Chapter 83 - The Man Who Loves Cocktails
A few days earlier, somewhere on the continent.
Torpedo Umbrella Nitro loved cocktails.
Cocktails were a mystical beverage with a thousand faces. Depending on what ingredients and flavorings were added, they could become the golden queen of the world's richest and most beautiful, or the ashen dancer in a filthy alley corner, twisting her life's hardships into a dance to earn coins from the lowly and tight-fisted.
The drinkers who visited Torpedo's bar-cum-club-cum-business deep underground all fell head over heels for the cocktail—everyone without exception, the universal lover that Torpedo introduced them to. Yet none of them had to compete over the same lover in tragic rivalry.
Ruler of all, slave to all. Truly belonging to no one, free and unbound by possession.
"And they're useful for revealing someone's true face, too."
Torpedo Nitro slid homemade cocktails toward the two guests whose faces were hidden behind masks and hoods. The smaller of the two grinned broadly the moment he caught the scent of alcohol and reached for his glass—like a recovering alcoholic who'd been sober for ages due to some circumstance.
But the much larger one smacked the back of the smaller one's hand down like he was scolding a child. The crack of breaking wrist bones, the shatter of the glass, and a sharp yelp echoed simultaneously.
The club's guards rose stealthily. Torpedo irritably waved them back down.
"I prefer doing business sober."
"My body is a temple, and my life is worship."
"...Religious reasons, huh."
Torpedo Nitro wondered why they'd bothered hiding their identities if they were going to act like that. Any self-respecting heavyweight in the underworld would clock their true nature the moment that worm-like mouth spat out the word "worship." And most of them would immediately excuse themselves to the bathroom—and never come back.
Nobody wanted to chat with a real-deal lunatic like Gunter Baldenhart.
But Torpedo Nitro counted himself among the bold few who did. He wouldn't have dipped into the dark world as a top-tier mage and engineer if he didn't love surprise and danger. And he believed true mages were precisely those who craved the unexpected and the risky.
"I turned you down the first time, remember? I didn't push it then. Your proposal to make a 'lookalike' was intriguing. But Torpedo Nitro and his establishment have one ironclad rule."
"Rules are good. What's the rule?"
"You can't do business with Torpedo Nitro unless you swallow the drink I pour you."
Gunter, Mitra's diocese leader, locked eyes with the heretic mage Torpedo in a staring contest. When the other man stubbornly held out, Gunter squeezed his eyes shut like he was turning away. Then he shoved his own glass toward Adamanthon.
Adamanthon Sunsstorm glared furiously, as if to say, Why smash the glass and my hand if you're gonna do this anyway? Of course, his rebellious spirit evaporated the instant Gunter's voice rang out.
"Drink."
"...You're the one who made the deal with this guy, Diocese Leader."
"From now on, you deal with him. You're the Hero, aren't you?"
"Hero? Hero, huh. I know one Hero who's stirred up a huge mess lately."
Torpedo blinked his red eyes innocently and dropped a loaded line.
"Ever been to the 'sea' recently, by any chance?"
Adamanthon, who couldn't care less about the cocktail's sweetness or whatever, slammed the long-awaited booze down his throat. He shuddered with the buzz and started blabbing excitedly.
"Yeah. I went to kill Alistair Tomco and steal the Grimgal Party's stuff, but thanks to my incompetent underlings, I just suffered and failed—what the hell?!"
Adamanthon freaked out and dropped his glass. Suspicious smoke rose over the rainbow sheen of the shattered remnants.
"I told you. They're useful for revealing true faces. You never suspect a thing even when I pack in all sorts of flavorings, so I can load it up with truth serum and you won't bat an eye at the taste."
Torpedo smirked and leaned toward Adamanthon.
"Relax. Don't make that 'I wanna bolt' face."
"You put... drugs in my drink... you crazy bastard...!"
"You hire assassin pirates from the underworld, and now you're freaking out over a little truth potion like you're gonna run? You gotta tell me what you want first, Hero. So, what brings the proud son of the Sunsstorm family crawling to me for help?"
Adamanthon, gripped by terror at having his identity exposed, barely remembered this was the underworld, not the light side. His opponent was surely far from the powers of the lawful world, too.
After fuming for a while, Adamanthon spat it out.
"...I owe a debt to the Special Monster Extermination Unit... no, the Special Mackerel Party... wait, not that either. What was it..."
"Special Monster Extermination Unit?"
