I Became A Thief Who Steals Overpowered Skills - Chapter 67

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

Episode 67. Toppling the Scarecrow King

Lacradion was witnessing an absurd situation unfold.

A direct member of Balheim was spewing curses and hurling provocations at Pendal.

Regardless of how one looked at it, the fact remained that Pendal had touched Balheim’s direct line first.

Yet she never expected a nobleman to come at him like that.

And Pendal felt the same way.

Rage surged through him—he wanted nothing more than to strike Krash down on the spot—but remembering that he was Balheim’s direct line, he gritted his teeth and held himself back.

Watching that spectacle, Krash let out a mocking laugh.

“When you’re scheming from the shadows, you act fearless enough. But now you look like you’ve gone soft.”
“So you think you can handle what comes after? You claim you’ll conquer the eighth floor, and yet you’re willing to make an enemy of me?”

Krash snorted.

“Playing king in the Demonic Palace has made you blind to everything, hasn’t it?”

Pendal’s eyebrows twitched.

But Krash paid no attention and turned toward the exit.

“It’s simple, really. Once I’ve crushed you, all those people suffocating under your heel will show their true colors.”

Pendal’s eyes sharpened to blades.

Those words were nothing short of a declaration of war.

“Growing up in Balheim’s hothouse, you can’t even tell the difference in strength?”
“Then you’re an idiot who doesn’t know what a hothouse is.”

Watching Krash yield not an inch, Pendal’s companions fell silent.

This was the first time they’d seen anyone provoke Pendal like this in the Demonic Palace.

And Pendal himself, confronted with such provocation for the first time in ages, let out a sharp, measured breath.

Then he clenched his fists, and his eyes gleamed with intensity.

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding—if I end up killing you, Balheim won’t come after me for revenge, right?”
“Why would I do something so shameful?”

Krash looked at Pendal as if he found the very question baffling.

“Your premise is flawed from the start. There’s no point talking about impossibilities.”

He truly had a gift for provocation.

Pendal barely managed to keep his sanity from snapping entirely.

Kill him.

‘Whatever it takes, I’ll kill this bastard with my own hands.’

He suppressed his seething rage with difficulty and gave Krash a nod, as if commanding him to lead the way out.

His mind filled entirely with thoughts of crushing Krash beneath his feet.

The moment Krash and Pendal stepped outside, the quiet tavern descended into chaos.

Pendal, who ruled the Demonic Palace like a king, and Krash, a direct heir of Balheim, the greatest power family in the entire world—the two were about to clash.

A riot was inevitable.

Pendal’s followers and the other patrons surged after them in a flood.

With such thrilling spectacle unfolding, no one wanted to miss a moment of it.

As the crowd poured out, Lacradion also rose slowly from her seat.

Wondering what exactly the Balheim heir was thinking, she decided to go watch the outcome herself.

＊ ＊ ＊

Pendal.

A man who wielded two hook swords with perfect fluidity, he was renowned throughout the Demonic Palace as a formidable fighter.

Though he lacked the formal training of imperial or royal knights, it was fair to say his swordsmanship and lethal ability—honed through years of struggle in the Demonic Palace—were considerable.

Yet when he hit the wall separating him from the Master rank, he had surrendered to despair and ceased his advancement.

He had come to understand his own limits.

Still, that was more than enough for him to reign as king in the Demonic Palace.

Most of the world consisted of mediocrites who couldn’t even reach the highest ranks.

And now Krash stood before him.

This direct heir of Balheim was casually tapping his own collarbone, as if merely warming up.

Pendal could hardly believe it.

By any measure, the boy was at most at the peak of the Expert rank, barely stepping one foot into the next tier.

Even among those at the Expert peak, there existed a clear hierarchy.

And that gap was far wider than one might imagine.

Moreover, Pendal himself possessed far more combat experience.

How much real fighting could a mere fourteen-year-old from Balheim possibly have endured?

‘Is he banking on some hidden technique from Balheim?’

The strongest house surely kept a few secret arts hidden away.

Pendal’s eyes slowly opened.

‘Magic, tricks—none of it matters.’

A wall, in the end, remained a wall.

“You won’t regret this?”
“Why do you talk so much? Just come at me. Let’s finish this.”

Pendal stopped deliberating.

There was nothing more worth saying.

The kid simply needed to be broken.

With that thought, Pendal’s shadow dissolved.

