A Race That Knows Honor
One week after finishing the automatic crossbow modifications at the Deadlock Guild workshop, Room 104 of Hotel Snark.
“Caw, caw!”
Several crows flapped their wings, scattering dark black feathers throughout the room. The black birds quickly perched atop the wardrobe or along the edges of the furniture, rolling their eyes as they scanned every direction.
Solomon was there as well.
Equipped with the Black Bird Spirit Bracelet, he focused his mind on the creatures that would become his new “eyes and ears.”
Immediately, fields of vision impossible to see from where he sat—overhead perspectives and blind spots—began overlapping in his sight.
Every image was reflected in the crows’ murky, dark pupils.
─In this city, you can never have too many eyes and ears if you want to survive.
Whoosh.
At that moment Solomon staggered, struck by a wave of lightheadedness.
Countless crow eyes layered over his own two pupils, blurring even his sense of where he was. A flood of visual data that should have been impossible from this location poured in. Worse, the world seen through a crow’s eyes captured far more information than a human’s.
High-speed visual processing, retinal structure, field of view—the difference was like switching from a 30-frame world to 200 frames in an instant.
On top of that came auditory senses that precisely captured high-frequency sounds no human ear could detect.
Controlling the black bird spirits and keeping his balance amid that deluge of super-sensory input was nothing like raising ordinary birds.
This isn’t easy.
A week had passed since he accepted the request from Yuria, the monocle-wearing elf.
That day, Lord Bawry of the Sewer Magic Tower had handed him the Black Bird Spirit Bracelet, claiming it was his “real sincerity.”
A magic item that commanded dark spirits in the shape of crows. It was worth far more than any bundle of cash. Its difficulty of use was, naturally, proportional to its value.
So for the past several days—after completing the weapon modifications at the Deadlock Guild—Solomon had shut himself inside the hotel, devoting himself entirely to mastering the bracelet.
Fortunately, Solomon possessed magical talent. And not just any talent—the bloodline of the Five Great Families, the Veil Family. Thanks to that, he could sense the mana dwelling in the bracelet and draw out its power, however clumsily.
Even so, sharing the black bird spirits’ sight and hearing remained difficult.
He could now manage three or four at once. The maximum number of dark spirits the bracelet could summon simultaneously was thirteen.
In a sense, it was like installing thirteen 244Hz monitors and ultra-high-fidelity speakers at the same time.
“Hmm, ahem.”
Solomon cleared his throat lightly.
“Aa, mic test, aa.”
Then something astonishing happened.
“Caw, mic test, caw.”
The black bird spirit perched on the coat rack began mimicking Solomon’s voice exactly, mixing the unmistakably human tone with sporadic crow calls.
It could not only see and hear but speak. And that was not the end of its abilities.
At Solomon’s command the birds could become a murderous flock straight out of Hitchcock’s The Birds. They could also cast several basic dark spells.
And they don’t even consume spell slots.
Their power went far beyond what living birds could achieve. In lethality, there was no comparison.
Even a low-tier spirit was still a spirit. Though limited to a few basic spells, depending on the caster’s skill they could easily become an unimaginable wild card.
These were not ordinary spirits, but the notoriously difficult and dangerous dark spirits.
Considering Solomon’s profession, the synergy with dark spirits and their related spells was perfect.
They could act like drones, handling aerial reconnaissance and information gathering while remaining ready to attack when needed.
While sharing sight and sound with the black bird spirits inside the room and synchronizing with their senses, Solomon silently extended his arm. He wanted to test a few offensive spells.
As if responding to his movement, the flock of crows spread their wings in unison─
Knock, knock.
“Pardon the interruption, Sir Solomon.”
A cautious knock sounded from beyond the door.
“What is it?”
It wasn’t a complaint about using magic indoors. After all, the first time Solomon had discovered the black bird spirits’ “offensive capability” had been in this very room. It had been an unintentional accident then, and the incident was what led him to continue practicing the ability inside without hesitation.
After all, it didn’t even leave a scratch.
Clumsy attack magic couldn’t so much as shake this hotel. The same applied to physical impacts.
That’s why they can run a lodging business in a place like this.
Therefore, there was only one possible reason for the hotel to knock on his door.
“Room service.”
Solomon opened the door. In the hallway stood a skeleton wearing a tuxedo embroidered with the Hotel Snark logo. It was pulling a room-service trolley of the sort commonly seen in luxury hotels.
“Excuse me.”
The skeleton carefully began setting the table, lifting the serving tray from the trolley’s upper level.
It spread a pure-white tablecloth, placed a silver cloche—the kind used in French cuisine—in the center, and arranged a full cutlery set of silver forks, knives, and small plates.
“If you require any accompanying spirits, please let me know.”
