Chapter 335
Chapter 335
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 335
Chapter Title: Those Martial Thugs
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"It's too late for that, you little shit. You should've done it when I gave you the chance."
"Please! Please spare me! It was too much money—I had no choice!!!"
"You tried to kill me the second things went south, and now you're bitching? Just die already, asshole."
"Th-that was...!"
I never forgive a coward who tries to murder someone only to flip their tune the moment the tables turn. This guy had ripped my mercy to shreds without a second thought.
—There's no such thing as forgiveness.
We were already drenched in blood. That left only one option: fight until one side was dead.
I'd won the fight, so the boss had to die.
For insulting me and Elise's achievements and friendship. For blaspheming our faith. For theft. For driving Lina's grandmother to her death. And finally, for rejecting my peaceful negotiations.
All those crimes demanded punishment.
"The moment you touched my money, you were all dead meat."
"Please!"
Still, I had to collect what was owed, so I'd coax it out of him gently.
"Well, if you empty every coin you've got right now and make me feel a special kind of joy, maybe I'll change my mind."
"Of course!!! I'll get it right now!!"
The boss scrambled to his feet and shoved the desk aside.
"What're you doing?"
"I've hidden the safe under the desk!"
"Oh, really?"
I watched him with my sword at the ready.
He pushed the desk away and started ripping up plywood panels. The drawers were fake—a safe hid inside. Soon enough, it came into view.
"Here it is."
It was less a proper safe and more a slightly fancy box. No surprise; thugs like him wouldn't have anything high-end.
"Open it."
It had a metal lock, though—not something you could pry open easily.
"Pr-promise me just one thing... that you'll let me live. Honestly, this is too much. I'm handing over everything I have just to survive. So please! Please spare me!"
"Open it first, you fucking moron. You tried to kill me—you gotta see it through instead of begging like this?"
"I just want to live... And we had no choice!"
The bald bastard was sweating bullets, practically drenched, as he wailed. But you don't negotiate with terrorists.
"What do you mean 'no choice'? Does that make it okay to rob and kill? Hell, I could say the same thing."
"W-well... yeah, but..."
Even scum like this always has some sob story.
"Hey, Lina. You there?"
"...Yeah."
I glanced back, and Lina emerged from the corner where she'd been hiding. Her weak tone suggested the gruesome scene had shaken her up a bit.
"Where's Kithon?"
"...He's trembling."
He had his head buried between his knees, shaking like a leaf.
"Got it."
Still, I was curious what these guys did with their tribute money. If it sounded tempting, I wouldn't mind setting up my own back-alley outfit.
"Anyway, what do you mean 'no choice'? What the hell makes you commit these heaven-defying crimes?"
The boss clutched the box, trembling as he spoke.
"Tr-truth is, we're just a low-level gang... Someone higher up collects tribute from us!"
"What?!"
Holy shit, plot twist!
Where the hell was my money really going?!
"Who?!"
"I... I don't know much. A red-haired woman. Sh-she's been dominating the slums' gangs for ages, demanding tribute... So we..."
"Red-haired?"
Red hair.
Demanding tribute.
"Her name?"
"No idea. But she kills bosses and members without mercy, demanding tribute. Paying up on time was our only option."
The boss rolled his eyes in terror as he spoke of the red-haired woman squeezing them for cash.
"One boss tried fighting back once, and she massacred his crew just like this... Terrifying woman! No way to resist! Miss a deadline, and she kills you or cripples you... We had to collect desperately just to survive...!"
—Rijet.
Suddenly, I pictured Rijet smashing up thugs. She'd mentioned earning pocket money through tribute.
I'd thought it sounded pretty rogue-like. Even wondered if I could do the same.
But...
No way...
Was this gang created just to pay tribute to Rijet? Squeezing the powerless poor and kids in the slums for cash?
If so.
If that's the truth.
"We have our reasons too... bro. So please...!"
—That's not rogue-like at all.
Just vicious thugs.
Sucking blood from society's cancer—criminals—is no issue. Hell, it's the epitome of rogue justice, close to righteousness, always commendable.
Those bastards are half-monsters anyway.
But.
Innocent people and kids.
And sucking my blood.
—I can't forgive that.
Not rogues.
Demons. Heretics.
"That red-haired woman... Short hair, scar on her face? Carries claws?"
"Y-yes! Exactly! Fierce-looking woman! Claws, yes! She kills with her bare fists—even imagining her with claws was nightmare fuel!"
I described Rijet's features roughly, and the boss's eyes went wide.
"Huge tits?"
"Of course!"
Rijet's impressively voluptuous chest... Every detail matched. Yeah. That's it.
"Fists like a pro?"
"Spot on!"
All this tragedy—to scrape tribute for Rijet.
