Dark Lord in Chains 92 (Patreon)

“Let’s move,” I said, walking toward the city gates just as Isolde’s implicit direction suggested. I decided against going to the palace for two reasons. The first was Cinder. While our training session worked wonders to integrate some obedience into her personality, I had no idea how effective it would be. 

Worse, I had no idea how she would react to the presence of the others like Sapphire or Aria. 

Even worse, she might decide to overcompensate by reacting even more explosively, which would have a mess. 

However, that wasn’t the only reason for that direction. While I expected Cinder to react explosively, I trusted myself enough to control that as long as I prioritized that. 

The more important reason was the transformation I had just gone through. I could feel my magic still dancing with uncharacteristic warmth, and I needed to train to make sure everything was working as it was supposed to. 

And, the palace was hardly the destination to cut loose to test the new limits of his magic, especially as the nature that he gained was the fire. 

Hardly the least dazzling type of magic. 

We walked forward in total silence, bypassing both the gates of the inner city and the outer city with incredible ease — which didn’t fill me with a sense of security against upcoming threats. 

And, since we weren’t speaking — Isolde was not a chatty person — I decided to use the opportunity to observe her as she moved through the city. 

Her movement was a bundle of contradictions. In some aspects, she moved like an expert spy, unnoticed by anyone, yet other times, she almost gave a clumsy sensation. It was her background as a ranger, I realized soon after. She was an expert in going around unnoticed, but only in nature. 

Cities had a different pattern, and required a completely different set of movements to hide properly, one that required to use of the crowds to hide effectively. Of course, her skill level was high enough that it didn’t matter much in the relatively easy task of escaping the city…

But if I gave her a task like sneaking into a well-defended manor, she would have no choice but kill the guards to do so.

I decided not to just focus on myself. After all, Isolde was an interesting person, simple, yet not stupid, just direct. And, more importantly, she had the natural skill to be a true assassin. 

One that I lacked. 

Just like I was a passable swordsman and a passable mage, I was also a passable assassin. Certainly good enough to deal with most targets, but only after bringing in a considerable number of tricks to the deal. 

Most people didn’t know much about it, but assassination was an art, not too different from a painting. 

And just like the painting, the lower tier was the street variety. Just like the portrait painters that jotted quick charcoal sketches didn’t deserve the title of artist, so did the street variety of artists. 

It was common enough to be treated as a standard job, usually used in petty arguments. One or two bruisers, following the target until they carefully stepped into an alleyway, rushed before the target could notice their presence. 

It didn’t work against anyone with the slightest awareness of their surroundings , of course, but even then, they were often sent. After all, it was a cheap measure, and a good way to warn an individual away from a certain course of action, or toward another. 

And, they could always get lucky. 

Naturally, assassins of that variety died as easily, with a frequency that matched their targets. 

The second kind could be termed as artisans, the equivalent of painters that worked for noble houses, with the ability to create beautiful portraits of the noble members of the houses, or impressive landscapes. 

It was a category that I belonged in. The assassins of this category were consummate professionals, and not only required hefty prices to start moving, but also seldom accepted any kind of time restriction. 

After all, just like an expert painter needed to study their subject, from their personality to the light that surrounded them, so did an assassin. 

They did so more carefully, as a painter’s failure didn’t come bundled with execution. 

Well, not always. 

The professional assassins observed the target, the habits, the guards that surrounded them if any — though any target that required action from such a professional either had a sufficient cadre of guards, or had skills strong enough to make the presence of guards moot — even their preferred type of wine. 

There were many ways to hit a target, of course, from poisons to a dagger into the neck while sleeping… 

Yet, there was also a third type of assassin, one that could see every single weakness surrounding an estate, with the ability to simply follow the rhythm of the guards until they breached the most well-defended sanctuary, or casually walk to the target and walk away in the middle of the street, and no one to notice the deed was done before the assassin disappeared. 

Including the target. 

It was the master painter equivalent of an assassin, the kind that appeared once or twice in each generation. 

And, as I walked alongside Isolde, I could see glimpses of such talent. All that remained was for me to see whether I could extract that. 

As we left the city behind us with a brisk walk, I continued to watch Isolde, taking note of her transformation as we arrived at the forest. Her occasional awkwardness had disappeared, replaced with wondrous ease as she moved through nature, melding with the background with shocking ease. 

Since that trick was done without using any magic, it was even harder to detect. 

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

“One of my safehouses, of course,” I answered. 

That earned a hesitant glare from her. “Are we going to abandon the Empire completely?” 

My answer was a smirk. “Oh, sweetie, do you really think that my safe houses are only in darklands, or at the border,” I said. She was shocked at the statement, but as a woman of few words, she kept her mouth shut, and soon, we arrived at our destination. 

And arrived at a beautiful meadow, surrounded by trees, and a small lake in the middle. 

“Is this your safe house?” she asked, shocked. 

I didn’t say anything, just raised my hand and used a spell, activating the ward stones that were buried in the ground. 

“I … see,” she murmured, noticing the shimmering field. 

Of course, even activated, those wards were barely more than paper, unable to resist a dedicated assault for more than a few seconds. But the strongest wasn’t always the safest. Considering the proximity to the capital, any serious wards would earn undue attention, and no ward could defend against the full strength of an army. 

That didn’t mean that the wards were useless, of course. From the outside, they were designed to look like the wards most nobles used to cover their hunting grounds, marking it as a private area, but one with nothing in value. 

Perfect area to conduct some training. 

“Let’s work on you first,” I said as I looked at Isolde. “First, I need to see your basics.” With that, I raised my hand, and several blocks of ice appeared on the surface of the water. “Why don’t you go and show me your footwork first,” I said. 

Isolde threw a dismissive glare at me, then turned her gaze to the little challenge I had given to her. 

Still, her dissatisfaction wasn’t as strong as her obedience, and she walked toward there without even bothering to disagree. 

I watched for a moment as she climbed the first floating piece of ice, then jumped to the next one before it could sink. The challenge was not as simple as it looked, as not only the floating ice was enough to lift her weight, but also the surface of it was slippery. 

But, to someone like Isolde, it barely qualified as a warm-up. 

Luckily, that was not the training I had designed for her in the first place. “Now, about the real training,” I said as I waved my hand, and certain words started to appear on the ice, such as maid, guard, and noble. 

“What’s this?” she asked. 

“I want you to do your best to replicate the attitude of the job that’s written there, and not jump to the next one before you’re convinced that you have succeeded,” I said 

She looked frustrated at the sudden addition, clearly not understanding the reason for it. But she still did her best, and took a combative pose when the next piece of ice had said the guard. 

I let her start with a task that was relatively simple. 

She waited in that combative pose for a second before she jumped to the next ice, only for that ice to suddenly evaporate, and she fell into the lake. 

Already floating in the air, there was nothing she could have done, and she fell into the water. “What the hell!” she gasped as she floated on top of the water, drenched. 

It was a beautiful look. 

“I might have forgotten to tell you. But if you can’t convince me with your posture, your footing will disappear.” 

That didn’t exactly help her anger. “So, I looked like a guard,” she answered tersely. 

“Imagine the way you looked. Your weapon raised, your body tense, ready to burst into action…” 

“So, you told me to look like a guard.” 

I smirked. “Try to imagine the guards you have seen, patrolling around the palace, or the ones that defended the city walls. How many of them displayed that alertness.” 

“So, they are bad guards,” she said. 

“No,” I answered with a smirk. “Lazy and bored is the default state of most of the guards, you need to replicate it efficiently to pass my test.” 

Her expression of shock was beautiful.