An assassin without discipline is merely a killer.  
Assassin guilds maintained strict codes and principles that they upheld rigorously; any lax assassin failed to command their respect.

…In this sense, the Black Serpent was quite the exceptional assassin.

*We are the shadows that swallow sins.  
The self is poison incarnate.  
Keep gold and blood at a distance.*

For most assassins, adherence to their guild’s code was paramount—yet the Black Serpent was relatively free from these restrictions. Some would say she interpreted the rules in her own, unconventional way.

Living a double life as a high-ranking adventurer, she openly sought personal gain, something far from following the code. Though not entirely breaking the rules, she skirted their boundaries with every step.

If she truly cared about the guild’s code, her wayward behavior could not be overlooked.

So, the guild took action, sending other masters to “guide” her back to the code’s principles.

In that process, the guild discovered something unexpected.

“When did I plant the poison, you ask? What a foolish and pathetic question. Rather than answer, I’ll grant you time to ponder that yourselves.”

Each of these masters was considered a figure of terror, yet each realized their very lives lay in the Black Serpent’s hands.

For an assassin, the code was everything.  
If anything took precedence over the code, it was absolute power.

Thus, the Black Serpent earned the guild’s respect, allowing her to devote herself even more fervently to her “adventurer’s role.”

…Everything was for the sake of curing that infernal skin disease.

It felt as though fire clinging to her skin had finally been extinguished.  
It was a sensation Salana had never experienced since her skin disease began.

She immediately pulled out a mirror to check.

“…”

Salana carefully touched her face.

“This… can’t be…”

Salana had done everything possible to cure her condition. She had traveled across the continent, meeting renowned healers and priestly mages.

She even hired apothecaries and alchemists to create custom treatments.

Yet nothing had worked. They could temporarily heal the scars and wounds, but never remove the underlying disease.

But this was different.  
Or rather, the opposite.

The scars and wounds remained, but the underlying disease had visibly improved. The dark, sickly hue of her skin had faded ever so slightly.

“How…?”

Salana was so shocked she forgot to feel elated. She simply stared at the young man in front of her—Risir.

He was a common-looking young man, albeit with a slightly noble air. But he’d never revealed his family, and his casual demeanor suggested he didn’t hold much pride in his heritage. Perhaps he came from a minor noble family.

His level of skill matched his appearance. A young man in his early twenties at the third level of mana mastery.

For a commoner, that would be extraordinary—but for a noble, accustomed to early support, it was fairly average.

Perhaps even mediocre.

For someone like Salana, or for the many who had attempted to treat her disease, Risir would seem mediocre at best.

And yet, this “mediocre” man was now claiming to cure her.

Though her instincts urged her to doubt his motives and skill, there was no denying her current condition.

“What do you think?” Risir’s voice cut through her reverie.

“Oh?” Salana blinked, realizing she’d been staring at her reflection. Her expression brightened with something close to pure joy.

Suddenly, she seized Risir’s arm.

“How did you do this?”

In her excitement, Salana forgot to keep up her “carefree high-ranking adventurer” act. It didn’t matter, though. At this moment, she felt as if she could truly be herself—the master of an assassin guild, thrilled at her progress.

Risir, however, didn’t share her enthusiasm. With a serious face, he asked, “If possible, could you tell me exactly how your condition feels right now?”

Salana was surprised. “Why does he seem so… reliable?”

Her usual confident posture softened. If those who knew her could see her now, they’d be shocked by her respectful tone and demeanor.

“I feel… better! I mean, I definitely feel better! Could you tell me how you did it?”

Salana’s eyes sparkled as she watched Risir.

“So you’re feeling an improvement?”

“Yes! You don’t believe me?”

“Actually, Miss Salana, your condition isn’t fully cured yet.”

Salana’s eyes widened in shock. She felt as though she’d been given a lifeline, yet here he was, dissatisfied with an incomplete cure.

In other words, Risir believed he could completely cure her.

“What do I need to do? Just say the word. Money? Supplies? Whatever you need.”

“Could I place my hand on the affected area again?”

Without hesitation, Salana knelt to the ground and pressed her face against his hand.

“Oh, you don’t need to go that far—”

“Ah, sorry! Am I making you uncomfortable? I’m just… really excited.”

She laughed, still pressing her face to his hand.

“Is this good enough? How is it?”

Salana waited eagerly, like an excited pet begging for attention, only quieting as he focused.

“Miss Salana?”

“Yes? I’m listening.”

“Well… I need to find the right way to explain what I’m sensing.”

What he could feel was that her skin disease was certainly something that “purification” could target. It seemed that some abnormal force was actively worsening her condition.

Thus, Risir expected his purification power to fully heal her skin.

But the reality was different.

Salana’s skin disease remained. Or rather, after each treatment, it quickly returned to its original state.

“It’s as if… there’s a pipeline connecting to the infection…”

Each time he purified the “container,” it refilled itself almost immediately, as if the diseased matter had a constant source.

“Ugh…”

As if on cue, Salana winced, withdrawing her face from his hand as the healing scabs reopened, oozing fluid onto Risir’s hand.

A first for Salana, shame washed over her face.

“Sorry! This must be disgusting. I’ll clean it up.”

She hastily pulled out an ornate handkerchief to wipe his hand—a luxurious cloth for something as simple as a bit of discharge, showing just how much she’d invested in skincare.

Salana’s face twisted with embarrassment as she wiped his hand. Risir watched in silence, sighing inwardly.

