I never thought I would experience the idiom “my intestines are boiling” through my own body.
The wooden wine cup I held creaked, threatening to spill its contents.
Ah, I often make foolish mistakes, but this time I truly miscalculated.
There was indeed a sense of carefreeness in trusting Margit’s strength. To be honest, if it was a no-holds-barred one-on-one fight, a strong opponent could easily kill me if I failed my first reaction, so I was somewhat relieved.
However, when I’m told I was actually attacked, I feel the urge to slice open my belly in shame for my incompetence.
No, not my own. It’s too lenient to merely hunt the scum; I want their heads lined up on the street…
“Calm down.”
A small hand gently placed itself over my trembling fingers. She came forcefully into my line of sight as I stared at the desk.
As if scolding me not to run wild on my own.
“As you can see, I’m not hurt in the slightest, right? The guard even gave me candy. Now, calm down, Erich.”
“But…”
“Do you really think I can’t understand what you’re thinking?”
When I was stared at so closely that our noses nearly touched, I was left breathless and couldn’t spit out the next words.
It felt as if I was ensnared, even though she wasn’t a web-weaving spider. Using her gaze as an antenna, I felt like my brain was being drained. Is this perhaps the image coming forth because I liked the god of spiders in a system that drove me to death repeatedly and fell into madness?
“So, by letting your anger decide to draw your sword, what do you hope to gain? Do you think the infamy of being a hit-and-run killer is worth it over something that feels good for just a moment?”
“Well, that’s…”
“If I were to be defiled, would you think that could be worth it?”
While Margit spewed out thoughts that made me want to die even for a moment, she wore a bitter smile. “Men are such fools,” she said with a woman’s unique sarcastic laugh.
“If I were to be defiled, wouldn’t it be enough for you to take responsibility? Even if you lined up the heads of idiots, it wouldn’t please a woman in the slightest, you know? Do you understand that?”
Not quite sure, but thinking I wasn’t low enough in intelligence to say it plainly here, I nodded. Well, it does make sense that merely making the offenders pay a painful price doesn’t fulfill the responsibility.
“Say, why did you come all the way to this western edge, to Enderede? A petty criminal? Running away from the infamy of being a killer?”
“…Adventurer.”
“Is that so? Then why don’t you come up with a smarter method?”
I took a deep breath when asked. After expressing my thoughts briefly, I pulled a pipe out of my pocket and took a puff.
The leaves I chose have the effect of calming the mind, which I enjoy. Gradually filling my lungs with smoke, I invited calmness to flow into the angry void in my brain.
Margit had taught me something good.
The entire network of the Drifters’ Union hasn’t turned against me yet. They simply focused on a small territory… just petty bosses who had their eyes on me.
Then, I might as well let them know.
That they’ve picked a fight with the wrong opponent.
“Thank you, Margit. I was able to calm down.”
Drawing my sword is easy. I pride myself on being able to cut down just about any low-ranking scum without even exerting myself. I’ve trained and gained enough experience to believe that.
However, simply howling out in anger and snapping without discernment is something even a poorly trained dog can do.
Remember, who was it that raised me? How many years did I work under that wicked long-lived species, and what did they instill in me?
Being able to be by their side also means learning every little movement they make. How many times have I seen a corrupt outlaw smile while spitting poison and manipulating others to snatch at their profits?
My pieces are few, so I can’t move as elegantly as that.
Even so, I could demonstrate some wisdom by pushing my cerebral muscle rate to 120% and handling all negotiations without relying on brute force.
“Let’s be wise. The blood we spill should be minimal.”
“That sounds great. That’s how it should be.”
Rounding up the available funds and drawing on the accumulated expertise, I put on my most charming villainous grin…
—
“Don’t you think your returns are a bit low?” A mocking voice that echoed in the man’s mind refused to dissipate.
He was a normal-looking human, with only a slight effort put into his grooming.
If he had any advantage over others, it was his dexterous hand capable of lifting a wallet without a fuss, or his willingness to kiss the boots of superiors, even to the point of licking their shoes if necessary.
No wonder he could run a small territory in the Drifters’ Union, acting as a fence for petty thefts and pickpocketing.
However, business has not been going well lately.
Not that everything had gone awry. Through his superiors, he had managed to smooth things over with the guards with a little bribery, so few got caught, and the overall revenue hadn’t tanked either.
There was only one thing: his reputation as a fence had taken a severe hit.
Yet in this part of town, that one thing was painfully heavy. He had to endure ridicule from a colleague who had apparently heard rumors, despite paying the same usual dues.
