Isekai Assassin: Volume 1 Read online

  I circled it to find the best vantage point as I observed. There’s even a well behind the house. Very self-sustaining. Wonder who lives here?

  I didn’t have to wait long as the barn door opened, and out came a couple of men.

  My skin tingled as I took them in. At once, I knew they were no mere farmers.

  Each of them bore the hardened look of those who’d seen and done the worst humanity had to offer. They were rugged, rough-looking men with a mish-mash of weaponry belted at their waists soiled gambesons and leather jerkins in a facsimile of armor. All of it rusted or frayed. Obviously not well kept.

  The men picked up a few baskets and began toiling away at the vegetable farm, grumbling all the while, their loud voices carrying to where I waited and watched.

  “Stupid bullshit. Why the hell do I have to pick this? My job isn’t farmer.”

  “Get over yerself. Like I wanna be doing this either, but it’s just until the Royal Knights stop lookin’ fer us. We’ll be back to Vohra in no time, so shut yer trap and pick the damn vegetables.”

  I understand your complaints.

  Always hated toiling away at the farm when I was a kid. Hated farming. Melancholy rose in my chest, and I quickly shut down my thoughts and focused on the men.

  Looks like I found my targets.

  Even in this new world, all I had to do was focus on the job. Everything else would come in time.

  I smiled.

  Time to get to work.

  Chapter 4- Planning and Executing

  There’s a rhythm to watching people—an art to it. To watch someone, whether planning something as complex as an assassination or as mundane as a robbery, you have to have two things.

  Patience and an imagination.

  Because above all else, no matter how vital or necessary the practice, it, more than anything, is boring.

  It doesn’t matter if it’s a nobleman going about his day or a bandit pretending to be a farmer. People are rarely interesting after you’ve been watching them for more than five minutes.

  After three hours of watching the farmstead, I’d learned all I was going to about the men who now called this place home.

  And the most important thing I learned was that they were rather dull.

  You’d think for a group of thieves and killers they’d be a little more interesting. But alas, all they did was go about their day, working the field or tending to the livestock with the practiced hand of an opiate addict two weeks after his last fix.

  It’d been over two decades since I’d last tended a field, but even I could’ve done a better job than any of them.

  As I tracked them, I kept to the trees, circling the farm and never staying in the same spot for more than a few minutes at a time. It’d been a while since I’d had a job in the forest, and I forgot how easy it was to stalk someone. All I had to do was step back into the underbrush a few feet, and I all but vanished.

  And since most of the land surrounding the farm was dense forest, it made my job all too easy.

  Easy meant I grew bored quickly.

  Boredom was the single greatest killer of assassins. Because a bored assassin was a sloppy assassin. Even I wasn’t immune to the temptation to let my guard down and allow my mind to wander as I watched a bandit scratch his nose for the hundredth time as he performed a half-assed attempt at farming.

  Though things did get interesting when a few more men came out of the main house.

  None of them were any better dressed or equipped than the others, and each of them had enough similar grimy features that they could’ve been related.

  “Hey, Folt, Renard. The hell you doin’?” the largest man of the bunch asked.

  He sported thick muscles that told of a life of hard labor. His thin, greasy hair hung lank in his face, and his dead, brown eyes narrowed as he marched over to the two men who were working in the fields.

  “Workin’, the hell else does it look like we’re doing, ya idiot?” another man shot back.

  “Don’ give me lip, Folt. I don’ care what the boss says. I’ll break your fuckin’ skull.” He thumbed back toward the forest. “Now quit wastin’ time and check the perimeter.”

  Folt scoffed and threw down his hoe. It kicked up a small cloud as it hit the dirt. “Like anyone would bother us way the hell out here. Yer paranoid, Daniel.”

  Not so much. I chuckled silently to myself. But yes, come and check the perimeter. Get close enough so I can grab you.

  If they were going to make it easy for me, the least I could do was oblige them.

  The two men, Folt and Renard, both walked away from the field and toward the forest. One of them taking half of the farmstead, and the other taking the rest.

