Chapter 3
Chapter 3
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Scout (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The smell of blood, masked by alcohol, wafted up steadily.
I knew well that blood made my head spin, ruining the taste of booze the next day.
Beyond that, there were plenty of reasons to leave the spot.
A wanderer has to scout good spots carefully, and with the cold streets pressing in on every inch of your body, you had to hurry to find someplace warm.
That was one good thing about booze—it warmed you up in a flash.
But right now, I had no booze left, and the spot where I'd planned to crash for the night was freshly dirtied with blood.
In short, I suddenly had a ton more shit to deal with.
However, one problem cropped up.
"Please become my knight... please."
It was Aster, who'd dropped to her knees, then latched onto my sleeve with a death grip as I backed away.
The bloodied handkerchief had somehow ended up in my hand, and the space between us shrank in an instant.
I hadn't realized this about myself before, but apparently, I turned into a useless lump whenever a pretty girl grabbed my sleeve.
'Wow, she's pretty.'
In wuxia tales, the top masters are supposed to be immune to honey traps.
Guess I wasn't that caliber. It wasn't me being weird—she was just that pretty.
"Can't you... let go?"
She shook her head.
Aster gave the tiniest shake, clearly with zero plans to release me.
Hearing that, she clamped down even harder with both hands.
Her hands were small and fragile like a kitten's paws, her skin so soft that each brush against my fingertips sent little sparks of heat creeping up.
'Oh shit, this is bad.'
Was it the drinking plus all the movement?
My stomach started churning.
I liked booze fine, but I wasn't some hangover-resistant pro or alcohol-immune freak.
So I tried to bolt from the scene, but the sleeve she had locked felt impossibly heavy.
Glancing at my arm—holy hell, my sleeve was flash-freezing, stiffening up bit by bit.
She'd shown it off during that ambush earlier, but Aster was a magic user.
So yeah, my sleeve turning into an ice block? Straight-up magic.
'What the hell does this mean?'
If I flat-out refused to be her knight, was she planning to ice me right here?
Either way, tonight was shaping up to suck hard.
My guts were flipping for real now. I was about to wrench free when I noticed something.
"Hic... please..."
I'm a certified drunkard—could probably write a dissertation on it.
I've logged at least ten thousand hours bullshitting in taverns.
From this expert's gaze, staring at Aster, it hit me clear as day.
This woman named Aster was smashed.
Like, wrecked.
Her refined features crumbling into something cute and pitiful, she babbled on like an orphaned kitten.
"I need someone like you, mister."
Her body was shivering—probably from that murder earlier—but her eyes burned steady.
'Mister, really.'
She was straight-up calling me mister.
I'm twenty-four. Well, this body 'Guro' is. Sure, on paper, mister fits...
Meanwhile, my sleeve kept freezing over, inch by inch.
Yank too hard and my whole arm might get fused to an ice block—major hassle.
I mulled shaking her off for a solid minute.
But then it sank in.
'Ah, I'm fucked.'
One way or another, time wasn't waiting around for me or her.
She wasn't letting go in her drunken haze, and my stomach was in full revolt.
Truth was, I'd been barely holding it together.
Limit crossed ages ago.
"Bluuuuurgh..."
And out it came.
I'd half-expected it, but after slamming over twenty bottles straight across two days, it poured like a flood.
I barely whipped my head aside in time, sparing Aster the splash zone.
Now I just had to hug the wall and hurl till the hangover burned out.
Thud thud thud thud...!
Aster went to town on my back with her pebble-sized fists.
Both hands pounding away—it all came up refreshingly clean.
Look, I'm a guy. Sure, part of me wanted to play it cool in front of a girl, keep some dignity.
But the only women who'd ever warmed to me were whores.
And I'm terrified of STDs.
That's why, in over twenty years, I'd never even held a woman's hand.
Which is why...
'Ah, kill me now—too embarrassing.'
From public piss to puking our guts out, we were bonding in the most mortifying ways possible.
Women really had this knack for making you feel utterly humiliated and exposed.
Hammering that home—
"Please answer me. Yeah?"
"Okay, so just keep patting my—urk."
"You just said okay, right mister?"
We were stuck right there for ages.
Till the tavern owner—old familiar face—showed up after the racket.
"I was locking up and heading out when I heard that familiar hurling sound."
The tavern owner summed up why he'd dragged his ass to this dingy alley.
Name was Billion.
Billion had hauled us not to the tavern, but his actual house.
Aster was holed up in the bathroom now, wrestling the hangover crash. For the first time, I got a good look around Billion's place.
A big fireplace dominated the room, with baby toys scattered in spots a safe distance away.
But none tossed around or drool-covered.
Meaning the kid was still too tiny to really play with them.
I've got a sharp eye.
'Hmm... but.'
Toy-cluttered home of a tavern owner, yet zero booze in sight.
As if he'd caught my eyes darting around.
Billion drawled in that slow voice of his.
"Hunting for booze?"
I startled a bit.
Felt like the guy could peer right into my soul.
"You really are... a mind reader?"
"Eyes glazing over like you're hallucinating bottles—think I wouldn't notice?"
To my why-no-booze gripe, he tacked on one line that snapped my trap shut.
Babies hate booze stink.
