Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Rag Ghost (3)
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All sorts of people drifted through the underbelly of Nighthaven.
The incompetent, with neither skill nor luck, who wanted to remain in the city no matter what.
The fools, who ran from the stifling laws and rules of man to live as they pleased.
The failures, who overreached on matters they couldn’t handle, only to be torn apart and ruined.
Naturally, in a place like this, productive work that created value was out of the question.
Selling one’s body or taking from others were the only viable economic activities.
Since there were those who took the belongings of others,
it was only natural that people would emerge to buy those ownerless items on the cheap.
Thus, this underworld had quite a few fences who specialized in buying stolen goods.
The fence acquired valuable items for a low price, and the thief could easily turn tricky-to-dispose-of goods into cash.
It was a trade where both parties felt they were coming out ahead.
Therefore, I, who had just farmed a whole bunch of rings from the drug addict,
was on my way to find a fence to turn these rings into money.
‘It’s still so quiet around here, not a soul in sight.’
I, who had been hopping and skipping around, stopped on a rooftop and looked around.
Even in the deep outskirts, one could occasionally spot a drunk staggering about.
But here, you couldn't find so much as a sewer rat, let alone a person.
It was a silence uncharacteristic of the ever-boisterous Nighthaven.
Of course, there was a reason for it.
This place, while part of the underworld in the outskirts, was particularly close to the city center.
Those who lived in the light felt the danger and dared not venture here.
Those who dwelled in the underbelly had no business here and stayed away. A gray area of sorts, you could say?
If anyone were to cause a scene here, it would give corporations or the police a pretext to meddle in the underworld.
It would also be an excuse for all sorts of criminal organizations to spill out into the open.
So it wasn't uncommon for the various factions to watch each other and tread carefully.
‘I prefer the quiet, so this is actually nice.’
After confirming once more that no one was passing by, I leaped lightly from the rooftop and landed silently in an alley.
As I emerged from the damp, musty-smelling alley,
a road overgrown with weeds from neglect greeted me.
‘This definitely wasn’t here a week ago.’
That person really has no interest in maintenance.
Smiling wryly to myself, I used my psychokinesis to pull out the weeds and tossed them roughly into the gutter.
Just when I thought it looked reasonably tidy,
I entered the unlit shop right in front of the overgrown road.
At a glance, one might think the shop was closed.
But as soon as I stepped inside, the lights flickered on, and someone greeted me.
“You’re here.”
“…”
“Sit.”
The owner of the shop was a massive orc, nearly twice my height.
His name was Greg Visk.
A very dangerous man whose mere gaze set my danger sense tingling.
Still, he wasn't the type to hit a customer.
There was no reason to be too nervous.
I scurried over and sat meekly in the customer's chair.
Greg sat on the opposite side, facing me across the desk.
The height difference was so great that his shadow, cast against the light, completely enveloped my entire body.
‘Greg's presence is always so overwhelming. How can he exude such an aura just by sitting still?’
If I took off my rags and sat like that, I’d just look pathetic.
It was a stark reminder that this was the world of Fixers, full of powerful metahumans.
“Did you bring the goods?”
“…”
While I was lost in thought for a moment, Greg had put on a pair of round spectacles he’d produced from somewhere.
He proceeded with business as usual, even though I hadn't said a word.
Of course, it wasn't that I didn't want to speak.
But even considering that, he got straight to the point. Perhaps he recognized me as a regular.
Slightly impressed by Greg's business acumen, I took out the rings I had taken from the drug addict and placed them on the desk.
“Rings this time, I see. Quite a few. This one in particular…”
Greg glanced down at the more than ten rings rolling on the desk.
Without hesitation, he picked up the ugliest one and held it up to his eye level.
“Estimare.”
He held one of the lenses and muttered a word.
Simultaneously, his right lens began to glow faintly.
It was magic.
To be precise, it was magic embedded in the glasses he wore, an artifact.
Its effect was to read the faint residual thoughts left on an object.
Of course, it wasn't a cheat-like ability to read past memories like psychometry.
It was more like feeling the strong memories and emotions etched into an object on a subconscious level.
These thoughts were a jumbled mess, a byproduct that couldn't be expressed through language or logic.
But it was enough to tell if an item was valuable or dangerous.
‘He claims it’s just a cheap artifact that lets him see things more clearly…’
Depending on its application, it could be a trump card to turn the tide in a disadvantageous situation.
In fact, there was a scenario where those very glasses were used to distinguish a real bomb from a fake, saving lives.
An artifact imbued with magic, no matter its content, was not something to be trifled with.
…Now, someone might wonder.
Why do I know so much about him, to a suspicious degree?
Actually, the reason was perhaps obvious.
Greg Visk was a character from the original *Fixer*!
Huh? Didn't I say getting involved with this world's protagonist could be dangerous?
And yet here I am, willingly associating with a character from the original story?
Well, if I had to make an excuse, it was for a reason I truly couldn't help.
