Fated to Die
When Solomon climbed the ladder once more and emerged from the underground reservoir in District 1, someone was waiting for him outside. It was as if they had known from the very beginning that he would come here.
“Did you speak with Lord Bawry?”
It was the elf broker wearing a monocle—Yuria.
“...Yeah.”
“Just now, the Selene Family deposited the commission payment into your account, Solomon. Two hundred million krona.”
“That’s different from what I heard.”
Two hundred million krona. Even though it was a staggering sum that would leave anyone’s mouth hanging open, Solomon kept his composure without showing the slightest reaction. The original amount he was supposed to receive had doubled from one hundred million.
“It’s a gesture of goodwill for future dealings. The boss added a little extra tip, they said.”
“...They’ve got deep pockets.”
“In addition, the deposit for the krona Lord Bawry left in the cargo box has been completed. After tallying the amount, it came to one hundred and forty million krona. Therefore, the combined total deposited into your account is three hundred and forty million krona.”
Three hundred and forty million. It was an absurd sum.
“Finally, separate from the commission, my own fee has also been paid.”
“...It’s been paid?”
“Please accept Lord Bawry’s offer.”
Yuria spoke as though she had known from the beginning that things would turn out this way.
“Did you know from the start that he was monitoring me?”
“It is a misunderstanding.”
Yuria shook her head as she answered.
“From the outset—across all of Guild City, the total number of individuals skilled enough to evade the ‘eyes and ears’ of Lord Bawry and the Sewer Magic Tower doesn’t even exceed a few hundred.”
“A few hundred? No...”
Solomon said, utterly dumbfounded.
“That’s a shit-ton... I mean, that sounds like quite a lot.”
Even so, Solomon made a conscious effort to reply with polite, refined words.
“Considering the scale of this city, even that number is still quite small.”
“...”
“That is why, in your case, Solomon, it is less that the surveillance was hidden and more that there was simply no way for you to avoid it from the beginning.”
In the first place, with Solomon’s current capabilities, there was no method to escape Lord Bawry’s eyes and ears no matter what he tried.
“And I only provide the compensation that the client needs most according to the request.”
“Why does it have to be becoming Lord Bawry’s disciple of all things?”
“Are you familiar with the Black Museum?”
“No.”
“I am telling you precisely because you are not.”
“Ah, right...”
Solomon, you will soon be driven into a life-threatening crisis.
At the hands of the Curators of the Black Museum.
At first he thought he must have misheard. No—even after hearing it, he couldn’t understand what the words meant.
“Wait, so you’re saying my life is going to be in danger? From that... Black Museum thing?”
“That is correct.”
Solomon was so dumbfounded he felt like he could literally float into the sky.
“Commit that name to memory.”
He would be thrust into a life-threatening situation in the near future. Even after hearing it, the statement was difficult to grasp. So much so that he had to doubt his own ears.
“What do you mean by ‘near future’? Exactly when? Who are the Black Museum Curators? ...No, how did this even happen in the first place?”
“This is as far as I can tell you.”
The monocled elf answered.
“And the surest way to escape that situation is to become Lord Bawry’s disciple.”
“Is there any guarantee that what you foresee is one hundred percent accurate?”
“I will not claim it is one hundred percent.”
She answered without particularly denying it.
“I simply provide the compensation the client requires. Whether they realize that fact or not.”
“...”
The claim that he would be driven into a life-threatening crisis by someone he didn’t even know. He couldn’t laugh it off even as a joke.
Solomon remained silent. Affirmation or denial—at the end of that silence he chose neither.
He simply turned his back without a word and left the spot.
There still wasn’t enough information to reach a decision.
“I wish you luck, Solomon.”
The elf Yuria spoke to Solomon’s retreating back, which offered no reply.
His head felt like it would explode from the chaos inside. Solomon left District 1 immediately and headed straight for a certain place.
“Maya.”