He closed the distance in an instant, dropping into a posture so low it seemed the “wolf” in his epithet wasn’t there for nothing.

His blade came at Krash in a sudden strike, the low stance making it stretch impossibly far—or so it seemed.

Clang!

The sound of Pendal’s Hook Sword and Krash’s blade crashing together rang out.

Before anyone could react, Krash’s drawn blade had met Pendal’s.

It was an impressive draw—so quick the eye could barely follow.

And the blade itself was quite unusual.

The edge was pitch-black, and its hardness seemed formidable.

‘Ink Iron, perhaps.’

Difficult to forge precisely because of its high durability, but a superior metal that, once mastered, almost never broke.

Of course—typical of Balheim to spare no expense on equipment.

Yet Pendal’s Hook Sword was no accident.

As he wrapped the hook around Krash’s blade, he pulled it toward himself in one smooth motion.

Superior strength and Aura on his side.

Naturally, Krash was dragged along with his blade.

In that same instant, Pendal’s second blade shot forward at Krash.

He meant to wrap the hook around the boy’s throat.

A deep scar across the neck would be a fitting mark of satisfaction.

Clang!

Yet the sound that rang out was the ring of steel once more.

Pendal’s eyes opened wider in surprise.

The blade that had been caught by his Hook Sword broke apart, and the other blade blocked his strike.

‘This bastard.’

He deliberately released some of the force flowing through the sword drawn toward him, twisting it away at a precarious angle to block the strike.

Had he miscalculated even slightly, he would have lost the blade and taken the full force of the attack.

It was a defense executed through perfectly calibrated force distribution.

But Pendal’s eyebrow twitched for another reason entirely.

That last exchange hadn’t come from Krash’s raw instinct.

He recognized it at once—the hallmark of experience and precise calculation.

What did that mean?

In that last exchange, Pendal had lost the upper hand in experience.

‘Has this creature slaughtered thousands of men?’

The thought left Pendal genuinely unsettled.

In the next moment, Krash changed his approach entirely.

He drove forward, his blade driving deep with renewed momentum.

At the same instant, flames burst from his sword with a roaring whoosh.

Caught off guard by the sudden blaze, Pendal hastily withdrew his blade and retreated.

“……A Skill?”

Pendal’s eyes narrowed.

Indeed, true to his bloodline in Balheim, the creature wielded a Skill—truly blessed beyond measure.

But it changed nothing.

His ambush had failed regardless.

Convinced that Krash had shown him everything he possessed, Pendal spread his Hook Swords wide to either side.

“Let me show you why I held dominion as king.”

He offered Krash a contemptuous smile.

Crack!

In that instant, emerald sparks erupted from his Hook Swords.

Those who witnessed the brilliant cascade couldn’t help but gasp in awe.

It was nothing less than a Skill.

Pendal was the sole Skill wielder currently within the Demonic Palace.

Even among the nobility, few were blessed with the power of a Skill, yet Pendal had received such divine favor.

This was the cornerstone that allowed him to stand above the Conquerors of the Demonic Palace, and it fed his pride with undeniable justification.

He wanted them to believe he was far more impressive than some knight or half-hearted nobleman.

On one side, roaring flames.

On the other, surging lightning.

It was Pendal who moved first.

Crack!

Pendal shot forward in a trail of lightning, faster still than before.

As the sword wreathed in green sparks swung toward Krash, he moved his blade simultaneously to meet it.

Clang, clang-clang, clang-clang!

Amid the successive crashes, sparks and flames erupted in all directions.

Pendal’s assault was fierce enough to blur before the eye.

With each clash, the resulting sparks lit the air with threatening brilliance.

Yet Krash was no less formidable.

His blade moved with an almost prescient grace, turning aside every stroke Pendal directed at him.

It was the work of instinct honed by the Dull Sword Technique.

Watching this unfold, the emerald eyes of Lacradion, the Light of the Demonic Palace, widened in astonishment.

‘The Dull Sword Technique?’

The Dull Sword Technique could not be learned in a single day.

Even seasoned swordsmen found it difficult to master—the Dull Sword Technique was precisely such an art.

Because the Dull Sword Technique could only be reached through the accumulation of countless years of experience.

Krash did not even appear to be of age yet.

And yet, the Dull Sword Technique.

Even watching with her own eyes, Lacradion could not believe what she was seeing.