So saying, the skeleton indicated the lower compartment of the trolley. Several bottles buried deep in an ice bucket came into view.
“……Something that can knock me out within three seconds of drinking it.”
“In that case, I shall prepare Clair Obscur Vodka.”
The skeleton retrieved a bottle and a crystal shot glass, poured with practiced skill, and placed it carefully beside the utensils.
“The proof is quite high, so please enjoy it in moderation.”
“Then, have a pleasant day.”
With those final words the skeleton withdrew, pulling the trolley behind it. Once again alone, Solomon stared at the tableware and the silver cloche.
When he lifted the cover, what waited inside was not steaming food but…
A thick stack of documents.
A ridiculously grandiose charade. Solomon let out a hollow laugh of disbelief.
They had set it up so ostentatiously that for a brief moment he had actually hoped it might be a real meal. How foolish.
Still, it wasn’t exactly unexpected.
He recalled the conversation he had shared with the monocle-wearing elf Yuria that day on the pier in the Lower District. She had spoken to him there about a request involving her own kind.
“How much do you know about the elf mafias?”
Elf mafia. A corporate criminal syndicate composed solely of elves, just as the name implied.
One of Guild City’s most prominent criminal organizations—beings who valued their group’s code and elven honor above life itself.
When Solomon had agreed to take the job, she had told him:
“There will be a meeting of the Five Great Families in one week. The request will arrive immediately afterward.”
Today was exactly one week later. What was coming had come.
The crossbow modification was finished long ago, and I’ve grown roughly familiar with commanding the black bird spirits.
He was ready. Solomon steeled his resolve and began flipping through the ostentatious bundle of documents one page at a time.
The content and format were identical to the request he had received from Gilbert Graham of the Biotech Guild.
The first page listed the client and the target to be killed.
The client was one of the five families in the elf mafia world—the Selene Family.
What drew his eye next was the target’s title itself.
“……Respected Elf?”
It turned out the term did not refer to any specific individual. A footnote immediately below provided the explanation.
“Respected” was to be taken literally.
An Elf of Honor is a title granted in elf mafia society to those who carry out revenge for the organization or family, or perform equivalent honorable deeds.
As long as the Elf of Honor does not personally tarnish that honor, disposing of an Elf of Honor by the hand of their own kind is regarded as an act of extreme dishonor.
The elf mafia value organizational code and elven honor above life itself.
Therefore, when organizational circumstances make it unavoidable to “handle” an Elf of Honor, the task shall be commissioned to a contractor of Hotel Snark (hereafter referred to as “the contractor”).
The target is currently restrained and incapable of resistance. The fixer shall visit the Selene Family mansion on the appointed date to carry out the execution.
After reading it, Solomon could only laugh dryly. The organization had to kill the target but could not dirty their own hands because of “honor,” so they had outsourced the job.
They even made sure the target is bound and unable to resist.
This wasn’t a request—it was simply ordering an executioner to chop the neck of a tied-up man. Just go and kill him.
Because they didn’t want to stain their own hands.
It was the purest distillation of pointless formality and empty etiquette. Exactly like the absurdly grandiose cloche and tableware they had set out under the pretense of room service.
Still, since they had gone out of their way to spare him any extra effort, there was no reason to refuse.
So it’s basically telling me to put on a WWE match? Sounds fucking sweet.
With that lighthearted thought, Solomon continued reading the rest of the documents.
His expression, which should have remained casual, gradually froze over.
The request did not end there.
No—it had only been the beginning.
After the contractor successfully completes the execution, the Selene Family is obligated by organizational code to carry out revenge for the Elf of Honor.
This is to protect the honor of the Elf of Honor and their kin. The contractor is likewise obligated to comply.
Finally, the Selene Family shall give prior notice of the “three executors” who will carry out the revenge.
The rules of this “revenge game” are as follows:
— If the kin’s revenge is carried out honorably,
— Or if the target survives until dawn while evading the executors,
— Or if the target eliminates all executors before dawn breaks,
The Selene Family shall solemnly accept the outcome, staking the organization’s code and the honor of their race.
Revenge. Honor.
A formal logic trapped in absurd self-contradiction, desperately trying to justify their own nobility while keeping their hands clean. In two words, it was pure bullshit.
They’re the ones who caused the mess, yet they’re talking about revenge and honor…
The situation was so ridiculous it defied belief.
He could now see how the rigid, stubborn nature of elves so often depicted in fiction became utterly hopeless once mixed with the criminal underworld.
Fortunately, not every member of the Selene Family had lost their minds and come after him. It seemed they still retained the tiniest sliver of flexibility.
The “three executors” who would carry out the revenge were listed with partial information in the documents.
A game of tag that sat somewhere between WWE and UFC, with lives as the stakes.
From dusk until dawn.