The well-groomed novice adventurer seemed to have the tinge of some noble’s child based on his courteous demeanor. Although his clothes weren’t top quality, they weren’t shabby either, and his skin and hair appeared well-kept, likely due to frequent bathing. There was a color to him that was absent from those who grew up untainted in the dirty back alleys.
So, eager to find an opening, many of his subordinates had jumped at the chance, thinking he must have a ton of loose change in his pocket, perhaps even a few gold coins that one might only see a few times in their lifetime. After all, those people often grew up pampered, spoiled by doting parents and given an excessive allowance.
But the result was disastrous. Everyone returned having had their wallets snatched instead. Even those who took pride in their skills ended up in a sorry state, and eventually, he had to muster the courage himself to show them “Don’t underestimate me,” but the result was something he wished he could forget.
Determined to take a forceful approach, he sent in some muscle only to be brushed aside easily, and as a last resort, he even sent in a troublesome person well-versed in dirty jobs, only to see them also get crushed. One of them suffered extensive injuries from elbow to wrist and would never be able to work the same way again.
Bear the shame and report to his superiors? No way. He knew he couldn’t do that. Having been crushed by a rookie in the presence of a novice wasn’t something one could easily admit. On the day he would cry for help, he knew his colleagues would think he was an easy target, stripping him naked of what little dignity he had left.
This was an issue he absolutely needed to resolve himself. The fate that awaited a petty criminal who lost face would not be bright.
If persuasion, threats, and kidnapping wouldn’t do, then relying on numbers for a surprise attack was the only option left. If he managed to kill and silence anyone, all would be well. Even if it turns out he’s a noble’s illegitimate child, dumping him in a sewer guarantees nobody would have a clue afterward.
In fact, the more esteemed the nobles, the more they would shy away from mingling in the muck of the slum. They know full well the terror of turning potential allies into enemies.
Once the thought crossed his mind, he decided to quickly gather some manpower and have his subordinates investigate the lair. He gulped down the drink he’d been using to soothe his troubled mind, splashed down the payment in a grand manner—but not too much, of course—and left the tavern.
The late summer’s chill felt freezing against his warmed body, which had been soaked in alcohol. Looking up, he saw the white moon shining in a perfect circle, making him feel mocked. It gleamed cleanly from a high place, completely unaware of the disgusting realities below.
Spitting in anger, he shrank his body and stepped into the alley to head back to his lair.
Normally, one would avoid such a path, but for a man with connections, it felt as familiar as his own hallway. Even his few guards positioned at a distance—after all, he didn’t want any overt criminals nearby—made him feel safe.
Yes, there was nothing to fear.
Or so he thought.
Naturally, he took a step, only to find himself pinned to the ground in the next moment. There was no pain, not even the sensation of falling. Yet his body was brought down to the filthy earth, and his vision was filled with the dirt of the street.
It was impossible for him to have simply tripped due to drunkenness. He hadn’t drunk enough to reach that point, and surely it was far too skillful a feat for a drunkard to fall without even feeling pain.
When he opened his mouth to call for help, a cold metal taste touched his tongue.
“Don’t speak, don’t swallow. This is a fine blade. If you don’t want to lose the joy of eating ever again, I trust you understand?”
His upper body was completely crushed, and the joints in his arms were cruelly bent. The exquisite pressure prevented him from even attempting an escape, let alone make the slightest movement.
Furthermore, a dagger was shoved into his mouth, silencing his final plea.
Thoughts spun chaotically. However, all that spinning was in vain, as no solutions surfaced for the predicament. The best he could manage was a dread that some hostile organization had sent someone after him, even though he had no recollection of doing anything to earn it.
“You don’t need to say anything. Just listen to me and nod.”
The voice was terrifying. Calm and unadorned, it lacked any strong inflection or coarse language, yet there was a piercing sharpness that struck deep in his heart.
As if the words themselves took the shape of a blade, they dug deep into his psyche…
“You were a bit reckless, weren’t you? You’d do well to choose your battles wisely.”
His mind, clouded by fear and panic, struggled to answer. There were few recent opportunities where the phrase “pick a fight” could apply to him.
No, he was the one who has been called out to battle.
Trying to raise his voice reflexively resulted in a sharp pain in his tongue that froze his movements. Normally, blades needed to be pushed or pulled in a certain manner to cut; how could merely moving my tongue barely touch the edge of the blade cause such a gash? Surely, if I had moved as I wished to, the blade would have mercilessly sliced deep into my flesh.
“And, if you think help is coming from your guards, you might as well give up on that hope.”
Four short daggers were carelessly tossed in front of him. He recognized them all. They belonged to the capable men he had hired as guards.
