Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: Chapter 19: Interest Should Compound (6)
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I didn’t want the commotion to escalate, and if the security force showed up, I might have to hand these guys over to them.
‘That wouldn’t be ideal.’
Once outsiders—especially a group—got involved, I wouldn’t be able to investigate on my terms.
Dodging the black smoke, I hurled the two black wooden darts from my waist at Scarface.
“Argh!”
One of the finger-sized darts embedded perfectly into his wrist.
The other grazed the top of his leather pouch.
Sizzle.
With all the chaos around, I wondered if only I had noticed the sound.
The tip of the leather pouch tore cleanly from the dart and dropped to the ground.
I’d check the item later, now that it was out of its owner’s possession.
‘Let’s roast them all at once.’
If I gave them time, they’d use more magic stones. Better to bind their hands and feet completely first.
Crackle—!
Releasing about half my attribute mana spread sparks across a 10-meter radius.
Everyone inside that range was shocked.
The unlucky ones seemed to die from the shock on the spot.
The smoke and smell of cooking flesh never got easier to stomach, no matter how many times I experienced it.
“Tch.”
To think they died just from my mana taking physical form.
It hit me anew how fragile humans were compared to monsters.
Clicking my tongue inwardly, I wove through the twitching bodies toward Scarface.
He was farther away, so he was still trembling but moving.
Pathetic, crawling with his pierced hand to put distance between us.
But he was barely inching forward, so no need to worry.
While he flailed, I picked up the fallen leather pouch.
Just in case, I peeked inside.
And whistled.
“Whew.”
A slew of colorful stones filled it.
‘All magic stones?’
The unexpected haul brought a smile to my lips unbidden.
Worried I might lose them, I quickly shoved the pouch into my inventory.
I’d stuffed it with miscellaneous items before, so I feared it wouldn’t fit, but it did.
Spoils secured. Next up: interrogating the prisoner.
“Freeze.”
I stomped down hard on Scarface’s waist as he still struggled futilely.
Then I crouched low and locked eyes with him.
“I’ve got time to spare. Got any more cards up your sleeve?”
“Ugh... aaah....”
I prodded at what he’d said before using the magic stone, but no reaction.
“Use ’em quick if you do. Hoarding’ll just turn ’em to shit.”
I scratched at him again, but nothing.
The aftereffects of the shock must’ve drowned out my words.
Scarface swung his limp arm and faceplanted forward.
With his face buried in the muddy ground, motionless, he’d probably passed out from exhaustion.
Worried he might suffocate, I flipped him over myself.
Glancing around, not a single one was unscathed.
Some like Scarface had fainted; others convulsed.
A few showed no chest movement. Dead, probably.
I didn’t feel guilt for killing those who’d come at me with swords, but it did sharpen my caution.
‘Gotta be careful using this on regular folks.’
Normal people facing lightning was a death sentence, obviously. How had I overlooked that?
Realizing how far I’d strayed from ordinary was far from pleasant.
Frowning at Scarface for a moment, I grabbed ropes from some of the thugs and started tying them up.
* * *
“Hey, how long you gonna sleep?”
Slap slap.
“Guh, cough!”
The sting on his cheek yanked Radriol’s consciousness from the depths of slumber.
A nauseating pull, like being grabbed by the collar and dragged upward against his will.
Coughing up blood at the end of it, Radriol struggled to lift his heavy eyelids.
His foggy vision, steamed like a fogged window, threw him off for a second.
Even half-dazed, he tried grasping the situation.
That’s when he spotted the outsider crouched in front of him.
Copper-brown eyes, utterly ordinary.
A faint blue gleam flickered in them, then vanished.
So quick he wondered if it was a trick of the light.
Yet for some reason, he couldn’t move easily.
As Radriol froze, the outsider peering down at him clicked his tongue and muttered.
“Left alone, you’d sleep all day.”
“Damn higher-ups anyway,” he added curtly, then stood and stepped back.
In that instant, Radriol scanned around: all his men knelt in a row.
Not by choice, of course.
Hands and feet bound behind and roped together, leaving them no option but to kneel.
Radriol was in the same boat.
Difference being he’d been laid out unconscious.
Stunned by the scene, he felt a kick to his leg.
“What’re you doing? Get into position quick.”
The outsider’s chin jerk toward the men made his meaning clear.
No sooner had Radriol pieced it together than memories flooded back from just before he blacked out.
A flash of blue lightning, and his men—himself included—were all fried and floored.
Recalling it ground his teeth.
‘They didn’t say lightning attribute!’
The client’s intel hadn’t mentioned attribute mana.
Just the target outsider’s description and the Palao emblem on his head.
