No! Don't! Stop!
After escaping the underground dungeon, some time passed, and I found myself lurking in a secluded, deserted back alley.
"Mm, this should do."
Standing in front of a clothing collection bin tucked away in the shadows, I threw together a makeshift outfit and took a quiet look at my reflection. I couldn't exactly wander the streets barefoot in nothing but an oversized dress shirt forever, so this was purely an emergency measure. Over the loose white shirt, I had thrown on a medieval-style black capelet and matching trousers, finishing off the look with shoes that appeared sized for a child.
At least I won't look like an exhibitionist anymore, right?
Perching myself atop the clothing bin, I began to sort through my current situation. I gave serious thought to the predicament I was in and what on earth I should do next. The conclusion I reached was...
"...I'm in deep trouble."
To put it bluntly, I was in a truly catastrophic bind.
It wasn't that the lunatic pervert gentleman had tracked me down; no, this was something far more directly linked to my immediate survival. In the span of a single night, I had lost my house, my money, and every single one of my vital belongings.
My home had been cleanly blown to kingdom come by that gentleman freak. Because I kept the vast majority of my assets in hard cash at home, my life savings had gone up in smoke right along with the building. And as for my valuables, the subspace pocket I relied on daily had inexplicably gone completely dead.
In short, a woman of comfortable wealth had been reduced to a destitute beggar overnight. No exaggeration—I didn't have a single copper coin to my name, which made things agonizingly awkward.
Penniless in a civilized society? I hardly needed to explain what kind of death sentence that was.
Hoping against hope, I had actually swung by my house—or what was left of it—to see if there was anything salvageable to sell. All that greeted me was a landscape of pulverized rubble. Still, clinging to the faintest glimmer of hope, I had tried wading through the wreckage, only to be stopped in my tracks.
"Hey! That's my house over there! Let me in!"
"Whoa there, little girl! It's dangerous! Run along home!"
"No! I'm telling you it's my house! Don't hold me baaack!"
"Hey! What did I just say?!"
For reasons unknown, municipal investigators had swarmed the perimeter under the pretext of examining an unexplained explosion, cutting off all access entirely.
Thus, I had lost everything overnight. Resentful of the heavens, I tilted my head toward the sky. It was a cursedly gorgeous, sunlit day. If it had at least poured rain, I could have hidden my tears behind the falling droplets.
"Haah..."
With a heavy sigh, the dark thoughts began to swirl.
...Should I just die right here? In a single day, my house is gone, I've been thoroughly marked and ruined by some lunatic cult, and every last scrap of wealth I owned is dust. Come to think of it, haven't I lived pretty long already? Honestly, living through a second lifetime and still being greedy for more... wouldn't that be a luxury?
Crushed by the sheer hollowness of losing it all, a sudden impulse to just end it flashed through my mind.
Nah, forget it. You live because you can't die.
Keep on living, and good things are bound to happen eventually. Muttering that quiet reassurance, I forced down the murky, tar-like gloom bubbling from the bottom of my heart. Then, I turned my thoughts toward practical, realistic solutions.
"...Either way, I have to get my hands on some cash."
The most urgent priority was securing money. And I needed it immediately.
Why the desperate rush, you ask? Because of the peculiar rules governing this world—governing Nueria.
Every city across Nueria collected taxes. That part was standard enough; a nation needed tax revenue to run, after all. However, the way they collected these taxes was rather peculiar. In Nueria, residential zones and non-residential zones were divided with razor-sharp precision.
The places that levied taxes were designated residential zones—walled cities like Rumeln, where I stood right now. Cities protected their populace from the monsters that still teemed outside. In return, citizens were forced to pay astronomical taxes as a combination of protection money and the privilege of residency. These taxes were typically collected through land taxes, lodging fees, and monthly rent, topped off with a monstrous surcharge on everything else.
And anyone who failed to pay their taxes was branded a felon.
...Hm? Then couldn't you just shrug, say to hell with it, and sleep rough on the streets?
If only. Every night, a strict curfew fell over the city. And the moment it did, terrifying enforcers known as the Sweepers began stalking the night.
In this pint-sized body, getting tangled up with those freaks is an absolute death wish.
The Sweepers sounded like a standard night watch or patrol force, but they were anything but. They literally 'swept' people away. And by sweeping, I didn't mean anything quaint like the curfews back in old Korea—no friendly officer saying, "Sir! You can't be out at night! Let's take you down to the precinct!" No, the Sweepers summarily executed anyone they laid eyes on, right on the spot. I wasn't exaggerating. I had witnessed it with my own eyes more than once.
Even if you were miraculously spared from execution, what awaited you was permanent exile from all residential zones. And waiting beyond the walls were hordes of ravenous monsters. In other words, a two-choice dilemma of how you preferred to die.
So unless I wanted to be turned into street dust by morning, I had to earn enough for a night's lodging before sundown.
Of course, if I were still the active Platinum Adventurer Teresia, I could've just sneered, 'Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?' and completely ignored them...
