I Became A Thief Who Steals Overpowered Skills - Chapter 21

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 21. A Stepping Stone to Grow Stronger

Darling swept away the shattered pieces of the Gender Transformation Potion and set a different bottle down in front of Krash instead.

“This is an Appearance Transformation Potion. It lasts a week, and it’s a custom-made special product made recently. It won’t show up on magic detection or doping tests yet.”

Since he’d broken one just moments ago, she wouldn’t have pulled out the same formula this time.

So Krash picked up the bottle and examined its contents.

“So I’m supposed to fake my identity with this?”
“Just register as a commoner from the Kingdom. That’s all you need.”

He should have seen that coming from the start.

“By the way, the appearance is just an image I imagined based on what came to mind when I thought about your personality.”

Darling rambled on, but Krash paid her no mind.

It seemed like this would be useful during the Martial Tournament.

‘This works out perfectly.’

He needed to absorb more of the World Erosion’s power to use the Extreme Blood Needle Poison.

The Lawless Zone between the Kingdom and the Empire had plenty of World Erosion, so he’d absorb it there whenever he had the chance.

“But are you confident you can place in the top three?”

Darling asked with a subtle smile.

Krash, who had been called Balheim’s halfwit not long ago.

Now she was asking him to place in the top three of a Martial Tournament hosted on a grand scale by the Empire.

It was frankly an absurd proposition.

Of course, that would have been true if Krash were still the same as before.

“The people entering the tournament are just those who haven’t confirmed their acceptance to Rahelern Academy anyway.”

Those already confirmed for the Academy were busy preparing for tests the Academy itself would conduct—they had no reason to enter the tournament.

The downside was that because of that, there probably wouldn’t be many Divine Contract holders among this year’s participants.

‘Then again, there aren’t that many Divine Contract holders to begin with.’

Balheim was just extraordinarily exceptional; in ordinary families, about one in five had Divine Contract holders.

Which was precisely why Krash had to get into the Academy.

‘That place is full of people with skills.’

And beyond that.

“I’ll be fourteen when the tournament takes place.”

The Martial Tournament that Krash would be entering was for boys fifteen years old and under.

Krash was still only fourteen.

“I won’t lose to kids.”

No matter how sharp his talent or how hard he trained, the gap in experience was still something he could overcome at this stage.

Anix had already learned that lesson firsthand from Krash.

Unless someone in the Changgong Generation had talent on the level of Charlotte, Krash was confident he could beat them all.

“You’re a kid too, though. Of course, I’ll be sixteen soon, so technically I’m not a child anymore.”

Darling, whose eye makeup had grown noticeably darker lately, smiled coyly as she insisted she was an adult.

Krash could only regard her with sympathy.

Only children wanted to grow up.

In that sense, Darling was still a child.

“Enough. Go on, get out of here.”
“Aw, now that I’m here, I want to play a little longer.”
“You’re going to be an adult soon—you shouldn’t be playing with kids.”
“Are you really going to use that against me?”

While Darling resisted and Krash pushed, the two of them squabbled on.

The door to the room where they’d been talking creaked open.

At the sound, Krash turned his head, and there stood Bianca.

Bianca, her hair slightly flattened from sleep, looked at the two of them for a moment, then muttered something to herself.

“…Infidelity?”

Where on earth had she picked up a word like that?

Krash quietly resolved that he’d have to silence that maid who was always chattering away next to Bianca.

* * *

The Training Ground in Balheim.

Krash stood with his eyes closed, sword in hand, facing Crimson Garden.

Though his eyes were shut, Krash was gathering far more information through his body than sight could provide.

The Sixth Sense, honed through his secret arts.

While still in its infancy, the sheer volume of information flooding in was overwhelmingly greater than before.

In that instant, he felt a presence approaching from his left ear.

Ching!

His blade extended and met that space with perfect timing.

What appeared there was a blade of wind.

Yet strangely, Krash’s sword had already filled that space before the blade of wind could even form.

Had his sword not moved first, before the wind blade materialized, he would have had no way to block it.

In the next breath, another presence stirred from his waist.

Krash’s sword moved again, filling the space in advance and deflecting the wind blade.

It was movement that bordered on premonition.

Clang, clang, clang, clang!

And that rhythm continued without pause.

Krash’s blade intercepting each strike became faster than the wind blades themselves could form.