Isolated and without any support, he felt despair seep into him. If only he could return alive, even if it meant submitting a report about the fool who had made a mess of things and calling in assistance to smash the organization to pieces.
“Well, actually, I’ve already spoken to your superiors.”
An ominous shadow loomed overhead. The rookie adventurer he had intended to kill was now confronting him with a sense of despair that felt like a natural right. As names were listed that surpassed even his own direct superior, the names of council members in the Drifters’ Union were rolled out. The names that were recited belonged to those who were called rulers of the ragged royals, powers that governed wandering people.
“I put in a lot of effort requesting an intermediary from the Lorans gang, spending five drakmas for it. The loss of blood was so substantial I nearly fainted.”
Above him were figures even higher than those governing his district. The moment the name of the council was mentioned, there was nothing that could be done. It was impossible for names that not even those irrelevant to the situation could have known to simply come out casually. Names alone could fetch ten or twenty gold coins from informants, a leak of such crucial information could not occur by mere chance.
He didn’t even know half of the names that had been spoken.
“Those esteemed individuals told me to just do as I wish after weighing everything… Thus, should your dirty corpse be discovered by the guards here, or if a drunkard happens to fall and bite his tongue, it will all be handled.”
A certifiably brutal fate had taken form on his back, the blade of death resting on his tongue. An inescapable fate crushed him with weight, trying to stop his heart without even touching him.
“But I will not go through with that. Your cheap life is not worth the effort of soiling my weapons.”
Death claimed no life, he said. But that was a lie. It was a definite killing.
“So cry out, and show with your miserable existence that there are those you should never lay hands upon. That is all I wish for.”
His petty pride, his small sense of dignity, and the aspirations to come. An unseen blade carved the man’s future and past into worthless fragments and washed them away in the filth of the streets. From now on, all that awaited him were days of miserable fear.
This story would soon spread within his organization. Once that happened, word would get around to anyone opposed to him. He would become prey, consumed by all who wandered in the dimly lit corners of the city.
And now, he had nothing left to protect himself. Having been sold to the organization, he could no longer expect aid from his followers, who had been pushed to follow him. Not a single person truly cared for him.
“Understand?”
In an authoritative tone masked as a question, he could only nod, letting all that could drain from his body spill forth while he took care not to let his tongue fall to the blade. No other response was permitted; he was offered none.
Even if he understood that everything was lost, he still didn’t want to lose even one life.
“Very well… Just remember, I will always be a great enemy to those who act against my friends.”
The physical weight vanished from his back. Even as laughter echoed, a palpable pressure remained, making it difficult to move. Even counting to a hundred, even if the time surpassed, he couldn’t even stir when the guards who had been knocked out came to help him…
—
TIP: The Drifters’ Union. Originally a mutual aid clan started among wanderers, it has now spread to include the city’s bums and criminals, essentially forming an organization that unites all without roofs.
Their stronghold is in a tent city that sprawls outside the city walls, where people have set up tents and live, and they have also taken root in the unkempt or abandoned areas of the city. It is said that they operate based on a council, but very few know their full scope.
—
I removed the cloth I had wrapped around my face just in case a third party found me and mistook me for a thief. Once on the roof, I took a deep stretch, shivering with a sense of accomplishment.
Wasn’t that pretty good?
One of the great aspects of TRPGs is the convenience of connections.
There are numerous connection characters within the society who hold powerful positions—some even belonging to royalty or leading corporate groups—their ability to lend support to player characters is immensely beneficial when it comes to certain situations.
Especially the chiefs of local clans with considerable influence are highly reliable.
I wanted to resolve the situation quickly. I couldn’t stand the thought that my partner was in danger due to a petty grudge that barely qualified as a scuffle; I didn’t come out to the countryside to engage in a dark-themed city narrative. I’d had my fill of dim and sticky developments in the Imperial Capital.
What I aspired to was a classic, heroic tale. Indeed, in my previous life, when I played rationally, I often encountered characters who would exclaim, “Oh, you’re capable of a sensible role!?” or, “Are you feeling unwell today? The climax can be postponed,” while I generated a parade of oddities, yet my foundational admiration lies with an unadulterated hero.
Moreover, with Mr. Fidelio absent, I could not tolerate any disruption from those at the Cat’s Nap Inn, as it would lead to consequences worse than mere loss of face.
Thus, I crushed every challenge using the power I garnered through connections and the heads of villains. Additionally, the noble traits obtained, such as “Overwhelming Smile” and “Irresistible Voice,” though uninvited, helped crush any opposition.
To resolve the situation quickly, it isn’t just about crushing antagonists. Using those above and settling the fires with them before they blaze larger is a wiser approach.
