I Became A Thief Who Steals Overpowered Skills

Lakradiyon found herself witnessing an absurd scene.

Kraush, a direct Balheim heir, was openly insulting and provoking Pendal.

Although it was clear that Pendal had poked the noble first, no one expected such a raw response from him.

Pendal, in turn, was equally taken aback.

Rage boiled within him, and he wanted to strike Kraush down immediately, but the knowledge that Kraush belonged to Balheim held him back, his grip on his anger tenuous.

Kraush, observing this, wore a mocking smile.

“Brave enough to play dirty behind my back, but now you’re scared, huh?”

“…Do you think you can handle the consequences? You say you want to conquer the 8th floor, and yet here you are, making me an enemy.”

Kraush snorted in ridicule.

Pendal’s brows twitched but Kraush, unfazed, began to walk away.

“If I smash you, all those oppressed by you will gladly come out of the woodwork.”

Pendal’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Kraush’s words were a blatant challenge to a fight.

“Raised in the greenhouse of Balheim, can’t even recognize the difference in our levels?”

“And I suppose you’re just an idiot who doesn’t even know what a greenhouse is.”

As Kraush unyieldingly retorted, the Pendalord crew fell silent. Never before had they seen someone provoke Pendal to this extent.

Even Pendal himself took a deep breath, gripped his fists, and his eyes glinted ominously.

“Wouldn’t Balheim come running for revenge if I happened to smash you to pieces?”

“Why would I do something so humiliating?”

Kraush looked at Pendal as if he had said the most ridiculous thing.

“The premise itself is flawed. Why speak of impossibilities?”

Provocation was clearly one of Kraush’s fortes. It took all of Pendal’s will to keep his rage from boiling over.

‘I’ll kill him.’

In his mind, there was only one outcome: Kraush would die by his hand.

Barely containing his fury, Pendal gestured for Kraush to lead the way.

He was filled with thoughts of crushing Kraush underfoot.

As Kraush and Pendal stepped outside, the previously subdued atmosphere of the tavern erupted into chaos. The confrontation between Pendal, who had reigned as king of Demonic Bastion, and Kraush, the scion of the world’s most powerful family, Balheim, was about to unfold. Naturally, it was an event not to be missed, and a crowd followed eagerly behind them.

As people poured out of the tavern, Lakradiyon too slowly rose, determined to witness the outcome, driven by a curiosity about what Kraush, that direct Balheim heir, truly had planned.

＊ ＊ ＊

Pendal.

Known for his mastery with hook swords, he was a celebrated fighter even within Demonic Bastion.

Despite not having the formal training of empire or kingdom knights, his swordsmanship and lethality, honed in the Bastion, were commendable.

But after facing Nakcheon, he had ceased to progress, realizing his own limits.

Yet, that was enough to reign as king in Demonic Bastion, where few could even reach the highest ranks.

Now, Kraush stood before him.

The Balheim direct heir seemed to be casually warming up, tapping his nose with a finger, loosening up his body.

Pendal was incredulous.

At best, the boy seemed to have recently achieved the highest rank of expert. But even within that rank, there were clear differences.

And those differences were wider than most realized, especially when it came to combat experience.

After all, how much could a 14-year-old, even from Balheim, have seen in battle?

‘Does he trust in some secret Balheim technique?’

The preeminent family likely had a few hidden tricks. Pendal’s eyelids narrowed slightly.

‘Technique or not, the wall remains.’

“No regrets?”

“Why all the talk? Just come at me. Let’s finish this.”

Pendal no longer hesitated.

Words lost value. This brat just needed to be shattered. With that thought, Pendal’s figure blurred.

He dove in, low and swift like the wolf his moniker suggested, his hook swords reaching towards Kraush in a deadly arc, aiming to wrap around his neck and leave a memorable scar.

Clang!

Yet again, it was the sound of metal clashing. Kraush had unsheathed his sword in a flash, blocking Pendal’s assault with an impeccable parry.

His sword, as black as ink and evidently strong, was, Pendal realized, likely made of soot iron—a metal difficult to forge but remarkably durable when properly used.

True to Balheim’s reputation, their weapons were costly. However, Pendal’s hook swords weren’t for show; he wrapped Kraush’s sword and pulled it towards him, the superior strength and aura on his side.

Kraush was dragged along as Pendal’s other sword lunged in a rapid strike.

But again, a clash of steel rang out.

Pendal’s eyes widened slightly.

The sword that had been caught by his hook had twisted, blocking the opposite sword in a dangerously precise angle.

Kraush had deliberately loosened his grip at the last moment to parry the strike.

It was a masterful distribution of force, but there was more to Pendal’s concern.

The boy hadn’t relied on instinct; it was experience and precise calculation that had saved him.

‘Has this kid sliced through thousands to gain such skill?’

Pendal was baffled as Kraush changed his tactic, lunging deeper with flames erupting from his sword.

