C126: Anon Marion

Danz looked down at the smaller figure standing before him. His brows furrowed, the motion made more pronounced by the scar that cut across his left eye, giving his expression a naturally harsher edge.

“What is the meaning of this, Davis?”

Before him stood a delicate lad, with the kind of posture that suggested upbringing. His attire only reinforced that impression.

He wore an exquisite white frock coat that fell to his knees, the lower hem flaring like the skirt of a high society’s garment. It was adorned with intricate patterns, though the pristine white fabric was now marred by unsightly smears of mud and dirt.

Beneath the coat was a white shirt, paired with a blond silk ascot tied in a knot. White gloves covered his hands, completing the image of someone from a completely different world.

Danz had never seen this lad before. Even his men, who usually kept an eye on the comings of travellers and merchants, exchanged bewildered glances.

What stood out the most was not his clothing, but the white bandages wrapped around his head and the unwavering, fearless gaze he directed at Danz.

The men in the barn exchanged glances. Some of them glared with open hostility, offended that a brat would dare look their boss in the eyes. Others gripped their tankards, while a few intrigued.

“Boss, this… esteemed noble sir is looking for you,” Davis stuttered, walking toward the crates and wringing his hands nervously. He kept casting side-long glances at the bandaged boy, then hesitatingly flickered around the room.

Danz narrowed his eyes further.

Why was Davis acting like this? Danz noticed the way Davis spoke with such uncharacteristic respect toward the lad, and he began to form a rough idea of the situation.

He could see it in the lad's gaze and posture. The lad was silently scrutinizing him, assessing him like assessing the quality of a horse at a market. The arrogance of high-class society.

‘Hah. A damn toff,’ Danz thought, resting his chin on one hand and the other on his knee.

He was well-acquainted with this type of arrogance. Often enough, some pampered son of a merchant or aristocrat would dress themselves in expensive silks and swagger into more dangerous territories, thinking their coin-purses made them invincible.

In Danz’s experience, those toffs always ended up the same way: crying in the dirt and running home with their tails between their legs.

“He defeated us,” Davis whispered into Danz’s ear.

For a moment, Danz’s eye widened slightly.

“Who?” his gaze snapping back to Davis. He could see the genuine fear trembling in Davis’s pupils.

‘Defeated?’

Davis was an Apprentice Stage in the Deceiver path. While they often physically lackluster, they were incredibly troublesome to deal with. Paired with someone from the Warrior Path, they formed an effective team.

Rudo, though only Entry Stage, had already fully condensed his essence. He was just one ritual away from advancing.

‘By a toff like this?’ Danz narrowed his eyes, trying to sense the aura of a dangerous Stagefarer.

Yet, the boy looked utterly harmless. He sensed nothing. No danger emanated from him.

‘What trick did this toff do…?’ Danz thought skeptically. That only made him more irritating.

“Boss Danz, I want to hire you,” the lad finally spoke, his voice cutting through Danz's train of thought.

A vein popped on Danz’s forehead. The sheer audacity.

‘This little toff thinks that just because he knocked over my underlings, he can walk into my territory and speak to me like a servant?’

Danz let out a dangerous smirk, growled. “You must be very confident, little lord, to walk into my turf and say something like that to my face.”

The lad didn’t flinch.

Instead, he returned the smirk.

“I am.”

The response landed like a spark in dry straw. The barn erupted into low murmurs. Chairs scraped as people created distance. Conversations broke as men leaned toward one another, exchanged uneasy glares, whispered among themselves.

“Who is this brat?” someone muttered under their breath.

“Looking at those silks, maybe some high-born merchant's son from Easton City?”

“Does the fool not know that Boss Danz hates rich kids?”

“Where in the hell did this kid even come from?”

Their gazes gradually turned toward Davis, who suddenly found himself the center of attention. He shuddered under the weight of their stares, his shoulders tensing.

Davis raised his hand slightly with a subtle gesture.

The men understood immediately. One by one, they began to move, dragging tables and chairs aside, pushing them toward the edges of the barn. The barmaids scurried away the barn, per Davis command. The scraping of wood against wood filled the space as they cleared the center, forming an open area between Danz and the new lad.

No one needed to say it out loud. They understood exactly what was about to transpire.

“Danz is going to teach that lad a thing or two, isn’t he?” someone whispered, barely containing a grin.

