Street Patrol (2)

Bad Ending [Crime of the Commoners]. The demon army's attack contaminated wheat fields across the entire empire with plague, triggering an unprecedented famine. Asella prioritized distributing the remaining wheat to the demon king's expeditionary force, ignoring the commoners starving to death. When the civilians gathered in front of the imperial palace, clamoring for bread, Asella mocked them. She didn't spout the clichéd line about eating cake instead of bread.

"In truth, it was I who lifted the curse on the wheat fields. Let the lowly commoners starve and die as they deserve."

The commoners were too famished to even muster the strength for a revolt, and the empire fell just like that. We only learned the truth later, and the despairing hero abandoned the expedition, leaving the world consumed by darkness.

As that ending makes clear, Asella clearly harbors no goodwill toward commoners.

'So her ill feelings toward commoners built up from trivial incidents like this little patrol, huh.' It made a certain degree of sense. Even I would sprout resentment out of nowhere if some thugs tried to shake me down during a leisurely tea time. And I was just as pissed at this bastard. It had been ages since I'd enjoyed some peaceful time, and these guys ruined it. Plus, if they were merchants, they weren't even my territory's people. Imagining they'd pulled this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crap on my own subjects before only doubled my anger.

I strode right up in front of the man, positioning myself with my back to Asella. When dealing with punks picking fights, the one with the loudest voice wins. Strike first, strike hard. It might lack decorum, but playing the spoiled young master was the most effective approach.

"I step out for a stroll after forever, and there's some beggar setting up shop uninvited in my front yard. Who the hell do you think you are?"

The boss was a big guy. He puffed up his pecs and leaned in close, trying to intimidate me.

"Watch your mouth, you little punk. Greedy for coin, harassing a ditzy girl in broad daylight."

"Hah."

Listen to this guy talk. Did I look like some host trying to seduce Asella? This fool must have nine lives.

"You deaf? Didn't you hear me say this is my front yard?"

"What does it look like to you?"

The man pointed to the emblem on his vest's chest.

"All the empire's land is the Schuppre Merchant Guild's front yard. Know your place."

"Yeah! Get lost. That frilly hat and your pretty-boy parasite vibe."

His underlings were riding high too. I snorted.

"Merchant guild, my ass—more like a delivery scam shaking down for fees. And this? Just a vest."

I slapped the back of my hand against his vest—tap tap—and dust puffed out.

"What are you even? That filthy thing screams lowly porter at best. Ew, you reek."

Whack! I smacked his vest hard.

"And what does that have to do with anything? Why are merchant guild thugs acting like gangsters in someone else's territory? Huh?"

"We were just demanding rightful repayment on a loan. A guild like ours could spot you a few gold easy."

"You river rats only swing by briefly to haul cargo. When do you plan to repay? And you low-rank schmucks keep name-dropping the guild."

My words must've hit a nerve; the man's eyebrow twitched.

"You little shit, you asked for it...!"

Time to reveal who I was before this escalated to violence—but his move was faster. His left fist was already flying. Hot-tempered types like this are the worst. The size difference was huge; one hit would be fatal. But I had experience—my reflexes were sharp. I turned my head and dodged easily.

"What...?!"

He hadn't expected me to evade; panic flashed across his face. I wasn't about to stand there after his cheap shot. I clenched my fist, ready to counter.

...But my strength was pretty pathetic. Really pathetic. Could I even land real damage? The moment doubt hit—

A message popped up in my status window, instantly revealing the truth.

The man's right arm was fractured. Part of his body lit up red in my vision, pinpointing it easily.

'So he wasn't left-handed—he was swinging left because his right arm's busted.'

Crack! No hesitation—I drove a straight punch right into the glowing spot.

"Hiiiaak!"

The guy, who'd been growling low till now, let out a girly shriek and crumpled to the ground.

Aw, that bad? His reaction suggested a comminuted fracture. Those hurt. As a rough laborer, he'd probably gotten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it recently. No time to waste—I pinned the fallen man under my knee, subduing him instantly.

"Boss!"

"You bastard!"

The other two lunged, so I whipped out a dagger from my back pocket.

"Hey, hey—if you don't wanna get hurt, stay put."

They blanched at the glinting blade and backed off.

"W-what the...?"

"He's a real psycho...! Call the guards!"

The commotion drew a growing crowd. Whatever. My focus was solely on Asella.

Asella had watched my every move. She'd probably felt threatened and disgusted by these guild thugs. Assuming her ill will toward commoners accumulated from such incidents to trigger that bad ending—

'What's done is done, but I need to redirect that resentment.'

I bellowed loud enough for the crowd to hear.

"Guards? Call 'em! Let's see who this territory's guards work for!"

I flung off my hat. Gotberg pride—my stark white hair gleamed in the sunlight.

"Th-that guy!"

"Ras! It's Ras young master!"

"The marquisate's playboy!"

The crowd that recognized me gasped in shock. Of course—in these streets, everyone knew me. No one called me "young master" politely; it was all casual. My reputation was something else.