Had he known about the lightning mana, he’d never have taken the job.
Staring blankly at the spilled milk, Radriol gritted his teeth and writhed.
Hands and feet bound behind, he struggled to rise.
‘I... have to get up.’
The insistent gaze on him left no room for delay.
The outsider who’d lined up his men on their knees now sat opposite, staring Radriol down.
The “chair” being one of his men wasn’t the point.
What mattered: the outsider’s quiet, relentless gaze urging him on.
Radriol managed to haul himself up, face smeared in mud, and kneel like the others.
Only then did the outsider’s eyes shift away.
“Tch, slowpoke.”
He muttered and clicked his tongue, clearly unimpressed.
Still, escaping that chilling stare was something.
Radriol snuck a relieved breath, stealing glances at the outsider.
“Sit straight. You keep wobbling.”
He smacked the back of the head of the man serving as his chair, irritated.
At the outburst, the man braced on the ground by the outsider straightened his back rigidly.
“Can’t you get it right from the start? Always gotta make me say it.”
Clicking his tongue repeatedly, the outsider swept his gaze over the neat row.
Each one flinched, shoulders shaking, heads bowing deeper.
Looking closer, three or four men had fresh bruises blooming on their faces.
Lips and eye sockets torn, bleeding; faces so swollen they were unrecognizable.
Radriol replayed the moment before blacking out.
There’d been a clash with the outsider, but nothing to leave bruises like that.
Both sides had swung blades.
So the wounds meant one thing.
‘They got beat while I was out.’
The one doubling as chair had the worst face: signs of a deliberate, dust-up beating.
Suddenly his men’s tension made sense.
But understanding didn’t erase the oddity.
‘Outsiders are all about the same level.’
Most like contaminated zone grunts.
Some handled mana like knights.
But nothing impressive.
Just barely manifesting it, like squires.
Overall, outsiders mirrored this world’s soldier-to-knight ratio.
That’s partly why he’d underestimated this job.
Overwhelm with numbers, hallucinations—easy capture.
So why this?
‘These guys rolled under me forever.’
Trafficking, exile to contaminated zones—they’d built skills in harsh lives.
Shattered by one outsider.
Not just the attribute mana.
Even before he used it, they couldn’t touch his hem.
Like facing a proper knight.
“So, what?”
Radriol’s thoughts cut short.
The outsider, who’d just watched silently, spoke again.
“Y-Yes?”
With others clamping mouths and shooting glances, Radriol blurted and swallowed dryly.
“Who sent you? Speak.”
“D-Don’t know!”
Pure honesty, knowing one wrong word could kill.
The dead bodies were neatly lined up aside.
Radriol wasn’t dumb enough to cling to failed pride.
“Phew.”
But the outsider’s tight-shut eyes and sigh felt ominous.
“Didn’t expect you to spill first try.”
Muttering low, he rose.
“It’s fine. Totally fine.”
“Yes?”
“You’ll remember eventually. No worries.”
Stretching shoulders like warming up, the outsider’s moves panicked Radriol.
“Jobs through the guild—we really don’t know the client!”
Desperate, he spilled everything.
Guild jobs hid clients.
They handled deposits and payouts midway.
This one: guild would pick up the captured outsider.
Radriol poured out all he knew, earnest as could be.
Did his plea land?
“Guild? What’s that?”
The outsider sat back, asking.
The group casually called a guild stemmed from mercenary guilds.
They managed registered mercs, brokered between clients and mercs.
But with war dragging, over 80% of continent’s non-humans dead, frontline mercs dwindled.
Inevitably, mercenary guilds’ brokering fees dried up.
So they dabbled in shady work on the down-low, prime example: trafficking.
Teams like Radriol’s specialized in kidnaps; others bought kids cheap from parents.
Everyone in the know knew, but surging contaminated zone monsters made touching guilds risky.
Monsters in strategic hills or backwoods needed killing too.
Resistance handled key spots, but remote ones relied on mercs.
Thus, resistance turned blind eyes to guild crimes till now.
Radriol laid it all out again.
“Hmm... I see.”
Arms crossed, the outsider pondered, even jiggling his crossed leg.
Radriol stared holes through the moving leg, holding his breath.
Whatever came next decided his fate.
“No choice then.”
Gulp—Radriol’s swallow echoed raw.
The outsider shot up, untying Radriol and his men.
“Now, tie each other up.”
Radriol gawked blankly up at him.
The outsider added, almost kindly.
“You don’t know the client, right? Guess I’ll meet ’em myself.”
Leaving the stunned crew, he thrust ropes at them, repeating.
“What? Hurry and tie up. No time to waste—move it.”
Clapping to grab attention, he hurried Radriol and his men along.