I lifted both hands and looked down at my palms. They were so small, dainty, and soft—completely smooth, without a trace of calluses. Hands that made me wonder if I could even grip a broom properly, let alone a sword. In this pathetic state, I didn't stand a ghost of a chance against the Sweepers.
"Not like there's anyone I can borrow money from, either. Haah..."
Just as I was lamenting my miserable lot in life—
"Hey there, little lady."
"...?"
From the alley behind me came a voice, followed by the appearance of a shady-looking man. The slovenly clothes, the swaggering attitude, the sleazy gait—he was, by all accounts, a textbook lowlife thug.
What now? Looking for a fight?
Before I could get dragged into annoying trouble, I turned to leave, but—
"Whoops, pardon me."
"...?"
Another delinquent stepped out, deliberately blocking my path with a slimy grin.
"What is this...? Is today national pick-on-me day? What do you two want?!"
Having already blown past my stress tolerance for the day, I didn't even bother controlling my expression. I glared at them with unabashed, murderous intent.
"Ooh, scary."
"Look at that face. Think she's gonna hit us? Huh?"
To them, coming from my current frame, it must have looked like nothing more than an adorable tantrum. The thugs puffed their chests out even further and began closing in.
"..."
Then, they stared at me in silence. Their eyes slithered over me from head to toe, as if licking every inch of my skin. When that disgusting gaze dragged on, my patience finally snapped.
"Get out of my sight right now. That's your final warning."
Normally, I would have butchered them on the spot without a word, but perhaps because today had already ground my nerves into dust, or because I had already endured events so profoundly traumatic, my mind had achieved a bizarre state of zen where I felt magnanimous enough to overlook petty annoyances. With a chillingly level head, I offered the hoodlums one last chance.
However—
"Pfft, heh-heh-heh."
"Hehehe."
Instead, a pair of vile, grating chuckles broke out. Frankly speaking, it turned my stomach.
"Little lady, didn't your mommy and daddy teach you what to do when strange men approach you?"
"..."
I clenched my fists tight. Even as I did, their repulsive banter continued.
"She's definitely a looker, but isn't she way too young? What, twelve? Thirteen? Tsk, I prefer them a bit older."
"Older chicks have their charm, but with a fresh little thing like this, you can dye her whatever color you want. Isn't that the best part?"
"Damn, you've got some wicked taste."
With that, the men burst into another round of greasy laughter.
"Ha... haha... Hahahaha?"
A quiet, hollow laugh slipped past my lips in sheer disbelief. I'd lost my house. I'd lost my fortune. I'd been captured by a psychotic freak. I was on the brink of death from being dead broke. And now, a pair of bottom-tier street trash thought they could mess with me?
"Pheeew..."
I let out a long breath and hung my head low.
Yeah. I've been patient enough. More than patient.
Repeating that truth to myself, I raised my eyes, glaring at them with a gaze cold enough to freeze bone.
"Are you bastards prepared?"
"Huh?"
"What's she rambling about all of a sudden?"
At my out-of-the-blue question, the two delinquents exchanged bewildered glances. Paying them no heed, I cracked my knuckles with a series of sharp, satisfying pops.
And then—
"Prepared to be planted face-first into the dirt and crawl like dogs!"
Immediately—
WHOOSH!
Right alongside my roar came a lightning-fast right hook. It was executed at a speed utterly unbelievable for a child's body.
"Guhk?!"
My remarkably swift fist struck Delinquent 1 square in the jaw. By all rights, the sheer kinetic shock should have sent him sailing straight into the brick wall—or so it should have been.
"Huh? What the hell, that was a total pillow punch! Got worked up over nothing."
"Uh... huh?"
In normal times, I would have cleanly liberated his molars and blasted him across the alley. But apparently, my strength had regressed along with my appearance; my raw muscle mass was pitifully inadequate to send a grown man flying.
Staring at the reality of the situation—a cold bead of sweat trickled down my back.
"Uh... um?"
The punch lacked punch. No, beyond lacking power, it was literally just the punch of an ordinary little girl. Paralyzed by the shocking sight before my eyes, I froze stiff.
...Wait. This... this isn't how this was supposed to go?!
While I stood there internally screaming, a hulking shadow slid over my face. I slowly tilted my head back to look up.
"You cheeky little brat. Daring to strike back? Looks like big brothers are gonna have to personally teach you some manners."
"Heheh, our etiquette lessons can get pretty rough, though! Kehehe!"
"Wait, what?"
The two towering thugs loomed over me, stepping forward into my personal space. All I could do was watch the two looming shadows close in without hesitation.
Some time later. Deep within the gloom of the sunless alleyway.
"Ah, uugh... hngh..."
A ragged, feverish gasp echoed through the narrow space.
"Who told you that you could slack off?! Arch your back straight, damn it!"
Immediately following that harsh, furious bark came a sharp—SMACK!
It sounded identical to a palm striking bare buttocks with maximum force, followed by a pathetic, tearful wail.
"Hahk?! P-Please, that's enough already! H-Have mercy!"
To that muffled, desperate pleading, the violent voice roared back like thunder.
"Look at this lazy bastard! Whining already?! My etiquette lesson has barely even started!"