The black market at the boundary between the Lower District and Downtown. Solomon stood before a rusty abandoned workshop and deliberately thought in polite, refined terms for a moment.
If he didn’t, the words I’m fucked would burst straight out of his mouth.
“Solomon!”
The blonde woman wearing her usual black leather jacket and worn military pants. Moreover, her golden eyes—modified through the retinal procedure known as the kaleidoscope—gleamed as they pierced through everything.
“I came to get some new gear.”
“Hehe, I figured as much. It was about time you showed up.”
Maya shrugged as if it were no surprise, glancing at his coat riddled with holes from the Alvheim Typewriter.
“And...”
Solomon asked cautiously.
“Can you fence stolen elf goods here as well?”
“Oh! I see.”
The moment she heard that, Maya twisted her lips in delight.
“You want to sell the Alvheim Typewriter, right?”
“...Yeah.”
“Well, I can give you a pretty good price. Thirty million krona each. How’s that?”
“Thirty million. It’s worth more than I expected.”
“Elf spirit weapons are rare, after all. Demand far outstrips supply.”
‘...Can this even be called a spirit weapon?’
Come to think of it, it was hard to deny. Even setting aside the welfare and survival of the spirits themselves.
Solomon hesitated briefly, then took the Alvheim Typewriter out of his backpack and handed it over. Maya accepted it, made a few quick adjustments, tested it here and there, and continued.
“So, how do you want the new gear set up? Looks like the coat needs to be replaced entirely.”
“Three hundred and forty million krona.”
Solomon said.
“How far can we go with that budget?”
“...”
The answer didn’t come right away. A short silence. After the silence, Maya asked with an incredulous look.
“You little bastard...”
Maya paused for a moment, then shouted as if she couldn’t believe it.
“You’ve become a real big shot! You’re so damn cute I could die!! You little rascal, you!”
With an expression that was both exasperated and unbearably affectionate, Maya attempted a surprise hug. Solomon, feeling dumbfounded, answered.
“Leave the weapon and the modified Nightfall crossbow as they are. Focus on the torn coat, innerwear, and auxiliary equipment.”
No matter how much money he had, he could not replace the high-grade modified crossbow forged by the dwarves of the Deadlock Workshop. Besides, the weapon was the Ghostwhale Bone Blade that had cost a hundred million. Even with three hundred and forty million, overhauling everything was out of the question.
Whatever he had heard from Yuria—or rather, precisely because of it—nothing changed.
He would simply do what he had to do to survive.
“Make sure it’s worth the money.”
“Hehe, leave it to me.”
Maya laughed confidently, as if there was nothing to worry about.
“Because in Downtown’s 20th District, there isn’t a single product this Maya can’t get her hands on!”
“I’ve placed an order for the armor according to the specifications you gave me.”
Downtown’s 19th District, also known as Steel Heart Street.
As the name suggested, the 19th District specialized in all kinds of weapons and equipment—from standard military-issue arms to the customized gear used by contractors and fixers.
Solomon walked along Steel Heart Street with Maya, gathering information on the new equipment.
At the same time, he sold the torn Nightweaver Coat as second-hand, browsed affordable gear within his budget, and narrowed down his candidates.
“When you have some financial breathing room like now, it’s more efficient to customize special-spec equipment from each district rather than going for megacorp standard gear.”
Maya spoke over the constant ringing of hammers and clanging metal.
“And when you’re truly rolling in money, you go back to the super-giant guilds to have proper ‘bespoke equipment’ made.”
“How much does that run?”
“They often don’t deal in currency at all. Like the Deadlock Workshop. You need a certain level of credit and track record. It’s a bit... complicated.”
“I see.”
So not everything could be solved with money. Like custom orders from luxury brands.
He still had a long way to go. Thinking that, Solomon followed her toward a workshop located in the 19th District.
“I’ll order the armor later based on the specs you mentioned, so let’s start by picking up the tool kits we can get right away.”
“Sounds good.”