"Y-young master? From the marquisate?"

"White hair... For real?!"

The underlings panicked. Like swinging a rock at a shrimp only for a venomous spider to pop out. I sheathed my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blade and murmured to the boss.

"Hey, why do you need the money?"

"Y-yes? Uh, well..."

"Spit it out before I make you vanish without a trace."

Pinned under my knee, the boss grimaced in pain but managed to answer.

"W-we... The guild master's here, and we smashed a whole crate of premium goods meant for him this morning. Needed cash for reparations..."

"Ah, so it's the guild master's fault?"

"N-no, that's not—my mistake..."

"I'll ask once more. Say it right."

"Huh?"

"Or you die."

I cleared my throat and shouted.

"Schuppre Merchant Guild! You've been terrorizing and intimidating my territory's people with violence! I won't let it slide today!"

Some in the crowd chimed in agreement.

"Right!"

"Those guys cause trouble every time!"

"Young master! Beat 'em good!"

These guys might've only hit our territory today—new hires, maybe. But guild haulers were rough by nature. I'd predicted the crowd's support. I grabbed the boss's hair and bellowed again.

"Say it! You're a commoner too—why extort your fellow commoners?!"

"Th-the guild master ordered it!!"

The boss yelled at the top of his lungs. Perfect—he'd said exactly what I wanted.

"Ah, figured there'd be a noble pulling strings! Nobles always exploit the dumb commoners. Looks like House Gotberg needs to settle this with Schuppre directly!"

I released the boss and stood. The crowd buzzed.

"Hear that? Young master Ras is taking on the guild for the territory."

"Thought he was just a playboy—turns out he cares about his land."

"Young master, you're awesome!"

"Love the fire!"

Fiery? My face was burning. Mortifying. I'd hammed it up like a third-rate theater act. Acting wasn't my talent, but whatever. I snuck a peek at Asella, the cause of this village ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠farce.

...She was sipping coffee, gazing at me with an amused stare. She'd been enjoying the show from the start.

The bad ending probability was fixed. Even dipped below the original. Success.

"What're you gawking at? Show's over!"

I growled at the crowd, and they scattered back to their business. To the still-sprawled boss:

"You lot seen enough? Scram. Don't cause more trouble."

"I-is that okay? We're truly sorry for today. Please don't report to the guild..."

"Shut it. Oh, right—that stuff for the guild master. What was it?"

Premium goods bought in our territory? Obvious enough.

"Top-grade holy water. About twenty bottles..."

Made sense if that was all that broke. Twenty was a lot. Guild master must need those fixed pronto. Useful info—I'd let them go.

"Fine, now really beat it. Don't swing that broken arm around—wrap it or something."

"Huh? How'd you know it's broken? And wrap it with what?"

Idiot. Normally I'd punch his face a few more times. But enough chatter. I used his own staff as a splint, wrapping his arm tight with rope.

"Keep it like this at least two weeks. No coin for a healer? Tough luck."

"Wha—? No idea how, but it feels way better... Thank you. Sorry for the trouble."

They bowed hastily to me and Asella before fleeing. Power sure was convenient sometimes.

'Huh?'

Skill EXP kicked in, ranking it up.

'Fast. Must be my medical knowledge helping.' Boosted overall [Medicine] EXP too.

'New skills incoming soon.'

I returned to Asella.

"Bit of trouble, Princess. Hope it didn't ruin your mood."

"It was utterly revolting."

Asella sipped her coffee delicately before continuing.

"But as a snack to enjoy with this coffee? Perfect."

My clowning must've entertained her enough to forget about commoners. Fine. Even ten years from now, it felt like that—our hero party reduced to Asella's jesters putting on a circus. Whatever, good results.

"Your cup got smashed."

"Didn't reorder?"

"You said no gold."

"Smart. Let's head back and grab water."

As I shook my head and sat, the owner brought fresh coffee.

"Your order."

Said that, but ordered anyway. Good kid. I reached for silver, but he waved it off.

"No, no. The lady already paid."

"Paid? How?"

She only had gold—impossible. I eyed Asella suspiciously as the owner grinned.

"With flowers. Fresh and vibrant—perfect for decor. Covered the broken cup too. Enjoy your chat, young master."

He left. Hot butter coffee steamed before me.

"Chat? What chat."

I turned—Asella avoided my gaze.

"Flowers?"

"Too cumbersome to carry."

Traded the kids' flowers right away. Wise move. Running a tab or name-dropping for free would've dinged my rep. Clink. Asella set her cup down and spoke.

"Young Master Ras."

"Yes."

"If it happens again, you'll step in front of me like that?"

"Of course."

I answered instantly. With those red numbers shooting up, my body would react on reflex. Asella's lips curved faintly. At the edge, a bit of butter foam clung to her still-chubby cheek.

"You got some here."

I reached out, wiping it with my thumb. Gotta preserve the princess's dignity.

"All done? Shall we go?"

No reply. I looked—her gaze averted, teeth gritted.

Why mad now?

"Young master."

"Yes."

"Don't do that."

Do what?