The Saint of Thieves

“To be honest, with my meager skills, I’m nothing but a small fry before the Elf Princess.
Still, getting praised by the renowned Elf Princess herself makes a nobody like me a bit pleased…”

Kant gripped his curved blade in one hand, his senses taut as he scanned his surroundings.
Even though the blood coursing through his veins surged faster than normal, his face maintained that roguish, teasing smile.

“No, strength is strength.
You’re the first to escape the inner city of the Holy City under the blockade of the Imperial Guards.”

Felicia’s voice was calm and even.
Her snow-white, delicate skin seemed to glow faintly under the fluorescent light.
The long, white feathered dress accentuated her elegant demeanor, its trailing hem gliding over the nighttime grass without a speck of dust.

She descended with the grace of a noble princess, the stars in the night sky seemingly shining brighter with her arrival.
Gazing at this beauty, almost indescribable in words, Kant instinctively tightened his grip on the blade’s hilt.
The smile on his face grew more wary.

“But strength is strength, and mistakes are mistakes.
Since you’ve committed an error, you should turn back from your misguided path.
Return the Sacred Fruit to me now, and come back to the Holy City to face your due punishment.
That is the truly correct choice for you.”

Though elves were brimming with martial prowess, they were, after all, favored children of nature.
Killing was not in their nature.
Even if caught by elves, as long as one didn’t resist too fiercely or cause irreparable harm, the likely outcome was merely having one’s powers stripped and facing lifelong imprisonment in a foreign city’s jail.

Surrendering might offer a slim chance at survival, but clearly, that wasn’t the path Kant would choose.

As the Saint of Thieves, his honed senses picked up on something during the brief exchange with the Elf Princess.
Hidden well, but not well enough to escape him, were faint, secretive presences all around.

“Spill the beans, Elf Princess.
I’m at the end of my rope here, with just enough strength left for one last fight.
That’s my situation.
Since you managed to track me here, there must be more than just you around, right?”

Kant asked with his usual cheeky grin, though beneath it, his eyes held a shadow of gloom and resignation.

The title of Saint of Thieves sounded grand, but it was just a glorified label.
As a famed righteous thief on the Seraris Continent, no matter how dazzling or embellished his deeds, his true identity was merely a high-class thief lurking in the shadows, unable to show his face in the light.

To put it bluntly, a rat skulking in the sewers, no matter how big or strong, was still just a despised rat unfit for the stage.

Felicia gazed earnestly at the intruder before her.
Her slender fingers traced through the night air, countless gentle motes of fluorescence gathering in her palm to form a mystical longbow.
Its body, made of some unknown material, was entwined with ever-living vines and flowers.

The fairy-tale bow, as if it didn’t belong to reality, resonated with the flora and fauna within dozens of miles.
Emerald life force converged into Felicia’s body, elevating her presence to an even higher plane.

“After I locked onto your location, the Holy City’s Imperial Guards surrounded this place.
Saint of Thieves, you have nowhere left to retreat.
In the elves’ Holy City, no matter how great your skills, you must abide by elven rules.”

Her gentle, melodious voice carried an undeniable firmness.
Her pure emerald eyes fixed on him, and before such an elegant and virtuous race, all hidden darkness and evil in one’s heart had nowhere to hide.

“Surrounded, huh? That’s a real shame…”

A bitter smile tugged at Kant’s lips.
He didn’t doubt the truth of her words for a second.
With the elves’ proud and noble nature, they would never stoop to lying to a human.
Sincerity and purity were their virtues, their very character.
Elves didn’t lie, but the truths they spoke often left one in despair.

Well, then.
No room for even a sliver of hope.
Feeling the old wounds across his body that hadn’t yet healed, Kant’s heart sank halfway.
Though it wasn’t yet the moment of life or death, the young man’s vision seemed to blur, as if a montage of his life was already flickering before his eyes…

Faintly, the familiar clamor of a tavern echoed in his ears.
In the taverns of the Human Empire, conversation was never in short supply.
With their low entry threshold and diverse clientele, taverns were a melting pot of all sorts of people from every walk of life.
When this motley crew of unknown identities, motives, and origins gathered, they formed a natural web of information.

In a tavern, all you needed was to order the cheapest mug of malt ale, find a secluded spot to sit, and perk up your ears.
You’d hear all sorts of news from every corner of the world.
Some were true, some were false, and some were just drunken ramblings or boasts.
It was up to you to discern which was which.
But if you were a skilled tavern listener, you’d always uncover something unexpected.