“Shh. He’s about to explode. Look at his face.”

“Quite different from when he first met that lad Donquery…” an older thug noted, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

“Poor lad. Who would have thought a fancy coat could make a man so suicidal?”

“Seeking death too soon in his life.”

For a brief moment, everything stilled.

Then—

His figure blurred.

The crate behind him cracked with a violent burst as Danz launched forward, his body cutting through the space between them with terrifying speed!

‘I will crush this arrogant toff into the mud,’ he thought, drew back his thick, scarred arm for a blow.

Danz had no intention of killing the lad. With his strength, even a glancing blow could end a life. This was meant to intimidate.

He merely intended to shatter his spirit, to stop the strike a hair’s breadth from the lad’s face, letting the pressure of the impact alone to shatter his composure, and grind that arrogance into the dirt.

But—

The moment he closed the distance, the lad moved calmly, slipped a hand into his chest pocket and withdraw something out.

“!”

Danz’s instincts screamed. Without thinking, he halted mid-motion and threw himself backward, putting distance between them. Beads of cold sweat slid down his temple, his heart hammering against his ribs.

‘Dangerous!’ The alarm rang through his mind.

From the lad’s chest pocket emerged an exquisite dagger.

It gleamed even in the dim light of the barn. The hilt was wrapped in preserved skin, and the blade was curved; its blade clean, engraved with intricate rubies.

Danz’s eyes widened. Something, something deep within him, a primal instinct honed through countless fights, countless brushes with death told him that the knife was catastrophically dangerous.

If that blade grazed his skin, he would die instantly!

His gaze flickered downward for a split second, checking his own body. Then he stared back at the lad, his breath coming in ragged gasps as a realization hit him.

‘Did I just… retreat?’

The barn erupted into murmurs once more. The sudden retreat sent a ripple of confusion through the onlookers, who hadn’t even fully registered what had happened yet. No one had expected what they had just seen, their boss to step back from a single opponent.

“Did… did the Boss just retreat from him?”

“Who in the hell is this guy?!”

“To make a Warrior retreat… that shouldn’t be possible!”

Danz didn’t respond to the noise. Instead, his gaze snapped to Davis with ferocious intensity. ‘Davis, who is this guy?’

But Davis only shook his head. ‘No idea, Boss. He just appeared. I don't know what he is.’

The lad, meanwhile, raised his eyebrows. His eyes flickered downward briefly toward the dagger, studying it for a moment with unreadable expression. Then he lifted his gaze again and returning his focus to Danz.

“Boss Danz, there is no need for such aggression,” the lad said evenly. He kept the dagger visible, held in a guarded but non-threatening position. “I am only here to talk.”

‘...’ Danz forced himself to breathe, to calm the frantic hammering of his heart. He re-evaluated the situation again.

This lad had intentionally walked into his territory alone; he clearly wanted something of value.

At first glance, his instincts had told him the lad was harmless. But the moment that dagger appeared, his entire aura had changed, turning him into a dangerous foe.

It was as if a common house cat had suddenly revealed its tiger's claws.

‘Did he intend it that way?’ Danz’s thoughts sharpened. ‘Was he baiting me to let my guard down?’

There was only one conclusion that made sense to him.

‘Spy Path.’

A path known for concealment, infiltration, assassination. It was a path that specialized in hiding.

Danz narrowed his eyes, observing the lad carefully.

‘His eyes didn’t change color. Is he hiding his Stage, or does he simply believe I am not worth the effort of using his abilities?’ Danz wondered, clenching his knuckles.

There was an old saying in the underworld: ‘never step into a Warrior’s turf.’

The fact that this lad was confident enough to stay perfectly calm while surrounded by two dozen of his men spoke volumes about his true power.

‘What Stage is he at? Apprentice? No… perhaps Foundation stage,’ Danz mused, evaluated him silently.

He shifted his gaze, his expression changing from condescension to admiration. His respect began to outweigh his irritation.

To dare walk into their territory alone, how courageous.

“Say it again. Who are you?” Danz asked, but his irritation was gone.

The lad smiled, slid the dagger back into his coat.

In that instant, The oppressive sense of danger that had clung to the lad vanished, as if it had never been there in the first place.

“My apologies,” the lad said, offering a bow. “My name is Anon Marrion. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Boss Danz.”

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