SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 171: First Blood in Silence

The footsteps outside the door grew louder. Boots on polished floors, steady and sure, their rhythm thrown only slightly by the urgency behind them.

Mark wiped the blood-tear from his cheek with the back of his hand, smearing it slightly across the old scar running down his jaw. His voice came low, almost a growl.

"Give me a second."

He turned from me, fingers flicking toward the edge of his coat. I thought he was reaching for another weapon, until it became clear that what he was seeing was the faint shimmer of a projected system interface flicker to life in front of him. His hands moved swiftly through the air as if he was typing in front of him.

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[Scan]

Name: [Blank]Job: Spy (A-Rank)

Skills:

Stealth Mastery (Lv. 7) - Grants superior movement in shadows and hostile areas. Increases speed and reduces detection radius.

Infiltration (Lv. 6) - Enables bypassing of security systems (digital & physical). Boosts lockpicking, terminal hacking, and bypass routines.

Disguise (Lv. 5) - Allows transformation into pre-registered personas. Includes facial mimicry, voice modulation, and behavior emulation.

Deception (Lv. 6) - Improves success rate in lying, framing, and redirecting suspicion. Reduces penalties for being caught in falsehoods.

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Before suddenly, a ripple passed through him, like a shudder of wind against muscle and bone. His whole frame shifted—slightly but noticeably. Shoulders rolled lower, looser. His gaze sharpened. The subtle twitch in his hand vanished.

I scanned him once more.

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[Scan]

Name: [Blank]Job: Assassin (A-Rank)

Skills:

Silent Takedown (Lv. 7) - Efficiently incapacitates or kills without alerting nearby targets.

Pressure Point Mastery (Lv. 6) - Knowledge of the human body's weaknesses to disable quickly.

Improvised Weapon Mastery (Lv. 5) - Proficient in using mundane objects lethally.

Disguise Efficiency (Lv. 4) - Seamless appearance change under pressure.

Emotion Suppression (Lv. 5) - Controls physiological responses to trauma or rage.

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I blinked. "I still don't get how you can just switch jobs like that?"

Mark, still facing the dimly lit corner, chuckled. "And how can you stack them?"

I smiled. "Touché."

The footsteps paused outside the door.

I could hear voices now, they were muffled but close. The dialect was sharp, clipped. Eastern. I didn't recognize the language, but I caught fragments.

"...toaletă... mâncare..."

"Bathroom and food," Mark whispered beside me. "They're not looking for us. Yet."

We took position on either side of the door.

The tension in the air could slice skin.

The handle clicked. A beam of flashlight pierced the threshold as the door creaked open. Two men entered—one from the left, the other from the right. Pistols in hand, eyes sweeping the room lazily, like they didn't expect anything.

They should've.

The moment they stepped fully inside, we moved.

Mark surged forward like a shadow made flesh, wrapping one arm around his target's throat while his free hand slammed the man's wrist, causing the gun to clatter to the floor. I took the other—stepping forward with a brutal elbow to the temple, then catching the collapsing man's collar before his head could hit the ground.

Two seconds. No noise. No mess.

We dragged them behind a stack of broken shelves.

"That's one pair," I whispered.

Mark glanced at the door. "They weren't alone."

We moved through the building quietly and precisely.

The second floor was easier. No guards lingered, just a lone camera above the stairwell.

I tossed a small mirror across its field of view. It spun, caught the motion, and focused.

Mark moved underneath its blind spot during the distraction, scaled a cabinet, and clipped the cable. The red light on the camera died.

"Cheap security," he muttered.

We reached the third floor. This time, a single guard patrolled the hallway with bored eyes and a lollipop sticking from his mouth. We ducked behind a column. He passed.

Mark tapped his wrist. A small pellet dropped into his palm. He rolled it underhand down the hall.

It burst with a soft hiss—no smoke, no flash, just a vapor of mild sedative gas. Enough to knock the man off balance. As he stumbled, I swept in, caught him in a sleeper hold, and laid him gently on the ground.

We descended to the maintenance corridor to exit—an emergency route hidden behind a boiler room.

But another squad blocked the path—three of them, geared for recon, their helmets visored and gleaming.

I exchanged a look with Mark.

"Plan?"

"Cause a scene in the west corridor. Draw them out."

I nodded and backtracked, grabbing a discarded fire extinguisher.

It had been a while since I used my Precision Engineering, Fast Assembly and Mechanical Mastery. Thankfully, they can't get rusty.

I rigged the fire extinguisher to hiss violently in twenty seconds.

Then I placed it near a breaker panel and knocked over a chair for added noise.

The guards reacted fast—guns up, moving toward the clamor.

Mark and I slid past them from the opposite direction, our backs tight to the wall. When they rounded the corner, I closed the door behind them and shoved a metal rod through the latch.

We heard the futile rattle as we slipped down the hall.

At last, the emergency stairwell.

Mark pressed his back to the wall. "This leads to an underground corridor. They won't monitor it because they think only senior clearance holders know about it."

"How do you know?"

"I used to be one."

I couldn't argue with that.

We stepped into the dark tunnel, the only sound our controlled breathing.

It took us under the main plaza and to a side entrance overgrown with ivy. No sensors. No cameras. Just cold stone and the weight of history pressing in from every direction.

We emerged into the night like smoke from an extinguished fire.

Mark turned to me. "You sure about this war?"

"No," I admitted. "But I'm sure about my enemy."

He nodded slowly, his face lit by a streetlamp's glow.

"If I find anything in the Cain Protocol—coordinates, weaknesses, names—I'll contact you."

I pulled a burner phone from my coat and waved it in front of him.

"I'm assuming you still have yours right?"

He simply nodded when as he pulled his out.

"And when you're ready to strike?"

"I'll call."

He extended a hand.

"Then I'll be ready. Fair well, partner."

We shook hands firmly.

Then Mark turned, coat billowing like a wraith, and vanished down the foggy street.

The air was colder on the walk back.

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The city around me was still alive, but quieter. Like it knew something had shifted under its skin.

I passed under flickering signs and boarded windows, through alleys that reeked of damp paper and rot. But the night no longer felt oppressive.

Because I'd taken the first step.

I'd recruited Mark.

The man they broke was back in one piece. A piece that I needed.

Connor wouldn't expect it. Wouldn't know it.

At least not until it was too late.

I reached the rental.

Locked the door.

Sat down by the window.

The fog still hadn't lifted.

But for the first time...

...I felt as if I could see through it.