  I sighed into my palm. They couldn’t have spread out in a worse formation if they tried. They must be idiots.

  All of them.

  Or just careless. But at some point, they become interchangeable. Both get you killed just as quickly.

  The man who’d had the hoe, Folt, came around my way, walking lackadaisically, not bothering to really check anything. He had a gritty face, pockmarked with acne scars, a bald head, and a wiry black beard that desperately needed to be combed.

  His leather jerkin was cracked, and the soiled gambeson beneath him wasn’t in much better shape. He had a sword in hand, a thick blade only longer than my forearm. It was more suited for clearing leaves and chopping firewood than combat. A knife sat belted at his waist too, which gave me options.

  As he reached the tree line, he spit and began walking, peering into the woods occasionally and poking at the underbrush with his blade.

  I silently crept closer, careful of my foot placement so I wouldn’t step on anything that made a sound.

  It didn’t take long before I found my opportunity.

  Folt yawned, closing his eyes and covering his mouth as he wiggled his sword back and forth in the brush.

  I surged forward and grabbed Folt by the wrist, disarming him. As the sword hit the ground, I yanked him toward me. I hooked the top of my foot around his ankle and took him off balance. I bent low, caught him by the arm, and threw him over my shoulder.

  He hit the dirt hard, and a burst of air exploded from his lungs that was lost to the whisper of the trees. I turned, knelt, and slammed my fist into his throat. His windpipe collapsed under my blow, letting out a sickening rattle as Folt tried to inhale and seized up in pain.

  Words once more flashed across my vision.

  Your Hand-to-Hand combat skill has increased by 1! [Hand-to-Hand: 1 (Novice)] +25 Exp!

  As much as I wanted to stop and figure out what the hell the words meant, I didn’t have time.

  Unfortunately for Folt, he wouldn’t be crying for help ever again, but he was still alive. The rock I’d stolen from the river was next to me, right where I’d left it. I picked it up.

  Folt’s eyes bulged as his face reddened. He was slowly suffocating, but I didn’t have the time to waste.

  I tilted his head to the side, baring his temple, and smashed the sharp edge of the rock down.

  A dull, hollow thud cascaded through the empty forest as I caved in his skull. Blood rushed from the heavy gash I’d rendered as Folt let out a heavy death rattle, twitching violently before laying still.

  He wasn’t dead quite yet, but he wouldn’t be waking up again.

  I brought the rock down once more. As I killed him, a light flashed in the corner of my vision.

  The hell?

  I focused on it and was rewarded with more words floating in front of my face.

  1 Kill (Human): 100 Exp!

  Your Blunt Weapons skill has increased by 1! [Blunt Weapons: 1 (Novice)] +25 Exp!

  Quest: Slay 8 Bandits in Romera Forest

  Difficulty: Hard

  Bandits Slain: 1/8

  I don’t understand how it’s possible, but I won’t question it at this point. The status, or whatever it was called, faded as I looked away from it and glanced down at the dead man.

  As d
istasteful as I found it, I needed his gear.

  “Sorry, but it’s not like you need it anymore.”

  I quickly turned his head so that the trickling blood wouldn’t get on his armor and stripped him.

  When I was done, I donned his gambeson and brown leather jerkin with a grimace. It fit, but it was rank. The stench of unwashed body odor wrinkled my nose and clung to the clothes, refusing to leave.

  There wasn’t much I could do, so I settled for reeking of vile and poor decisions for a while yet.

  I also snagged his belt with the knife on it and picked up the discarded sword. They weren’t much, so far beneath what I was used to that I debated keeping the rock. I sighed. From rock to rust. I’m certainly moving up in the world.

  The knife was liable to kill someone from the corrosion alone rather than the blade's sharpness, but it was a full tang, and it was balanced just above the hilt. Not the best for throwing, but I can compensate. Like its former owner, the sword was thick and ugly, but it would cleave some skulls if it had to.

  Though it wasn’t much more than scrap, I was at least better armed and now posed a significantly larger threat.

