As a seasoned assassin, the man in the jester mask had an extraordinarily sharp sense for danger.
After all, being an assassin meant constantly living on the edge, dancing on the blade of a knife. To survive to his current age in such a profession, his instinct for sensing deadly threats had long since been carved into his very bones.
He didn't yet know exactly where the danger was coming from, but the moment his feet touched the ground, a strange softness beneath him made him feel as though he'd triggered something.
BOOM!!
A deafening explosion shattered the stillness, and the entire courtyard trembled violently. A searing blast of fire erupted skyward like a blooming, blood-red mushroom cloud.
The very earth near the courtyard trembled, as if shaken by an earthquake. The ground cracked open in a spiderweb of jagged fissures.
Within the blinding firestorm, every assassin who had leapt into the courtyard was instantly engulfed. Some of them had exceptional reflexes and tried to defend themselves instinctively.
But under that terrifying shockwave, their defenses were utterly meaningless—fragile and laughable in comparison.
In an instant, they were vaporized—nothing left but fine ash, carried off into the night wind.
Not far from the blast, John looked down at a piece of shrapnel embedded deeply in the ground at his feet—twisted, scorched, and curved like a fragment of an iron barrel. A satisfied smile slowly spread across his face.
"A gas tank bomb really is the perfect weapon for urban warfare. The destructive power is no joke."
With one part sulfur, two parts charcoal, three parts potassium nitrate, and a pinch of sugar to spice things up, the explosion was already potent. But contained inside a high-pressure gas tank? The results were devastating.
Just one well-prepared gas tank bomb had turned a spacious courtyard into rubble. Everyone who had charged in with ill intent was now gone—reduced to atoms.
Next to John, Celia stared wide-eyed at the smoldering crater where the villa once stood. Her lips parted in shock, and she swallowed hard.
She didn't know what strange words John had just said—"gas tank bomb" or whatever—but the explosion that followed was something she would never forget.
Had she been inside that courtyard, she would've been obliterated. Not even a moment to react. Not a shred of her would've remained.
And this boy—this seemingly young and innocent boy—had command over such a terrifying weapon?
The ruthlessness of this act stood in stark contrast to his youthful face. His expression, his voice, his demeanor—none of it matched the cruelty of what he'd just done.
It was like staring at a monster who had lived for countless lifetimes, wearing the mask of a boy.
"John, how did you do that? That explosion just now… it felt like something on par with the strongest blow from a gold-rank battle class!"
Celia's eyes were wide with disbelief.
"Don't tell me… you're not really a Furniture Maker, are you? Are you secretly one of those overpowered hidden classes?"
No way a mere Furniture Maker could do this. In her mind, only someone from a legendary hidden class could have pulled it off.
This John guy—was he pretending to be weak all along?
John shook his head. "I'm just a regular Furniture Maker. I've simply mastered some knowledge from the world of science and technology. That stuff? It's all just basic street-level tricks."
"Street-level tricks?" Celia felt like she'd just taken psychic damage.
That kind of terrifying firepower was basic to him?
Then what about the rest of them—those who couldn't even come close to doing such things? What did that make them?
This was peak humblebrag. Straight-up Weaponized Versailles.
"Alright, don't just stand there gawking," John said with a chuckle. "The group chasing after you has been dealt with. We've bought ourselves a bit of peace and quiet. Now's a good time to help me try and change class, don't you think?"
"But you don't even have the necessary materials ready," Celia began. "Even as a Class Conductor, I can't just—"
Before she could finish her sentence, John handed her a storage ring.
Celia lightly scanned it with her mana and froze.
Crimson Flame Flower. Blackheart Bile. Mandrake Root…
Everything on the list she'd given him—it was all there.
And it hadn't even been that long!
John had gathered all of it already? That speed was insane!
Some of those materials—like the Crimson Flame Flower—were rare to the point of being priceless. Even the wealthiest nobles might struggle to gather them in such a short time.
But John, the so-called "ordinary" Furniture Maker, had pulled it off with ease.
"How… how did you manage to collect all of this so fast?" she asked instinctively. But the moment the words left her mouth, she regretted it.
This was clearly John's secret.
And the more you knew about secrets like that, the more dangerous things became. Asking the wrong question could easily get you killed.
"I got it from an auction house. Just lucky, I guess. They had everything I needed."
John's tone was casual, as if it were no big deal.
Even if Celia figured something out, it didn't matter. She could never replicate what he had done. The real reason he succeeded? That would remain hidden—after all, he'd paid a ridiculous price in rare green-bandage currency to make it happen.
Celia chose not to press the matter further. Instead, she looked around at the dingy alley where they stood, shrugged, and said, "The Class Awakening Ceremony needs a very quiet and safe environment. You're not seriously expecting me to do it here, are you?"
John grinned. "Don't worry. I've got a place in mind. Totally safe and secure. Come with me."
…
"Jaque! Old Jaque! Open the door, quick—it's urgent!"
John pounded on the back door, his voice loud and urgent.
"John, it's nearly dark. Whatever's so urgent can wait until tomorrow—I've got my own pressing matters!" came Jaque's grumbling reply from inside.
"I know you're busy, but I'm more busy! My future happiness depends on what happens tonight!"
John shouted back.
At that, the door finally creaked open.
But the moment Old Jaque saw Celia standing beside John, his pupils shrank.
What a beauty.
Now that Celia had recovered, her skin was as smooth and pale as fine jade, with a soft glow like polished porcelain. Her golden hair flowed down her back like a waterfall, radiant and enchanting.
And those cold, glacial eyes of hers—they stirred up an uncontrollable urge to conquer within anyone who looked into them.
A top-tier stunner.
Old Jaque had seen plenty of beauties in his day, but this one still left him breathless.
He turned to John with a strange, knowing smirk.
Ah, so that's why the kid said it was urgent and about his future happiness!
With a woman like that in front of you, what man wouldn't be anxious?
"Come in, come in," Jaque said quickly. "Make sure to shut the door tight. Draw the curtains too—we don't want any strange sounds leaking out. You should probably use the back room. There's a bathroom in there, more convenient."
???
Celia turned and looked at John with a face full of question marks. Was this really the "safe and secure" place he'd mentioned?
John immediately realized Jaque had misunderstood and quickly said, "Whoa, whoa—calm down, Jaque. I'm just letting her stay the night. That's all."
"Mm-hmm, I get it," Jaque said with a sly wink. "I watched you grow up, kid. You're an adult now—these things are natural. But sneaking around like this? In my place? Have you no shame?"
John: "…"
"If my courtyard hadn't just exploded, I wouldn't have come here in the first place!"