The Lazy Boy Is, In Fact, the Strongest and Most Brutal Assassin. - Chapter 27: The Worst Boy, Part 1

The Worst Boy, Part 1

“Shia, this is your money.”

In the dimly lit corner of the storage room, Rimrim gently placed a cloth bag at Shia’s feet, where she sat hugging her knees.

The sound of coins clinking softly hinted at its weight.

Shia, her face buried in her knees, glanced listlessly at the bag. Her vacant eyes revealed no emotions, and she remained silent.

Rimrim, who had been waiting patiently for Shia’s response, finally shrugged her shoulders slightly.

It was no surprise. Shia had just lost her beloved younger brother.

What Shia needed now was time. Time to dull the memories. Time to ease the pain.

Quietly, Rimrim reached out and stroked Shia’s hair.

“It’s okay. The sun will rise again tomorrow for this girl.”

Her brother, who now lay beneath the cold earth, robbed of his time, was no longer able to witness another sunrise.

But this girl was different. She was alive and had to keep living.

And for that, money was essential.

The cloth bag, sitting awkwardly before Shia, was undoubtedly hers. It was money borrowed against this very estate as collateral.

Some of it had likely already been used by Torque, and interest had surely accumulated. Even if Shia were to return the money now, it wouldn’t cover the full repayment, and the estate would inevitably be lost. In essence, it was an unfavorable price exchanged for this estate.

Rimrim leaned her cheek against Shia’s pale, delicate one.

The soft curve of her white cheek felt damp to Rimrim’s touch—evidence of tears that had been shed until they ran dry. Her eyelids were swollen and red.

It had only been a few hours since Shia learned of her brother’s death at the slave trader’s house before dawn. To expect her to recover so quickly would be cruelly insensitive.

Rimrim’s fingers traced the black collar around Shia’s neck.

Shia was still a slave. Even if her owner wished to free her, slaves could not simply be released unconditionally—it would destabilize the entire institution of slavery.

For a slave to return to freedom, a formal process had to be followed, where the slave would repurchase their freedom. But bound by magical tools that enforced absolute obedience to their master, few slaves could ever earn enough money to buy their freedom. As a result, cases of slaves returning to freedom were exceedingly rare.

That’s why this money was indispensable for Shia to regain her status as a free citizen.

Of course, Rimrim trusted the boy who had become Shia’s master.

That boy would never harm Shia. In fact, he couldn’t.

He was like a lamb in wolf’s clothing—a clumsy pretender trying to act tough, while deep down, he was laughably sensitive. Even if Shia remained a slave, he would never treat her harshly.

But that wasn’t the point. The difficulty of life differed vastly between being a slave and being a free citizen.

Soon, there would be no one left to threaten this girl. All that remained was for that boy to bring things to a close.

After arranging for Il to purchase Shia, Rimrim had hidden her in the storage room behind her father’s workshop.

As for the “another target” the boy mentioned, Rimrim had no idea who or where they were, but that too would soon be over. For now, all they could do was wait in a safe place.

“Hey, Shia, are you hungry—”

Rimrim began to speak but quickly shut her mouth in surprise.

The creaking sound of a door. From the direction of the mansion’s entrance came the voices of men talking.

Rimrim held her breath and strained her ears. Though muffled by the walls, she could make out the voices. One of them was… Il. Surely, the boy wasn’t told that Shia was hidden here.

Of all times… Rimrim buried her face in her hands.

The assassins of the “Nocturnal Dwellers” concealed their abilities from one another. Spying on each other in any way was grounds for death, an unspoken rule among them.

Even Rimrim hadn’t imagined that the boy would resolve things at this very mansion.

Panicking, Rimrim cast a glance toward Shia.

Shia’s vacant gaze was still fixed on the cloth bag at her feet.

She stared intently at the crimson stain seeping into it.