Yet despite his flawless defense, Krash found himself in a far worse state than if he’d taken direct hits.

His breathing had become ragged, and his arms trembled more violently than ever before.

Sweat poured from every inch of his body, threatening to plunge him into collapse at any moment.

“That’s enough.”

The instant Crimson Garden’s voice rang out, the wind blades ceased.

“Hagh!”

Krash gasped violently and collapsed to the ground.

“Hah, hah, hah.”

He opened his mouth as wide as it would go, desperate to force oxygen into his lungs.

Watching him, Crimson Garden let out a small, delighted laugh.

“The Sixth Sense, was it? How amusing. All that experience you’ve accumulated is forming into a truly fascinating swordplay style.”

What Krash had just performed was the realm of the Dull Sword—reading the opponent’s intent before it manifested by pushing his Sixth Sense to its absolute limit, then preemptively countering.

It was a form of swordplay so difficult that even geniuses struggled with it, yet as Crimson Garden had trained him all this time, she’d noticed that Krash was unusually suited to it.

“The Dull Sword has two conditions: first, you must not be afraid; second, your reading of the opponent’s intent must be flawless. Those two things matter more than technique itself. And they can only be built through experience, never through innate talent.”

Crimson Garden chuckled and tapped his head gently with her foot.

“You excel in that regard. You possess an instinct for reading your opponent’s intent from birth, and when that combines with your Sixth Sense, it produces something that borders on true premonition.”

Krash’s one innate gift: his intuition.

The endless experience of fighting World Erosion alongside the Changgong Generation.

And the Sixth Sense he’d acquired recently.

With these three elements aligned, Krash had stepped into the threshold of the Dull Sword.

It was undoubtedly a remarkable technique, yet for Krash, there remained one glaring problem.

“But my body’s in no condition to keep up. What’s the point of seeing an attack coming if my flesh can’t follow through?”

The Dull Sword was a swordsmanship that, by reading an opponent’s moves first, mastered every attack before reaching spatial dominion.

To the opponent it might appear slow, but the Dull Sword methodically seized control of their every move.

As a result, the opponent could only watch helplessly as the blade slowly drew closer, inch by inch.

That was the essence of the Dull Sword.

But if he couldn’t even block the opponent’s attacks, it all became meaningless.

Proof enough: Krash had burned through his muscles to block the wind blade, and this was the result.

His body couldn’t keep pace with his foresight.

‘So this is what they mean by the gap between talents.’

Krash was born with almost no physical talent.

At least he was fortunate to carry Balheim blood—his body was sturdier than most, and his recovery somewhat better.

But that was merely average; geniuses already possessed it as a given.

“Pathetic,” Crimson Garden muttered.

At her curt judgment, Krash lifted his head, his arms trembling.

“Once more.”
“You stubborn thing. Don’t even know when to break.”

His two blue eyes gleamed with stubborn clarity.

He’d swallowed experience, secret arts and skills, even World Erosion itself—and this was all he’d reached.

Anyone else would’ve grasped their limits by now and shattered. But Krash’s will showed no sign of breaking.

Watching him, Crimson Garden let out a helpless laugh.

“That’s why I made you my disciple.”

It had begun as a contractual relationship—a master who’d promised to erase his curse of immortality.

But Crimson Garden was growing fonder of Krash with each passing day.

To her, talent meant nothing whatsoever.

Just that stubborn, iron will to endure her training.

With that alone, she could forge him into the strongest.

“But today we’ll stop here.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you say yourself? We need to depart today to stay on schedule for the Martial Tournament.”

Hearing that training was over, Krash’s face darkened—but then he belatedly came to his senses.

Now that she mentioned it, today was indeed the departure day.

“Training is good, but from where I stand, what you need first is elixir. Nothing restores a sorry frame like it does.”

Krash rose from his seat without protest at the words.

His legs and arms still trembled, but he gritted his teeth and bore it.

“Damn. I need to get ready fast.”

Realizing he’d lost too much time to training, Krash quickened his pace.

He dressed and washed swiftly, then made his way to the waiting carriage.

“Master Krash.”

At that moment, Krash found Aliod waiting before the carriage.

The day Darling had brought the elixir for the color-sickness.

Krash had handed it directly to Aliod.

Though Aliod had been baffled at first, once he realized it was the cure for color-sickness, he’d taken leave and gone to find his daughter.

And a day later.

