Chapter 3: The Stubborn King’s Poise

Chapter 3: The Stubborn King's Poise

Boom…

"Ah!"

[Battle failed, EXP +5.]

Boom…

"Ya!"

[Battle failed, EXP +5.]

[EXP sufficient. Current Rogue level: Lv1.]

Boom…

"Oh!"

[Battle failed, EXP +5. Skill unlocked: Weapon Mastery.]

[Weapon Mastery Lv0: Accuracy +1.]

…

Half a day of sparring ended.

Allen was completely unrecognizable.

Knocked down again and again, he got back up each time. His face was so swollen that his eyes had turned into mere slits.

At the same time, a series of system prompts flashed in his mind.

"Training is over for today. Go find Chelsea to treat your external injuries. We'll continue tomorrow."

Nyssa finally let out all her pent-up frustration, feeling utterly refreshed.

She had underestimated Allen's endurance—he actually didn't surrender or beg for mercy. If he wasn't brain-damaged, he might genuinely be worth training into a proper warrior.

"This level of intensity? I won't back down. I swear it on both my current and former selves."

Saying this, Allen raised both hands—his right representing his "current self" and his left representing his "former self."

In Allen's philosophy, everything on his body could go soft—except his mouth.

"Good. I look forward to your performance tomorrow."

Nyssa left satisfied. She particularly enjoyed stubborn fools like him—ones she could slowly plant the seeds of fear into, bit by bit.

Leaving the training ground, Allen followed the signs to the infirmary.

Ra's al Ghul had lived for centuries, following many masters and collecting numerous medical formulas along the way. After all, injuries were inevitable in martial training.

The League of Assassins success owed much to its medical resources—without them, their operatives would've been crippled long before proving useful.

"Yo, isn't this Allen? I barely recognize you after half a day."

Talk about an unexpected encounter.

Talia greeted him in a sarcastic tone.

On Allen's first day, he had mocked her figure for being inferior to Nyssa's, which immediately put them at odds.

But Allen had never lost a war of words.

Leaning casually against the wall, one hand on the back of his head, the other on his hip, legs crossed, he struck a defiant pose.

"Oh, my dear Talia. Are you pretending to run into me because you're actually worried about me?"

Despite his swollen face, Allen forced a self-assured smirk.

"I know, I know. After all, love cannot be concealed in one's eyes. You're just afraid I'll become too obsessed with Nyssa."

Talia immediately felt like she had swallowed a pound of flies.

Why did she even bother provoking a lunatic?

Pretending not to hear him, she quickened her pace, brushing past him, firmly deciding to stay far away from this madman in the future—lest his insanity rubbed off on her.

She had spent most of her life honing her martial skills—how could she possibly outmaneuver a master of verbal combat? The only solution that came to mind was simply stabbing him.

"Talia, running away won't solve anything."

"Love must be spoken aloud! Summon your courage and confess to me! Don't let your love hesitate any longer—because with you, my life is dazzling and bright…"

His mouth was on autopilot.

Allen broke into a heartfelt love song.

His voice was like a cursed melody—Talia clutched her ears, breaking into a full sprint, unwilling to stay a second longer.

"Ha! She just can't face her true feelings."

Allen chuckled smugly.

"Running away will only make her fall deeper."

"Ahem!"

He turned around—only to find Nyssa standing there, watching him with an utterly perplexed expression.

Worried that Allen wouldn't find the infirmary, she had turned back to guide him—only to witness that entire spectacle.

Honestly, seeing Talia suffer like that made Nyssa even happier than receiving praise from her father, Ra's al Ghul.

"…I'll go easier on you tomorrow."

"Wait, was that a confession just now?"

"…"

Clearly, Allen's "stubborn king" mode had no cooldown, and he had just accidentally friendly-fired an ally.

Nyssa had originally planned to use him to make Talia miserable. Instead, she had unleashed an uncontrollable force—one that attacked indiscriminately.

As Nyssa hurried away, Allen nonchalantly ran a hand through his hair.

"I know you both have feelings for me. I can see right through your act of playing hard to get. Yes, I'm incredibly talented—it's a curse, really. But alas, my heart belongs only to my dear Righty."

He dramatically lifted his right hand.

"Oh, Lefty! You're just an ex. Please, maintain some distance."

A madman's world is full of joy. Allen was never truly alone—Lefty and Righty were always there, engaging in their own eternal love-hate saga.

Creak.

The infirmary door opened slightly, and a swollen, unrecognizable face peeked inside.

Chelsea, engrossed in ancient texts, paused for a moment.

After a three-second silence, she recognized the visitor. Smiling kindly, she said, "Allen, come in and take a seat."

Chelsea wasn't a combatant—she was the League of Assassins dedicated apothecary, responsible for developing medicinal supplies for the organization. Her status was second only to Ra's al Ghul, though she held little actual authority.

This was their second meeting.

The first had been when Nyssa brought Allen back—half-frozen and on the verge of death. Chelsea had used her exceptional medical skills to restore him completely.

"Old Che, get me a plastic surgery operation. I don't need to be insanely handsome—just jaw-droppingly cool."

"I practice traditional medicine."

"Just say no if you can't do it. No need for excuses."

Chelsea sighed, getting up to fetch a jar of ointment from the medicine cabinet.

She knew Allen's personality well—talking too much would only fuel his antics.

"This is for external injuries—promotes blood circulation and speeds up healing. Don't use too much at once. Keep the rest for later, and come back for more when you run out."

Chelsea didn't particularly dislike Allen, but she also didn't want to deal with him every other day.

Better to just give him extra medicine upfront—less reason for daily visits.

"…Healing and growth?"

Allen's attention immediately fixated on those two words.

A sly grin spread across his face as he lowered his gaze toward his lower body.

Ahem.

Chelsea sternly warned, "Get rid of those ridiculous thoughts. Or else, you'll lose it altogether."

"Come on, don't be like that! I've always been satisfied with my size."

Allen chuckled sheepishly, masking his true intentions.

Of course, Chelsea remained deeply skeptical.

Never trust the words of a lunatic.

They don't even know what they're doing themselves.

Back in his room, Allen applied the pungent ointment while looking into the mirror.

The cool sensation quickly numbed the pain—its effects were indeed remarkable.

The League of Assassins exclusive formula—though they sold a lower-grade version to the public through a front company.

An organization of this scale couldn't rely solely on assassinations and bounties for revenue.

Just training a single warrior cost at least fifty thousand dollars annually.

The Snow Mountain base alone had over a hundred members—not to mention other hidden facilities like Infinity Island.

Between mission expenses, base maintenance, equipment depreciation, medical supplies, and countless miscellaneous costs, their annual budget easily exceeded a hundred million.

[Character]: Allen (1/10)

[Class]: Lv5 Rogue

[Skills]: Lv1 Weapon Mastery

[Time Period]: 1981, League of Assassins

[Objective]: Reach Lv120 in current class to return to original timeline.

Lying on his bed, Allen stared blankly at his status screen before realization struck him.

"…So I've actually transmigrated into the League of Assassins?"

"Judging by the timeline, I might run into…"