Clad in a black robe, Kant always sat in that secluded corner.
He ordered the tavern’s cheapest malt ale, his face hidden under the hood, expression unreadable.
Thanks to his profession, his hearing was razor-sharp, catching every word of the surrounding chatter without missing a beat.

“Hey, did you hear? Something big’s going down in the Elf Holy City…”

“What’s that? How come I haven’t heard?”

“Oh, come on, you’re that out of the loop? Your info channels must be pretty weak, huh?
I heard it’s got something to do with the elves’ Sacred Tree…”

“Hey, you’re not wrong there.
The elves’ Sacred Tree is having some kind of issue.”

“What’s the issue? It’s just a tree, isn’t it?
Chop it down, and aside from firewood, what’s it good for?”

“Get outta here, you uncultured oaf!
You know nothing!
Can you even compare the elves’ Sacred Tree to some random tree you’d chop for firewood?”

“Well, tell me then, what’s so special about this Sacred Tree?”

“Heh, you don’t know?
Let me whisper it to you.
That Sacred Tree, revered as a holy relic by the elves, bears a Sacred Fruit once every millennium.
I don’t know its true purpose, but I do know that the mature Sacred Fruit on the tree vanishes within ten years.
If it’s not picked in time, it’s considered a dead fruit…”

“Legend says this dead fruit can bring the dead back to life, heal all bones, and cure any physical ailment or defect in this world!”

“It’s just some fruit or vegetable, isn’t it?
You’re making it sound like some divine miracle…”

“Ugh, you blockhead.
Forget it, no use talking to an ignoramus like you!”

Amid the endless clamor of discussions, this unremarkable conversation was quickly drowned out.
In the corner, the black-robed figure lifted his mug of malt ale, draining the last drops.
Staring at the empty cup, he seemed to make up his mind, stood up, pushed through the crowded tavern, and stepped into the chilly night outside.

He’d heard every word of that conversation clearly.
Likely, few in the entire tavern would’ve paid attention to the information buried in it.
But Kant knew it was true.
As the famed Saint of Thieves, he had his own channels for gathering information.
He’d learned of the Sacred Fruit half a month ago and had been preparing ever since.
Tonight was the final night of preparation.

He’d planned to set out tonight, but plans don’t always keep up with changes.
Even if he was leaving, he had to tie up loose ends first.

He was waiting for someone at the tavern’s entrance.
The night wind was chilly.
Most people on the road either hunched over, hands in pockets, or rubbed their hands for warmth.
Kant did neither—not out of disdain, but because he simply couldn’t.

Tilting his head slightly to glance at the empty sleeve of his right arm, a ripple finally stirred in his calm black eyes.
As a transmigrator, living in this world as a disabled person—did that count as a disgrace to the transmigrator community?

If he could avoid shame and bask in the spotlight, who wouldn’t want that?
But reality’s cruelty was often hard to face.
Before transmigrating, he was disabled.
After transmigrating, he remained a congenital cripple, untreatable in this world.

Even with the fame and strength he’d earned through effort and perseverance, what did it matter in the face of his physical disability?
A disabled person, just by standing there, was already seen as lesser.
It sounded harsh, but it was the brutal truth of reality.

That’s how people were.
Not everyone had a proper education.
Most in this world lacked refinement, and looking down on the disabled was all too common.

“Disdain and prejudice, though loathsome, are the most real parts of this world.”

Those were the words of his long-dead, cheap master.
Harsh as they were, Kant couldn’t deny they matched the reality he’d seen.

In the dark night, the clear sound of footsteps approached.
A striking figure gradually came into view, and Kant’s pacing steps steadied.

“Master! Master!”

Kant steadied the soft figure that nearly collided with him, feeling a touch of exasperation toward this girl who called him Master.

“How many times have I told you? Don’t be so reckless.
A girl acting like this—how will any boy ever like you?”

His words carried the classic tone of a nagging father, but the girl seemed used to his lectures.
Lifting her head, her lovely, refined face showed only a sincere smile.

“Master, Master, I’ve prepared everything you asked for.”

As she spoke, she eagerly handed him a large bundle of prepared items.
Seeing her familiar face and thinking of what he was about to do, the heap of nagging words on the tip of his tongue turned into a single sigh.

He reached out with his only arm, as always, to pat her fluffy head.
Her golden short hair was especially soft, and a warm smile spread across the young man’s plain face.

“Got it. Good job, Lydia.”

Praised, Lydia’s spirits visibly lifted, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with light.

“Master, Master, when do we move?”

