Chapter 156

The sword that had unleashed the plum blossoms crumbled like sand.

Its sword aura had completely dissipated.

Not that it mattered—after all, it had belonged to one of those western assassins.

‘Not bad.’

The Plum Blossom Sword Art had originally left him completely drained after use, but today, it felt as though he was a whole different person.

And what was the difference?

‘Being able to stay in the air makes a big one.’

It was subtle yet monumental progress.

Ihan no longer felt exhausted after performing the Plum Blossom Sword Art a few times.

…Or rather, he could now replenish his stamina and mental strength as quickly as he spent it.

The reason for this?

‘All that training is paying off.’

If Taechang were here, he’d go on about traits like [Diamond Body] and [Unyielding Will] helping with stamina and mental resilience, but Ihan only half-listened to such explanations.

This was reality, not a game.

His strength, stamina, and techniques were the results of effort—not game mechanics.

The same applied to the Plum Blossom Sword Art.

He had trained relentlessly, and today’s improvements were simply the result of that dedication.

Faster and sharper than before!

‘About twenty uses, maybe?’

Swish!

Ihan was confident he could perform the Plum Blossom Sword Art at least twenty times without strain.

He picked up another stolen blade and swung it.

It wasn’t a bad weapon, possessing a decent sword aura. Thanks to that—

Whoosh!

—the scattering blossoms were dazzling.

Slice! Slash! Rip!

“!!?”

“-·-!”

“-·-·-uh…-?!”

The assassins cried out, but their tongues had been cut—or maybe they had cut them themselves—leaving them unable to form proper words.

“Even for freaks, why would you cut out perfectly good tongues?”

Ihan clicked his tongue, but the assassins couldn’t answer.

The swirling petals had already pierced their flesh, cutting through hearts and vital organs.

Like scattering bullets.

The Plum Blossom Sword Art focused on penetration and slicing power.

Yet—

“You’re not completely hopeless, though.”

Crunch!

The assassins were adapting.

Though deadly, the Plum Blossom Sword Art wasn’t invincible—once their eyes and bodies adjusted, they began to counter it.

It was proof his technique still had flaws.

Even so—

“Well, I’ve thinned out the weaklings. Not bad.”

“-‥-!”

Over half of the fifty assassins had been cut down.

The remaining half, though injured and bleeding, weren’t fatally wounded.

They glared at Ihan with murderous intent.

Yet Ihan felt no danger whatsoever.

He never underestimated opponents, no matter how weak. So why—

“Why are assassins so damn slow?”

“!!”

Am I underestimating them?

Bang!

In an instant, Ihan shot forward and appeared behind them.

His mastery of Shadow Step had reached a new level.

After countless battles underground, his practice had finally paid off—he could now use Shadow Step as naturally as breathing.

Shing!

Hunting these assassins felt no harder than an owl catching mice.

“-‥-44-·-1!”

The apparent leader barked orders, recognizing the overwhelming gap between them.

The assassins immediately shifted tactics, and three of them lunged at Ihan.

Then—

Boom!

—they detonated themselves.

Using their bodies as bombs, they turned into human grenades.

It was a terrifying move, using their lives as weapons.

The explosion wasn’t just deadly—it was like a shrapnel bomb, sending bones and flesh flying like a claymore mine.

No knight, no matter how skilled, could escape unscathed.

That was common sense.

But—

“Ugh, this is disgusting…”

Brush. Brush.

“……”

“Why are assassins always so damn dirty? Tsk.”

—common sense didn’t apply to Ihan.

He stood without a single scratch.

His clothes were torn and stained, but that was it.

And through the torn fabric, his body was—

“…How is that even human?”

One of the assassins—the only one with an intact tongue—spoke for the first time.

It was a body of steel.

An incredible physique, as if carved from iron.

Could an ogre or troll achieve such a body through endless training?

…No. They had never seen anything like this.

Perhaps he had undergone illegal enhancements like them?

“…But no human modification looks that natural.”

Altered bodies always bore marks—becoming monstrous, like beasts.

Yet his flesh showed no signs of deformity.

Hearing this, Ihan scoffed.

“You think I’m like you?”

Illegal modifications? Please.

“I built this body by training for over 12 hours a day.”

Years of sweat and blood to master Shadow Step and Steel Body.

Hearing his efforts dismissed as unnatural, Ihan frowned.

“Then tell me, can those ‘enhancements’ do this?”

Whoosh!

He punched the air.

