After leaving Duracal's house, I searched for the leather workshop he had mentioned.
The sign read: Troll Skin.
A strange name.
Inside, a man in his forties sat behind a wide wooden desk, calmly binding thick leather straps together. He did not stand when I entered.
Without looking up, he raised a hand.
"Quiet."
I waited.
After a few minutes, he finally glanced at me.
"What do you want?"
I explained Duracal had sent me.
He burst into laughter. "That old man still alive? Hah!"
I didn't respond.
When I mentioned my mount wasn't a normal horse but a monster hatched from an egg, his expression changed instantly.
"Bring it. Now."
Rusty had been waiting behind the building. When Leion rushed toward him in excitement, Rusty lowered his head to headbutt him.
I stopped him with one hand on his snout.
"He's not attacking," I murmured.
Leion apologized quickly, eyes shining with curiosity. The rest of the evening passed in measurements and questions. Rusty resisted at first, but small pieces of monster meat kept him cooperative.
"Come back in a week," Leion said. "We'll see if adjustments are needed."
That was it.
The real event of the day came the next morning.
When I arrived, Rathen was already waiting.
He looked at me and asked,
"When do humans, monsters, and demons make their greatest mistakes?"
I thought for a moment. "When they're overconfident?"
He nodded slightly. "Good. But not the deepest answer."
He stepped closer.
"They make mistakes when they believe they are about to die."
My spine stiffened.
"We are mercenaries," he continued. "We live as if death is one breath away. So I learned to weaponize that breath."
His voice lowered.
"I created a technique. I call it Death Glare."
He tossed me a wooden sword.
"Watch carefully."
He closed his eyes.
The air shifted.
When he opened them again—
My throat dried instantly.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Cold ran down my spine like someone had poured water into my bones.
His eyes.
They weren't glowing. They weren't magical.
But they were certain.
Certain that I was already dead.
My hands began to tremble.
My legs weakened.
My vision tightened.
The world narrowed to him.
He stepped forward.
And in that moment—
I knew.
I was going to die.
He moved.
I tried to block.
Too slow.
The wooden blade struck my neck.
—
There was no pain.
Just a sudden silence.
I saw my body collapse.
Headless.
Blood spraying in a slow arc.
I was above myself, floating.
Weightless.
The world had no sound.
No heartbeat.
No breath.
Just the sight of my own corpse twitching on the ground.
My body felt distant.
Disconnected.
I tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
Then—
"Wake up."
Rathen's voice cut through the void.
I gasped and fell forward, grabbing my neck.
Still attached.
Still breathing.
Alive.
I looked up.
Rathen was standing, but barely. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. He leaned on his sword and drank a potion.
We stayed silent for several minutes.
Finally, he spoke.
"You have questions."
I nodded, still shaking.
"How am I alive? I saw my head—"
"That," he interrupted, "is Death Glare."
He wiped his mouth.
"It projects killing intent directly into the opponent's mind. Not illusion magic. Not paralysis magic."
"It forces their mind to accept death before it happens."
He looked at me sharply.
"For the weak-minded, it becomes hallucination."
My stomach tightened.
"You believed you were dead. So your mind completed the experience."
I swallowed.
"So it paralyzes with fear?"
"Yes. First, fear freezes the body. Then the mind fractures. In that moment… they hesitate."
"And hesitation," he said quietly, "kills."
I hesitated.
"But why were you bleeding?"
He laughed hoarsely.
"You think this is free?"
"This technique consumes mental force. Not aura. Not mana."
"It compresses killing intent to a lethal degree. The stronger the will, the heavier the backlash."
He tapped his temple.
"I am old. My mind cannot handle it long."
Then his gaze hardened.
"If you wish to learn it, you must first strengthen your mind. Otherwise…"
He looked at me directly.
"You will break before your enemy does."
Excitement burned through the fear.
This was not just a technique.
It was a weapon of the mind.
And I wanted it.