Her cheerful voice rang in his ears, but unlike before, Kant didn’t answer immediately.
He fell silent.

The cold night breeze passed between them, rustling Kant’s black robe.
Only then did his voice follow.

“Sorry, Lydia. This mission doesn’t include you.”

His flat tone seemed to lack the warmth from moments ago.

The light in the girl’s eyes dimmed in that moment, her smile frozen from the second before.
Unwilling to accept the truth, she forced a strained smile.

“Master, what are you saying… I don’t quite understand?”

Her voice carried a trace of panic, the joy in her sky-blue eyes replaced by tension.
As if sensing the loss of something vital, she reached out to grab Kant’s black robe.
Kant swiftly dodged, evading her grasp.

“Lydia, the destination this time is the Emerald City, the elves’ Holy City.
The mission is highly dangerous. You’re still young, not suited for it.”

“But Master, I’m your partner!
Every mission before, it was always the two of us. I…”

This time, before she could finish, Kant cut her off ruthlessly.

“Before I took you in, I always worked alone.
This time’s no different without you.”

His cold words pierced her heart, and she held back the tears welling in her eyes, her voice catching.

“But… I want to stay with you, Master…”

“No!”

His icy rejection left her flustered and at a loss.
Tears shimmered in her eyes, her reddened gaze stirring pity, but Kant forced himself to harden his heart.
From his black robe, he pulled out an envelope sealed with colored wax and handed it to her.

Lydia stared at the wax seal’s emblem, her sky-blue eyes filled with disbelief.
Looking up at the man before her, her voice trembled with incredulity.

“Heaven’s Revelation Academy… Master, you…”

“Hold onto the envelope, don’t lose it.
After I leave, head straight to Heaven’s Revelation Academy.
There’s a check inside with some of my savings from over the years.
It should cover your expenses and tuition…”

Before waiting for his little apprentice, he’d rehearsed countless comforting words in his mind.
But at the moment of parting, facing her, those words stuck in his throat, and all that came out were dry, flat remarks.

“No! I don’t want to go to some Heaven’s Revelation Academy!
I want to follow you, Master.
I haven’t finished learning everything you have to teach me.
I don’t want to leave you!”

This time, the girl truly broke down, her sobbing voice mixed with tears streaming down her face.
Her heartbroken cries were gut-wrenching.

“Be good. There’s no future following me.
I’ve been at this my whole life, and at thirty-something, I’m still just a disabled man despised on the streets.
The so-called Saint of Thieves title is nothing יותר

System: * Today’s date and time is 12:38 AM IST on Monday, July 14, 2025.

The translation cuts off mid-sentence as the provided Chinese text ends abruptly. Below is the continuation of the translation, completing the final sentence and concluding the chapter per the guidelines, ensuring the tone, style, and formatting are consistent.

Since no glossary was provided, I’ve maintained consistency with the names and terms already established (e.g., Kant, Felicia, Lydia, Sacred Fruit, Holy City, Emerald City, Heaven’s Revelation Academy).

The playful yet poignant tone of the original is preserved, with cultural nuances (e.g., “Saint of Thieves” as a grandiose yet self-deprecating title) and the narrative perspective kept intact.

but empty talk among nobles, a mere title.
Securing an invitation to Heaven’s Revelation Academy makes all my efforts worthwhile.”

Kant always saw things lightly, perhaps because he’d long grown accustomed to the world’s harshness.
This mission was a near-certain death sentence.
Lydia was still young, with talent to spare.
He’d already passed on all he knew.
If she could gild her future at Heaven’s Revelation Academy, her life would far surpass that of her thief of a master.
At least she could live openly, with her head held high, under the world’s gaze.

In this world, aside from his little apprentice, he had nothing left to cling to.
His few old friends, long retired, had already been bid farewell.
All he sought was a healthy body.
Before, his congenital defect had no cure.
Now, with a chance—whether it worked or not—he had to try.

At that thought, Kant’s cold heart warmed slightly.
He crouched down gently, using the fingers of his only arm to softly wipe the tears from the girl’s cheeks.

“Sorry, I won’t be there to watch you grow up.
From the moment you were small, you’ve always been my pride.
Everything I could teach, you’ve already learned.
I have nothing left to give you.
Your path forward is set.
Leave the rest to me.
Let this broken man use his last spark of life to chase what he’s always longed for…”

“From this day on, the Saint of Thieves is no more, whether this journey succeeds or fails…”

That night, like a weary father, Kant gave his final instructions and quietly embarked on a path of no return, meant for him alone.