manny, the Guild's heir, will occupy this room. Your job: protect her." Gria's eyes lost all humor, growing dead serious.
"Protect her like I did this time?"
"Precisely."
"First, I need to know the enemies—who's trying to assassinate her?"
"Many."
"Many?" Rick asked, surprised.
"From all quarters." Gria paused. "As you know, the Hundred Cities Treaty grants the Guild exclusive trading rights. In effect, we control the economic lifeblood of cities worldwide—a reality most mayors resent. They crave that power, making the Guild their target."
"Gods, that's... fighting the whole world." Rick was stunned. He'd never guessed the Guild's glamorous facade hid such danger. Then he wondered: does Lord Arthur of Ison City also want—
"Dammit! You aren't making me assassinate Lord Arthur, are you? That's suicide! I refuse!"
Gria blinked, then realized Rick's mistake. He laughed wryly. "Who said anything about assassinating Lord Arthur? I said most mayors want to topple the Guild, not all. Lord Arthur happens to support the status quo, so we can ignore official threats from Ison—for now."
"Good to hear."
"Don't let your guard down. Official threats may be absent, but civilian ones remain."
This reminded Rick of the underground world. "The black market?" he ventured.
"Exactly. Lord Arthur recognizes the Guild's monopoly, banning black marketeers from the surface. They dare not defy the Lord, but they'll oppose the Guild. Kill the heir, and they can overthrow the decree, return to the surface, and replace the Guild."
"Black market..." Rick mentally marked them as enemies. He'd discuss with Anna later, have her scout for recent black market activity. Seeing Rick engage, Gria continued: "Beyond the black market, official organizations from other cities may send assassins too."
"Ugh, that's a huge scope..."
Regarding these enemies, Rick could only helplessly concede—this was beyond pre-emptive prevention. He'd have to improvise when the time came.
"Not done yet. If it were just those two threats, I wouldn't have drafted you last-minute." Gria seemed determined to drop another bombshell. "Beyond external foes, we have internal strife. The Guild Master is elderly, and Lady Manny has never managed Guild affairs, so her authority is weak. Vice-Guild Master Diego is seizing power, and to truly control the Guild, Lady Manny must be eliminated. So... you see?"
"Dammit! You're saying I can't trust anyone around me? That someone standing beside me might stab me in the back?" Rick exclaimed dramatically.
Gria flushed, nodding awkwardly. "More or less."
"Fuck! This is a suicide mission. I quit!" Rick shook his head like a rattle.
"Quit?" Gria panicked, grabbing him. "You took my money! Honor your pay!"
"I'll return it!"
"Idiot! A man keeps his word! Besides, do you know who you'd be protecting? It's Lady Manny!～"
"Don't know her." Rick pouted, unimpressed.
"You moron... I don't know what to say." Gria massaged his temples, then blurted: "Fine. Complete the mission, keep Lady Manny safe in Ison, and you can have any of my properties. I may be a mere Pai Mansion steward, but my assets span all of Ison."
"How much is that?" Rick had no concept of huge sums, thinking himself rich already.
"Total? Probably over ten billion Golden Beetles."
"HOW MUCH?!" Rick nearly choked, eyes bulging. "Say that again—ten billion?!"
"Maybe more." Gria stroked his goatee, proud.
"Fuck, you're filthy rich."
Rick wavered. Gria's offer was tempting, and the challenge appealed to his restless nature. After a pause, he said: "Before I agree, two questions."
"Ask. I'll be honest."
"First: why trust me? We haven't known each other long, and you can't possibly find no one stronger in Ison."
"You're right—you aren't the strongest here. But..." Gria's tone shifted. "You're the strongest among those I trust. Why? Call it intuition. My judgment has never failed."
"Is that so." Rick chuckled. "Second: why protect Lady Manny? If you sided with Diego, your gains would be huge."
"This... Lady Manny is..." Gria fumbled, unable to answer, but his flustered expression told Rick everything.
Rick smiled enigmatically, waving as he turned. "I understand. I'll take the job. Don't forget your promise..."