  But let’s be honest, I could stroll up naked and still take these men apart.

  With one man dead, I had seven more to deal with.

  Normally, mass slaughter wasn’t how I operated, but the quest was clear on the task, and they weren’t innocent.

  Bandit means they rob and murder for a career. And I’m betting each one of them has blood on their hands. They’re the furthest thing from innocent, and I shouldn’t show them any mercy.

  I knew I had eight men to deal with from the quest. I’d seen five of them so far. Which meant there were three that were either in the house or the barn that hadn’t revealed themselves. Though that didn’t matter. I’d deal with each one in due time, but first, I had to deal with Renard, the other man sent to patrol the perimeter.

  It wasn’t challenging to sneak up on him. He was just as unobservant as his dead companion and equally as smelly.

  Renard was a thin, wiry man with thick, wavy hair that he’d pulled back into a knot. His bloodshot blue eyes kept darting around, looking but not seeing anything.

  An addict.

  The signs were there, but I’d never seen someone as strung out as the man before me.

  He grumbled to himself as he walked, muttering about this and that in a low whisper as he checked the edge of the forest with his thick, wooden club. Along the back of his left hand were black tally marks, eight of them, tattooed into his skin.

  Eight? Why have tally marks tattooed? Are they his kills?

  As he walked, his eyes brushed past mine without so much as a flicker of recognition. As he passed, I slipped from the woods and crept up behind him. I stood, snaking my left arm around his neck, just under his jaw, and pressed the blade of my forearm to his trachea.

  “Don’t struggle,” I whispered. “It only makes it take longer.”

  Renard immediately defied me and tried to struggle. He railed against my grasp, but I already had the leverage I needed. I pulled my shoulders back, kicked the back of his knee, and took him to the ground.

  He was out in twenty seconds.

  Your Hand-to-Hand combat skill has increased by 1! [Hand-to-Hand: 2 (Novice)] +25 Exp!

  As the screen went away, I bashed the pommel of my blade against his temple hard enough to make sure he was out for a bit longer.

  1 Knock-out (Human) +50 Exp!

  Huh, so I get less for knocking them out? It didn’t make sense, but as with everything else recently, I accepted it and continued.

  I picked up his body, checked the ground to make sure I didn’t leave any signs of a struggle, and carried him to the forest and out of sight.

  Once we were clear, I dropped him like a sack of potatoes and quickly stripped him. I added a new knife to my belt, almost identical to the one I’d already had, and I left Renard’s club where it was. It was too cumbersome to carry with me, and I’d never been one for blunt weaponry.

  That being done, I stole his armor and tossed the lot deeper into the woods. No one would find it unless they were looking for it, and it made carrying Renard much easier.

  I had a plan, and he was the lynchpin for the entire thing going off without a hitch.

  It took a little longer to get back around the farmstead while carrying an additional hundred and thirty pounds, all while trying to remain as quiet as I could.

  When I got back around and could observe the entirety of the yard once more, I stopped and made sure the others hadn’t come back out looking for the two peons.

  They hadn’t, which meant I was alone.

  Amateurs.

  Double-checking the coast was clear, I stepped out of the woods and made my way to the barn.

  Though worn from many years of use and in need of fresh stain, the structure had obviously been well cared for. Something lacking with the men I’d seen so far. So that told me that the bandits were not the original owners of the property.

  Which means they killed them and are using the place as a hideout. Running from justice, and I heard mention of Royal Knights. So, this country has a monarchy.

  Though if these men are bright enough to escape whatever passes as law and order in this world, it means that they are either lazy or awful at their jobs.

  Either way is a benefit for me.

  There was a hayloft with a peeling whitewashed windowsill about eight feet above me, and from the rusty iron hinges on the door, I’d make much less noise scaling the barn than opening the front door.

  I got a running start and jumped. My foot hit the wood with a dull thump as I pushed off and reached for the window. For a second, I hung there, only being held up my fingers before my feet anchored under me, and I hauled myself through.

  A bale of rotten hay muffled the thump of my landing.

