Super.Dawg
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Chapter 52
🕑 Added 2025-07-07 10:11:10 +0000 UTCThe dungeon’s entrance flickered—once, twice—then collapsed into itself like smoke. A shimmer of blue vanished, replaced by dull, lifeless stone.
The two guards bolted upright from their posts, eyes wide.
“Did... did the five of you just clear that dungeon?” His voice cracked, “All of you came out. Alive.”
Opel stepped forward, his shield still strapped to his arm. He grinned, the weariness behind his smile barely hidden. “I suppose we did.”
The second guard stammered. “G-Gods! There's gonna be an inspection. Soon!”
“Think the inspector will want double? Triple?” the other muttered, drawing him into a whispered panic. “Maybe if we report it as unstable... say it collapsed...”
Kana didn’t want to hear them. She really didn’t. But the whispers crept in, clear as if spoken beside her, her [High Awareness] skill kicking in.
She frowned, adjusting her cloak. They rode in silence back to the underground district. Horses moved in rhythmic clops, the stars overhead blurred behind a thin sheet of fog. The night wasn’t yet over, but it felt stretched, they cleared the dungeon earlier than expected.
When they arrived at the inn, Rum was still behind the counter, half-asleep but steady, taking requests and bartering with a man reeking of ale and blood.
Opel ignored the man and went straight to Rum, “Dungeon cleared. Contract fulfilled.”
Rum blinked once, then again—processing.
“You... cleared it?”
The terms of the job were simple: Raid a mid low level dungeon, probably killing a few monsters since there were only five of them, assist the trio, and make sure they were going back alive. Rum expected success but not a complete success.
He was curious if the five of them cleared it or if they had other members. Still, he said nothing. That was the way of the underground.
From beneath the counter, Rum drew a small pouch and passed it to Asha, not Opel. Seemed like a tradition. The wife always carried the coin.
“Thank you for your service,” Rum said, his grin tight-lipped and measured. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Asha gave Kana a wink. “It's goodbye for now. Next time, it’ll be legal.” She turned to leave, Opel trailing behind her without a word.
Kana nodded, silently agreeing. She’d overheard Asha’s plan—to take the adventurer’s guild examination one more time. This time, they might actually pass. Reaching level ten wasn’t something done lightly, not without years of grinding through dungeons. The skill evolution alone was a marker of growth, plus additional selection of skill. Kana only hoped that what happened tonight—would fade into oblivion.
The trio stood for a beat longer, watching the two veterans fade into the maze-like underground city.
They took their time heading back to the academy. No rush. A bit tired for words.
…..
Von crouched near the academy’s secret passage, motionless like a stone but alert. Waiting. The moon hung overhead, covered by drifting clouds. Silence ruled the grounds—except for the steady breath in his lungs and the faint gush of wind occasionally blowing through stone corridors.
He watched.
The fakes wouldn’t fool him. They couldn’t mimic the miniscule way a person moved, how they breathed when unaware, how their weight shifted when they moved. If they were fakes it meant one thing— the real ones had to be elsewhere. Probably outside. The students liked to sneak out; he’d paid enough coin to enough foolish mouths to know that. Coin wouldn’t lie.
So he waited.
A minute. An hour. Two. Still nothing. Past midnight now, and Von was beginning to reconsider. If they didn’t return soon, he’d shift his watch to their room, the one beside the fakes.
Then—movement.
He caught it at the edge of his vision. Reflex, not thought, triggered his skill: [Shadow Form]. His body melted into shadow, a dim silhouette against the academy’s ruined stone, black but not so much—just enough to blend, to vanish and hide his presence.
A patrol student? A professor? No. He watched the figures approach. One stride. Two.
His grin widened.
Not fakes.
The real targets walked before him.
And they had no idea.
….
They were still children. At least in his eyes.
Von stalked and watched them from the darkened rooftop ledge. Mere common students who had few interesting tricks. And yet, they had drawn attention. His client had paid a fortune—not for mere discipline, but for death. A quite noble purse in exchange.
He didn’t question why. He never did.
The most expensive, Death’s Shadow. A name whispered in the thrones of kings, written in the ledgers of nobles who feared to speak it aloud. He’d ended rebellions with a single stroke. Broken alliances with one corpse in the wrong place. He didn’t wish for it to happen. He was paid for it.