Billion was the type who'd stonewall even a drop when I pushed drinks on him.
Finally clued in, my chest loosened up.
"Cute little girl, right? For her, I'd move mountains."
Spouting classic dad lines, not a syllable off.
"So total teetotaler... Can't wrap my head around it."
"You'll get it once you've got a kid. That moment she won't even look at you 'cause you reek... whew."
He slid a cup of clear tea my way with that.
I'm not big on water either, so polite pass. He whisked it off like he'd known.
"Anyway... can I ask you something?"
I threw up both hands—fire away.
Then.
"You really offed Black Rose guys?!"
Billion hit me with puberty-boy eyes, straight out the gate.
"If that's Black Rose, then six."
"You mad bastard... crazy fuck. Legend."
Truth, Billion frets over me plenty, but as barkeep supreme, he's soaked up every slum rumor under the sun.
Stuff like 'who scrapped who and who won.'
Lived neck-deep in that noise.
Hot-blooded to the core, naturally.
Back-alley roots, short on book smarts—rough mouth comes with; cut him slack.
"Never figured you for that strong..."
"They came off weirdly weak."
Tried slipping in maybe bad intel, but.
My turn to get shut down.
"Bullshit! Those fucks took out Foot Span and Eight-Arm Arson! Back-alley myths!"
Like I said, Billion's ears were tuned to years of alley rats yapping strongest man debates.
Hearing 'em hype 'Eight-Arm' whatever.
Then some Black Rose punks wiped 'em all? Felt like his fave MMA champ got jumped by thugs.
Got his freakout now.
"Knew it deep down! You're at least twice their level!"
"Uh-uh..."
"Twice? Fuck that—ten times the beast!"
I'm a sucker for praise too.
Two soft spots exposed today alone—head spinning.
Billion geared up for a full rant on Black Rose scum, voice climbing.
Snap!
But a knuckle flick nailed his dome mid-rampage.
Kind-faced auntie-type cradling a chubby-cheeked baby.
"What kinda crap you spewing at Guro?!"
"Ahem..."
"Guro, tea?"
"Nah, good."
...... Brutal awkwardness.
Baby's wail shattered the cringe-fest.
"Waaah!"
Billion's girl: just past one year old.
I'd been beaming at her plump cheeks all heart-eyes.
Guess my stare creeped her; instant waterworks.
"Sorry, Guro... hates booze whiff."
"All good."
Not me personally—just the booze funk, yeah?
I adore babies. Chubby cheeks? Instant puddle.
Vowed right then: one dry day, gotta cop a cheek squeeze.
"Ugh..."
Aster shuffled in amid the sobs, still trailing thick whiskey haze.
'Tch... baby's crying round two incoming.'
Figured the kid—barely settled—would lose it again.
No helping it; time to bail with Aster.
Only crashed here 'cause hangover hell plus bloodstain scrubbing.
Stains mostly gone now—sort the Aster mess calmly.
Starting with the knight-what-the-fuck deal.
Stood with that in mind.
"Yaa!"
"Huh...?"
Billion's kid was cracking up in Aster's booze-drenched arms.
Thought she hated the smell?
Shot Billion the stink-eye.
Backfired hard.
"Billion."
"Haha, picky about faces, my girl. Daddy's too... picky."
"Uh, tough luck."
Sadness radiated; mouth zipped.
Billion scowled, dabbed a tear, dipped out.
Aster fumbled baby playtime, eyes sharper now, locked on me.
I gawked back dopily.
Soon she pulled me aside to a room.
Knight question redux; answered honest—I got no clue what a knight even is.
"...You just not that interested?"
"Frankly? Nah."
Honor, glory—whatever. Too deep in this life.
Just wanna booze in peace.
'Money? Not obsessed.'
Back when booze funded life, yeah saved up. Now? Flipped.
Day-labor bum grind.
Aster won't get it.
Modern hangover vibes creeping in.
Lived hand-to-mouth brutal.
Tomorrow's cash... rent panic...
Hangover fading, it bubbles up.
Thriving on petty reasons, petty life? Bliss for some.
Me.
Might explain the blackouts.
'Bet she'll counter...'
Braced for clapback, slow-blinked.
No deflections in my wheelhouse—'sorry, pass' queued.
But Aster jumped the script.
"Fine. One day. I'll buy your time."
"......?"
Me? Speechless. Time dragged.
Finally murmured: for what.
Next morning.
Bought a bottle of booze.
First time not with my coin—someone else's.
A woman's money, no less. Dirt cheap, right up my alley.
First mask too.
Shambled to a cave tucked riverside, back-alley dead end.
"Who the fuck're you?"
"Oi! Bet or whatever—fuck around here and you're done!"
Sighed huge.
"Why drag ass here?!"
Mask musta screamed buyer: drugs? "Blessing"?
"Customer? Don't look noble."
"Moron. Nobles only? Cash is cash, even from trash."
Devil cult cave fronted by feral thugs.
Glanced back: masked gal peeking, waving.
"Customer? Business, fuck—asked thrice..."
"Nothin' big. Robbery."
Sliced chatty bald's wrist first.
Screeches boomed forever.
As Aster and I plotted, cave vomited hordes.
Gonna need wits gone today; deep swig, booze down the hatch.
(It's Aster~~)