A Disaster-Level Assassin Has Been Freed

Chapter 138: Son-in-Law (3)

A former beggar.

But now, a member of the Eddy Mercenary Corps, living each day diligently—Glen.

Since last year’s stroke of luck, he considered every moment happy.

Before, he begged, worrying about his next meal, but now he ate three warm meals a day.

Before, he wore filthy, tattered clothes year-round, but now he changed into clean, laundered clothes after training, mindful of hygiene.

His home was the same. Compared to sleeping in rain or snow, life at the hideout was worlds apart.

‘But the biggest difference isn’t food, clothing, or shelter… it’s the change in my attitude toward life.’

Indeed.

The old Glen had lived barely clinging to life.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow—all the same.

Exchanging hopeless words with hopeless people, wasting time without hope.

But not anymore.

Though training was tough, it made him better than yesterday.

The people around him weren’t just kind—they were full of lessons to learn.

Above all, feeling like he contributed to the world was the best.

Though still just running errands as a pseudo-apprentice, he dreamed of growing into an adult who could subdue rowdy drunks and fulfill merchants’ requests without tarnishing the Eddy Mercenary Corps’ name.

But then, Harang, the de facto leader of the corps, suddenly said, “Glen. Oh, let me introduce you. This is Hagio. He runs the Love Orphanage in Ruibil.”

“Yes, Boss. Nice to meet you,Sir Hagio.”

“Right. Nice to meet you. You’re Glen? Mind if I speak casually?”

“Oh, of course. Yes, I’m Glen. But with the Portville Family Head here too, what’s this about…?”

“Hm. So… could you work at the orphanage for a bit starting today?”

“……”

Thud

Glen collapsed onto his seat, his face drained.

With teary eyes, he looked at me and said, “You’re not… kicking me out of the corps, are you…?”

“No! No, no, that’s not it.”

I realized I’d phrased it poorly.

Muttering to myself, I explained carefully.

That kids like Glen at Hagio’s orphanage had been scorned.

That it left them disheartened and hopeless.

That someone of similar age and background like Glen would be perfect to inspire them.

And that I’d arrange a meeting with the swordsmanship hall that caused the trouble, so he could go wild.

“Phew, I see. I thought I’d become useless and was being thrown out.”

“What’s that? You’re not some object to be thrown away.”

“Anyway, good to know. Don’t throw me out in the future either.”

“I won’t. I don’t even have the right to throw you out or not. Anyway…”

I lowered myself to Glen’s eye level.

My eyes were filled with crystalline light.

Why?

I didn’t know, but I wanted to help Hagio’s cause if possible.

Of course, I couldn’t force it. Forcing was the second thing I hated most in the world.

But I hoped Glen would understand my feelings, so I put a bit of intensity in my gaze.

“…It’s a bit intense.”

“What? The request?”

“No. Your eyes, Boss.”

“Oh, sorry.”

I stepped back two paces, lowered myself again, and looked at Glen.

A softer expression than before.

But my eyes remained piercing, undeniably intense.

Finally, Hagio, unable to watch, intervened, “You don’t have to help so eagerly.”

“Hm. But…”

“More importantly, and this might sound harsh, I’m not sure if this friend can beat those swordsmanship hall young masters.”

“Really? Are those kids pretty skilled?”

“No. They’re not. Compared to… those from our village, they’re far lacking. But.”

“But?”

“You know. Strength is always relative. And from what I see, this friend…”

Hagio trailed off.

But everyone understood what he meant.

“Haha, honestly, I’m not skilled enough to beat people formally trained at a swordsmanship hall.”

Glen scratched the back of his head, laughing.

He couldn’t help it.

Who were the people I’d connected with or crossed swords with?

They were renowned figures in the southern continent.

Dukan Iter, Viscount Kilkearn’s confidant, was one.

Philip Portville, now looking serious before him, was another.

And this Hagio seemed even more remarkable.

‘I’ve never heard of him, but to exchange so many blows with Boss Harang.’

With such a person seeking help, he assumed he’d face formidable opponents.

Adding to his shaken confidence, Philip Portville’s words further dented it.

“Hm, Harang. You know I’m trying to find a good son-in-law for my family.”