This—this was a bonus contract. A high pay with an easy target. Smile crept on his face.
He moved without sound, unsheathing the dagger blackened with pitch and ash. No gleam. No light to betray him. He dropped into the boy’s shadow—the tall one trailing behind the two girls. A simple approach. Even if someone saw him, he could be gone before they blinked.
[Silent Strike].
It wasn’t just a skill—it was an execution. His presence vanished into the strike, a whisper wrapped in death. The blade aimed for the boy’s neck. It was one of the weaknesses his [Weakness] skill had revealed. The boy never saw it coming. Eyes wide. Paralyzed in time. He couldn’t react.
Clang!
Metal shrieked against metal.
Von’s wrist buckled. Not from a strike—but from resistance. A force. A counter-blow. The boy hadn’t moved. His gaze was still fixed on death like a lamb watching the butcher’s blade.
Someone else had moved.
A hood fluttered. Black hair spilled out beneath it. The other target, a girl—Kana—had ducked low, intercepting the blow.
Von’s eyes narrowed.
That was rare.
He’d fought those with reflexes. A few with instincts. None of them lived long. It didn’t matter whether they saw him or not.
Because he was always ready.
[Silent Strike] again—this time angled for Kana. Faster. Sharper. Her dagger met his again, sparks leaping into the cold air. Her stance braced. Her eyes followed his movement.
He vanished into the shadows.
[Shadow Form].
Darkness bent around him as he warped behind her, rising from her shadow with silent malice. He struck again—nothing flashy. A precise blow with years of killing honed into the grip of his blade.
Again, her dagger met his.
A detection skill? Reflexes? It didn’t matter.
He disengaged, sliding backward across the stone with a whisper of cloth and shadow.
About time.
He discarded the crutches. No more skill spam. Just his blade, his hands, his mind—and forty years of experience in the art of assasination and duels. She would bleed. And then she would fall. Like always. Like his target before her.
He surged forward, blade dancing from low to high, sweeping arcs and deceptive thrusts, switching his angles like wind cutting through grass. Occasionally he layered a [Silent Strike], slipping it into the rhythm.
Some landed—thin red lines across her side, her shoulder, her thigh. Not deep enough.
She didn’t just defend.
She answered.
Parries met with counters, her feet adjusting with natural flow, her daggers moving not like weapons—but like limbs. Trained, yes. But also aware. He could see the openings she saw. The ones she didn’t take—because she knew he was waiting for her to.
It wasn’t luck.
It wasn’t a random guess.
It was a talent. She was able to improve and adapt from the brief exchange.
And suddenly, Von felt something rare stir inside him.
Not fear. Not a doubt. Something new.
Interest.
Was this what his master had seen when he first found him in the gutters? The spark? Finding the hidden gem among the mass. The perfect person to teach all of his raw skills and pass it to the next generation was in front of him.
Is this what it feels like to have a child?
He moved into another exchange. Her blade met his again. Sparks. Breath. A flurry of blurry exchanges.
He grinned.
This wasn’t a contract anymore.
This was a discovery.
Von’s smile vanished.
Something shifted.
The girl moved—not with instinct, but with intent. Her arms blurred, her daggers becoming ribbons of steel in her hands. The air hissed, and for the first time in years, Von stepped back.
Too late.
Her skill activated—a flurry of strikes not just fast, but unreadable. Even with his honed senses, trained to see killing intent, he couldn’t track them all.
He caught the first few. Parried the next. His blade moved, adapted. But then—a gap.
A feint?
No—
The real attack drove straight through his guard.
The girl’s dagger pierced his flesh.
His right shoulder exploded with pain, white-hot and unnatural. Not just a wound—it felt like the blade split him open from bone to marrow. His knees buckled, just slightly.
His instincts screamed. Need to Retreat. Reassess.
But another part of him—the one buried under decades of perfection—marveled.
Not from the pain.
But to her.
Von twisted away, the dagger sliding free from his shoulder with a wet pull. Blood spilled hot against his side. He stared at her—this teenage girl with blood on her blade, breathing heavily, eyes still locked to him, waiting for his next move.
She wounded the Death’s Shadow.
Very rarely he used his fourth skill because he did not need to.
Tonight was the third time.
She would consider her to be his apprentice. That was—if she survived the night.
[Dissipate]
