To put it simply, it was a failure.

The idea had come to him while he was trying to replicate the enchantment on his lucky coin. “What if I could mass-produce and sell these? I’d make a fortune!” But, ultimately, he had to abandon the plan.

His understanding of enchantments had grown, and with it, he recognized the true nature of the “lucky coin.”

It wasn’t some grand relic like a “holy artifact,” as he had first thought.

It was more like “heated metal.”

The coin only temporarily took on his energy’s properties, and the effect was unstable. Without a steady supply of mana from him, the effect would dissipate rapidly, cooling off in real time.

Selling something like this would make him no better than a shady dealer, saying, “It worked fine when I sold it. No refunds.” In the end, he concluded that his idea of a lucky coin business was impractical.

“Why did it have to give me false hope of easy money?”

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. His dream of “money duplication” had vanished before his eyes. The only consolation was that he had gained something, even if it wasn’t what he’d hoped for.

He examined the coin in his hand. While he hadn’t succeeded in imbuing it with purification power, he had managed to embed it with mana. 

It was undeniable—he had finally mastered the basics of enchantment.

It might just be baby steps, but…

“Well, it’s something,” he thought, satisfied with the expansion of his magical abilities.

“You actually thought that would work?”

Pean, having heard his story, rebuked him, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Dreaming is free, you know?”

“Free?”

She was sitting by his bedside, cleaning the blood off his face with a warm, damp towel. She held up the now blood-stained cloth for him to see.

“Enchanting involves transferring part of your own energy into an object. It’s exhausting mentally and physically, like kneading dough until it’s falling apart! And you put yourself through that without knowing what you were doing—”

“Still, I had it under control. If things got really dangerous, I would’ve stopped.”

“Define ‘really dangerous.’ Death? Fainting? Total exhaustion? Just say it. Promise you won’t push yourself like this again.”

Risir knew what Pean was trying to say. He wasn’t stupid. This training, after all, was meant to protect his life; there was no sense in harming his health for it.

This time had been a unique situation, though. He’d felt a certainty that he’d gain something if he pushed himself to the limit.

“Don’t be so harsh. Here, take this.”

He handed her the result of his first attempt at enchantment.

“Oh, sure. And what am I supposed to do with this? You’re not thinking of calling this an artifact, are you? It’s just a mana-imbued coin. Maybe it’d come in handy as a hammer substitute when you’re out of one.”

“It’s my first enchantment. Someday, when I’m a famous enchanter, it might fetch a premium.”

Pean scoffed, but she still pocketed the coin.

A few moments later.

“All done.”

Having finished cleaning his face, Pean moved away from him.

“Thanks, Pean. In the end, you’re the only one who cares about me.”

“Excuse me? I never said I cared.”

With a huff, Pean stood up from the bed.

“So, what now?”

“Hm?”

“You said thank you. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

“...How about a hug?”

Thunk. The towel hit him square in the face.

Apparently, that wasn’t the right answer.

“...Had breakfast?”

“Seriously? After all this mess from the break of dawn, now you ask if I’ve eaten? No, obviously not! But thank you so much for asking.”

“Then, may I have the honor of treating you to breakfast?”

“Oh, someone needs to stop that mouth of yours.”

Pean left the room with a sigh, urging him to get ready to leave.

Seemed like that *was* the right answer.

---

Risir quickly prepared to leave. Though he’d trained all night, he wasn’t as tired as he expected, likely thanks to Pean’s energy boost, so it didn’t take long to pack up.

“Got everything?”

He left a single coin on the blood-stained bed as a final touch and exited the room. At that moment, a woman emerged from the adjacent room almost simultaneously.

“...”
“...”

Their eyes met for a moment, given the timing, and Risir found himself captivated by her face.

The left side of her face bore the scars of severe burns.

And there was an unsettling feeling emanating from her.

She had a strong, well-toned figure and long, dark red hair. The striking scars on her face were unforgettable.

Salana.

She was not one to appreciate people staring at her face.

With the disfiguring scar eating away at her left side, it was easy to guess why she disliked it. Who would want their flaws observed so openly?

“…”

Salana was annoyed. The man from the adjacent room was standing there, staring at her without a hint of shame.

*Who does this guy think he is?*

Ordinarily, she would have shoved past him by now, and later, he’d have realized his shoulder had been dislocated.

But today, she let it slide. Absentmindedly, she touched her face.

She wasn’t sure why, but her skin felt somewhat better after last night.

Could it be that her efforts were finally paying off, for the first time?

How long had it been since she’d woken without finding her scar split and raw, her pillow soaked with fluid?

How long since she’d woken up with a dry pillow, finding some joy in the morning ritual of putting herself together?

She was in a good enough mood to overlook such minor offenses.

“Is there something on my face?”

Salana spoke in a cheerful tone, her public persona as a high-level adventurer on full display.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to stare.”

Sometimes, there were people who openly stared and let their disgust show. Those types usually needed a few broken fingers before they reacted like this.