"Yeah, that! Anyway, I gotta pay those bastards back. That's why I'm here to buy mercenaries. I heard you keep a bunch of strong guys on hand."
"True, I got plenty of strong guys. But what debt? What's your beef with those upstanding folks?"
"It's not a grudge. I'm not trying to drag those bitches down out of jealousy—"
"I get it. Jealousy hurts. Everyone knows about that famous 'Tena of the Ultramarine' and her party's exploits these days."
Adamanthon's face twisted hideously with the pathetic envy of a failed fringe Hero.
Torpedo shook his head inwardly at the guest's shallow attitude, easy to read through.
"Heard they pulled off a big one in Bitsurk recently. Saving a whole city? Impressive stuff. I hope those girls keep succeeding."
"...You'd pass out if you heard they were all sex-crazed whores. You know about me but clueless on world news? What they did was..."
"That rumor about them hiring a male prostitute for the party? 'One Sun' spewed that nonsense, but they issued a correction pretty quick."
"Correction...?"
"Hiding out must keep you in the dark on current events."
Torpedo snapped his fingers at his secretary. She pulled a newspaper from a drawer and set it before Adamanthon.
The front page of the latest One Sun bore words Adamanthon never expected.
'We apologize. We retract our previous statement.'
Adamanthon blinked dumbly.
"...What the hell...?"
"Even pro liars couldn't handle the backlash. Underdog dogma exploded, and public opinion went nuts. People are raging that they had to bully a powerless young woman into stripping to create an issue. Yeah, it was over the line. Female porters are rare, sure, but treating a decent virgin like a hooker and leaking her nudes worldwide... brutal."
"This... isn't what we agreed...!"
"Guess One Sun felt the need to placate their subscribers. They didn't even put an apology on the front page when they mocked Tobetan's queen as a former whore."
"What happened?! Tell me! Baldenhart! You said that bastard would get kicked out!"
"One more word."
Gunter Baldenhart loomed his massive frame over Adamanthon. The truth potion had unleashed Adamanthon's insolence explosively, but he shut his mouth with a hiccup.
"Don't punish him too hard just 'cause his mouth's loose. Everyone knows on the down-low that Mitra Church is One Sun's biggest backer. Of course they'd egg you on to screw with them."
Torpedo, meanwhile, snickered. Adamanthon could see veins bulging subtly on Gunter's face.
The heretic mage was blabbing the church's dirty secrets like common knowledge. Gunter wondered how he'd sniffed it out.
"Whistleblowers and the church. Like crocodiles and plovers, mutual aid. One solid scandal out of ten suspicions on big shots, and 'atonement funds' pour in fat donations."
"Dare speak more insolence from that mouth, mage."
Gunter Baldenhart widened his eyes and smiled. There was a chilling terror in the subtle madness emanating from such a giant.
But Torpedo didn't blink.
"Insolence."
"Arrogant."
"In my eyes, the ones threatening me in my establishment look arrogant. Why not show me what you'd do if I said one more word?"
"Then I couldn't ask for your help. You wouldn't be in this world anymore."
"What a pain to the end. Kids, we're closing early today."
Torpedo set down the flavor bottle he'd been polishing and clapped twice. The club's music and lights cut out instantly. Shouts erupted from the stage below, where patrons had been tossing money at stripping men and women.
The secretary, who'd been watching, approached quietly and whispered.
"We have important noble guests tonight."
"Tell them I'm not thrilled to close early either. Make up an excuse."
"You mean keep quiet about Gunter Baldenhart's visit?"
"Obviously. You think I'd risk shutting down for good? If word gets out that scripture-fundie psycho showed up, no one'll come here fearing a stake up the ass."
The business room door flew open, and badge-wearing hulks poured in, encircling Torpedo's bar protectively. Their expressionless faces were striking. More accurately, they lacked facial features altogether.
Adamanthon examined them closely and paled. The "guards" were golems—artificial muscles and stone skin stuffed into suits.
The mage, golem-maker and mercenary boss, drew a one-handed staff ornate with silver decorations.
"I can't drag down-on-their-luck souls who came to this dark world seeking cocktails and freedom into a fight. I'm an adult—with a duty to protect the innocence of kids forced to grow up too soon by age."
"Those young guys downstairs stuffing cash into strippers' tits didn't look too innocent. And you didn't have to meet Baldenhart. Should've listened when I said to kick him out."