Taken aback, Pendal hastily retracted his swords and stepped back.

“…A skill?”

Pendal frowned. Indeed, befitting a Balheim direct heir, even his skills were blessed.

But it was of little comfort. The previous ambush had failed, and Pendal spread his hook swords wide.

“Shall I show you why I rule as king?”

Silent Kraush was met with Pendal’s mocking grin.

Crackle!

Green sparks leaped from Pendal’s hook swords, earning awed gasps from onlookers. It was, unmistakably, a skill.

Pendal was the sole skill user in Demonic Bastion, a divine privilege not even afforded to nobles.

This was the reason he stood apart from other challengers, inflating his pride, confirming he was superior to any knight or middling noble.

On one side, raging flames, and on the other, sparking lightning.

And then Pendal moved first.

Crackle!

Leaving streaks of lightning in his wake, he lunged faster than before.

Green sparks erupted as his swords swung towards Kraush, who responded in kind.

Clang, clang, clang!

The ensuing barrage of noise was matched by sparks and flames bursting in all directions.

Pendal’s assault was relentless, the sparks flashing threateningly with each strike. But Kraush was undaunted.

His sword parried with almost preternatural anticipation, a testament to his visceral reaction and blunted training.

Lakradiyon, the Emerald of Demonic Bastion, watched wide-eyed.

‘A blunted sword?’

Blunted swordsmanship wasn’t something learned overnight, especially not by seasoned swordsmen who found it tricky to master.

It was a technique built upon countless experiences. Yet there was Kraush, seemingly too young to be an adult, wielding a blunted sword.

Lakradiyon couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing. Who was this boy? And equal disbelief seized Pendal.

How could all his strikes, powered by aura and speed, be nullified so effortlessly? The fact that Kraush’s sword had yet to touch him was infuriating.

This complex technique called blunted swordsmanship was one thing, but Kraush matching him blow for blow was another.

Could his own skill have rusted while he busied himself with his gang? The thought that he couldn’t overpower this mere child made his blood boil.

So Pendal changed his mindset. What he faced wasn’t a sprout to be trampled but a worthy adversary demanding his full effort.

Crackle!

Lightning coursed along his arm, the aura within him propelling his speed even further.

If Kraush intended to continue blocking with his blunted technique…

‘I’ll shatter the sword along with him.’

Like a wolf tearing at its prey, Pendal’s swords, accompanied by bursts of sparks, rushed towards Kraush.

Lakradiyon gasped at the sight. That insane man meant to kill Kraush with his onslaught.

Just as she moved to intervene, she saw Kraush inhale quietly.

In that instant, his sword erupted with black flames, colliding with Pendal’s at an otherworldly speed.

It was a strike that far surpassed Kraush’s limits.

Boom!

Lightning and fire collided, a fierce tempest ensuing.

“Waaagh!”

“Argh!”

Bystanders, caught by the blast, were sent sprawling as Lakradiyon watched unblinkingly.

Through the smoke, Kraush moved with a velocity that outstripped Pendal’s recognition. Too late to block, Pendal’s arms flung wide from the force of Kraush’s blow as he was struck squarely on the chin with a crushing grip.

Crack!

The shock jolted Pendal’s brain, and as he dropped his swords, Kraush stomped down on his chest as he fell.

Thud!

“Cough!”

Lakradiyon watched as Kraush pointed his sword at the throat of the fallen Pendal.

As the smoke cleared, the crowd took in the scene.

“Pe-Pendal lost?”

Disbelief painted their faces as they saw Pendal, whom they knew as the king of Demonic Bastion, defeated by a boy not yet a man.

“Truly, he is of Balheim.”

“Pendal had no chance, it seems.”

“Tch, tch, all that grandstanding, and he’s beaten by a kid from the same Bastion he was supposed to conquer. What a sight.”

Onlookers began to disparage Pendal, many having resented his rule. It seemed inevitable that even he couldn’t contend with Balheim.

As they shook their heads, Lakradiyon’s mouth fell open slightly. She knew that the battle she’d witnessed couldn’t be explained merely by lineage.

The black flames that had risen from Kraush’s sword were eerily similar to a curse.

‘That child.’

He hadn’t walked the usual path of knights or nobles. That horrific flame was borne of a curse, compressed and unleashed with devastating force.

‘What in the world?’

Lakradiyon watched, stunned. Kraush had demonstrated a combat style derived from experience, and he’d shown the ability to wield a curse.

Everything he displayed was obtained through self-sacrifice, far from the natural talent and secret techniques she had assumed.

Recalling her own swordsmanship, Lakradiyon wondered if she had ever exerted herself to such an extent at his age. Or even now.

Her fists clenched tightly.

The efforts she had made trapped at the threshold of mastery suddenly seemed insignificant.

In the face of what she’d just witnessed, she felt shame and an overwhelming urge to wield her sword anew, to advance to the next level.

A young boy’s duel had ignited the dream of a swordsman once again.

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