Back to the Low District
The next day.
'Tsk, where the hell did that bald bastard disappear to again?'
Just like the saying that there's nothing even a dog would eat, actually trying to find Lord Bawry turned out to be no easy task. With no other choice, Solomon returned to the Lower District slums and began asking around about the Sewer Magic Tower.
Grimmlow Court, Building 2, Room 17.
On the outskirts of the Low District, a cluster of cramped, narrow tenement buildings stood packed together like a pigsty, perfectly embodying the contradictions of the industrial age. It was Solomon's old home.
The reason he'd come back wasn't for any particular purpose. He'd simply stopped by while he was in the neighborhood, killing two birds with one stone.
'The rent isn't overdue... Did I pay in advance or something?'
There were no signs of anyone hounding him for payment, nor any eviction notices. The door opened without a lock. There were no traces of anyone else having moved in or rented the place. It remained exactly as he'd left it. For a fixer, it was almost dangerously careless.
The room was so barren that calling it desolate wouldn't even cover it. There was no sense of "a life lived" here at all. It was closer to something colorless and odorless.
Yet whether he liked it or not, the life of a man named Solomon had clearly existed here. He soon realized it. That too was one of the traits the man named Solomon possessed.
[Existence Unrecognized]
'......'
The other traits he'd assigned when creating the character had been the same.
[Bastard]
[Born in a Red-Light District]
[Foul Mouth]
He had a foul mouth, yet Maya had once called Solomon a rare example of a filial son. The Veil Family, bastard child, born in a red-light district. A dutiful son and his mother... All of it was a past he had input and carved into existence with his own hands. Even now, it existed in this world independently of his will.
He had a past. Why did that fact feel so strangely new to him right now?
'...A past, huh.'
Just as that thought crossed his mind and he was about to leave the room—
“Huh?”
A stranger’s voice came from right beside him.
“Mister, you’re alive?”
“......”
It was the neighbor from next door. She was leaning against the doorframe, sitting on the ground, smoking a cigarette with a languid, worn-out expression.
“You were gone for so long I thought you’d died.”
She looked young—almost too young, to the point of seeming youthful rather than merely youthful. Regardless of her actual age. Her makeup was so excessively pale it made her look like a preserved corpse. Thanks to that, her already striking youthful features stood out several times more. Even so, she looked well over twenty.
He quickly realized her makeup was quite intentional. So were the bruises hidden beneath the heavy cosmetics.
“......”
After figuring that much out, just as Solomon was about to walk away without a word—
“Mister, are you mute?”
The blonde neighbor, reeking of cigarette smoke, asked. Solomon replied as if it had nothing to do with him.
“Yeah.”
“......”
The neighbor sitting in the doorway blinked in bewilderment. After blinking a few times, she continued as if it didn’t matter.
“Since you’re here anyway, want to have some fun?”
“Fun?”
“Thirty thousand krona. How about it? Since we’re neighbors, I can give you a little discount as a service.”
“Not interested.”
Solomon cut her off cleanly.
“I’m doing something much more fun, exciting, and rewarding.”
“What kind of work?”
“Stabbing people in the back of the head.”
“......”
“If you ever feel like putting a hole in someone’s back, just call me. I’ll give you a neighborly discount too.”
She stared at Solomon with an expression of pure disbelief. There was no particular fear or intimidation in her eyes. She simply stubbed out her cigarette on the ground with her fingers and stood up.
“You impotent fuck.”
She stood, flipped him the middle finger, and spat out the insult right at him.
“?”
Before Solomon could respond to the foul words with even fouler ones, she slammed her door shut and disappeared. So he simply turned around and continued on his way.
* * *
The Dawn Lark Tavern. The hideout where Solomon had received his first request from a crime broker right after waking up in this world.
“Long time no see.”
“!”
The pig Roche was there as always, and sitting at the table with him was an unfamiliar man Solomon had never seen before. He seemed to be a new partner.
“Who the fuck is this bastard?”
The new partner snapped sharply at Solomon before Roche could even get a word in. Solomon was no longer a Low District fixer. Knowing that, he simply ignored the provocation the other man threw at him.
“Uh, uh, he’s just an old partner...”
“What?”
Roche muttered in a frightened tone that was very unlike him. Before he could even finish, Roche’s new partner—the man in the studded jacket—asked again.
“Hey, didn’t you say with your own mouth that I was your only partner? Don’t tell me you’re giving my jobs to...”
“N-no, I mean, back in the day, back in the day...”
“Hey, pig. Didn’t I tell you not to talk back when I’m speaking?”
“Hurk!”
Thud!
He threw a hard punch right at Roche in front of Solomon’s eyes. Solomon lightly furrowed his brow. The guy had quite the heavy hand. Even after getting punched out of nowhere, Roche rubbed the spot with a servile smile. Leaving the groveling Roche behind, Solomon answered.
“He’s an old partner. I’m taking requests from somewhere else now.”
To the new partner who had just shown the pig what his fist tasted like.
“What the hell is an old partner doing crawling back here?”
“I have a few things I want to ask.”
“Fuck off. I don’t have any information for a bastard like you.”
“......”
The Low District was a rough place. Even taking that into account, Roche’s new partner looked exceptionally ‘rough.’
“I have no intention of stealing your requests. Once the conversation is over, I’ll leave quietly.”
Even so, Solomon exercised the greatest mercy he could muster and spoke with the most polite words and thoughts possible. After all, the one who would have to keep dealing with the man in front of him wasn’t Solomon, but Roche.