Among all the fences in the underworld… there was no one as trustworthy as Greg!
Even if fences and underworld dwellers had a mutually beneficial relationship,
a fence was still a person of the underworld.
They might swindle a customer who didn't know the market rates.
Or they might buy stolen goods, then sell the thief's location to the original owner for a price.
There were more than a few who were more trouble than they were worth!
‘After being double-crossed about three times, I was so frustrated I could have cried. Damn them all.’
I was covered in rags, small, and didn't speak.
It was inevitable that they would underestimate me…
But knowing that didn't make it any less infuriating.
My money! My time! And the thugs who broke in while I was sleeping!
Separate from my vow to never get involved with the protagonist's crew,
I had no choice but to deal with a trustworthy fence just to get by.
‘Greg is as trustworthy as they come. He doesn't rip you off. He doesn't leak information. He doesn't look down on you. Honestly, there’s no better business partner.’
Of course, Greg was the go-to appraiser for the protagonist's group, who were always picking up strange items from somewhere.
With a bit of bad luck, I could run into a character from the original story…
But that could be avoided by choosing my times and moments carefully.
Besides, thinking that a brief encounter would lead to a major incident was bordering on self-importance.
If simply entrusting items to the same appraiser created a connection,
the appraiser who handled a corporate CEO's items would probably have a waiting list that wrapped around the globe.
‘Of course, this is all under the assumption that my psychic powers aren't discovered. As long as I'm not careless, it'll be fine. Just don't be careless.’
I will not let my guard down, not even for a second.
With a renewed sense of determination, I quietly watched Greg appraise the ring.
Before long, the light from the glasses dimmed.
The appraisal of the first ring was finally complete.
“I can’t take this one.”
“…?”
He’s refusing to buy it?!
Slightly flustered, I tapped the desk, as if demanding an explanation.
Greg had always bought even the cheapest junk for enough to buy a snack.
I never imagined he would outright refuse.
He looked down at me quietly, then brought the ring closer to my face as if to show me and said,
“As you can see, this ring has no monetary value. It seems to be made from hardened internal organs. This is a method recently favored by vampires.”
Greg’s reasons for refusal were twofold.
First, even if he bought the ring, its form was so crude that no one would buy it.
And second, it would give the vampire organization that created it a pretext to attack him.
They were rational reasons, befitting an adult.
So much so that I felt ashamed for having tapped the desk.
Well, if that was the case, it couldn't be helped.
I didn't want Greg to get caught up in strange affairs either.
Even if I forced him to buy it, it didn't seem like it would be worth much.
I’d just have to chalk it up to picking up a piece of trash.
“The rest seem to be ordinary rings, so I’ll buy them. The price… will be this much.”
“…!”
“Hmm. You seem pleased.”
The amount Greg offered was an outrageous sum.
Enough that I wouldn't have to bully any more thugs for at least two months!
No, with this, I could even have a sandwich packed with meat once a week!
Sandwiches, meat, pizza, and hamburgers.
I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth and shot up from my chair.
It was a gesture that meant, ‘I have no intention of haggling further, let's proceed.’
Greg handed me a cash card loaded with the money.
He must have figured it would be a hassle for me, with no bag or pockets, to carry around a wad of cash.
It was a very welcome kindness.
Unlike others, I didn't have a chip implant, so I had no choice but to carry cash.
The cash card was a welcome item that greatly reduced my burden.
As a sign of my gratitude, I bounced up and down on the spot.
I wanted to wave, but that would reveal my soft, squishy arms. This was the best I could do for now.
Did my intention get through?
The corners of Greg’s mouth lifted slightly as he spoke.
“It was a good deal, kid. And thanks for pulling the weeds in front of the shop.”
“…”
When did he see that?
While I froze, completely caught off guard by his unexpected words,
he closed the shop door and went back inside.
To think he noticed something even my psychic-power-enhanced senses had missed.
I guess he wasn't a character in *Fixer* for nothing. He was quite a formidable person.
Rubbing my arms where goosebumps had broken out, I headed back into the alley.
Then, I happened to feel the red ring I couldn't sell to Greg in my hand.
‘This thing… I'll just throw it away.’
*Flick.*
I casually tossed the ugly ring into the sewer.
The ring didn't even float on the water's surface; it just sank powerlessly.
As I quietly watched the ring sink, a thought occurred to me.
‘Come to think of it, why did that drug addict have this? A vampire… he seemed too weak for that. Did he just happen to pick it up?’
The vampires in the story were formidable enemies who gave the protagonist a hard time.
Why would that weak man have such a dangerous ring in his possession?
I couldn't help but feel a great deal of suspicion.
As it happened, the answer to that question came the very next day.
“*Pant, pant*… Found you! You damn wad of cloth! I’m going to kill you! I’m definitely going to kill you!”
The man, a dark bruise on his forehead, approached me with an agitated look on his face.
And with him, an army of ghouls, monsters that looked like shriveled mummies.
Wait, was this guy a vampire?