Stealing my money. Making Lina cry.
Turning this place into a bloodbath.
All of it... this?!
Is that the truth?!
Rijet, you bitch! In the name of the saintly rogue, I can't forgive this! My rage surged anew—not at the slums, but at Rijet.
Looks like we can't share the same sky.
—Time for that revenge match I'd been putting off.
"N-no way... You know her, bro...?"
"Who're you calling bro, you fucking bitch!"
Furious, I flicked his bald head hard.
"Gahk!!"
—Crash!
His head turned purple in an instant. He clutched it madly, screaming again. "Aaaagh! It hurts so much!!!" To ease his pain, I raised my sword.
"W-wait, bro! We told you—we had no choice! We just collected tribute desperately to avoid dying!"
"No, you motherless fuck. Then get a real job or fuck off somewhere else. Why cling to tribute so hard?"
This bastard stayed put because he got his cut.
Hiring twenty-plus goons and a hitman like Mershin—cut in half now—meant decent finances.
The boss was just a brutal criminal excusing his extortion with Rijet as cover.
"Th-that's..."
"You're scarfing up the crumbs too, you pigeon-brained shit."
"Fair point..."
"How much you got?"
"Ab-about twenty-five silver!"
"What?! That's way short of one gold!!!"
"Hiiiik!!"
"Open it—now!"
"Y-yes!"
At my shout, he pried up the floor for the key and calmly opened the box. A clunk, and silver coins gleamed inside.
"This is our gang's entire fortune."
"Hm."
—Sparkle, sparkle.
Staring at the shiny silver pile, a rush of sudden joy hit me. I'd killed plenty of serial killers, but this was still a profit.
"Right! And Mershin! I paid big for that guy! He might have more on him!"
"Oh yeah?"
I rummaged through the bisected Mershin's pockets. A blood-soaked wallet with three silver.
And a sharp longsword.
Trophy time.
"Only twenty-eight silver total."
"B-bro... So you'll let me live?"
"Nope."
No mercy.
—Stab.
I plunged the blade into his heart.
This fucker was the one who'd squeezed five silver from Kithon—my money. Touch it, and you're done.
"Sh... it... Pl-please... spare meee..."
Forgive once, and you won't survive this world.
In this isekai—morals worlds apart from modern Earth—ruthlessness, cruelty, and brutal revenge were virtues.
Show weakness once, and you're soul-fucked.
"May you be reborn as a good beast next life."
—Gurgle!
I yanked the sword free. He vomited blood and crumpled like rotten wood. All the ringleaders—dead.
"Rijet..."
All because of that bitch Rijet.
I thought she was a rogue.
Pocket money? Bullshit.
From the story, she ran multiple operations like this.
How much per month?
"Pocket money" was just her being humble.
"Rijet. You're done for—by my hand."
I turned to Lina, resolve firm.
She stood avoiding the blood pools.
"O-oppa..."
"Where's Kithon?"
He was gone.
"He... just ran off."
"Yeah. Figures."
Couldn't have gone far.
"Anyway, Lina. Here's four silver."
I picked four from my haul and handed them over.
"One's my fee. Was gonna charge two, but special service."
Handing over all five for free? No way—that's volunteer work.
Plus, giving charity ain't great for teaching.
"Now leave the slums with this. Even if you spend some, stay at a normal inn. Yeah, discrimination'll be worse. We're black-haired foreigners—can't avoid it. Especially if you're weak and young."
Slums are full of nutjobs anyway—no big bias there. Outside's harsher.
"But still."
I'd lived like that.
"Better than here."
Hope beats despair.
"...What about you, oppa?"
I pressed the coins into her listening hands. She stared at them with trembling eyes, then tucked them away.
Then she said,
"Oppa... you're a scary person."
"What the—? I got your money back, and you're badmouthing me?"
"N-no, not like that! Oppa, that's not what I meant!"
I teased her a bit, and she yelled frantically.
"Just..."
She mumbled,
"Thank you, oppa."
A proper thank-you.
"At first, I resented you. Back when I pickpocketed you."
"..."
"It was all my fault from start to finish... But I still resented you... Until after everything—escaping the basement with you. Then I realized."
Probably when she first pickpocketed me, dragged folks to kill me, and I took settlement.
Couldn't forgive after she robbed me and sicced killers. But ten silver total—my five plus five more—satisfied me. She was underage, so I let it go.
That's all.
"No one's as kind as you..."
"If I'm kind, these chopped-up bastards are all saints, you punk."
I'm principled, not some saintly pushover.
Kind people live serving others truly.
Mother Teresa, Nightingale, Doctors Without Borders.
I'm called saint for actions—not personality.
"Just got principles."
Lina, abused her whole life, probably saw my normal treatment as kindness.