“Of course. Even I…”

“Ahem. Let’s skip that. Anyway, it’s not just our family doing this. Other swordsmanship families, halls, and guilds do too. Since they’re not bound by blood, their criteria are looser. I’ve heard some halls go to war-torn kingdoms to adopt orphans with promising talent.”

“Oh, that happens?”

I nodded.

In a way, the ‘village’ was similar. Most of the 1,000 children were orphans, though some seemed kidnapped despite having families.

But I was curious.

How did they discern talent in children before they even held or swung a sword?

“They usually check the bone structure.”

“Bone structure?”

“Yes. Whether muscles and bones are well-aligned, sturdy enough for rigorous training, and suitable for swordsmanship… Each hall has different swordsmanship and Aura Cultivation Methods, so preferred structures vary slightly, but they generally converge.”

“I see.”

“Yes. So, Glen, was it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t take this personally, but… honestly, your bone structure isn’t exceptional.”

“……”

“So I’m a bit concerned. The Seton Swordsmanship Hall in Ruibil, right? The hall master’s skill isn’t outstanding, but… I heard they’re selective with their students.”

Silence.

Stillness.

Quiet.

A heavy atmosphere settled like dusk.

It was inevitable.

No one would feel good hearing they lacked talent in a field they poured effort into. Philip Portville wasn’t unaware of this.

‘But someone has to say it.’

Life is long.

There’s much to do.

Especially at a young age. Rather than wasting time in a field without talent, realizing reality now and finding another path might be better for this boy’s life.

Philip Portville advised with that intent.

But.

“I don’t think so.”

“Hm?”

“That’s…”

“No empty words. I think Glen has the potential to be an excellent swordsman.”

“Hm, ahem. In times like this…”

He was about to say that cold truth is more helpful than sweet words when—

Swiiiish—!

Philip Portville’s expression froze instantly.

Hagio was the same.

Both reacted instinctively to the terrifying killing intent suddenly emanating from me, swiftly drawing their swords.

Clang!

Clang—!

“……What’s that, you?”

“What are you doing?”

They asked sharply.

They couldn’t help it.

The aura I emitted was a horrific energy Philip Portville had never felt in his life, and for Hagio, it was among the most ferocious killing intents he’d encountered in the village. Even with a trusted friend, it wasn’t something to brush off lightly.

Then, I smiled faintly and pointed somewhere.

Puzzled, they turned to where I pointed.

And they were shocked.

“……!”

He didn’t collapse.

He didn’t faint.

Facing the genuine killing intent I unleashed, the boy named Glen stood firm, sword drawn, without losing consciousness.

It was tremendous mental fortitude.

A fearsome fighting spirit and will, unseen in someone his age.

Realizing this, both nodded belatedly.

“Indeed…”

“Now I see why you said he has talent. With that mental strength, he can overcome physical disadvantages.”

“Hear that, Glen?”

“Yes!”

I asked, and Glen answered energetically. His expression was much brighter than usual, as if the praise from outsiders, not his own people, pleased him.

‘Evaluations from someone at a distance probably feel more objective.’

Of course, I didn’t plan to stop here.

What I always found lacking in Glen was confidence.

Despite his decent skills, he constantly underestimated himself. I wanted to fix that habit with this opportunity, and the young masters of the Seton Swordsmanship Hall seemed perfect for it.

“Then, let’s head out now.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Anything else to do, Hagio?”

“Not really.”

“Glen, you good?”

“Oh, I just need to tell Eddy Boss. Since most of my work in the corps is assisting anyway…”

“Great. Leave the challenge to the swordsmanship hall to me. I’m good at that. Right, Sir Philip Portville?”

“……”

“Sir Philip Portville?”

“……”

“Can’t hear me? Why no response…”

I looked puzzled. Despite calling his name repeatedly, Philip Portville didn’t respond.

Was his hearing failing due to old age?

No way. He’s a Graduate, after all.

As I entertained such pointless thoughts, he, who had stood rooted to the ground, approached Glen and lowered himself.

And said, “Glen.”

“Yes, Family Head.”

“Ever thought about meeting my great-granddaughter?”

His expression was profoundly serious and dignified.