I Became A Thief Who Steals Overpowered Skills - Chapter 106

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Episode 106. That’s Not Who It Is

Hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor.

A woman ran past, heedless of the stares around her, her breathing ragged and sharp.

Silver hair the color of pale blue.

The third princess of the Epania royal house, descended from the white dragon’s blood.

Sigrin Epania.

She held back the tears brimming in her eyes with fierce determination.

The reason was simple.

She had finally met again the love she had been waiting for all this time.

‘Arthur. Arthur.’

Sigrin ran, crying out the name she had kept locked away inside her heart.

On the day she had inherited his Memory Inheritance and opened her eyes.

At their appointed place, it was not only Mery Diana who waited for Arthur in desolation—she had waited too.

Sigrin loved Arthur more than anyone else.

But Arthur never appeared.

No matter how thoroughly she searched the empire, she could not find him anywhere.

Then she sensed it: there was some problem she did not understand.

In her memories, Arthur was always a man driving forward, leading the way.

And it was her role as his wife to support him in that.

So Sigrin endured, and she stirred Mery Diana up, rousing her to action.

Arthur must have had some plan in mind.

So she waited, doing what she had to do, watching for the day she would see him again.

And today.

Arthur finally appeared.

It was truly him.

He had come because she was doing her part to the best of her ability.

As she passed through the empty Arena corridor with a racing heart, she saw something.

A figure standing before her.

Wearing a Robe pulled low.

From beneath it spilled hair of gold.

Arthur.

It had to be Arthur.

“Arthur!”

She cried out his name and rushed forward—only to freeze in her tracks.

She stopped dead.

Her feet simply ceased moving.

The hair was unmistakably golden.

But the face beneath the Robe was not Arthur’s.

This figure wore a face so delicate it could deceive, yet save for the shared golden hair, bore scarcely any resemblance to Arthur at all.

The frame was the same, but everything else belonged to a different person entirely.

Sigrin’s expression hardened.

And with that hardening came a slow frost of fury across her features.

She wanted nothing more than to slit the throat of whoever dared assume Arthur’s name.

“Who are you….”
“Sigrin Epania.”

The figure spoke her name with such ease.

The voice was androgynous—neither plainly male nor female, something between.

“I bear a message for you from Arthur.”
“A message from Arthur?”

Sigrin’s senses sharpened, pulling her back to clarity.

Something was wrong. Something had happened.

She bit her lip, forcing composure back into her expression.

“There are others moving in this cycle besides you three who have undergone Memory Inheritance.”

The moment those words landed, Sigrin’s eyes widened slowly.

This was no fishing expedition.

Only the three of them and Arthur knew this fact.

“Wait—what do you mean, others? Besides us?”
“Arthur cannot be certain either. He says this cycle contains too many variables for even him to predict.”

Sigrin fell silent, her mind churning.

Because it was exactly what she had been wondering herself of late.

‘Both Ebelasc and Charlotte—it had been the same with them.’

Even accounting for the Butterfly Effect, this was excessive.

“So Arthur seeks to find that person now. Watch carefully those who respond to me in Arthur’s stead. That is Arthur’s message to you.”

Only then did Sigrin understand Arthur’s intent.

“One question, if I may. There was something Arthur would tell me when we were alone together. Do you know what it was?”

Sigrin asked as a final verification.

The false Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly as he heard her question, and he replied.

“He said to tell you there was no such thing.”
“Hah, hah-hah.”

Sigrin let out a soft laugh.

“That’s right. Arthur would never repeat to someone else a conversation meant only for the two of us.”

Sigrin felt certain of Arthur’s existence.

“I understand what you mean.”

If Arthur was searching for someone, she could find that person too.

“Is there anyone in particular Arthur is watching most carefully?”

The person who came to mind first as Sigrin asked was none other than Krash.

She had just seen him shatter an Aurora Stone.

Witnessing that, Sigrin found herself perplexed.

The Aura emanating from him was unmistakably at the Early Master level.

Yet at Early Master, one’s radiance might shine brightly, but one could not shatter an Aurora Stone.

What she sensed at that moment was the power of a Curse.

Once she felt it, she came to a suspicion.

Krash had swallowed some manner of Curse using a skill, and had employed it to perform some form of technique.

After grasping this fact, Sigrin was thrown into confusion.

‘Even accounting for the Butterfly Effect, the timing was far too early.’

Krash was said to be the finest with Curse-related matters, but that was limited to self-defense.

Not to this degree.

So at first, Sigrin had momentarily wondered if Krash too had undergone Memory Inheritance like themselves.

But even if that were true, for Krash to reach Early Master in a mere handful of years made no sense whatsoever.

The memories he possessed were at best only those related to Curses and war.

Combat was far removed from such things.

‘I know that man’s level better than anyone.’

