Gathering Intelligence

Dole answered honestly—where he lived, where he worked, how old he was this year—and then the patrol let him go.

Back in the courtyard, the night was utterly silent.

Bal's figure came from the doorway, his shadow flickering indistinctly in the darkness.

"I noticed you went to the Assassin Guild just now?"

Dole turned his head, looked at Bal, and nodded. "Someone named Kadiya led me there."

Bal tilted his dog head, thinking about who that was, then laughed. "That man is the deputy city lord's battle swordsman, known as Duomeng City's foremost battle swordsman. Who would've thought he was also an assassin?"

Dole nodded, his heart heavy. "The waters in this city run far, far deeper than I imagined. I accepted the job to assassinate Fele and have already obtained his information. I'll carry it out soon."

Bal shook his head. "Handle it yourself." He slowly made his way to the doorway, then shot up onto the wall above it with a whoosh before swiftly vanishing into the night.

Watching Bal disappear, Dole slowly entered the room. He took out a bottle each of strength potion and agility potion, then poured them into his mouth.

As he waited for the potions to slowly take effect, he practiced the basic boxing forms in the courtyard.

Basic swordsmanship.

Though he had not had any proper real combat, more practice would help fix the movements in place and form solid boxing and swordsmanship stances, which would be greatly beneficial in the future. What he was thinking now was whether, the next time he turned in a job, he should buy a set of ordinary martial skills to learn. There was really nothing much to learn from basic swordsmanship, and he did not have any proper swordsmanship or boxing techniques on hand.

He practiced for two hours, continuing until midnight before digesting part of the power. His muscles bulged, his skin stretched tight—the potions were quite effective.

Those two bottles were his last two. After this, he would have none left.

One potion cost one gold coin. Eight bottles of potion meant eight gold coins—quite an extravagance.

But feeling the increase in his strength, Dole felt it had been money well spent.

Entering the room, he took out another bottle of low-grade mental power potion, drank it, and began to meditate.

The low-grade mental power potion's effects were no longer so obvious, but something was better than nothing. It was far better than cultivating by himself alone. By now, he had visualized nearly thirty coins. The further he went, the lower his visualization efficiency became, and maintaining such a large number of coins was also a difficult problem.

His sea of consciousness was vast and boundless, but keeping thirty coins within it without allowing them to collapse was still difficult. He had to maintain the shape of the coins at all times. In another sense, this was training his mental strength and willpower. Dole found it increasingly difficult, and at one point believed he had gone down the wrong path.

But Bal said it was fine, so he could only continue cultivating.

Soon, the night passed.

By day, he worked at the blacksmith shop. In the afternoons, he went out "for a stroll." Based on the information, Dole quickly pinned down Fele's general movements. This fellow usually had three places he went at night: the soldiers' bar, a bar run by the military office itself; the barracks, which also doubled as a training ground, where he would cultivate for a while; then, around midnight, he would take the military office's dedicated carriage home.

The place where they lived was also very secure. It was in the northwest district, where the nobles lived. There were a great many security patrols, and due to their status, they themselves also had a certain number of guards. Though Fele was not a noble, he was indeed one of a noble family's descendants and had a small nest there. He was surrounded by nobles, making infiltration vastly more difficult.

Only then did Dole recall why most of the names on the assassination list were nobles, yet they still lived just fine. Security here was simply too good. If he had Bal's speed, he could sneak in, kill someone, and leave without much trouble. But he was not Bal.

So he would have to use his brain.

The bar, the barracks, home.

Dole thought it over for several days before deciding to make his move on the road to the bar.

Fele did not actually like drinking. He merely liked the atmosphere. According to the intelligence, the bar existed for military office personnel to enjoy themselves and offered many things: women, strong liquor, and some strange things as well, such as all kinds of drugs that could intoxicate people, along with medicines that enhanced sexual ability.

As a squad leader, Fele had prohibitions to observe, so naturally he would not play with women there much. He would only occasionally have some drinks, then take some little things home and engage in intense activities with the several wives at his house. That was his hobby.

Dole could make his move in this area.

Dole had also considered food, water sources, and such, but since they were all specially supplied, they were not easy to tamper with unless he could infiltrate the waterworks or sneak into Fele's home.

Dole considered all of these possibilities, but in the end, they came to nothing because they were too easy to expose.

The soldiers' bar.

Dole ordered several drinks and sat at a table, drinking listlessly. Several women passed by him, but he rejected them all.

Though he was thirteen this year and had physically developed to nearly the level of a normal adult, he was still not an adult after all. There were some things he simply could not do.

As the saying went, "His hair hasn't even fully grown in yet"—that was exactly the stage he was at.

But that did not stop Dole from drinking. Though the soldiers' bar restricted entry to soldiers, Dole could get in with a little disguise, provided he had money.

And he had money, so he got in.

The military office bar was chaotic. There were drinkers, drunks making trouble, all sorts of people. As long as no one was beaten to death, it was fine. If things got broken, so be it—someone would pay for them anyway.

Dole had only sat there a short while when two such incidents occurred. One was a drunk causing trouble; the other was over a woman.

That woman was actually quite beautiful. Her skin was very fair, clearly different from that of the locals, and her figure was slender, with curves where there should be curves and a shapely rear where there should be one. Her tight-fitting clothes further accentuated her lovely figure. Two officers began fighting over her.

The woman herself had no will, like a puppet on strings. There was no life in her eyes at all, but that did not detract from her appearance.

A pitiful woman, Dole concluded.

He drank for a while, then glanced casually toward the entrance. His eyes lit up slightly, but he immediately turned away and paid it no more attention.

Fele had arrived.

Fele had gotten off work with his colleagues and, without even changing his clothes, come straight here. After shouting a few orders at the bar and getting drinks for his brothers, he warmly greeted several acquaintances, then led his men to a table and began drinking.

Dole watched for a while and quickly saw him ask a waiter for something, then casually tuck it into the pocket on his chest.

Dole took in every detail, even seeing clearly where he had stashed the medicine.

Future Pharmacy.

Old Mi personally received Dole, still in that very ordinary apothecary.

Dole did not waste words. He took out ten bottles of beginner mental power potions and said with a faint smile, "I need four bottles of beginner strength potions and four bottles of agility potions. Exchange all the rest for materials and money."

Old Mi nodded. This was not their first transaction, and the deal went smoothly. However, he noticed that many strange, peculiar materials had been mixed in among Dole's herbs.

Still, he did not ask. The wizard system had plenty of things that were somewhat taboo to begin with. So long as they were medicinal ingredients, whether poisons or ordinary herbs, he could sell them.