  Your Climbing skill has increased by 1! [Climbing: 1 (Novice)] +25 Exp!

  Dozens of once fresh straw bales lay strewn over the wooden floorboards of the loft. There wasn’t much room for me to maneuver, but I managed as I tiptoed to the edge and peered over the railing and down into the darkened barn.

  There were no horses, and the muddy dirt floor was peppered with discarded hay and numerous footprints. It was silent, broken only by the howling wind through the many cracks in the walls.

  But there was a weight to the space, an ineffable quality that told me I wasn’t alone. I just knew that there was someone else in the barn with me.

  A loud snore sounded as the wind died down, and my intuition was confirmed.

  “Hey, Aldonse. You’re snoring again. I’m tryin’ to sleep too, goddammit.”

  Make that two people.

  Aldonse grunted and then shifted. The rustling of cloth told me he turned over. Not a minute later, the snoring started up again.

  “Oh, fuck this,” the second voice muttered. “I’ll get more sleep in the cellar than next to your loud ass.”

  There was shuffling from the far end of the barn, and I ducked. A man emerged from one of the stalls and started marching toward the gate.

  I can’t let him leave. Need to make this quick and get back to Renard. He won’t sleep forever.

  As the thug walked under the loft, I vaulted over the railing and landed just behind him. My naked feet squelched in the mud as I landed, and the soft thump was enough to alert the man.

  He turned toward me as I mirrored him.

  The man was ugly. A thick brow and squashed face gave him the resemblance of a pig. His brown eyes widened in alarm, and his mouth opened to shout.

  I lashed out with the blade of my palm to his throat. As his hands went to his neck and he gurgled, choking on nothing, I grabbed the back of his head and pulled back, baring his entire neck. I took my stolen knife and rammed the tip under his chin.

  His open mouth revealed the rusted steel as blood slipped around his lips. I twisted and yanked my knife free. The unnamed man dropped, but I caught him
by his filthy clothing and lowered him to the muck in silence.

  1 Kill (Human): 100 Exp!

  Your Acrobatics skill has increased by 1! [Acrobatics: 1 (Novice)] +25 Exp!

  Aldonse’s loud snoring had masked the death throes of the bandit. As he died, Aldonse was none the wiser.

  I picked up his body and moved it a few feet back, positioning it exactly where I wanted it. It was still in front of the barn’s gate and would be seen as soon as someone opened the door.

  It suited my plans perfectly.

  Now to deal with Aldonse.

  I crept to the back where he lay sleeping. I knelt on him, dropping most of my weight into my knee that I jammed into his sternum as my off-hand covered his nose and mouth. As his eyes opened, I put the blade of the knife to his throat and split it open, end to end.

  A thick spurt of arterial spray accompanied my knife's edge as I opened his throat, but I’d positioned myself precisely, and the initial gush missed me as it splashed across the wooden wall and dripped to the mud.

  Another blinking light told me of the notification that I’d killed Aldonse.

  I ignored it, wiped the blade on his shirt, and left him where he lay as I moved out of the lower barn and back to the loft.

  It was time for my plan to be put into motion.

  I clambered back out of the barn after peeking to make sure the coast was clear, and then I was onto the sparse grasslands of the farmstead. A few seconds after that, I was nestled back in the darkened woodlands, cozying up to the unconscious form of Renard.

  “Alright, enough sleeping on the job, Renard,” I whispered, grinning as I picked him up.

  Getting him into the barn was a slight pain in the ass. No way could I haul him and myself up and through the small window, which left the front gate, but I didn’t trust the hinges not to squeal like the wailing of a banshee when I forced them open.

  They did indeed squeak, but only slightly as I took my time opening the door. But I timed them to coincide with the rushing winds that occasionally blew.

  Once inside, I stepped over the corpse of the unnamed dead bandit and carried Renard up to the loft.

  I set him down and took a seat on the mushy hay bale while keeping an eye out the window. I had the perfect spot to watch the house and wait for the bandits to come outside from my vantage point.