A few minutes later, his father returned with the tea and sat beside him, sipping quietly.
An assassin bows to no one. That was the creed, he had lived by, the life he had once ruled from the shadows. Yet today… he had been pinned, forced to grovel before a boy not much older than him.
The humiliation clung to him like a second skin. His lips curled faintly—not in shame, but in resolve. The pride of an assassin lies silent—but never dead.
"Father… let's go out," Kael said as he drained the last of his cup.
They rose together and stepped back into the growing bustle of the street. More stalls had been set up now, while others were still unloading. His father's eyes caught on a small hat stall, and he drifted toward it. Kael followed in silence, forcing his breathing steady, his thoughts sharpening like a blade.
"How much is that hat?" his father asked the shopkeeper.
"Nine copper coins, sir," the man replied, his tone flat but polite.
Without hesitation, his father pressed a silver coin into the man's palm—worth ten copper coins. The shopkeeper bowed slightly and quickly began wrapping up the straw hat. As Kael's father examined the weave and firmness, the shopkeeper handed a single copper coin to Kael, who caught it instinctively.
His father, satisfied, placed the straw hat gently atop Kael's head.
As they stepped back onto the street and moved toward the center of the road, the flow of people thickened. More and more faces from the lower-class district were crossing into the middle-class quarter—some carrying baskets, others pulling carts laden with goods. Among them, Kael's father spotted a familiar figure.
"Hey… Dennis, over here!" he called, lifting his hand high in greeting.
A man in his fifties turned at the sound. He was much like Kael's father in age, though taller and broader in build. His yellow tunic, though simple, looked freshly laundered, the sun catching faint creases along its sleeves. A leather belt cinched his waist, and sturdy sandals slapped softly against the cobbles as he approached.
"An hour late, but yeah… I'm here, pal," he said with an excited smile. His rough hand rested briefly on Kael's head. "How's my lad, Kael, doing?"
"Father said you carried me when I fainted back then. Thank you for that, Uncle Dennis," Kael replied respectfully.
It was already noon. As Kael's father and Dennis continued their conversation, Kael's eyes drifted to a small crowd gathered on the opposite side of the hat stall. Curiosity nudged him forward.
"Father, let's see what's happening there," he said, his expression neutral.
Both men glanced at Kael and nodded in agreement. They stepped toward the crowd together.
At the center stood a rough wooden table, three clay cups lined neatly across its surface. Beneath one lay a small paper ball. The owner lifted the cup, showing the ball to the players before setting it back down. Then, with swift hands, he began to shuffle the cups.
Coins clinked as wagers were placed—many betting on the left, some on the right, and only two daring the middle.
'Wait… the right cup is in the middle,' Kael murmured under his breath.
The owner revealed the middle cup. The two risk-takers shouted in triumph as their copper coins doubled, four sliding back into their hands.
Kael narrowed his eyes, following the cups as they slid across the table.' Why do they keep losing? The shuffle is slow… almost laughably slow', he thought.
After several rounds, Kael let his eyes drift from the cups to the crowd itself. The truth settled in. The average person had no chance of keeping up—not with the tension thick in the air, the shouts of wagers, and the constant noise pressing from all sides.
But Kael's gaze never faltered. He tracked every flick of the cups with ease, each shuffle as clear to him as if it were slowed by time.
Memories stirred. Countless hours of training in his past life—long before he was permitted to touch a blade. His assassin teacher's voice echoed in his mind: "Refine your eyes. Refine your reactions. See the speed… until even light itself cannot hide from you".
Kael's hand brushed the single copper coin he had received earlier at the hat stall. He considered it carefully. As he was about to step forward, his father spoke.
"Son, you stay here and watch… we'll get some bread with your uncle for tonight's dinner." With that, the two men drifted toward the bakery.
Left alone, Kael moved without hesitation. His eyes locked onto the three clay cups as the owner began to shuffle them. To the crowd, the motion was a blur—but to Kael, it was no faster than a lazy sloth dragging its feet.
When the cups stopped, Kael placed his lone copper on the right one. Three others followed suit, tossing their coins down with hopeful grins.
The owner revealed the cup. A cheer rippled through the crowd as the ball appeared, excitement rising behind Kael. He, however, remained calm. Two copper coins now rested in his palm.
"Let's make some money," he murmured.
Round after round, Kael played without hesitation. Two copper became four. Four became eight. Soon, his palm was heavy with one silver and six copper coins.
The owner's eyes narrowed. Suspicion flickered across his face.
For the next round, his hands moved as usual, shuffling the cups with practiced speed. But Kael's gaze caught the trick—the faintest twitch of fingers, the subtle lift of a cup. The paper ball had vanished, pinched between the man's pinky and palm.
Kael didn't place his bet. His lips curled faintly. So… a dirty trick, huh? Let's see how you plan to pull this off.
When the time came to reveal, the crowd leaned forward, eager. As always, each cup should be lifted to confirm the fairness of the game. The owner glanced quickly at the bets, then moved toward the cup with the fewest coins placed on it.
With a smooth tilt, he slid the paper ball beneath as the cup descended, the motion hidden in plain sight. To the untrained eye, it was flawless—clean. But to Kael, it was nothing more than a clumsy illusion.
The owner's suspicion grew. He scanned the crowd, searching, but Kael's face remained hidden. The midday sun hung high above, casting the brim of his straw hat into shadow. To the owner, the boy was just another faceless figure in the press of bodies.
"Son… let's go," his father's voice called. He returned with Dennis at his side, a basket of bread under one arm. Without hesitation, Kael slipped his winnings into his shoulder bag and followed.
As they walked along the stone path, Kael handed his father a single copper coin.
"The hat seller gave me this," he said evenly.
His father nodded, thinking nothing of it. Meanwhile, Kael's shoulder bag held far more—one silver and five copper coins tucked safely inside.
Dennis, however, broke away. After a brief exchange near the gambling stall, he joined a group of lower-class folk drifting deeper into the festival, leaving Kael and his father to continue on alone.
They stopped at a fruit stall next, buying baskets of apples, tangerines, and green grapes—cheaper than most others. The sweetness brightened the air, lightening the mood as they roamed further, sampling bites and taking in the festival sights.
But practical matters soon returned. His father sighed.
"We'll need a new knife. The one at home's gone dull."
With that, they turned down the road toward the blacksmith's shop, the rhythmic clang of hammers already echoing faintly through the market streets.
"How much for a kitchen knife?" his father asked evenly.
"Three silver coins," the blacksmith replied, keeping a serious face.
His father blinked. "Three silver? That's too steep for a kitchen knife."
"Worth every coin," the blacksmith said firmly. "Handcrafted, durable, and sharp. Quality like this doesn't come cheap."
The two began haggling, their voices low but steady.
Kael, meanwhile, let his gaze wander. Knives and blades gleamed in the torchlight, some hanging neatly on racks, others displayed along the ground. Drawn to one, he reached for a sword with a wooden handle and a simple crossguard. Lifting it, he tested the balance, the weight sitting comfortably in his grip. He gave it a precise swing.
*Swoosh*
The blade cut the air cleanly. Kael felt an ease in the motion—natural, familiar, almost too comfortable. He was about to return it to its place when a deep voice rumbled from behind.
"Hey, kid. What's your name?"