Chapter 167: Teaching Time [5]
"Let’s call it a day. Time for a break."
What? Already?
I blinked at Doran, half convinced I’d misheard. I was just starting to get the hang of it, and he wanted to stop now?
A faint shimmer popped up in front of me.
[Proficiency increase speed adjusted due to the presence of a master.]
...So that’s the trick.
If I’d known Doran had this kind of cheat buff, I would’ve chained myself to him from the start.
"Let’s push a little more," I said, adjusting my stance.
"Being enthusiastic is good but—"
His scarred eyelids twitched like he was about to have a fit, and then he barked out,
"Let me rest too! Do you plan on grinding me into dust?!"
"...Tch."
He’s unbelievable. When it comes to flooring me with those ruthless parry counters, he’s full of energy. But now? Now he’s whining like a retiree with bad knees.
Shouldn’t have taken on such a stubborn student if he didn’t want to deal with the consequences.
"It’s almost night!" he snapped, waving at the fading horizon. "Without food, fire, or proper prep, you’ll collapse before me. You think training in freezing wind will make you stronger? It’ll just make you sick."
I rolled my shoulders. "Still feel plenty energized."
He glared at me, and for a second, I thought his scarred eye might actually pop open from sheer frustration. But deep down, I knew he wasn’t wrong. My body was shot, my head still ringing from mana drain. Pushing further would only dull the edge I was starting to sharpen.
"Fine," I said at last, sliding my blade back into its sheath. "But tomorrow morning—we start early."
Doran groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Unbelievable. You’ve been smacked around like a training dummy all day, and you’re grinning about it."
Well, yeah.
Because finally—finally—I could feel it.
[You have grasped the basics of parrying.]
[Ghoststeps (Rank: S) activated.]
[Parrying proficiency: 70%]
[Skill will evolve once proficiency is maxed.]
A rush of triumph ran through me, hotter than the aches crawling over my body. I was wrecked, sure—but for the first time, I wasn’t just stumbling in the dark. I was moving forward.
And tomorrow, I’d be stronger.
I flashed Doran a grin. "Don’t oversleep, old man. You’ll slow me down."
He snorted. "Kid, if you collapse first thing tomorrow, I’ll bury you in the snow myself."
I smirked at him. "Bury me, huh? That’s rich coming from the guy begging for a break before sundown."
Doran’s mouth twitched. "Do you think I’m made of steel? Unlike you, I actually have sense. A thief survives by knowing when to stop, not by grinding himself into the dirt like some blockheaded warrior."
I raised a brow. "Says the man who once bragged he went three nights without sleep while robbing the Count of Karan’s treasury."
He coughed into his fist. "That was different. That was art."
"Art?" I let out a short laugh. "You mean nearly getting skewered by the guard captain and hiding in a manure cart for six hours."
Doran froze. "...You weren’t supposed to know about that."
I grinned. "Oh, I make it my business to know. Call it a disciple’s right."
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like curses in three different languages, then jabbed a finger at me.
"Watch it, brat. You’re getting cocky just because you managed to brush the edge of parrying."
"Not just parrying." I tapped my temple, unable to hide the grin stretching my face. "I can feel it. I’m close to unlocking something bigger."
Doran narrowed his eyes. "Skills aren’t everything. Pride kills faster than blades. Remember that."
His voice carried a rare seriousness, and for a moment, I fell quiet. He wasn’t wrong. Pride in our trade could get you gutted in an alley before you even realized you’d been outplayed.
But then his expression softened into a sly smirk. "Still... you did better than I expected."
I tilted my head. "Didn’t expect me to last this long, huh?"
"Honestly? No." He chuckled low in his throat. "I figured you’d be face-first in the snow an hour ago. Instead, you’re still standing. Bruised, stupidly grinning, but standing."
"Guess you taught me well."
He snorted. "Flattery won’t save you tomorrow. I’m going to crush that grin first thing at dawn."
"Then you’d better be ready, Master," I shot back. "Because tomorrow, I’m the one who’s going to land the first clean hit."
For a moment, silence hung between us—cold wind, crunching snow, and the low crackle of the fire he begrudgingly started.
Then Doran smirked again, the scars around his eyes creasing.
"Keep dreaming, Faceless Imposter. You’re still two lifetimes too early."
I leaned back against a fallen log, stretching my aching arms. "Two lifetimes, huh? Don’t you think you’re overselling yourself, old man?"
Doran barked a laugh. "Old man? Do you have any idea how many guild rats still whisper my name with their tails between their legs? I’m a living legend."
I gave him a flat look. "A living legend who disguises himself as a maid just to sneak up on his disciple."
"That’s called ingenuity, brat." He wagged a finger at me. "Someday you’ll learn that a thief’s pride isn’t about swinging a blade or being the loudest in the room—it’s about how long you can make a fool dance without them even realizing it."
"Then I must’ve grown faster than you thought." I smirked. "After all, I caught you."
His smirk faltered for just a beat. "...Beginner’s luck."
"Sure." I leaned closer to the fire, watching the sparks drift upward. "But it makes me wonder—how many times did you lose before you finally got good enough to fool everyone?"
The silence that followed was heavier than I expected. Doran stared into the flames, shadows sharpening the deep lines on his face.
"More times than I’d like to admit," he muttered. "There’s no thief alive who hasn’t been bloodied or caught off guard. Anyone who claims otherwise is already dead."
That struck me harder than I wanted to show. For a moment, I saw past the mocking grin and scars—saw the man who’d walked away from failures I couldn’t even imagine.
"...So what about me?" I asked, softer than before. "You think I’ll live long enough to be a legend too?"