At least this man didn’t seem like he required such “shock treatment.”

“Ha ha. I get it. As you can see, I’m quite a looker. You’re not the first man to get lost staring at me.”

Salana’s tone relaxed.

“I’m Salana, an adventurer. High rank.”

“Oh! I’m Risir. So, you’re a high-level adventurer… That’s impressive.”

Risir knew the average high-ranking adventurer was around the fifth level. Salana appeared to be in her twenties, and for someone that young to reach level five was no small feat, even for nobles with full support from their families.

“I agree. A young, high-ranking, and gorgeous adventurer—so I’m willing to overlook it this time. You were just lost in admiration, right?”

“Oh…! I apologize once again.”

“Eh, no need. You were just entranced by my beauty. Anyway, Risir. It was nice meeting you—hope we cross paths again.”

Salana turned to leave, stepping away from Risir.

“Ah, wait a moment! Salana!”

“...”

Salana inwardly grimaced.

*Seriously—why is he so clingy? It’s annoying.*

Feigning a smile, she responded.

“What is it? Going to ask me out on a date?”

“Well, as tempting as that sounds—”

Of course, he wasn’t asking for a date. He had other commitments, like meeting up with Pean, who was waiting outside the inn.

Even so, he stopped her because of the strange feeling he sensed from her.

It was the same as with Todina.

Risir could sense that Salana needed “purification.”

He had no doubt that his power could help her.

Risir considered the potential benefit.

“A high-level adventurer, huh…”

Establishing a good rapport with someone of her standing could prove beneficial in the future.

Moreover, Risir had confirmed something while consolidating his powers the previous night—his power had grown significantly.

Or rather, perhaps he had simply confirmed something he’d already known.

He suspected he had experienced two distinct stages of growth, knowing the exact events that triggered them.

The first was after the incident with Lona.

The second, after the incident with Todina.

Risir deduced one thing from this.

Somehow, purification was directly linked to the growth of his power.

This was why he’d stopped Salana. Meeting her represented an opportunity.

“So? Speak up.”

“…”

Risir hesitated. How should he approach this?

He always felt awkward in moments like this.

Sensing a person’s condition with powers he didn’t fully understand, offering them help with an ability he didn’t completely grasp.

How could he explain this to someone else?

*A lucky coin wouldn’t cut it here.*

With Todina, the issue had been apparent, and she’d been desperate for help. Handing her the lucky coin had been enough to get the message across.

Salana was different.

*It’s clear that her facial scar is an issue, but—*

She wasn’t openly showing her need, nor was she seeking help.

If he suddenly handed her a lucky coin, saying it could help with her scar, he’d likely get a challenge to a duel instead of a thank-you.

“Ha ha. What’s this? Did I mishear you? If you don’t have a reason, I’m

 going now.”

*Screw it.*

Desperation kicked in.

“Salana! I-I know this sounds strange, but, do you have… an illness you’re struggling with?”

“An illness? You mean this?”

Salana rubbed her scarred face.

“If I could help cure it… would you believe me?”

“…”

In an instant, Salana’s demeanor changed.

Risir’s hair stood on end.

It was too sharp, too ominous for someone merely at level five.

“What is it? Go on.”

She continued smiling, but her eyes had hardened. Her scar had drawn more than just gawking bigots.

There had been others—those who claimed they knew how to heal it.

All frauds or swindlers after her wealth as a high-ranking adventurer. Each one had paid dearly.

Paid by the Black Hand Assassin Guild’s master, the Black Serpent Five.

Salana’s fingertips began to glow faintly with sinister energy as she placed her hands behind her back.

Colorless, odorless, invisible.

It left no symptoms, only results.

This was the formless poison, wielded only by those who had mastered the art of assassination.

If Salana chose to act, the man before her would meet a mysterious end by nightfall.

“Shall we change locations?”

Salana led Risir out the back door of the inn and into a deserted alleyway.

---

“Pardon the intrusion, but… may I touch your face for a moment?”

Risir’s first question after their silent walk. Salana hesitated, debating.

*Should I just kill him?*

Her eyes seemed to hold that exact thought. Risir misread it as consent and nodded before placing his hand gently on her face.

“Excuse me.”

“…”

The “easy-going, high-ranking adventurer” mask Salana wore cracked slightly.

She wasn’t used to even her own touch on that area, let alone someone else’s.

Salana glared at Risir, her gaze chilling.

She was prepared to listen.

In her experience, frauds and con artists always tried to confuse her with elaborate language, thinking they could deceive her.

She’d learned something from these encounters.

Three minutes.

If the spiel exceeded three minutes, it wasn’t worth hearing.

So, that was Risir’s limit—three minutes.

Risir gave a slight nod and opened his mouth.

Salana started counting down, fully prepared to witness this foolish con artist’s remaining three minutes of life.

“All done. Would you care to check?”

“?”

---

──────────  
**Salana**  
Level: 61  
Race: Human  
Class: Assassin  
──────────