The easiest way to kill someone is not through blade or brute force—but through silence. Poison is the art of subtlety, a quiet whisper in a world obsessed with noise. It requires no strength, no confrontation. Just patience. A speck of powder, a drop in tea, and fate is sealed without a scream. In poison lies a philosophy: that weakness can overcome strength, that stillness can outlast fury. It teaches that knowledge, not muscle, holds true power. To poison is not merely to kill—but to win before the battle ever begins. That is the doctrine of the unseen hand.
It has been a day since master Grey has left.
That following night...
The stars shimmered cold and distant above, their pale light doing little to warm the air that clung to the ground like fog. In the stillness of the night, the village slept, wrapped in a quiet that made every movement seem like a betrayal. The soft creak of wooden stairs, the faint pad of bare feet—Liam moved like a shadow, careful, deliberate.
Tonight was perfect. No moon, just the hush of crickets and the rustling of the trees.
Liam tightened the straps of his satchel, tucked in the small pouch of fine, brown-gray powder, and slipped out through the rear window.
He dropped softly onto the damp earth and crouched low. A quick glance behind—no movement. A breath of the cool night air steadied his nerves. Then, like a whisper against the wind, he ran.
Marla, the herbalist, had never known the true reason behind Liam's intense curiosity. He had asked questions, seemingly innocent: "Which herbs cause drowsiness?" "Can powdered leaves carry smell over a distance?" But Liam had already started experimenting, using only the ingredients Marla had given him.
Master Grey's house sat near the village's edge, tall and brooding with its thatched roof and narrow windows. Two guards flanked the entrance, clad in leather armor, holding their spears lazily but still awake. They stood beneath a flickering torch, speaking softly to one another.
Liam crouched behind a pile of stacked firewood, barely ten feet away. His heart pounded in his ears, each beat echoing like thunder.
They look alert… but tired, he thought.
He unwrapped the cloth holding the powdered mixture. The compound was based on volatile carriers—grinded dry whisperleaf and duskberry root, both finely sifted to ensure the particles would remain airborne.
He took a small pipe-like tube, inserted the powder, and lit a tiny fuse at one end. The flame ignited the mixture with a puff. Liam aimed it over the guards. The fine cloud dispersed with the breeze, drifting toward the guards.
Nothing happened.
Seconds passed.
One of the guards scratched his neck and shifted his stance.
"Feel that smell?" one muttered.
The other grunted. "Just burning leaves. These torches are awful tonight."
Liam frowned. Damn… too weak?
He reached for his backup: a higher-concentration mixture stored in a corked vial. He quickly broke it open and let the thick powder puff out with a snap of his wrist—throwing it directly into the breeze.
The wind caught it. The particles shimmered in the air like ash.
This time, the effect was noticeable.
Drowsy Eyes and Slurred Words
"I… feel strange," said one of the guards.
His partner blinked, swaying a little. "The hell's wrong with my eyes?"
"I told you not to drink from Merek's wine again—"
"No. Not that. Things look… fuzzy."
Liam stayed frozen behind the firewood. His heart thudded in anticipation.
One of the guards leaned against the wall, his eyelids heavy. "My legs… are jelly. You—do you see—stars?"
The other slumped, his back sliding down until he sat on the ground. "What the heck…?"
They blinked, blinked again, heads lolling.
Then silence.
Liam counted to fifty in his head. No movement.
He slinked from his hiding spot, avoiding the torchlight. The guards were breathing, but deep and slow. It had worked—barely. If he hadn't brought the second dose, he might've blown the whole thing.
He had miscalculated, the dosage he had given to pigs was too low humans, luckily he brought more , just in case. He had taken mental note to be careful next time.
The door to Grey's house was locked.
He pulled a bent pin from his pouch and began fiddling with the latch. It took three tries, but eventually, the click of the tumblers aligned and the door creaked open.
Inside, the air smelled of parchment, oil, and something faintly metallic. A single candle still burned on the far wall—Grey must've left in a hurry.
The front room was cluttered. Books stacked on tables. Loose scrolls. A quill still dipped in dry ink.
Start slow, Liam reminded himself.
He moved to the shelves, running fingers over the spines of tomes. Most were titles he couldn't understand—coded script, some even in runes. He rifled through a drawer and found only wax seals and spare candle stubs.
Behind the main room was a smaller chamber. The study.
Here, the furniture was older. More refined. A lockbox sat under the desk. Liam crouched and inspected it—it had a numerical dial, no keyhole. Useless without a code.
He rifled through the drawers. A few maps. Taxation records. A family tree? He shoved those aside.
Nothing…
His eyes drifted to a shelf full of journals.
He pulled one down and flipped it open—most of the pages were filled with diagrams. Constellations. Herbology drawings. Ritual circles.
Then, at the center of one shelf, he saw some stack of books.
They looked different, as he seen their names, some were named like "Thesis on Magic.", "A guide to intermediate Magic.", "Magic for Dummies." "Mana core classification." etc
Liam's breath caught.
He immediately took the one labeled Mana Core classification , and opened to read the first page, it was empty, he flipped the book, empty nothing at all.
No!
Just as quickly, he took another book, but it turned out to be a decoy too.
Same repeated with others too.
He began searching faster—beneath floorboards, inside empty scroll tubes, behind curtains.
Nothing.
There was no grand library. No magic tome. No "Beginner's Guide to Mana Cores."
Damn it, Liam thought. Did he take everything with him?
Or worse—What if he never had anything worth stealing in the first place?
Liam gave one last look around before leaving the house exactly as he found it. He took nothing.
The guards were still passed out as he slipped out the front door and vanished into the night, retracing his steps to home.
He climbed in through the rear window and lay on his bed, his breaths ragged. The vial pouch was empty now. He had meticulously planed for last three months , learning about herbs.
All for what?
No answers. No knowledge. Just the same damn questions.
Clenching his fist hard, he stared at the ceiling.
Liam although lived for more than 17 years with his past live and now, and gone through some horrific experiences, due to his parents love, which knit his wounds, he was still child at heart, h was extremely frustated that his plan failed.