A seemingly meaningless motion—until—

Crunch!

“!!?!”

An assassin’s head burst like a crushed tomato.

—Shattering Strike.

Ihan’s punches, like invisible cannonballs, were impossible to block.

“Go ahead, try to stop this.”

He even gave them a warning before throwing his next punch.

Crunch!

Another assassin’s head exploded, sowing fear among the group.

Despite their brutal training, the assassins began to panic.

“Why can’t you block it? I told you it was coming.”

Ihan’s tone was calm, but to the assassins, it felt like the devil’s taunt.

****

The assassins all fell with a dull thud—headless bodies scattered like discarded puppets.

“…Tough bastards.”

It might have seemed like an easy victory, but Ihan knew better.

He had only won because they were caught off guard by his methods.

Starting with the Plum Blossom Sword Art, followed by Shadow Step and Iron Body, and ending with Shattering Strike—

It was a fighting style they had never encountered before, leaving them no time to adapt.

Call it dirty if you want, but there’s no such thing as fairness in a fight.

That didn’t mean the assassins were weak, though.

Their suicidal explosion tactics were unsettling and brutal—if it had been anyone else facing them…

“Hmm, maybe not?”

Ihan scratched his head.

Even if he hadn’t stepped in, the situation might have resolved itself.

After all—

“You truly are impressive, Sir Turtle. My presence here feels unnecessary.”

There were others guarding the area.

“…Not Tristan. Must be someone from Galahad or Lionel?”

“Galahad.”

“Yeah?”

There had been far more assassins than the ones Ihan took down.

That flashy, tanned bastard must’ve had so much money he could hire assassins by the truckload.

Still, Ihan only bothered to handle the ones approaching from the east because he sensed other guards protecting the area.

From the west, he could feel a familiar presence—it was likely Tristan.

As for the other two directions, they were guarded by strangers…

“Ah, now that I see you, I remember. You were one of those masked guards when the chick moved next door, right?”

“…You still remember that?”

“My memory’s crap, but I’m good at remembering people by their aura, not their faces.”

“Impressive…”

Galahad’s shadows.

It had been half a year since he’d last seen them, back when Irene Windler had become his neighbor.

“Damn it. I didn’t even need to step in if you guys were here.”

Tristan and Galahad.

They’d probably sent knights to protect his bear cub and the mage chick.

Not bad at all.

‘What the hell are the White Cats doing?’

Other families had sent guards just in case something like this happened, but Pendragon…

‘Damn it, sis. What are you even doing?’

His royal sister wasn’t incompetent—there was no way she hadn’t foreseen this situation.

Still, it was embarrassing.

It was his former workplace, after all.

“Ha, I wouldn’t call it unnecessary. The ones you took down were the strongest of the assassins. If not for you, we might have suffered heavy casualties or even a breach.”

“You don’t need to flatter me.”

“I’m just being honest. As expected from the man who dared lecture the duke.”

“…You were there for that?”

“I thought it was brilliant.”

“…You saw my dark history, huh?”

Ihan gave a bitter laugh.

The knight, however, smiled warmly.

“Haha, you’re probably the only one who thinks of it as dark history. We call you the Bold Loyalist in Galahad.”

“Bold Loyalist?”

“It’s short for ‘the brave man who didn’t hold back the truth.’ Apart from the late war god, you’re the only one who could pull that off. Hahaha!”

“Hmm…”

It was an awkward nickname, to say the least.

‘Is that an insult or a compliment?’

Ihan scratched his cheek but figured the Galahad knights didn’t bear him any ill will.

Well—

“…Except for that guy. He looks like he really hates me.”

Not everyone would like him, after all.

Crash!

A spear skewered the remaining assassins—around ten of them—in one swift motion.

It was a plain, ordinary-looking spear—nothing flashy.

Yet, the moment it was thrust, it exuded the destructive force of a ballista.

It was so perfect that even Ihan, unwilling as he was, had to acknowledge it.

If there was an ideal thrust motion, that was it.

And, of course, the man who delivered it was someone Ihan knew.

“A flawless thrust, but what a shitty personality.”

“…Hahaha.”

The Galahad knight couldn’t help but laugh.

It was just too funny.

Earlier, his vice-captain had said something similar:

“Hmph. His personality is a mess, but his punches are top-notch.”

Watching them, the knight thought—

Maybe skilled people were just naturally like this.

‘…They’re probably two of a kind.’

Truly entertaining individuals.