As a chill ran down his spine, Evans unconsciously stepped back. He didn’t even know why.0

The woman before him barely seemed present. It felt as if the moment he looked away, she would vanish completely from existence. It was a kind of strength unlike anything he had ever encountered.0

Tightening his grip on his sword, Evans muttered the thought that flashed across his mind.0

“Are you an… Assassin Master?”0

It was supposed to be a realm so rare it was thought to be a legend. The pinnacle of assassins, a state that no ordinary warrior should ever reach. It was a transcendence that had long since left the path of martial arts behind.0

That was what it meant to be an Assassin Master. Karen had reached that very height, not only through genius but through sheer luck—mastering Pitch-Black Dance, a technique that shattered the limits of her art.0

“Who knows?” she said lightly, teasing him.0

Karen leveled the two Jugend Steel blades in her hands with careless ease. There was no killing intent nor a trace of a target. Even her stance gave away nothing.0

However, that void—that emptiness—was what made assassins terrifying. Evans drew every ounce of focus he had, determined to react no matter where or when she struck.0

The two of them stood motionless for several dozen seconds, without muttering a single word. Evans was drenched in cold sweat. Karen, on the other hand, wore a faint smile that was mysterious and unread...0