The Lazy Boy Is, In Fact, the Strongest and Most Brutal Assassin. - Chapter 7: Ward Workshop.

Ward Workshop.

The next day, just past noon, Il stood holding a scrap of paper with a terribly vague map, glancing around nervously.

“If my instincts are right, it should be around here…”

He wouldn’t say it was according to the map… because, well, he couldn’t say that at all.

The map Bodoin had drawn was so ridiculously rough that deciphering an ancient manuscript from ruins might have been easier by comparison.

“Still, how could someone have this little drawing skill?”

Il sighed as he looked at the map again.

It was so bad that he found himself wishing it had some artistic sense. The only reason he had managed to get this far was that he somewhat remembered the directions Shia had given him verbally the day before.

Il was currently standing in a craftsman district, eight blocks away from the guardhouse. Somewhere among the row of workshops in front of him was the one he was looking for: Ward’s Workshop.

As he scanned the area, thinking he should ask someone for help, his eyes caught sight of a boy peeking into the yard of a relatively large house with a well-kept garden, hidden behind one of the gate pillars.

“Hey, sorry to bother you. I’m looking for a place called Ward’s Workshop. Do you know where it is?”

The moment Il spoke, the boy stiffened.

He looked to be about the same age as Il. With unruly silver hair and nervous eyes, the boy had a terrible slouch, as if he was constantly hunched over. His expression was tense, and without raising his head, he glanced at Il from beneath his brow.

“It’s… here.”

He pointed to the building beyond the gatepost he had been peering into moments before. Shoving his hands into his pockets, the boy quickly walked away.

(What’s with that guy…?)

As Il watched the boy’s retreating figure in confusion, someone called out to him from behind.

“Il-san!”

Looking toward the voice, he saw Shia, who had spotted him from the garden, now jogging over to greet him.

“You really did come,” Shia said.

“Yeah, well, if I didn’t, I’d probably get strangled by someone built like a gorilla.”

“Oh my, should I tell Bodoin-san what you just said?”

“No, no, no! That wasn’t an insult. I mean, gorillas haven’t done anything wrong, have they? Or what, Shia—do you have something against gorillas?”

“Sorry, I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”

“What a coincidence. I don’t either.”

Most people would have at least given him a courtesy laugh at this point, but unfortunately, Shia just gave him a puzzled look.

(She really doesn’t get jokes, does she?) Il thought to himself, deciding to change the subject.

“Nice house.”

Beyond the gate, there was a small but well-kept lawn, and a sturdy two-story stone building that had a stately air about it. It didn’t look anything like what he had imagined a craftsman’s workshop to be. For someone like Il, who lived in a cramped guardhouse with only two rooms, the grand appearance of the place made him feel a bit out of place.

“But this house will be changing hands in about a month.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can’t afford to maintain it with my wages, and I was hoping to save the money from selling it to help my brother when he becomes a blacksmith. But now, it looks like I’ll have to use the money to pay off the debt to those people.”

“Well, at least it sounds like you’re close to paying it off.”

“Yes, I got a message from Toruk this morning. He said he found a buyer for the house…”

“Toruk-san?” Il asked.

“He was my father’s apprentice. Up until recently, he lived and worked here, but after my father passed away, he moved out and now works at another workshop.”

Something about Shia’s words and the thugs’ actions didn’t quite add up for Il. If the debt could be settled by selling the house, would it really take that many people to pressure her? It didn’t make sense.

“Oh, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t just stand here. Please, come inside,” Shia said.

“Ah, thanks.”

Il followed Shia into the yard. The house was a two-story stone building, with part of it extending out in a circular shape. It looked like it might have five or six rooms.

“It looks like there are five or six rooms, but actually, the entire first floor was my father’s workshop,” Shia said, almost as if she had read Il’s mind. He froze for a second.

(She’s sharp… scary sharp.) Il thought. If she were to marry someone, they’d be in big trouble if they ever tried to cheat on her. She might seem different from Nisha, but there was a similar vibe.

The door opened to reveal a staircase straight ahead, with the workshop on the right side.

The workshop’s entrance had no door, likely broken down and never repaired. Beyond it, Il could see two anvils placed neatly on the floor.

The circular extension from outside appeared to house the entire workshop. From above, the building probably resembled a sideways “P.”

Shia walked lightly up the stairs, and Il glanced up at her from below. As expected, she was wearing a long skirt that reached past her knees. Even looking up, he wasn’t going to be rewarded with any “interesting” view.

“Peter, we have a guest. Say hello,” Shia called out as they reached the top of the stairs. A small boy, probably under ten, peeked out from the room.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“This is Il. He’s come to be our protector,” Shia explained.

“Sorry, ill?? What a weird name!” Peter remarked.

“Hey! Peter! You shouldn’t say bad things about someone’s name!” Shia scolded him. She made a show of raising her fist at her brother before turning back to Il with an apologetic look.

“It’s fine. I’ve been hearing that my whole life, so I’m used to it,” Il replied.

Il stepped past Shia and approached Peter, gently ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Hey, Peter, nice to meet you. I’m the weirdly named guy, Il. By the way, a ‘normal’ person is just someone who isn’t weird, right? But if a cute girl told you, ‘You’re so normal,’ wouldn’t that sting a little? ‘Weird’ can actually be a compliment, you know.”

Peter stared at Il with a confused expression.

“I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“Funny, because I don’t really understand it either,” Il admitted.

Peter looked at Il with a puzzled face, seemingly following in his sister’s footsteps as someone who didn’t get jokes. But then, he seemed to recollect something and glared at Il.

“Right! Dad said if you brought a guy home, you and I should throw him out. Are you my sister’s boyfriend?”

And so, the moment everyone expects arrives.

Typically, Shia would blush and say something like, “Oh, Peter!” and the classic romantic tension would build. However, Il had no intention of giving them any opening.

“Don’t worry, I’m a woman,” he stated flatly.

“Then it’s all good!” Peter replied, his response absurdly simplistic, instantly crushing any potential romantic flags. Of course, Il was a man. He loved cute girls, but he wanted nothing to do with any complicated relationships.

Peter accepted Il’s declaration with surprising ease, perhaps hinting at a bit of foolishness on his part, while Shia wore a look as if she had swallowed something strange.

Once led to the living room on the second floor, Il casually plopped down on the sofa as if he were at home and said, “I’m thirsty,” subtly hinting for some tea.

Shia couldn’t help but chuckle at his brazen demeanor. Peter, on the other hand, seemed to be quite the opposite of shy; within minutes, he was clambering all over Il without a hint of wariness. While Il wore a slightly exasperated expression, he also displayed a gentle, caring side that gradually softened Shia’s own demeanor.