He was born a half-wit, plain and simple.

No matter how hard he worked, his talent fell far too short to overcome such a nature.

“You said her name was Charlotte Valheim.”

Sigrin Epania’s eyes snapped wide open.

“Did Lord Arthur truly say such a thing?”
“He did.”

Charlotte Valheim — an unprecedented genius of Balheim.

The moment Sigrin heard this, the confused puzzle pieces began to align.

Charlotte was one who had never received a single skill from the gods, not until the very end.

A human legend incarnate.

It was Charlotte Valheim who stood at the summit with nothing but her sword.

But what if, after she brought down the Sword Saint and stood on the brink of death, she had been granted a skill?

The moment the gods reach deepest toward humanity is when a human’s life draws to its end.

Arthur too had obtained Regression through such a process, it was said.

‘Then Charlotte’s prospects are far from impossible.’

With talent as abundant as hers, the gods would have been eager to make a pact with her.

They would surely have showered her with extraordinary offers.

If so, then Krash’s growth likewise fell into place.

Even Charlotte could not ultimately prevent the Apocalypse, and she died after her battle with the Sword Saint.

In that death, she too must have realized something.

That even she, who had cried out “Heaven and Earth, Only I Am Sovereign,” could not stand alone.

‘And that woman chose that man.’

That woman had long, almost imperceptibly, looked after Krash, though he was her blood relation.

And beyond that, Charlotte herself well understood the utility of Krash’s skill.

To stand against the Apocalypse, a Curse-bearer was indispensable.

So just as Arthur had chosen his three companions,

Charlotte too might have chosen her own brother.

For that willful woman, her younger brother would have been the only limit of what she could tolerate as a comrade.

‘Yes, there were plenty of suspicious things from the start — her sudden arrival at the Academy, and lately all those strange affairs in Balheim.’

If that was Charlotte’s strategy to nurture Krash’s growth, then everything aligned perfectly.

‘And besides, there was something Charlotte said before she died.’

Sigrin’s eyes opened slowly.

Just before Charlotte fought the Sword Saint, Sigrin had happened to speak with her.

It wasn’t a particularly meaningful conversation.

Sigrin and Charlotte had never been on good terms.

But there was one thing she let slip as she left.

‘I’ve finally found it. So tell my brother I’m coming to fetch him. I won’t let him live like that anymore.’

Sigrin didn’t know what “it” was.

Charlotte had killed the Sword Saint and then died from exhaustion.

But one thing was clear: Charlotte had tried to pass something to Krash.

‘It might have been some kind of elixir that could accelerate growth dramatically.’

The sort of elixir that could overturn a half-wit’s entire life in a single stroke.

Charlotte at that time probably didn’t even know of such a thing.

But if, after consuming such an elixir, she added her own experience and teachings to it—

then Krash’s current growth would certainly have been possible.

‘And the proof was that she gave him the Thunderous Star, her own blade.’

The sword at Krash’s waist was unmistakably the Thunderous Star.

That blade was none other than the very sword Charlotte had wielded until moments before her death in her previous life.

When news came that a direct descendant of Balheim had gone to the Demon Palace, she thought it was Charlotte.

But then she heard the name Krash, and it seemed odd.

Charlotte must have sent him there herself and instructed him.

Only Charlotte would have known how to obtain the Thunderous Star.

‘When you think about it, Charlotte didn’t know about the Regression or that Arthur and we had returned.’

That might explain why she acted with such abandon.

To those of them who had also experienced Regression, her behavior seemed clearly abnormal.

Sigrin folded her arms, her ample chest accentuated by the gesture, and let her displeasure show.

‘And yet she acts toward me as if we’d never met before?’

She’d never realized that woman had such a cunning side.

It seemed she only grasped it now, after playing her own hand and dying.

Sigrin’s eyes turned venomous.

Then a thought struck her like lightning.

“So, Krash—we could simply draw that man into our faction instead.”

The false Arthur turned to regard Sigrin.

Meeting his gaze, Sigrin’s eyes widened into crescents.

“You’re concerned about him too, aren’t you? That cursed man will be indispensable later. And Charlotte must be thinking the same thing, no doubt.”

She savored the image: snatching Krash from Charlotte’s grasp.

Charlotte Valheim—as the Third Imperial Princess, the sole woman who trampled her considerable pride.

Even Sigrin, who carried the weight of Memory Inheritance, felt a deep envy before that talent.

To watch Charlotte’s face crumple as she lost the younger brother she’d so carefully raised—to witness that despair.

The moment that fantasy took shape, a thrill unlike anything before coursed through her.

Sadistic pleasure bloomed alongside the rush of excitement, and Sigrin’s tongue flicked across her lips.

“I know that man better than anyone. Love him or hate him, he’s the one who belonged with me all along.”