What he thought would be a simple fix was proving far more complicated.

His gaze drifted toward the alley’s exit, where he knew Pean was likely still waiting in front of the inn.

“Is something wrong? Do you have other plans?”

Salana’s voice drew his attention back, and Risir was startled by the sudden shift in her tone.

Her smile remained, but her crimson eyes had lost their usual brightness.

It was as if the desperate fear of losing her one chance at healing had shattered the assassin’s usual calm. Salana’s mask of the “cheerful adventurer” was slipping to reveal the guild master beneath.

She looked down at the hands holding his, seemingly unaware that her touch had infected him with her unique poison.

Of course, it wasn’t a lethal toxin.

She wouldn’t harm someone who might actually help her.

“If there’s something more urgent than helping me, let me know.”

The poison only immobilized him, making it difficult to leave and reconsider his options.

“Well… I do have an appointment with someone.”

“I see.”

Salana’s smile grew thin. She knew better than most that assassins rarely relied on words alone to convey their intent. They had two alternatives far more efficient than talk.

Coercion. And persuasion.

Ordinarily, Salana might have stuck to her carefree “adventurer” persona, patiently conversing with Risir—but her composure was wearing thin. The possibility of him leaving stirred her impatience, and she had no intention of wasting time.

“Then it can’t be helped.”

She activated the toxin.

Risir didn’t flinch.

“Then… could I let them know I’ll be a bit delayed?”

Salana blinked in surprise.

He continued, “I wasn’t originally planning to go this far, but I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to see this through to the end if that’s alright?”

“Oh! Yes—of course!”

Salana was caught off guard. Not only did her poison fail to affect him, but his reaction was entirely unexpected.

For the first time, the master of the Black Hand Assassin Guild—the Black Serpent—was flustered by someone else.

---

“I can’t believe you couldn’t fix her condition. Well, I’ll let this one slide.”

Pean grumbled at the cancellation of their breakfast plans but quickly relented when Risir explained the situation.

“I’ve got somewhere I need to stop by myself. Can you join me?”

“Somewhere?”

“Yes. I actually had an appointment to consult some experts about… this blasted skin condition.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Because of me…”

“Oh, hush.”

Salana pulled Risir close with a grin.

“Just like you prioritized me over your girlfriend, I’m putting you first right now. Besides, I think getting help from you might be more useful than seeing those two. But I’m going just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“Just in case their advice might help you.”

“True, I’d like to ask them a few questions about your condition.”

The scenery shifted as they walked, and Risir soon noticed that the buildings and people’s clothing had become strikingly different. They had left the commercial district and entered the magic district.

“So… these experts you mentioned—who are they?”

“One is a renowned scholar in this city. An elite mage of the Keig Tower.”

“Oh…”

Risir’s eyes lit up with interest.

*Securing an appointment with an elite mage from the tower would be difficult even for a high-ranking noble.*

Salana’s contacts were nothing short of impressive. Risir felt even more satisfied with this unexpected perk of their encounter.

“And the other… Well, it’s a little embarrassing, but they’re a shaman.”

“A shaman?”

“You might not believe it, but they’re the only one who’s helped with my condition. Their methods have had enough effect that I regularly ask for their treatments.”

“Treatments?”

“Yes, ritual sessions where I drink a special elixir. Sounds silly, I know, but it actually works.”

“A ritual… and an elixir…”

Repeating the words, Risir’s eyes shifted to Salana’s afflicted skin. Soon, they arrived at a secluded underground lab on the edge of the magic district.

“This is my research lab, set up specifically for my shaman.”

As Salana had said, two people were already there, waiting.

Risir noted their eccentric appearance: an elderly man with long gray hair and beard tied in braids and a younger woman with red markings on her face, seated across from each other in deep discussion.

“Ah, Salana’s here.”

The old man greeted her with a smile.

“I was surprised, you know. When I heard someone claimed to help with your nasty skin condition, I didn’t expect a barbarian.”

“Barbarian? You weren’t rude to my friend, were you?”

“At first! Couldn’t help it. It’s not every day I speak with a barbarian. But now, I’ve come to respect her knowledge. Her shamanic powers are so fascinatingly primitive!”

The shaman inclined her head toward Salana.

“It’s been a while, Salana.”

“Yes, it has, Glia. Thank you for coming, Lord Meltas.”

“Hmph. You should thank me. But Salana… Who’s this young man?”

Risir stepped forward.

“My name is Risir.”

“Ah, Risir. And?”

“Pardon?”

“Which family do you belong to?”

“I… cannot say. I’m the illegitimate child of a noble.”

“Hm.”

Meltas’ expression shifted, hinting at disapproval.

“Then, bastard Risir, what brings you here?”

“Lord Meltas, Risir came here to help me.”

Salana’s voice held a hint of irritation, matched by Meltas’ expression.

A bastard, barely at the third level, yet somehow welcomed here on equal footing with him.

“Well, then I suppose I’m not needed.”

Meltas rose without hesitation, and Glia quickly followed, striding over to Salana with a serious look.

Studying Salana’s face closely, Glia’s expression turned grim.

“Salana… What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your condition… it’s worsened.”

She pulled a small green vial

 from her robes and handed it to Salana.

“Take this right away.”

Salana reflexively reached for the vial—only for Risir to grab it first.

Instantly, the elixir inside changed color.

“What are you—!?”

“You—”

“Pardon me, but what did you two do to this?”

The bastard had acted a beat faster, questioning the two experts before they could react.