Chapter 6: Intruder 2
Damian felt a strange sensation at that moment. The previous owner of this body had no expertise in martial arts or combat in general. However, by practicing meditation techniques, he had elevated his physique to a decent level compared to ordinary people. Combined with his genetically blessed height and build, and the fact that he had consistently trained in effective combat methods, he could transform into a lethal weapon even without relying on meditation techniques.
Still, the limits of a normal human were clear and could not be surpassed except through meditation methods. In his estimation, the highest he could reach was the peak of mid-tier Knight rank. Even then, he still believed he would lose against one of them!
The reason was simple: the true power of Knights lay in their superhuman endurance, turning them into fighting machines compared to ordinary combatants. This stemmed from their unique breathing techniques and the chi energy circulating within them—a permanent version of adrenaline that flowed through their bodies throughout battle. Their ranks were determined by the amount of chi they possessed and its color, which changed with each stage.
But none of that would ever happen unless one successfully formed the chi core located in the solar plexus—the primary storage vessel for this energy and the greatest hurdle for anyone aspiring to become a Knight.
Even the previous Damian had meditated for nearly two years without managing to form it!
Damian set one of his future goals as finding a meditation technique to practice—preferably a high-grade one. He decided to leave that matter for his future self to figure out. For now, his present self needed to focus on handling the problem right in front of him.
Returning to the present moment—he was looking down at the woman lying unconscious on the floor. Damian bent down in the partially dark corridor (one of the three candles had gone out), reached out coldly, and pulled the black mask off the attacker's face. His gaze froze for a few seconds, his expression locked in complete stillness. Under the faint candlelight, familiar features emerged. It was Anna—the young woman with the innocent face who had boarded the carriage with him earlier.
Her conversation with him and the way she had taken the initiative to speak had made him slightly suspicious. Perhaps it was just his nature after the life he had lived. But he had suppressed that feeling, telling himself he shouldn't suspect everyone he met or spoke to.
Turns out his suspicion had been correct!
In the midst of these thoughts, a knocking sound broke the silence that had filled the room after the fight. Then came a faint voice from behind the door—it was Miss Miller.
"Damn it, looks like I made a bit of noise!" Damian quickly dragged the unconscious Anna to a corner where she would be hidden from the doorway's line of sight. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his hands, then wiped his face just in case any had splattered there. After making sure everything looked normal, he walked to the door.
When he opened it, he was greeted by Miss Miller's worried voice. It was clear this kind neighbor had come to check on him. "Mr. Damian, are you alright? We heard some commotion coming from your house, so my husband and I came to make sure you're okay." She was wearing a red nightgown with a thin shawl draped over it, her hands clasped together against the biting cold. Her husband, Mr. Jack Miller—a man in his mid-forties—stood behind her and also inquired.
"We heard some noise, so we came to check on you. But it seems you're perfectly fine," Mr. Miller said in a calm, relieved tone, reassured that nothing serious had happened to his neighbor.
"I apologize for disturbing you both. I was trying to put my suitcase back on top of the wardrobe, the chair broke under me, and I fell. There's nothing to worry about," Damian replied, bowing slightly while keeping his injured arm hidden in a blind corner so they wouldn't see the wound.
"Really?" Miss Miller asked, still concerned.
"Really," Damian answered in a serious tone.
"That's a relief," Miss Miller sighed with visible relaxation, then added, "Well, if that's the case, we'll let you rest. Good night."
Damian bowed again and apologized once more. "I'm truly sorry for troubling you again. Thank you both."
The couple returned to their home. Damian waited until they were inside—as a gesture of courtesy and gratitude for their concern—before quietly closing his own door.
He let out a soft sigh, turned toward the living room, and headed back to the corridor where he had hidden the unconscious Anna. To his astonishment, all he found was the blood-soaked mask lying on the floor. Anna was gone—nowhere to be seen.
His brows furrowed into a deep frown. He cursed under his breath and slammed his fist against the wall. He spun around and began searching every corner of the ground floor: the living room, the kitchen, even the bathroom. He checked the locked basement door as well. The windows all had iron bars as a precautionary measure—something Taylor had installed for protection. But what he hadn't anticipated was that the intruder would enter through the front door. Had he not been extremely cautious and considered the possibility that the assassins might return, he might very well have lost his life in this encounter!
"That damn bitch," Damian swore fiercely as he forced himself to calm down. In the end, Anna possessed the strength of a low-tier Knight expert. Her recovery speed and pain tolerance far exceeded those of ordinary humans. He had made a mistake by underestimating her and failing to account for that.
"I've gotten a little careless," he muttered so softly that no one else could hear. He gritted his teeth. He had thought he was doing the right thing—planning to interrogate her, find out who sent her, and extract information. That was why he hadn't finished her off and had left her alive. He had no other choice at the time.
He gathered his composure and halted the spiral of thoughts. Based on what he knew about the endurance of low-tier Knights, while their resilience was impressive, it didn't vastly exceed ordinary humans. That gave him confidence that the impact of his blow would leave her in considerable pain and prevent her from getting far.
That strike had been powerful enough to cause a professional fighter a temporary brain concussion, and combined with slamming her down, he was certain at least one of her ribs had been broken. That had been his full strength, after all!
"Looks like our little girl enjoys playing hide-and-seek. Hide well, because big brother is going to play with you tonight." Damian headed toward the staircase leading to the upper floor, speaking in an almost amused tone. The sound of her slippers reached his ears, and his smile widened even further.
He removed his slippers, set them aside, picked up the lantern, and began climbing the stairs barefoot. Given the severity of her injuries, there was a high probability she was still hiding somewhere in the house. After searching the lower floor and finding nothing, he was almost certain she was upstairs.
"I'll give you one last chance. Come out now, and I'll spare your life. If you don't, don't blame me for being excessively cruel!"
He ascended the stairs slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. All he could hear was his own breathing. A profound silence had descended over the house.
When Damian reached the top of the stairs—the upper floor—the lantern in his hand cast long shadows on the nearby wall, leaving large portions of the corridor ahead in darkness.
He stopped in front of the first room, a small bedroom that the previous Damian had decided to leave empty so it could become his daughter's room when she grew a little older. For now, it remained unused—a storage-like space cluttered with various tools, sticks, and miscellaneous items scattered here and there.
He pushed the door open very slowly, his eyes scanning the room calmly and methodically. After confirming she wasn't there, he moved on to the next room without bothering to close the door he had left open behind him.
He opened the door to his and his wife's bedroom and began searching corner by corner—behind the door, under the bed, inside the wardrobe. He checked every place a person could possibly hide, but he found no trace of her.
A scowl began creeping back onto his face. He quickly left the room and headed toward the last one—an old guest room they had set aside in case someone visited. It was just an extra room, and that had been the only practical use they could think of for it!