They might have been enemies once, but now they hadn’t crossed paths in years.

Using her status as an imperial princess, approaching him would be effortless.

“And I also know the two women entangled with him.”

The woman who had served the Emperor.

The Saint of the Holy Kingdom, Astria Stigma Freeman.

Whether those women would become entangled with Krash again was uncertain, but if they did, all the better.

Once she pulled those women into her faction, Krash would follow naturally in their wake.

“What do you think? It’s not a terrible plan, is it?”
“I merely convey what Arthur has spoken.”

At the response that claimed no personal opinion, Sigrin’s expression grew cold.

“Then tell me where Arthur is. I’d like to see his face and ask him myself.”
“He will reveal himself soon enough.”
“Hmph.”

Sigrin’s brow twisted with irritation.

Every fiber of her being wanted to crush the false Arthur where he stood, yet she held back.

Arthur had his reasons, after all.

She couldn’t afford to ruin his grand design.

“Since Arthur gave no further instruction, I assume he’s leaving it to my judgment. Fine. I’ll handle this myself.”

Tap!

In that moment, Sigrin heard footsteps.

When she turned her head toward the sound, a dark-haired woman came rushing in.

A spear clutched in one hand, and a face bearing shadows so deep beneath the eyes it was almost pitiful—far different from before.

Yet despite that countenance, the woman’s body remained as sensuous as ever.

It was Mery Diana.

“Sigrin.”

She spoke Sigrin’s name as if seeing her for the first time in ages, and in the same breath her gaze shifted with trembling eyes.

“And…….”

Just as Mery was about to call out to Arthur through tears streaming down her face.

She checked the face within the Robe a moment too late, and stiffened.

Then her expression crumpled into confusion.

“Arthur is…….”
“Not here.”

When the false Arthur answered, Mery sank to the ground with a face as if the world had collapsed.

“No, that can’t…….”

And at the same moment, tears poured forth from her eyes.

The iron composure Mery once possessed as the Divine Spear had vanished without a trace.

A year had passed.

A year locked in a cell where nothing could be seen, fixed on nothing but Arthur.

Mery’s mental fortitude—already frail from her singular obsession with Arthur—had only weakened further.

For her, a year of imprisonment had been a hellish existence where she lost everything because of a single mistake of her own.

So her mind had been driven nearly to its breaking point.

Had it not been for the singular conviction to see Arthur, she would have shattered long ago.

Sigrin regarded her with contempt.

The Mery Diana who had once earned the name of Divine Spear and stood at her side was gone.

What stood here now was the Imperial Palace’s hound—nothing but a Heavenly Martial Body to its name.

Sigrin had no desire to share a bed with a hound.

Of course, since it was a hound, she could feed it and offer it affection.

It had to serve its purpose as a hunting dog, after all.

‘Though it irritates me that Cecilia holds that leash.’

Wasn’t Mery still her servant?

“Don’t worry. Mery, you’ve worked hard all this time, haven’t you? Arthur will be here soon, they say.”

And so, as always, Sigrin offered Mery a kindly smile.

“S-Sigrin…”
“We’ve done well up to now, haven’t we? So we must do our best with the task Arthur entrusted to us.”

At those words, Mery finally steadied herself.

“That’s right, that’s right. I, Mery Diana, am the spear of Sigrin and Arthur! I will do my utmost in my duty!”
“Yes, you’re suited to that image, Mery.”

Seeing that smile, Mery’s tear-streaked face broke into a radiant grin.

“Mery Diana, as a princess, I command you.”

Mery immediately dropped to one knee before her.

“In the 2nd Trial, you will face Krash Balheim.”

Sigrin had an eye for people.

The Krash that Charlotte had cultivated had grown far stronger than expected.

He would certainly face Mery in the 2nd Trial.

Unfortunately, the plan to draw attention to Mery—and thus cultivate an image of the magnanimous princess who overlooked even the would-be assassin of royalty—had failed.

Krash had taken all that attention instead.

Had Mery devoted herself entirely to training without the shackles of imprisonment, she could have easily shattered an Aurora Stone and reclaimed her former power.

But that was water under the bridge now.

“Win. No—show him a decisive gulf between your abilities, enough to stir jealousy over your martial prowess.”

Yet the opponent was Mery Diana, the Divine Spear.

Even if her Aura output fell short, her spearmanship had not vanished.

A mere novice with a bit of good fortune could not possibly defeat Mery.

“I accept the command of the 3rd Princess Sigrin Epania.”

As Mery straightened and returned to herself as a knight, Sigrin’s expression deepened into an enchanting smile.

She gazed toward Charlotte’s face, anticipating the moment when the woman who had lost Krash to her would see that.

Caw—

At that same moment, outside the Arena’s windows.

They did not notice a single raven, its presence concealed, cry softly as it flew past.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————