"Arthur," she snapped, her voice hoarse despite her effort to steady it.

"I told you not to disturb me."

A heartbeat passed.

"Knock before you enter."

Ha-Jin offered no apology.

He closed the door behind him with measured calm, his worn leather shoes making barely a sound against the plush carpet as he crossed the study.

Without a word, he stopped before her desk and gently placed the polished silver serving tray upon it.

On it was a chipped porcelain teacup and the modern, alien-looking steel thermos.

Only then did he raise his eyes to meet hers.

Elara blinked, looking at the strange metal cylinder.

"What is that?"

Ha-Jin unscrewed the cap of the thermos.

A thick, sweet cloud of steam immediately rose into the cold air.

The rich smell of processed chocolate and sugar filled the gloomy study.

He poured the dark, steaming liquid into the porcelain cup and pushed it across the desk toward her.

"You haven't eaten anything but stale bread in two days, My Lady," Ha-Jin said, his tone surprisingly soft, dropping the formal butler cadence entirely.

Elara looked at the cup, entirely bewildered.

In a medieval world, refined sugar and chocolate were luxuries reserved only for royalty.

She hadn't smelled anything like it since her father was alive.

She tentatively picked up the cup, the warmth seeping into her freezing, trembling hands.

She took a small sip.

Her eyes widened slightly as the rich, overwhelmingly sweet taste hit her tongue.

It was like drinking liquid comfort.

A fresh tear slipped down her cheek, dropping into the dark liquid.

"I don't know what to do, Arthur," she whispered, her voice finally breaking completely.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, terrified, and painfully young.

"He's going to take everything. He's going to kill me, and I have no one to stop him. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for yelling at you. You should have left with the others."

Ha-Jin looked down at her.

He saw Ha-Ram sitting there, hiding from the Blood Moon.

The pragmatic, cynical Awakener inside him melted just a fraction.

He reached out and awkwardly patted the young noblewoman on the shoulder with his wrinkled hand.

"Drink up, kid," Ha-Jin said, his voice quiet, carrying the fierce, protective weight of an older brother.

"The adults will handle the trash."

Elara looked up at him, utterly confused by his modern phrasing and the sudden, intense shift in his demeanor.

He didn't look like a frail, senile butler anymore.

The dark eyes looking back at her were incredibly sharp, dangerous, and completely devoid of fear.

For the first time in months, she felt a strange, inexplicable sense of safety.

She gripped the warm cup tighter and nodded, drinking the hot chocolate in silence as the storm raged outside.

✦ ✦ ✦

[Time remaining until assassination attempt: 1 Hour.]

It was the third night.

The rain had stopped, leaving the estate bathed in cold, pale moonlight filtering through the heavy storm clouds.

Ha-Jin stood in the center of the grand foyer, at the very top of the massive marble staircase.

He was completely alone.

He had locked Elara in the master bedroom with strict instructions not to open the door, no matter what she heard.

He slowly rolled up the sleeves of his faded tailcoat, exposing Arthur's thin, scarred, and heavily wrinkled forearms.

He cracked his neck, feeling the joints pop.

"Status," he whispered into the dark, empty hall.

[Current Effective Stats - Strength: 3.5, Agility: 3.3, Vitality: 2.8, Mana: 5.1, Insight: 13, Luck: 9]

He couldn't rely on the element of surprise tonight.

Thorne was coming with a squad.

They were going to breach the front door and swarm the house.

The machete was useless against multiple heavily armored opponents; the blade was too short, and he couldn't risk getting surrounded.

He needed reach, and he needed devastating stopping power.

Ha-Jin opened his dimensional inventory.

He bypassed the machete, his eyes locking onto the largest weapon he owned.

"Retrieve."

The air in front of him tore open with a violent shimmer.

A massive, heavily chipped Awakener's broadsword dropped into his hands.

It was the weapon he had looted from the Goblin Chieftain back on Earth.

It was nearly five feet long, forged from dark steel, and incredibly heavy.

The moment the weight of the broadsword settled into his hands, Arthur's frail knees buckled.

He nearly dropped it.

"Fuck," Ha-Jin cursed, his breathing instantly turning ragged.

The sword weighed at least forty pounds.

With 3.5 Strength, simply holding it upright felt like trying to lift a boulder.

He couldn't swing this.

He couldn't even walk with it.

Unless he cheated.

Ha-Jin closed his eyes.

He dug deep into the core in his lower abdomen.

He initiated the [Basic Mana Breathing Art], pulling every single drop of ambient mana from the cold mansion air and forcing it into his body.

He didn't just enhance his legs this time.

He flooded his entire muscular system.

He pushed the mana into his forearms, his shoulders, his spine, and his core.

He essentially turned the raw magical energy into an exoskeleton of power, forcing the frail vessel to bear the weight it physically couldn't.

[Warning: Sustained mana enforcement is severely damaging the Vessel's muscular structure.]

[Warning: Micro-tears detected in muscle fibers. Vitality dropping.]

Ha-Jin ignored the flashing red text in his peripheral vision.

He slowly stood up straight, lifting the massive broadsword and resting the flat of the heavy blade effortlessly against his shoulder.

The mana was literally steaming off his body, a faint, visible aura of heat radiating from the old butler in the moonlight.

He looked down at the heavy oak doors of the foyer.

He didn't have to wait long.

BOOM.

Something incredibly heavy smashed against the exterior of the front doors. A battering ram.

BOOM.

The heavy iron hinges groaned in protest, the wood splintering down the center.

"Break it down!" a rough, guttural voice yelled from outside.

"Kill the old man, drag the girl to the balcony, and make it look like a suicide!"

It was Baron Thorne's voice.

Ha-Jin’s eyes went dead.

CRASH.

The massive oak doors violently gave way, exploding inward in a shower of splinters and broken iron.

Six heavily armored mercenaries poured into the foyer, holding torches and drawn longswords.

Behind them, safely guarded by two more men, waddled Baron Thorne, a cruel, triumphant sneer plastered across his fat face.

"Sweep the ground floor!" Thorne ordered, waving his hand dismissively.

"The old fool is probably hiding in a closet."

The mercenaries spread out, their heavy boots echoing loudly against the marble floor.

None of them looked up.

"Are you entirely sure about that?" a raspy, calm voice echoed through the massive hall.

The mercenaries froze.

Thorne blinked, peering into the gloom.

They slowly raised their torches, casting flickering orange light toward the top of the grand staircase.

Standing there, perfectly silhouetted by the pale moonlight streaming from the high arched window behind him, was Arthur.

The old butler looked completely different.

His posture was impeccably straight.

His faded tailcoat fluttered slightly from the draft of the broken doors.

And resting casually on his shoulder was a massive, terrifyingly large broadsword that looked like it belonged to a giant.

Faint, wispy trails of heat evaporated off his skin, distorting the air around him.

The mercenaries stared in utter disbelief.

This wasn't the frail, trembling servant they had expected to slaughter.

Ha-Jin looked down at the fat Baron, a slow, vicious smirk spreading across his wrinkled face.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Ha-Jin said, his voice echoing with cold, lethal authority.

He gripped the hilt of the broadsword with both hands, lowering the tip until it pointed directly at Thorne's chest.

"One piece of advice." He smiled.

"Cross this threshold uninvited, and you'll never cross another."