I first intended to explain the situation to Mr. Lorans and have him connect me with the Drifters’ Union. Of course, I meant to prepare remuneration, and with a respectful demeanor, I made my request.
It seemed that somehow this clicked with the ogre’s perspective—though I was concerned that I might end up hearing something like “why not confront head-on”—but Mr. Lorans directly set up a meeting, which was a fortuitous stroke of help.
Outside the city walls, I was led to one of the tents with a foul smell, realizing that relying solely on a simple combo of low-end traits would likely reach its limits. Thus, I aimed to negotiate using the high-level traits and skills I had acquired.
The “Overwhelming Smile” is a skill that lets one exert intimidation via “other skills” instead of the usual “Negotiation” skills. If we’re thinking of something akin to a rules variant, it can refer to a separate stat as beloved in many games. In this scenario, merely smiling quietly allows me to intimidate others, drawing from my mastered “Battleblade Technique.”
This indeed bears resemblance to how characters in any fictitious work can display a strong presence simply by smiling.
This is actually a handy attribute. If I wield my sword for intimidation, it may land me in hot water legally, but converting my swordsmanship into imposing aura is perfectly within legal bounds. After all, I haven’t laid a finger on anyone, so it is fair game if they are intimidated.
Ah, how I long to influence others without yelling hysterically, achieving overwhelming presence through quiet smiles. Rarely does such a situation provide the chance to display the aura of a powerful character.
And the “Irresistible Voice” simply grants high multipliers to negotiation while also offering buffs and debuffs based on the disparity in combat capabilities between me and the opponent. The aspects of combat capability can be hard to gauge, but it’s akin to receiving bonuses equivalent to the difference in adventurer level.
I did think of it as a high-cost, high-spec attribute, devoid of twists. Still, simpler approaches proved stronger than fiddling around to obtain several lower ones. Using powerhouse skills to force my way is also a valid data-manipulation style.
That said, I never intended to win solely with this trait. I just wanted to avoid being looked down upon. I knew my appearance lacked intimidating presence, so acquiring this was necessary to avoid being seen as nothing more than a small fry.
After all, my opponent belonged to a clan that held the reins of the underworld. Surely, there were no scrubs that would fold under threats or intimidation.
Negotiating with the council, who wrapped themselves in tatters while hiding their faces behind the gathering of tents, turned out to be quite the chore. They remained unfazed even while being intimidated, steadily aiming to strike favorable agreements.
Though I don’t believe they were fully serious. The top clan in Marsheim, likely perceived as a cherished rookie, against a bottom-tier member whose name was unknown to upper management. It was only natural to know which side was prioritized.
As they sought to gain some advantage from the negotiations, my impatience grew… until Mr. Lorans flipped the situation upside down.
“Perish the thought! You tattered rascals can’t even dare to present your names. Or perhaps are you wishing to challenge this god-like man before me? If so, I have no hesitation in drawing my blade and assisting with a mere fraction of my strength!”
Though he did raise me a bit too high, it was indeed a magnificent retort. Wielding a concealed knife nearly as long as a sword for a human, he brandished it against the ground, showcasing his ogre’s fierce fangs. The atmosphere quaked, and even I, who should have been an ally, felt the awareness of death.
Ultimately, the resolution would fall to me, and an accord was made to refrain from further interference. At worst, I had prepared for a few coins in payment, which in the end was a better expense than I could have prepared for.
And with that settling complete, I’d finished up. They wouldn’t be reaching out for a petty grab once more. Not from that fool, nor from any others.
I was feeling good. This was the life of an adventurer; it can be said that finding a smart resolution in city narratives is a way not to engage in climactic combat. Now, if there was a GM, I wonder what amount of experience points they’d write on the ticket.
I need to inform Margit, who’s been watching over the captured guards, that it’s done.
But first, I’ll take a moment to look up at the moon while enjoying a puff from my cigarette and savor the feeling of accomplishment…
—
TIP: Assistance through connections. Depending on their relationships, connection characters can provide player characters with various conveniences based on their own power. While they may require compensation, they might also act out of goodwill if it aligns with their interests.
In this case, Lorans provided strong assistance out of goodwill, while also ensuring a basic sense of obligation by charging five drakmas as an intermediary fee.
Thus, the skirmish is resolved. The power of connection characters is indeed great.
Especially in some future Tokyo, they might perform divine feats if the mood strikes them, making it truly delightful.
Next, let’s have a few tales of novice adventurers as time skips a tad.
No, while I find great fun in writing numerous detailed missions, I do worry it may drag on too long.
Let’s keep the development smooth and flowing.