Aliod came to Krash and knelt before him, tears streaming down his face as he offered his gratitude.

A man who loved his daughter so dearly that he’d once wrestled with the thought of betraying his master for her sake.

The mere knowledge that her illness was cured was enough for Aliod to die without regret.

‘Don’t die.’

And Krash spoke to him thus.

‘I’ve spared your daughter’s life. Aliod, you don’t die until I permit it. I’ve earned the right to demand at least that much, haven’t I?’

At those words, Aliod bowed his head before Krash.

His master—the one he would serve for the rest of his life—was now clear and burning in his heart.

‘That settles it.’

Krash felt he could finally let go of that memory—the day Aliod had died by poison in his previous life.

He’d cured his daughter partly for Aliod’s sake, but also to erase a scene from his own past.

With that first betrayal gone from his life, Krash’s heart felt lighter.

“Look after the Cheongsonggwan while I’m gone.”
“Yes. I’ll ensure no one enters—not even the family head himself.”

Hearing his unwavering resolve, Krash let out a soft laugh.

That was determination enough.

As Krash turned toward the carriage, leaving Aliod behind.

He found himself face to face with a familiar figure at the carriage’s entrance.

A girl with white hair.

Bianca Hadenhartz.

She stood quietly, holding a single bag in her hand.

“Krash.”

As always, she addressed him in that measured, even tone of hers.

Her reason for carrying the bag today was simple enough.

She was returning to Hadenhartz.

That she was going back to Hadenhartz at all was due to Krash’s request.

She was returning to Hadenhartz to obtain one of the two materials Darling had specified—the White Snow Hot Yang Fungus.

With her standing, she ought to be able to procure it without much difficulty.

“Since you’re heading home after all this time, you might as well rest up while you’re there.”

Besides, his own journey back would take considerable time.

But Bianca shook her head.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Back soon.

For Bianca, the Cheongsonggwan had become her home now.

Catching the meaning behind her words, Krash felt an unexpected smile slip free.

Her treatment in Hadenhartz was far from kind.

The curse diminished her value as a noble.

And he himself was the most worthless coin of all in Balheim—a man without talent.

Perhaps, in a strange way, the Cheongsonggwan was the one place where Bianca, much like him, could truly let her guard down.

Krash lifted his hand and ran it gently through Bianca’s hair.

The snow-white strands shifted beneath his touch, and there was something deeply rewarding about the gesture.

“I’ll be back soon myself.”

Unaware of the softness that had begun creeping into him of late—softness only she seemed to draw out—Krash spoke these words.

In that moment, Bianca opened her bag.

What emerged from it was none other than a lunch box.

“Please eat this before you go.”

So that’s why he’d seen her fidgeting about yesterday—she’d been preparing this.

“Who asked you to make this?”
“Eli did.”

That’s what I figured.

Sure enough, Bianca’s attendant Eli must have been chattering something to her.

I’d told her to keep quiet about it last time, but it didn’t stick.

“I’ll enjoy it.”

Still, since Bianca had made it, Krash accepted the Lunch Box.

Besides, he’d worked up an appetite from training anyway.

“Safe travels.”

Bianca departed after Krash.

Watching her wave goodbye, Krash said, “I’ll be back,” and climbed into the carriage.

As the carriage rattled into motion, Krash caught sight of Bianca standing motionless between the window frames.

A face he saw every day—one he wouldn’t see for quite a while now.

“What a forlorn expression. You care for that girl that much?”

In that moment, Crimson Garden slipped through the window and posed the question.

“I’ve lived my whole life without a sibling, and now I suddenly have one. Guess I’m just uneasy.”

Things between him and Bianca were better than before, after all.

And there were more than a few personal regrets he harbored.

“Tsk, and here you call her a little sister while betrothed, all while letting that girl bear your children—the nerve.”
“Keep talking and I’ll pluck every feather from your body.”
“Hehehehe, can you even catch me?”

Watching Crimson Garden comb her feathers and deliberately expose her defenselessness, Krash could only click his tongue.

Instead, he opened the Lunch Box.

Inside lay a sandwich and a rainbow of salad.

Efficient as always—she’d packed only what mattered.

‘That’s just like her.’

Taking a bite of the sandwich, Krash recalled how Bianca favored sweets.

On the way back from the Empire, he’d have to pick up some Empire-made chocolate for her.

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