Chapter 4
Lately, I have been going on business trips a lot.
That day too, I had an important errand outside, so I came home much later than usual.
“As expected, nobles are all the same—selfish.”
Sometimes I had to leave home for work that required my skills.
Even if I promised to make something perfect, people still wouldn’t trust me.
And of course, living in the underworld meant life was never peaceful.
So, coming home late at night to find unwelcome guests waiting wasn’t surprising.
“Hey, Syrinx.”
I frowned when I saw the man walking toward me with an arrogant swagger.
“Ha, damn.” He spat on the ground.
“Waiting for you was boring. I heard you’ve been making good money lately?”
He had a wide forehead, a flat wide nose, and a wiry but muscular body—his face reminded me of a catfish. I knew him.
“Why so quiet? Are you too happy to see me?”
In this back alley, I had met some friendly people, but also people who hated me deeply.
One of them was Torche—second-in-command of the second-strongest assassin group in the assassination district.
“Why aren’t you answering? Do you think I’m a joke? Think I’m easy?”
He hated me for a very simple reason:
The first time we met, he tried to scam me, but I turned the tables on him. Since then, he’s been waiting for a chance to get back at me.
“Or maybe you’ve been flirting with some guy using that pretty face? Disgusting.”
“So low-class,” I muttered.
But tonight was unlucky—dark night, no patrol knights around (the ones I knew and trusted were away drinking).
‘What to do…’ I thought, touching the small jewel in my pocket. I really didn’t want to move houses again.
“Oh, and if you’re feeling confident because of your backers, don’t. I came knowing they’re all gone tonight.”
“That’s not why. I was just thinking…” I smiled.
“…you’re so pathetically petty, waiting for this day to pick a fight.”
He was clearly looking for a chance, like a cockroach waiting to crawl out.
“Or maybe your brain is as small as your heart?”
Torche’s face twisted with anger—just like I expected. He was too emotional for an assassin, the kind who wouldn’t survive long here.
“I know your type. You won’t behave until that pretty face of yours is ruined! Think you can do whatever you want?”
“Whoa, why did I work up? Oh, and—you’re shorter than me, right?”
“….”
“Or is your brain really small?”
“You little—!”
He reached for my neck—but before I could react, his hand was twisted violently.
Crack.
I turned my head in surprise, ready to use my last resort, but stopped when I saw him.
“…So this is what you were standing around for in this filthy street.”
A man dressed in a perfectly neat cravat and tightly buttoned shirt—his broad chest stood out.
“What are you, huh? Get lost,” Torche growled.
The man easily knocked down the shorter but muscular Torche, then casually spun a dagger in his hand.
The blade grazed Torche’s hand, making him yelp.
Then the man stepped on Torche’s back, pressing him to the ground so he couldn’t escape.
Torche screamed and struggled.
“Let me go! Damn it! Who are you?!”
“You don’t need to know,” the man replied calmly, brushing back his hair, unfazed by the blood pooling beneath him.
His hair—creamy gold like spun silver—looked familiar yet strange. In the moonlight, it almost seemed silver, but there was something wild in it.
“Hey, miss.”
He pulled on his cravat. “Hello?”
His neatly combed hair was now messy. He removed his glasses, holding them in his mouth before folding them with a loud click.
“You seem to know why I’m here in this dirty alley.”
“….”
“You’re looking at me like you recognize me.”
He lifted his foot from Torche and walked toward me.
His red eyes glowed dangerously as he smiled—a sharp, chilling smile.
“If you tell me, I won’t kill you.”
Gone were the clear blue eyes I had seen in the daytime. Now they were red, filled with something unreadable.
This was Heimdal—the villain’s night personality.
‘…Dangerous.’
I saw the short dagger spinning in his hand. The way he played with it was threatening.
“My patience isn’t deep,” he warned, his gaze sharper than the blade.
It was obvious—this man was not the same as in the daytime.
At night, he was a cruel, revenge-driven villain.
His narrow eyes kept studying me.
“Strange,” he said. “You’re awfully quiet. Don’t try anything stupid—I can feel it.”
He was clever, able to read me with just a glance. I knew about his ability, but experiencing it directly was different.
I considered using the jewel in my pocket as a last resort—
But suddenly, Heimdal turned sharply.
Clang!
He deflected something with his dagger. It was another dagger—thrown by Torche, who was now standing shakily, pain twisting his face.
Torche’s subordinate had come to support him.
“You humiliated me… I won’t forget this!”
His furious eyes locked on me.
“…Wait, are you talking about me?” I asked.
“Who else?! You seduced this guy to attack me!”
…Heimdal hit him, but somehow I was getting blamed.
“Wow. You really see what you want to see.”
Torche just glared more. “You’ll regret crossing the Shadow’s Blessing!”
“Before you watch me, remember—it wasn’t me who touched you,” I replied, tilting my head.
“You have no morals,” I added. “Since you set up a jewelry shop right next to mine last month.”
“So what?”
“Exactly—no morals here. But still, you’re not my type.”
I’m a beauty-lover, and Torche’s ugly face and rotten personality put him far outside my interest.
“You really have a small brain, you know?”
“What…?”
“Your own men say your head’s empty.”
If Heimdal got treatment from me because he was handsome, Torche wouldn’t even make it near my doorstep.
“I’ll kill you!” Torche roared.
“Boss, we have to go—it’s time for Black Night to act!” his subordinate urged.
At the mention of Black Night—my powerful ally, the first woman I ever saved—I smiled.
I waved mockingly. “Go on, before you bleed too much.”
“Or maybe you want my backer to crush you again?”
That made him flinch.
“You’ll regret this, you arrogant brat! I’ll scar that pretty face and sell you to the 5th district!”
“Good luck with that—while you’re still alive,” I shot back.
Torche finally left, supported by his man, unable to use his injured arm.
Now it was just me and Heimdal.
He finally turned to me.
“Miss,” he said, spinning his dagger skillfully—almost like a performance.
“You sure do talk boldly.”