The place the two soon entered was a corner alley in the 19th District—a workshop that looked suspicious and gloomy at first glance.
Weavernest Kit Shop.
The elderly ghost-race woman inside didn’t even glance at Maya and Solomon as she flipped through a gossip magazine. Maya paid it no mind, called the woman’s name, and began negotiating. Before long she brought out two products.
“This is the infiltration-grade Ghost Unit Syn-Probe hacking tool.”
Maya opened two black steel cases in front of Solomon and explained their contents.
“It comes with a multi-protocol hacking module, surveillance system manipulator, communication interception device, and finally an electronic spirit core. It can disable even a megacorp’s Tier-3 surveillance network and seize control of automated machines or drones.”
“...I see.”
Solomon pretended to roughly understand while looking at the next box. Hacking modules, camera control, wiretapping—it really drove home that this era was far more than just steam and gears.
“This one is the Webweaver Kit. These are absolute essentials for any fixer who does infiltration work.”
She then pulled out a new tool kit following the Ghost Unit hacking tool.
“Mechanical grappling-hook wire, seven types of automatic spider lockpick sets, portable laser cutter, hydraulic spreader, and magnet spikes that can attach anywhere.”
‘There’s a lot.’
That said, the grappling hook and lockpicks had been quite helpful when he infiltrated the biotech guild last time. Since those had been cheap disposable items, there was no harm in upgrading to more expensive equipment now.
“The magnet spikes are mainly useful where grappling hooks can’t reach. You can use them together, too.”
Above all, unlike when they were laid out in the cases, once stored individually they took up surprisingly little space. In fact, carrying both full sets around would cause no trouble at all.
“Hehe, starting to look like a real pro now, huh?”
“It does look pretty convincing.”
“I’ll send the armor and auxiliary gear by parcel once I’ve secured the options. It won’t take long.”
“Parcel?”
“Room 117 at Hotel Snark, right?”
“...That hotel accepts parcels?”
“Is there any reason it wouldn’t?”
Solomon blinked, at a loss for words. After that, he finished the rest of the shopping with Maya and returned to the hotel. Night had already grown deep.
‘A threat to my life, huh.’
The hotel in Ghosttown, on the boundary between life and death. It felt strangely comical to be pondering life in such a place.
‘There’s no reason to refuse.’
Lord Bawry’s offer held no downside for Solomon. It just felt oddly bothersome.
The fact that he was moving according to someone else’s words made him feel like a puppet dancing without any will of its own.
That said, in a situation where someone already had a blade at his throat, free will didn’t seem likely to put food on the table either.
‘...This isn’t the time to be picky.’
The words he had heard from the elf broker today refused to leave his mind. They were so absurd that even calling them bewildering felt insufficient.
You will soon be driven into a life-threatening crisis.
At the hands of the Curators of the Black Museum. Remember that name.
Life-threatening crisis. Black Museum. Curators.
What disturbed him more than the idea that his future life was already mortgaged was that those names rang no bells—.
‘I don’t recall seeing them in the setting book either.’
Or perhaps he had simply skimmed past them.
‘Just from the name alone, it sounds formidable...’
Whether the struggle to survive meant becoming someone’s puppet and dancing or something else entirely, what did it matter in the end?
The next day, inside a guest room at Hotel Snark.
When Solomon opened his eyes, it was already evening. It seemed he had slept straight through from exhaustion.
“E-e-excuse me, Solomon.”
When he opened the door, a skeleton with nothing but bones stood there, holding a box with violently trembling hands. Its bones rattled against one another as if it were truly terrified.
“P-p-please t-t-take this...”
“Ah, uh, sure.”
Solomon accepted the box in a fluster, taking it from the skeleton’s rattling hands.
Spirits and the deceased require special care when handling products! We assume no responsibility whatsoever for ascension or annihilation caused by careless handling.
The sender was Maya. It was Solomon’s new equipment.
‘Express delivery, huh.’