Bang!
"Agh!"
[BATTLE FAILED. +5 EXP]
Thwack!
"Oof!"
[BATTLE FAILED. +5 EXP]
[EXP THRESHOLD REACHED. THIEF PROFESSION IS NOW LV. 1]
CRACK!
"Oh!"
[BATTLE FAILED. +5 EXP. NEW SKILL ACQUIRED: [WEAPON MASTERY].]
[[WEAPON MASTERY] LV. 1: HIT +1%]
***
After half a day of relentless "sparring," Alan was utterly unrecognizable. He was knocked down again and again, only to stand up again and again, his face so swollen that his eyes had been reduced to mere slits. Throughout the ordeal, a series of system prompts flashed in his mind, a comforting rhythm to the brutal beatdown.
"Today's training is over," Nyssa announced, finally lowering her bamboo sword. The anger she had felt was spent, replaced by a satisfying sense of release. "Go to Chelsea to treat your injuries. We continue tomorrow."
She had to admit she'd underestimated his endurance. He hadn't surrendered, hadn't begged for mercy, not even once. If it weren't for the obvious fact that his brain was scrambled, he would have the makings of a truly qualified warrior.
"I will never admit defeat to something of this level," Alan wheezed, his voice muffled by his swollen lips. "I swear this on my current and former partners." As he spoke, he shakily raised his hands, gesturing to his right hand. "This is Righty, my current love." Then, he wiggled his left hand. "And this is Lefty, the ex."
In Alan's world, any part of his body could be soft, except his mouth.
A flicker of amusement crossed Nyssa's face. "Very good. I look forward to your performance tomorrow." She turned and left, satisfied. She rather enjoyed dealing with stubborn fools, planting the seeds of fear in their hearts one blow at a time.
Alan stumbled out of the dojo and turned left, following the signs toward the infirmary. The League of Assassins, under the centuries-long leadership of Ra's al Ghul, had amassed a vast collection of therapeutic remedies. After all, martial arts and injuries went hand-in-hand. To keep the organization running, healing was as indispensable as killing.
"Well, well, if it isn't Alan. I almost didn't recognize you."
A sarcastic voice cut through the corridor. Talia stood there, leaning against the wall with a smug grin. Alan had mocked her figure on his first day, comparing her unfavorably to Nyssa, and the two had been at odds ever since.
However, when it came to verbal warfare, Alan had never known defeat.
He immediately propped himself against the opposite wall, striking a pose that was meant to be suave but came off as ridiculous given his battered state. He hooked a thumb in his belt, crossed his legs, and flashed a grin that stretched his swollen cheeks.
"Why, it's my dear Talia. Are you so worried about me that you just had to stage a chance encounter?" Alan's voice was filled with a self-righteous confidence. "I know, I know. You can't hide that look of love in your eyes. You're afraid I've fallen for Nyssa, aren't you?"
Talia's smile vanished. Suddenly, she felt as if she'd swallowed a pound of flies. She was just bored and thought she'd provoke the madman, but this was more than she'd bargained for.
Pretending not to hear, she pushed off the wall and quickened her pace, determined to stay far away from lunatics in the future. Proximity to them was clearly contagious. She had spent her life mastering martial arts; how could she possibly win against a king of trash talk? The only solution she could think of was a quick, clean death—his.
"Running away won't solve the problem, Talia!" Alan called after her. "Love must be shouted from the rooftops! I'm mustering the courage to confess to you right now! I hope your love will no longer hesitate! With you in it, my life will be a rainbow of…"
He broke into a love song, his voice a passionate, off-key wail that echoed down the stone hallway like a death sentence.
Talia clamped her hands over her ears. Her brisk walk turned into an all-out sprint. She couldn't bear it for another second.
"You foolish girl, daring not to face your own heart," Alan said wistfully to her retreating back. "Escape will only make your addiction stronger."
"Ahem."
He turned around to see Nyssa standing there, an incredibly strange expression on her face. She had worried he might get lost and had turned back to guide him to the infirmary, only to witness the entire, bizarre spectacle.
To be honest, seeing her sister so utterly flustered brought Nyssa more joy than any praise from their father ever could.
"I'll be gentler tomorrow," she said, her voice surprisingly soft.
"Is that a confession?" Alan shot back instantly.
"…"
Clearly, his stubborn-king mode had no cooldown period, and he had just accidentally hit a friendly target. Nyssa's plan to use this madman to frustrate Talia had backfired. He was an uncontrollable weapon, lashing out indiscriminately.
As Nyssa spun on her heel and fled, Alan couldn't help but toss his hair back. "I know you're attracted to me. I see you're playing hard to get. I truly am a gifted man. Alas, being this charming is such a headache, but my heart belongs to Righty." He then shot a glare at his other hand. "Lefty, stop it. You're just an ex. Please keep your distance."
Mental patients have more fun. Alan was never alone.
Squeak.
The door to the infirmary was ajar. A face, swollen beyond recognition, poked its head in.
Chelsea, a man dedicated to studying ancient books and potions, looked up and blinked. He stared for three full seconds before recognition dawned. A kind smile spread across his face. "Alan. Come in, sit down."
Chelsea was a non-combatant member of the League, a full-time pharmacist and herbalist who developed medicines for the organization. His status was second only to Ra's al Ghul, though he held little actual power. This was their second meeting, the first being when Nyssa had brought in a near-frozen Alan from the brink of death.
"Old Che, I need a full cosmetic reconstruction. No need to be handsome, just make me jaw-droppingly awesome."
"I am a master of herbal remedies," Chelsea replied patiently, "not a plastic surgeon."
"If you can't, you can't. No need to make excuses."
Sighing, Chelsea stood up and rummaged through a medicine cabinet for a jar of ointment. He knew Alan's personality by now; arguing would only encourage him.
"This is for treating trauma. It promotes blood circulation, removes stasis, and accelerates healing and growth. You don't need much. Keep the rest and ask for more when you run out." He handed over a large jar, hoping it would be enough to keep Alan from bothering him every single day.
"Growth?!"
Alan's focus, as usual, was on a different plane of existence. He latched onto that single word, and a brilliant, hopeful smile lit up his swollen face as he glanced down at his lower body.
Ahem…
Chelsea warned cautiously, "Put away your unrealistic ideas. Otherwise, you might lose them."
"Look what you're saying," Alan said with an awkward laugh, trying to hide his true thoughts. "I've always been happy with my size."
Chelsea remained deeply skeptical. One should never trust a psychopath.
Alan carried the medicine jar back to his room and began applying the pungent ointment in front of a mirror. A cooling sensation washed over his skin, instantly relieving the pain. The League's exclusive secret recipe was truly potent.
He knew that a low-end version of this very ointment was manufactured and sold to the outside world by a front company. Supporting an organization this large required an astronomical budget. Assassination contracts alone couldn't possibly cover the hundreds of millions of dollars needed for training, operations, maintenance, and supplies.
Lying on his bed, the cooling balm working its magic, Alan called up his attribute panel.
[CHARACTER STATUS]
NAME: ALAN
PROFESSION: THIEF (LV. 5)
SKILLS: [WEAPON MASTERY] LV. 1
CURRENT TIMELINE: LEAGUE OF ASSASSINS (1981)
[PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: REACH LV. 120 IN CURRENT PROFESSION TO RETURN TO ORIGINAL TIMELINE.]
He stared at the panel, his bruised eyes widening as the pieces finally clicked into place.
"So," he murmured to the empty room, "I've actually traveled to the League of Assassins… in 1981. According to the timeline, that means I might just get to meet…"
***********
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