The house was surprisingly big for being only two floors; it had four bedrooms, a home theater, a gym, and a private training room with reinforced walls. The living room opened up to a large terrace with a stunning view of the city.
But the best part, the part that sealed the deal, was the underground base.
Accessible only through a hidden elevator in the master closet, it was a self-sufficient bunker, complete with a medical bay, a training ground, a workshop, and a small server room. It was a fortress within a fortress.
"It's perfect," I said, a genuine smile gracing my lips. "We'll take it."
"Wonderful," Mr. Tanaka said, beaming. "I'll have my lawyers draw up the papers. I trust you'll find the accommodations to your liking."
Signing the papers was fast as we were paying the full price upfront.
Truly, money makes the world go round.
After the paperwork was done, a young female staff member led us to the property.
As we walked through the main living area, my gaze lingered on the sleek, minimalist furniture. It was clean, functional, and utterly soulless. A blank canvas.
"The previous owner was a reclusive tech billionaire," the staff member explained, her voice bright and cheerful. "He had some... specific requirements. The security system is state-of-the-art. Biometric scanners, retinal scanners, bulletproof glass, and an independent power source. The place can withstand a small siege."
'Or a large one,' I thought, my mind already racing with possibilities. 'This is more than a safe house. It's a fortress.'
Ron was exploring the house with a look of wide-eyed wonder. He ran his hand over the smooth marble countertops in the kitchen, tested the softness of the plush carpets in the bedrooms, and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the glittering cityscape.
"This is... amazing," he said, turning to me, a boyish grin on his face. For a moment, he looked like any other kid moving into a fancy new apartment, not a boy on the verge of becoming a killer.
"Choose your room," I said, leaning against the doorframe of the master bedroom. "But not this one. This one is mine."
He nodded, still grinning, and disappeared down the hallway.
I walked over to the large window in the master bedroom, looking out at the sprawling metropolis. The city was a living organism, a beast of steel and light. And from up here, I felt like I was looking down on it, like a god watching her subjects.
But I wasn't a god. Not yet.
I had a long way to go.
After everything was settled, Ron and I went back to his old apartment to pick up our few belongings. It didn't take long. Aside from some family photos of him and his sister, Ron had nothing else.
Even his old clothes were thrown in the garbage by me.
The reason is simple.
Rebirth.
Out with the old, in with the new.
The old Ron Tanaka, the weak, kind-hearted boy who was struggling to survive in a cruel world, was dead.
In his place was a new Ron Tanaka. A killer. A survivor. My disciple.
And he needed a new look.
"Strip," I ordered as soon as we got back to our new penthouse.
Ron, who was still admiring the view from the living room window, flinched at my command.
"E-Excuse me?" he stammered, turning to face me.
"I said, strip," I repeated, my tone flat and non-negotiable. "We're getting you some new gear. Your current equipment is pathetic. It's a miracle you're still alive."
He hesitated for a moment, then slowly started to unbutton his shirt. His movements were still a little clumsy, a little hesitant, but he was learning. He was learning to obey without question.
I watched him, my arms crossed over my chest, as he took off his clothes and stood before me, naked and vulnerable.
I circled him, my eyes critically scanning every inch of his body. He had lost weight since I'd first met him, but he was also leaner, more defined. The constant training was paying off. He was starting to look like a warrior.
I have a secret technique that I developed in the past that allows one's physique to grow by absorbing mana inside the monster cores, along with training and real-life threatening fights.
During our dungeon raiding, we have been using the cores of the bosses to slowly temper Ron's body. This is one of the reasons for his fast growth.
For me, this method is useless until I obtain high-grade monster cores like a dragon core or phoenix feather or something of that level.
The body of the Nephalem is just that unique.
"Not bad," I said, stopping in front of him. "But we still have a long way to go."
I walked over to a large, metal box that was delivered shortly after we arrived. I opened it, revealing a set of sleek black armor.
It was made of a lightweight, flexible material that I didn't recognize, but I could feel the power humming within it. It was enchanted, probably with defensive and strengthening spells.
"Put this on," I said, tossing him the pieces.
He caught them, his eyes widening with a mixture of awe and confusion.
"Where... where did you get this?" he asked, running his hand over the smooth, cool surface of the chest plate.
"I have my sources," I said vaguely. "Now, put it on. We have a busy night ahead of us."
How did I afford this black armor?
Well... we have to thank our two cyborg friends for that. The Black Hand.
Umbra devoured their bodies, and their memories were naturally transferred to me, and, to my surprise, the two cyborgs were not just some random thugs; they were mid-ranking enforcers for the Black Hand.
They had plenty of credits hidden in secret accounts.
I simply used their money to order this black armor, nothing more, and since it came from a secret underground dealer, I doubt that the Black Hand could track it.
As Ron struggled with the straps and buckles, I could see the excitement in his eyes. He was like a kid on Christmas morning, eagerly putting on his new toy.
And the toy was indeed perfect for him. It even came with a full-face metal mask with sharp angles and two narrow red slits for the eyes. It looked intimidating, cold. Inhuman.
'When another piece like this becomes available on the market, I'll buy it,' I thought.
Once he was fully armored, he stood before me, a completely different person. The shy, hesitant boy was gone, replaced by a cold, imposing figure. The armor hugged his body, accentuating his new lean muscles.
Two black daggers were sheathed on his thighs, and a new, high-quality short sword was strapped to his back.
The perfect image of an assassin.
This is the fighting style that perfectly suits him: fast, silent, and deadly. Not a frontline warrior like me, but a shadow. A ghost.
We tried different fighting styles during our training. He was decent with a sword, but he excelled with daggers. He had a natural talent for stealth, for moving unseen, for striking from the darkness.
But I think his best... talent is his unnatural dodging luck.
Yes, Ron's dodging is unnatural.
It's not just reflexes. It's more than that. It's as if he has a sixth sense, an instinct that tells him when and where to move to avoid an attack. He's been able to dodge blows that should have been impossible to avoid. Even I was surprised at first.
Right now, he still doesn't know he possesses such talent, only able to dodge attacks in a pathetic, funny way, if you could call it that.
But as he grows stronger, as he becomes more confident, I have no doubt that this 'dodge luck' of his will evolve into something truly terrifying. A precognitive ability, perhaps. Or a form of probability manipulation.
Once he awakens in the academy and receives his class, I'll be able to plan more precisely on how to refine this talent of his.
"Good," I said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my lips. "Now you look the part."
"Thank you, Sister Azariel," he said, his voice muffled by the mask. He was trying to sound professional, but I could hear the excitement, the pride in his tone.
"Don't thank me yet," I said, my voice dropping to a low, serious hum. "The armor doesn't make the warrior. The warrior makes the armor. And you still have a long way to go."
I walked over to him, my white eyes locking with the narrow red slits of his mask.
"You have been fighting against dungeon mobs all this time," I said. "Now, it's time to fight against... people."
"People?" he asked, tilting his head.
"The Black Hand," I said, the name leaving a bad taste in my mouth. "I know the location of two of their assassins, and they're both D-rank. I can take them out alone, but for you... They'll be good practice."