The night smelled of blood.
Kael crouched in the shadows of a rain-soaked alley, his daggers slick with crimson. Another target down. Another job finished. He was a ghost in the city of Blackreach, an assassin whispered of but never seen.
Yet tonight, something was wrong.
His instincts—honed by years of stalking nobles, generals, and thieves alike—screamed at him. He should have been safe. The escape routes had been mapped, the guards bribed, the timing flawless. And still…
A whistle cut through the night.
Kael spun. From the rooftop above, four cloaked figures emerged, crossbows trained on him. His "allies." The very men he had trusted to cover his retreat.
"Sorry, Kael," one of them called down. "The guild doesn't like assassins who get too good at their job."
Betrayal.
The bolts rained down. Kael dodged the first, deflected the second with his dagger, but the third pierced his thigh and the fourth sank deep into his chest. He staggered, blood bubbling in his throat.
He tried to laugh—how ironic, to be betrayed the same way he had betrayed countless others. But the sound died as darkness swallowed him.
When light returned, it was not the torches of Blackreach but the glaring sun.
Kael opened his eyes to a grassy field. His body felt…different. Lighter. Whole again. His assassin's garb was gone, replaced by rough linen. At his feet lay a mountain of bags, crates, and weapons strapped together with rope.
Voices carried on the wind.
"There he is! Finally, our loader woke up."
Kael turned. Four figures stood nearby, dressed like adventurers from some fantasy novel. The man at the front—tall, broad-shouldered, golden-haired—smirked with the confidence of someone who thought the world owed him victory.
"I am Aldric, the Hero chosen by the Goddess," he declared. "And you… are our porter. Carry our burdens well, and perhaps you'll live long enough to be useful."
Kael blinked. Loader?
Before he could answer, a soft voice chimed in. A girl in white robes, her silver hair tied with ribbons, smiled kindly. "Don't mind Aldric. I'm Lyria, the party's healer. We'll be relying on you too."
A half-elf mage in dark robes scoffed. "Rely on him? He'll break his back under those bags before the first mile."
The armored knight laughed. "Let the boy prove himself. If he survives, he survives."
Kael's assassin instincts flared. Something about this world felt unreal, fabricated—and yet undeniably solid. His heart beat, his breath came, his muscles ached beneath the weight as Aldric shoved the packs onto his shoulders.
And then, in the corner of his vision, words appeared.
[Unique Skill Acquired: Develop]Description: Through deliberate effort, your ability to learn and evolve outpaces all others. Progress speed ×8.
Kael froze. His lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile.
They thought he was baggage. Dead weight.
They had no idea.
That night, while the others feasted around the campfire, Kael sat apart, balancing a borrowed dagger in his hand. He slashed at the air, mimicking sword forms he had once mocked in nobles' guards. His movements were clumsy at first, but then something strange happened.
His body adjusted. His grip steadied. His strikes grew sharper with frightening speed. In the time it would take an ordinary recruit to fumble through basics, Kael already cut patterns into the night air like a seasoned trainee.
[Swordsmanship Lv.1 → Lv.2][Swordsmanship Lv.2 → Lv.3]
Within minutes.
Kael's heart pounded. This power… this world… if he pushed it, if he bled for it, he could rise again. Not as a tool of betrayal. Not as a nameless shadow. But as something greater.
For now, he kept his secret. He laughed under his breath, too quiet for the others to hear.
The Hero saw him as a loader. The mage dismissed him. The knight underestimated him. Only the healer's eyes lingered on him with curiosity.
That was fine.
He would play the weakling, the baggage boy. He would let them sneer and step over him. And then, one day, when his [Develop] had forged him into something unstoppable…
They would see the assassin reborn.
And this time, he would be the one holding the blade.