Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Downstream Life (3)
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#006
1.
Up until now, I’d been too busy fumbling around in a daze.
One night, tossed into Necropolis, I’d just kept muttering to myself, “Is this real abandonment?”
But the situation cleared up once the injured Arbel joined me.
The Montraven count family had been attacked.
No rescue was coming even if I sat tight and waited.
This rotten swamp of a city would swallow me all the way down to the bottom of the muck.
“Absolutely not letting that happen.”
I’d survive by any means necessary.
I’d return to the ark city.
I’d reclaim the 200 million BIOS I’d deposited at the casino and get back to my life of indulgence and revelry in this otherworld.
Who do you think I am?
The man who rose from twelve wipeouts to build 80 billion.
The man who came back to life like a dog in this otherworld three days after liquidating his life.
Nothing could stop me except the Fed chair and the U.S. president’s Twitter.
Neither existed here, so it was safe to say no one could oppose me.
Anyway.
“Time to head out?”
I stretched my stiff back, sore from sleeping on the bare floor, and threw on my cloak.
Today was my first day at the fixer agency that city hall clerk Paul had hooked me up with.
On the soot-encrusted bed, covered with a tarp and straw mat, Arbel lay fast asleep like a dead mouse.
With her mouth shut like that in sleep, she looked just like a doll.
Well, she was dead weight right now, but someday she’d be my foundation—a 1st Rank Mage—for my debauched lifestyle.
She sure took a lot of effort, though.
“Arbel, you know a bunny girl costume won’t cut it, right?”
At least a reverse bunny girl would do.
2.
The fixer agency BigDick felt more like a temp staffing office than anything.
The air was thick with the stench of unwashed men and cigarette smoke.
It was a rundown office that didn’t radiate any real expertise or hard-earned gravitas.
“Hello!!!! Newbie here! James Bond! Paying my respects to the big brothers who rule Necropolis!!!!”
I belted out a thunderous greeting the moment I walked in, nailing a solid first impression.
“Yeah, James. Welcome to BigDick. I’m Ron, squad leader at BigDick Agency.”
“I’m 8th-grade Big. That one’s Dick. Also 8th grade.”
“8th grade...! Ugh, do you think a rookie like me could ever become a proper fixer like you brothers someday?”
“Of course! We’ll pave the road for you, James. Just stick with us and trust the ride.”
Big and Dick roared with laughter as they gave my shoulders a hearty slap.
What shitty names.
Meanwhile, my alias was perfect.
James Bond.
Britain’s legendary elite secret agent.
I’d always loved Britain.
Land of gentlemen and nobles. The country that gave the world more independence days than anywhere else.
It was also the homeland of my favorite philosopher, Nietzsche.
“But how’s a commoner like you got a surname?”
“It’s not my real name! I borrowed it from someone I admire! Would it be okay if I got permission to change it to James BigDick!?”
“Bwahahaha! Nah, forget it. Too confusing. Anyway, kid, you hit the jackpot. Learn this trade, and you won’t starve till you croak.”
“Ugh! A job for life! Pros really are on another level!”
I had a real knack for blending into the labor grind.
It was perfect for scraping together cash to tide me over after blowing my seed money.
Nothing to it.
Just speak loud and bold, drop the right flattery at the right moments, and jump in quick whenever needed.
My charming ace moves quickly warmed up the vibe.
“Hey, kid, you got gear?”
“Nope!”
“Big, hook the newbie up.”
“Yes, boss. Newbie, hang tight a sec.”
“I’ll do it!”
“Easy, easy. You even know where stuff is?”
Big lumbered over to the cabinet in the corner with his massive frame and rummaged around.
He pulled out a hand axe the size of a forearm and a belt for attaching pouches.
“Last guy who had these kicked the bucket. Now they’re yours, newbie.”
Big expertly buckled the belt around me and attached the sheathed hand axe.
“Brother…! Such a touching gift…!”
“Don’t get sappy. It’s nothing.”
Beginner fixer kit, huh.
Everything was well-worn, like standard-issue from boot camp, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Hell, even with an intro, was it normal to treat a total stranger this well on day one?
Was this the sticky solidarity of the bottom rung?
Sorry for thinking your names sucked!
“Oh, almost forgot the most important part.”
Big grinned and draped a coat over my shoulders.
It was a longcoat that reached my ankles, made of matte leather and pretty heavy.
Mobility was trash, but it had one killer feature.
The style was off the charts.
“Whoa, kid’s got the looks for it. Total drip!”
“A fixer’s gotta rock the longcoat! You could hit the field right now!”
Necropolis fixers’ uniform was the longcoat, apparently.
Kinda like how you need a safety helmet and a full moonshine toast on the site to count as a real laborer.
“So, we off to smash some monsters now?”
I fiddled with the hand axe handle as I asked.
I’d steeled myself long ago for diving into rifts and battling beasts, but having a weapon made my nerves settle a bit.
“That’s the spirit! But it’s your first day, kid. Even with an intro, we gotta vet you.”
“Vetting?”
“Don’t take it personal. We’re all putting our necks out here. No sweat—we’ll keep it safe and easy.”
“Not bummed at all! Safe and easy jobs exist? Sounds sweet!”
“It’s called a ‘back commission.’ A perk you get once you’re set up. Let’s see…”
The squad leader smirked as he rifled through the messy stack of papers.
“Yeah, this one’s perfect!”
Back commission…
Now I was curious.
It’s common sense that slapping ‘back’ in front of anything makes it better.
Examples were endless.