“I said no. Get lost right now.”
“......”
“You know what? I’ve got anger management issues. Especially because this pig bastard can’t even keep the terms we agreed on when we made our contract. So you get why I’m so pissed right now, right? Since you’re in the same business, you should understand.”
“My condolences.”
It seemed there were many circumstances behind the man’s anger that Solomon didn’t know about. Solomon glanced at Roche’s face. Besides the fresh wound, his plump body was covered in bruises everywhere.
Just like the woman he’d seen back at Grimmlow Court, indiscriminate violence in the Low District wasn’t anything new. If anything, it was fortunate that it had only ended in bruises.
Whether Roche had really done something to deserve it, Solomon couldn’t say. Honestly, he didn’t care enough to defend him. From the start, the fat bastard in front of him had done far worse than just deserve a beating—he’d done things that warranted being hung on a slaughterhouse hook.
“Like I said, I’ll leave right after I ask a few questions.”
“This mute fuck really doesn’t understand what I’m saying, huh?”
“......”
“U-um, Solomon...”
In the midst of it all, seeing Roche hesitating and panicking, Solomon clicked his tongue silently. It wasn’t quite nostalgia, but watching it still didn’t feel good.
“Fine. I’ll leave quietly.”
“Yeah, now you’re finally listening. Guess you’re not completely mute after all.”
With that, Solomon silently turned his back and left the Dawn Lark Tavern...
...Or at least, that’s not what happened.
Bang!
Instead of quietly leaving as he’d said, Solomon grabbed the back of the new partner’s head and slammed his face straight into the table.
Sizzle!
It went far beyond simply slamming him down. Solomon pressed the man’s face directly onto the hot grill used for steaks and waited until the sound of meat searing filled the air.
“Aaaaargh!!”
“Hmm, where’s that dog barking coming from? As you can see, my ears aren’t so good.”
“Uaaaagh! Aaaargh!!”
The man’s struggling body thrashed violently before collapsing completely. The table, the cast-iron grill, plates—everything came crashing down with a tremendous clatter.
“Wooooah! A fight!”
“Beat his ass good!”
Rather than being startled, the tavern patrons were loudly enjoying the unexpected entertainment. As if it were nothing new, they whistled and excitedly cleared space. Before long, only the leather-jacketed man—whose head was now partially medium-rare and sizzling—and Solomon remained in the ring.
“You... you fucking lunatic...!!”
The leather-jacketed man shouted, his face cooked medium-rare to a bright red (this was not a metaphor). Since he was Roche’s new partner, he was probably a fixer too.
'Let’s see what you’ve got.'
Solomon watched his movements carefully without letting his guard down. Fortunately, the man didn’t immediately lose his mind and pull out a blade.
Crunch!
Reading the incoming punch, Solomon twisted his body, grabbed the man’s shoulder and wrist, and snapped them in opposite directions. Another scream rang out. With a cry of “Graaaagh!” the man thrashed in the hold, begging to be let go. Again.
“What, you don’t like the doneness? Want me to cook it more?”
“W-wait!”
“Should I cook it more to medium-well? Is there any part you especially want well-done?”
“Graaagh! I-I’m sorry!! L-let go and let’s talk first!!”
The situation resolved more easily than expected.
Hotel Snark is like the Major League that countless fixers and contractors in this city look up to. A Major Leaguer coming down to the 'minor leagues' for no reason is... something like a disaster.
Ignoring the narrator’s nonsense, Solomon released his hold at about the right moment. That was when it happened.
“■■■—!”
The instant the restraint was lifted, a bizarre pronunciation burst from the man’s mouth. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was. A spell.
A symbol of power not easily found in the Low District.
'A mage?!'
Before Solomon could even be surprised by the incantation, the spell began to take form and exert its power.
Srrrng.
From the shadow beneath Solomon’s feet, a sharp, pitch-black spike shot up like lightning. The wild excitement that had filled the tavern froze as if it had never existed.
'Shadow magic—'
And clearly a lethal spell at that.
Realizing this, Solomon easily dodged the strike. Simply twisting his body angle like before was enough.
At the same time, unless one possessed high technique stats on Solomon’s level, it was an attack that could never guarantee one’s life. It was far more vicious than simply losing control and pulling a blade.
Of course, if they were talking about who was in the wrong, Solomon—who had slammed the man’s head onto a steak grill—hardly had room to talk.
“Alright, you want to go?”
“This bastard...!”
Even so, the situation was resolved surprisingly quickly.
“Whoa.”
A familiar voice reached his ears. Along with a smell that was impossible to forget even if he tried.
“O-oh, oooooh, whoa.”
Solomon glanced over. As if on cue, a massive man stood at the entrance of the Dawn Lark Tavern.
Leading an army of nauseating hobos and the stench of the sewers.
“What the hell am I looking at right now? Are my eyes... Huh? Wait? Am I seeing this correctly?”
Black skin and a shaved head.
Countless bead piercings studded all over his eyes, nose, mouth, ears, tongue, and even on his eyeballs like barnacles.
“L-Lord...!”
The man who had just cast a lethal spell at Solomon blinked rapidly. He was looking at the master of the magic tower he served as a mage.
'Speak of the tiger and it appears.'
The master of the Sewer Magic Tower, Lord Bawry, whose grotesqueness could not be fully captured even by the word grotesque.
“Mamma mia!”
The man Solomon had been searching for so desperately was right there.