The Lazy Boy Is, In Fact, the Strongest and Most Brutal Assassin. - Chapter 29: The Worst Boy, Part 3

The Worst Boy, Part 3

The revelation that the mastermind Il spoke of was Bodoin genuinely shocked Rimrim, but even more so was the boy’s haunting declaration—it pierced her heart.

Killed a father for the third time?

What kind of hell was that?

Sure, all assassins bore curses of some sort, gaining sinister powers at the cost of something precious. But what the boy described was far beyond salvation.

Rimrim’s own upbringing had been miserable, to say the least. She had been locked in a room of her family’s mansion for years, yet beyond the door, she often heard her father’s tearful apologies.

When she learned through that same door that her father had passed away, it felt as though her world had crumbled.

To kill him?

No way. That’s absurd.

Parents are supposed to offer unconditional love, aren’t they?

For the first time, she felt as though she understood why the boy’s eyes had grown so clouded, so devoid of light.

And then—

“Hey, Rim-nee-san.”

Rimrim, who had been pressing her ear against the wall to eavesdrop on the conversation between Il and Bodoin, flinched violently at the sudden voice.

Without seeming to notice Rimrim’s reaction, Shia spoke softly.

“Il is such a pitiful person, isn’t he? The way he talks… It’s as though he sees nothing but malice in the world. He’s lived surrounded by it.”

In the dim storage room, Shia stared blankly at a blood-soaked cloth bag.

“To have had to kill two fathers… it’s truly pitiful.”

Rimrim squinted through the faint light, trying to discern Shia’s expression. Though her eyes remained hollow, her lips twisted into a chilling smile.

Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

“Shia…?”

“Someone has to show him,” Shia murmured. “Show him that kindness and goodwill exist. Someone has to teach him that the world can be a beautiful place. Someone… I will…”

Rimrim involuntarily took half a step back.

This is bad. Very bad.

Shia, whose heart had been teetering on the edge of breaking, had found something—something even more damaged than herself.

She had found something to latch onto, without hesitation or restraint, to protect what was left of her own fragile heart.

“Shia, listen to me carefully…”

“Peter, you know,” Shia continued, her voice soft but unnervingly steady. “He used to be such a mischievous little troublemaker, but once I taught him, he became a really good boy. My pride and joy.”

“Shia, that’s not Peter,” Rimrim stammered, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “That piece of trash isn’t Peter. It’s not fair to Peter to compare him to someone like that, you know? Haha…ha…”

Rimrim forced a strained smile as she cautiously stepped closer. Shia quietly gazed up at her, her expression serene, yet utterly chilling.

The abyss.

It was the only way Rimrim could describe the void swirling in Shia’s eyes—a bottomless, consuming darkness filled with unimaginable emptiness.

“No, it’s the same,” Shia murmured, her voice disturbingly calm. “He’s just like Peter. That boy is starving for love, that’s all.”

“…That boy?”

This is bad. This is so, so bad.

A bead of cold sweat traced a line down Rimrim’s back as dread began to coil tightly around her.

Within Shia, the image of Peter and that wretched scum were unmistakably beginning to overlap.

“Ha… hahahaha, hahahaha, this is rich. You’re the ‘Nocturnal Resident,’ are you? Even as a joke, that’s just pathetic.”

Bordoin clutched his stomach as he laughed, the sound echoing through the space. He laughed so hard that he seemed short of breath, but after a moment, he turned his face back toward Il.

“Let me guess—you figured throwing out ‘Nocturnal Resident’ would scare me or something. But come on, that’s just too stupid to work.”

Il remained silent, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Bordoin.

“Sure, I’ll admit it—I used Hiluluk to sell the secret of dark green steel to the guild. But Ward and the kid? That was Toruk, wasn’t it? His apprentice. He’s the one to blame. Me? I haven’t done a thing to break the law.”

Il gave a small shrug, as if to say he was tired of hearing excuses.

“Come on, old man, cut it out. That’s just embarrassing. The way you’re talking now, you sound like a petty crook. There’s not a shred of conviction left in you. At least face the end with some dignity, like the man you used to be. Don’t drag yourself down—and don’t make me regret killing you.”

The mirth drained from Bordoin’s face as if washed away by a wave. His eyes narrowed sharply, and he stared at Il with a sudden, deadly seriousness.

“So that’s it? You’re really going to do this? No turning back now?”

Il gave a small nod, solemn and resolute. At that moment, Bordoin drew his sword from his waist.

Its blade shimmered faintly with a green glow—the dark green steel.

That cursed steel.

That shimmering green light was the root of it all—the thing that had driven this once-loyal man to madness.

“If it’s a line of duty death, at least the families I leave behind will get some compensation. As for Nisha, I’ll make sure she finds a husband. You just watch over them from the shadows.”

Holding his sword steady, Bordoin spoke in a voice almost as if he were offering a final plea.

Il, however, simply hunched his already slouched shoulders further, letting out a small, tired sigh.

“I’m disappointed… old man.”

“Shut your mouth!” Bordoin roared.

The speed of Bordoin’s advance was ferocious, befitting a master—a strike delivered at a moment so precise it could only be called a true surprise attack. With his sword raised high, he closed the distance to Il in an instant. Il didn’t move—no, he couldn’t move. The sheer brilliance and intensity of the strike rooted him in place.

Bordoin’s face contorted into a demonic mask, one of pure malevolence. Yet Il, showing no surprise, stared back at him with vacant eyes, devoid of emotion.

“Don’t hold it against me!”

The whispered words reached Il’s ears just as Bordoin’s sword, glowing dark green, carved a sharp arc toward his shoulder.

A diagonal slash meant to cleave clean through. The brutal force crushed flesh and splintered bone. The blade tore through Il’s body, its momentum carrying it down to the stone-paved floor, where it struck with a sharp clink! Small sparks flickered briefly in the dim light.

(Sorry, Gaspar. It’s your son’s fault it had to be this way.)

Inwardly, Bordoin apologized to his long-deceased friend—the man who had raised Il as his own. But in the very next moment—

Bordoin’s eyes widened in shock as he felt his body suddenly lurch to one side.