A solid backer, a no-cut backroom deal, clean bribe money with no strings.
What else? A cool beauty’s secret burner account?
2.
We headed from the agency in B Sector to D-9, deep in D Sector.
Unlike Necropolis’s tidy central boulevards, plunging into the packed alleys made the paths twist into a maze instantly.
Buildings tangled together like some massive organism.
Plywood spans connected irregular steel staircases and railings.
The smog-soaked bricks gleamed with an oily rainbow sheen under the mercury lamps.
“This setup safe?”
“What?”
“Fire breaks out, it’s a mass grave.”
“Humans die anyway.”
Crap! Blew my real-talk cover.
Still hadn’t fully internalized the Necropolis mindset.
“This is D-9 from here. Used to be decent housing, but Twilight Resource Development bought it out a few months back and slapped an eviction order on it.”
“Ah, that’s why it’s empty. Damn, bro, you know everything.”
I answered cheerfully, but a chill ran down my spine.
Could I swear there was no ulterior motive behind all that goodwill?
Dragging me to some deserted spot out of nowhere felt off.
That said, if they planned harm, they wouldn’t have bothered arming me at minimum.
I was just betting my chips that standing still meant staying stuck forever.
“Relax. It’s really no big deal.”
“So, what’s this back commission…”
-Clunk!
A sudden noise from one side of the alley.
I was the only one who flinched and reached for my weapon.
“Talk about perfect timing.”
The other three stayed chill.
What the hell?!
“Kid! After it!”
“Yes, sir!”
Fuck if I knew.
Orders were orders. Just run, no bitching.
“Our kid runs good!”
“Don’t lose it! That’s our commission!”
The runner used the terrain well at first but lacked stamina.
Soon heaving hard, then flopped to the ground.
That’s when I got a look.
A shaggy homeless bum in trash rags.
Hmm.
Dirtiest vagrant I’d ever seen.
“Y-you fucking bastards! What’s your problem with me!”
He sprang up, howling.
Eyes gleaming with fear and hate.
A rusty dagger in his hand caught the light.
“Heh, this one’s got some fight.”
“Nice! Lately the bums have been too spineless—no fun.”
“Hey, hey, tools away. It’s the kid’s. Kid, you warmed up?”
The trio arriving behind me snickered.
That was the prey?
“That’s just a bum, right?”
“Yep. Vagrant still hanging around after the eviction. Big shots like Twilight Resource Development don’t bother dragging out small fry like this themselves. So they subcontract it as a back commission.”
The truth of the back commission revealed.
In simple terms, human cleanup crew.
The bum bellowed his innocence.
“F-fuck… I used to live here! Where am I supposed to go now!”
“Get a place! You think the others are idiots paying rent on time?”
“Just overlook me this once, you shits!”
“Tsk, we would if it was just us. But you’re the newbie’s test dummy.”
Ah, now I got it.
Crystal clear.
“Go on, kid! Your turn. Axe later. Bare hands should handle that, right?”
“Kid, give it your all! We wanna see skills! Don’t just kill—put on a show. Got it?”
What kind of world this was.
I took a light step forward.
Sedric’s body really was top-tier.
Light and quick on my feet. The damn heavy leather coat didn’t slow me down at all.
“You… come closer and I’ll gut you…! Argh!”
My coattails whipped like a heavy banner.
I dodged the sloppy slash and shot out a jab.
-Pak!
Just a light jab, but it exploded on impact, making the bum reel wildly.
As he lost balance and flailed desperately, I slipped the blade.
-Pak!
Followed up with a straight to the face, throwing my weight behind it.
“Argh!”
Clean as could be.
He dropped the dagger and tumbled pathetically.
“Whoa! Kid!”
I could sense the surprise from behind.
Makes sense—8th grade probably meant barely past 9th with no mana circuits to speak of.
The art of “how to wreck people,” refined by modern science, must look like magic.
“Hic… hiiik…”
Blood poured from his nose like a faucet.
That much bleeding meant his nasal bridge was shattered.
“Ugh! Urk! P-please… spare me…”
He looked up at me with terror-soaked eyes.
“Tch, why not sell him to a brothel instead of killing? Those moans… got potential.”
“Fuck off with the dirty talk.”
“C’mon, joking, bro.”
“Kid, wrap it up. Tenderize him!”
“No! No!!!! Please! Please!”
Under the flickering mercury lamps, screams and laughter echoed dully.
“…….”
I silently pried the tooth embedded in my fist and turned the question on myself.
Just moments ago, trading crude jokes.
The three who’d treated a total stranger like a little brother—were they good guys?
The three snickering at a helpless weakling’s dying gasps—were they villains?
Then what about…
The bum begging for his life after his nose caved in with one shot?
Me, about to beat a man to death for a test?
No, meaningless.
All pointless questions.
So what was meaningful?
I’d ace this test.
I wouldn’t get tagged as some soft weakling pitying rats.
The BigDick crew would accept me as one of their own, and thus…
I’d take one step closer to my 200 million BIOS and reverse bunny girl Arbel.
“Bro, hand over the axe! I’ll finish clean!”
“Why? Not feeling it with fists?”
“Look at this! Bastard’s tooth cut my knuckles—bleeding! Scared of catching something!”
“Bwahahaha! Can’t have our kid sick! Wash it down with booze at the afterparty!”
What kind of world I had to live in going forward.
As long as I didn’t forget that, it was enough.
At the very least…
I wouldn’t be the one getting eaten.
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::: Challenge (NEW!) :::
- First Murder +1pt
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