"I was curious what bullshit he'd spew. Before beating him black and blue and tossing him, lemme ask one thing. What kinda proposal brings a proper light-side diocese leader slumming it here? Another 'combat golem' like last time?"
"The law demands your service. Join the work of the Holy Spirit."
"...Now you need the golem's creator, not just golems. But clenching that massive fist won't help."
Torpedo sighed, eyeing Baldenhart's head-sized fist.
"Dunno what you used my golems for, but dragons came sniffing around once, y'know? What mess did you make? I'm not selling you any more."
"I'm not proposing a deal. I command service."
"Handing 'em over free is a hard no. Even if you kill me, I ain't going under your ass."
"How about this: cooperate, or I kill your daughter."
The air froze. Torpedo glared at his old customer like a demon, red eyes blazing.
Adamanthon felt like he'd seen those eyes before. Gunter remembered clearly.
"Bilena Umbrella Nitro. Right?"
"Hey."
"It's not just the foolish who suffer for ignorance. Fear me now, mage?"
"Nah. Actually, it's funny."
Suddenly, the golems gaped wide and drew massive two-handed swords. The twenty-strong pack of brutes became a pack of greatsword-wielding brutes.
Adamanthon gulped.
"After you two nearly killed that girl once each, you slither into my place begging deals—and try to smear her name too. You're not leaving alive, you lunatics."
As he spoke, Torpedo signaled behind his back, forming command mudras. The forward staff was pure misdirection.
One golem lunged at Gunter's back with a surprise two-handed thrust. But against Torpedo's intent, the blade didn't pierce—instead, it snapped on impact. Gunter seized the golem's head and slammed it down. Steel parts burst under the pressure.
Torpedo's secretary watched the monstrous strength with a blank face. Then she nodded at him.
"Go to the bathroom now."
"...No... I..."
"Go. You're in the way."
The secretary tied back her white hair and drew a long, single-edged methuselah sword.
Torpedo blinked at her aura, then straightened his clothes and hurried off. The roars echoing from the corridor spurred the crafting mage's steps faster.
In his mind, his invention was truly great. Unlike the stiff-jointed, outdated transport junk from Magic Tower "Three Stars"—failures unworthy of their fame, inferior to real porters.
His "War Golems" perfectly wielded all twenty-four sword styles in existence—a killing machine. Combatants who'd mocked porters losing ground to golems might soon despair at their own worse fate.
The moment they hit the market proper, they'd turn every non-special-rank fighter into jobless brats back in mommy's arms.
But had he overrated his babies' performance out of paternal pride? Nah.
Hero Adamanthon was screaming and dodging desperately, after all—proof even a pureblood Hero couldn't withstand blows rivaling special-rank sword aptitude.
But that diocese leader... even his secretary, a real special-rank fighter, seemed no match.
The battle's silence broke with her stifled grunt as she collapsed. Only heavy footsteps grew closer.
Torpedo bolted to the elevator in panic, mashing the close button like he'd break it. Against fears, the doors shut before the diocese leader's damn bald head appeared in the dark hall.
Torpedo slumped in surging relief and worry for his secretary.
"Like you, hated by Ivory Tower scholars, I'm an outcast in the church too—isolated with no allies."
And then, thick fingers pried in, wrenching the steel doors apart like tissue.
Gunter Baldenhart shoved his face into the elevator and grinned at the screaming Torpedo like a child.
"No soldiers to wage war? Guess I'll make my own. I believe you can manage it."
"...Just one question. What the hell are you planning with those guys? Why?!"
"The Law."
Gunter grabbed Torpedo's face, dragging him out as he whispered.
"I will restore the Law."
———
Now. Linden Duchy.
"...Frontal assault?!"
A vein throbbed at Esen's temple.
The Linden Duchy soldiers who'd handed us the contract blinked blankly. As if their whole bodies screamed, We were just told to deliver it—we know nothing.
Meanwhile, Nenya examined the request form and contract, one in each hand. She handed the contract to Nidroga.
"Burn it."
Nidroga didn't even ask if she meant it—just huffed breath on the paper. It crackled with heat, crumbling to ash, which she tossed aside.
The soldiers gaped in horror at the dramatic flair, but Nenya just smiled quietly.
"Guess we need to talk. Who's in charge, and where?"
"Can't say. And they're out today."
"Wanna burn like paper too?"
The soldiers paled at Nenya's venomous tone. I held her back and stepped in front.
"Let's keep it civil. Be straight with us. Aren't they in the barracks?"