Who Says I'm Not a Proper Adventurer?

Chapter 113: Chapter 113: Stealing Fire: Guiding Compass

Besides, these interns were all carrying life-saving items, with more than enough safety measures to handle the aftermath.

The old man planted the flag he was holding directly into a deeper region of the forest map.

A mysterious youth who inherited that dangerous Breathing Combat Technique, plus a genius Mage apprentice whom his old friend regarded so highly.

Necros looked at the new layout on the sand table, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile.

He was actually starting to look forward to it now. He wanted to see just what other astonishing things these two youths could pull off during the rest of their internship.

...

"BOOM!"

A deafening explosion tore through the quiet night of Gray Rock Town.

With the "Blind-eyed Toad" underground casino as the epicenter, the adjacent four-story gray brick building instantly erupted in a dazzling ball of fire.

The massive shockwave shattered windows across several surrounding streets.

A commotion of this scale was impossible to hide.

The Patrol Bureau Guards stationed in the Southwest City District must have been alerted. In less than ten minutes, large numbers of fully armed enforcers would completely lock down the area.

From a fourth-floor window billowing with thick smoke, a dark figure was violently thrown out by the explosion’s aftershock.

That person was Buck.

For an Ordinary person, a four-story fall would be absolutely fatal.

Just as he was about to hit the ground, Buck displayed incredible body control.

He violently tensed his core, forcing his body to twist in mid-air.

The moment his toes touched the rough stone pavement, he immediately rolled forward with the momentum to dissipate the force of the impact.

[Shadow Agility]

This was a combat Specialty unique to the Thief Profession.

While wearing Light Armor or being Unarmored, the user not only gains a significant bonus to evasion checks,

but also has an extremely high chance of negating fatal impact damage from falls or blunt-force knockbacks by performing a recovery roll.

After rolling seven or eight times, Buck crashed clumsily into a roadside trash can.

He gritted his teeth and quickly darted into a narrow, dark alley nearby.

The moment he was in the shadows, Buck immediately started tearing at the dark Hard Leather Armor on his body.

Clinging to the surface of the Leather Armor was a strange, crimson layer of Magic Power.

The substance was like a living slime, emitting a corrosive SIZZLE.

Buck endured the excruciating pain and forcefully ripped the ruined armor off, throwing it to the ground.

In the faint firelight filtering in from the alley’s entrance, a large patch of clothing on his chest was clearly corroded away, the muscle underneath a sickening, rotten gray-black.

Buck stared at the still-burning fourth-floor window, his expression grim.

He had gone broke preparing for this ambush, playing every card he had.

Expensive Hallucinogenic Spore Poison Powder, a military-grade Alchemy Bomb from the Black Market, plus a backstab from him, a Professional.

Even a foolproof trap like that hadn’t been enough to kill that bastard Cindyk on the spot.

The true power of a Level 2 Professional was terrifying indeed.

The moment the Alchemy Bomb had detonated, Cindyk had used some bizarre technique to transform into a swift red phantom, forcing his way out of the sea of flames.

Buck leaned against the brick wall, panting heavily.

Though his face was twisted in pain, his lips gradually pulled back into a grin, and he began to laugh—a silent, maniacal laugh in the darkness.

He was laughing at Cindyk, that arrogant fool.

That high and mighty Fallen Mage had been hunting down his Ghoul Dogs for days, like a cat playing with mice.

But he never expected that this Ghoul Dog, forced into a corner, would actually dare to bring enough explosives to storm his lair.

Buck recalled the utterly stunned and terrified expression on Cindyk’s face the moment before the bomb detonated, and a feeling of satisfaction washed over him, as refreshing as downing a large mug of ice-cold ale on a scorching summer day.

But this thrill of vengeance lasted only for a moment.

"HSSSS..."

A wave of unbearable pain erupted from deep within his body.

Buck curled up in pain, his forehead covered in large beads of cold sweat.

It was the One Ring Spell [Blood Boiling], which Cindyk had desperately cast in a last-ditch counterattack before fleeing.

Buck now felt that what flowed through his veins was not blood, but scorching molten lava.

The heat of his blood was constantly rising, relentlessly ravaging his internal organs and inflicting severe, continuous damage.

’I have to kill him immediately.’

’As long as I kill him, the Spell will naturally be broken.’

’Besides, if you don’t pull the weed out by the roots, once that Level 2 Mage recovers, I’ll be the one left without a body to bury.’

’Time was running out.’

The shrill sound of the Guards’ whistles could already be faintly heard from the distant streets.

He had to find the heavily injured, fleeing Cindyk and cut off that head with his own hands before the Patrol Bureau’s net closed completely.

Then he would grab the money he had stashed away, leave Gray Rock Town forever, and head to some town where no one knew him to recruit a new crew.

His mind made up, Buck reached into a hidden pocket in his clothes and carefully retrieved an old brass object.

It was a strangely shaped Compass.

The glass cover on its surface had long since cracked into a spiderweb pattern.

The dial inside bore no markings for cardinal directions like north, south, east, or west.

Only a twisted, dark red magnetic needle rested silently in the very center.

This was his ace in the hole, his last resort for survival—a genuine Fire-Stealing Marvel.

[Guiding Compass]

This Marvel had no direct killing power, but it possessed an exceptionally miraculous tracking ability.

It could provide an absolute bearing on any target within a one-kilometer radius.

Whether the target was a person, a specific location, or a certain item, it could not escape the needle’s lock as long as it was within this range.

But to activate it, the user had to bring their mouth close to the brass needle and describe, in detailed and truthful language, some kind of connection that existed between themself and the target.

The more detailed and private the description, the higher the Compass’s accuracy.

Buck had once used it to escape pursuit from an Adventurer party, describing their leader’s features to use the Compass’s tracking to stay one step ahead and luckily escape with his life.

But this was, after all, a cursed object that defied common sense.

Whenever this thing was used, a terrible price had to be paid.

The side effect of the [Guiding Compass] was that for every sixty seconds the brass needle pointed at the target, a mandatory to-do list would be forcibly inserted into the user’s mind.

The tasks required by these lists were always within the user’s current capabilities.

For example, screaming out one’s most embarrassing secret at the top of their lungs on a crowded, open street.

For example, forcing oneself to do five hundred standard push-ups in a row.

Or perhaps, chewing and swallowing ten hard loaves of black bread without being allowed to drink even a single drop of water.

All of them were extremely absurd and convoluted tasks like these.

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