What in the world was that boy?

And Pendal, opposing him, was equally confounded.

Every strike he threw was being deflected with an almost prophetic precision.

He could not comprehend it.

By his Aura alone—by speed alone—he outmatched Krash.

Yet his blade had not once touched the boy’s body, his power squandered against empty air.

The troublesome intricacy of the Dull Sword Technique aside, the fact that Krash was keeping pace with him filled him with a cold fury.

Had his reflexes truly dulled from all those years spent building his gang?

The fact that he couldn’t dominate a mere child fueled his rage.

So Pendal reset his mind.

What he was doing now wasn’t trampling a sapling.

This was the moment he had to fight with full power against a true strong opponent.

Crack!

Lightning streaked down his arm in a single brilliant line.

The Aura dwelling in his arm accelerated him further still.

If he kept trying to block with the Dull Sword Technique—

‘I’ll shatter the blade itself along with him.’

Like a wolf tearing at prey’s throat.

Pendal’s sword rushed toward Krash in a burst of sparks, overwhelming and deadly.

Lacradion’s eyes widened in alarm at the blade’s terrible force.

That madman was genuinely trying to kill Balheim’s direct bloodline.

The moment Lacradion moved to intervene—

she saw Krash draw in a quiet breath.

In that instant.

Black flames erupted from Krash’s blade, meeting Pendal’s sword at a speed utterly beyond anything before.

It was unmistakably a strike far surpassing Krash’s known limits.

Boom!

Lightning and fire collided, and a violent gale tore through the square.

“Argh?!”
“Gaah!”

While the onlookers were swept up in the storm and tumbled across the ground, Lacradion watched the scene unfold without blinking.

Through the smoke, Krash was moving at a speed that far exceeded Pendal’s perception.

Pendal tried desperately to counter him, but he was already too late.

His arms couldn’t withstand Krash’s force and flew open; without hesitation, Krash struck his jaw with the Hook Sword’s hilt.

Crack!

The impact jolted Pendal’s brain, and the moment his grip failed, Krash stomped down hard on his falling chest.

Thud!

“Ugh!”

The blade descended toward Pendal’s throat as he lay crumpled on the ground.

As the smoke gradually cleared, the spectators began to grasp what they were witnessing.

“Pe—Pendal… lost?”

Everyone stared at the scene in disbelief.

Pendal, who had reigned as king within the Demonic Palace, had been brought low by a boy barely of age.

Those who knew Pendal’s true strength were shaken to their core.

“So this is Balheim, then.”
“Even Pendal couldn’t overcome it.”
“Tsk. For all his swagger, and being a Conqueror of the Demonic Palace himself—I had some hope. But this? Pathetic.”

In that same moment, they began to tear down Pendal, one by one.

Many had never looked favorably upon Pendal’s dominion over the Demonic Palace.

No matter how hard one struggled, it seemed, Balheim was inevitable.

As they shook their heads in resignation, Lacradion’s lips parted slightly.

Having witnessed the entire battle with her own eyes, Lacradion understood that the clash between Krash and Pendal could not be explained by mere difference in caliber alone.

The black flames that rose from Krash’s frame.

She knew them well—once, she too had walked the edge of World Erosion.

Those flames were something akin to a Curse.

‘That boy.’

He had not walked the path trodden by ordinary knights or nobility.

Those ominous flames were a terrible form—he had poured Curses into himself, compressed them, and detonated them from within.

‘What on earth.’

She stared at Krash, lost in thought.

The combat form born from experience shown through the Dull Sword Technique, coupled with those flames born of compressed Curses.

All of it—everything Krash had demonstrated—were things one could only obtain by wearing away at oneself.

She had been certain that as a boy of Balheim, he must have grown strong through natural talent and inherited techniques alone.

But what he had shown her lay far beyond the realm of innate gift and learned skill.

Watching this, Lacradion found herself thinking of her own blade.

At his age, had she ever exerted herself to whittle away at herself as he had?

Did she even do so now?

Lacradion’s fists clenched.

Was the effort that her past self had made—the self now trapped behind the wall of early Master rank—truly effort enough to break through?

At this rate, there was no difference between him and Pendal.

It shamed him.

And yet he longed to draw his blade.

A sword drawn not for conflict, but solely to move forward in this moment.

Before the sparring match a boy had shown him, a swordsman found his dream once more.

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