"Aack?! I-I'm not used to this kind of thing, my body can't take it anymore...! P-Please, no more...!"
THWACK! THUD! SMACK!
THWACK! THUD! SMACK!
A steady, rhythmic percussion of blunt force meeting meat rang out in perfect cadence.
"Ah, aaah...!"
Thud.
Twitch, twitch.
The owner of that pitiful voice collapsed onto the cobblestones, eyes glistening with feverish moisture. His pupils were blown and unfocused as if his brain had short-circuited, and his limbs trembled in subtle spasms. It seemed the sheer intensity of the battering had rendered his body entirely incapable of further movement.
"...Tsk. Tapped out already?"
The owner of the furious voice looked down with cold disdain, dusting off the cuffs of her sleeves to straighten her slightly disheveled outfit.
"E-Excuse me..." a trembling voice squeaked from nearby.
"What."
"Why... why are we being held here getting a wooden club massage from you?"
"What did you just say, punk?"
I, the source of all that rage, glared viciously at the delinquent kneeling politely on both knees before me.
"Eeeek?!"
In stark contrast to his earlier swagger, the thug shrank into himself, shoulders quaking. Upon closer inspection, his face had been remodeled into a bloody pulp. Naturally, it was the fruit of my dedicated labor, having beaten him half to death.
And of course it was. No matter how physically weak I'd become, I had years of seasoned adventurer experience under my belt. There was no way in hell I was losing to a pair of no-name street thugs. Never underestimate the instincts born from veteran experience!
"You lowlife bastards had the nerve to pick a fight with an upstanding citizen, tried to shake me down, and thought you'd walk away unscathed?! Do you pieces of shit really want to die?!"
"Heeek!!"
I barked at the thoroughly terrified hoodlum, watching him tremble.
"Hey. Delinquent Number One."
"Y-Yes, ma'am!"
"How much money do you guys have?"
"Huh?"
Sprawled on the ground, Delinquent 1 blinked in confusion. It seemed he hadn't grasped the intent behind my question. Can't be helped. Guess I'll have to explain it kindly.
"Money. I asked how much you have. What, are your ears purely decorative?"
"No... why are you asking for money all of a sudden...?"
"If you pick a fight with someone, paying an apology fee is common courtesy, isn't it?!"
Without missing a beat, I brought the wooden club in my hands down hard across Delinquent 1's rear.
"Aahk?!" he groaned in agony.
For the record, I had confiscated this club from them. The grip was truly exquisite. If I swung it with proper technique, it felt like even this frail little body could cave a grown man's skull in.
Come to think of it, this really pisses me off. Trying to use a weapon like this on a frail little girl like me? You vile scoundrels!
SMACK!
Out of pure indignation, I landed another solid blow on his backside. The impact felt strangely satisfying, so I gave him another. And because the rhythmic thwacking was surprisingly addictive, I soon found myself swinging away in a state of pure, detached zen.
"H-Heeek!!!"
Watching his partner being systematically tenderized in real time, Delinquent 2 curled into a tighter ball of terror.
To an outside observer, I might have looked like a full-blown sadist, but that was a gross misunderstanding. I was a civilized citizen originally from Earth, and in this fantasy world, widely known as the most rational, level-headed Platinum Adventurer on the continent. Could someone of my stature possibly be a sadist who got off on hurting people? Absurd. This was merely an anomalous outburst—a temporary release valve because my stress meter had shattered its upper limit today.
Please believe me. I'm not normally like this.
...Probably.
"Haaah... whew..."
Clatter.
With my breath growing ragged and hot, I roughly dropped the wooden club onto the pavement. I looked down at my slightly chafed palms.
Exhausted just from swinging a stick around? Just how weak did this body get?
Still, perhaps because it had been so long since I'd worked up a proper sweat, a strangely refreshed expression crossed my face as I wiped the perspiration from my forehead.
"Pheeew~"
Beating someone up and feeling revitalized left a slight twinge of guilt, but today, my moral conscience had been thrown to the dogs. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, I blinked.
"Oh, right. Hey! Delinquent Number Two. What was the last thing I said before we got sidetracked?"
I shifted my gaze toward Delinquent 2, who was shivering beside me. With an audible gasp, he hunched his shoulders and blurted out in a cracking, frantic voice:
"I-I'll give it to you! Of course! Everything we have, we'll give it all to you! J-Just spare our lives! Please, anything but our lives!!!"
"Uh..."
Seeing him bow so low his forehead scraped the stone, terrified out of his mind after watching his comrade get pummeled into mince meat, I started feeling the faintest prickle of remorse.
"...Listening to you, it almost sounds like I'm shaking you down."
I muttered that quiet observation in the interest of self-reflection. But the thug overheard it and immediately began trembling even harder.
"N-No, absolutely not, ma'am! Shaking us down?! T-This is an apology fee for our gross insolence! Yes, indeed, an apology fee!"
Delinquent 2 desperately defended my character, frantically turning out every pocket he had. And just like that, I found myself holding a modest sum of coins.
"C-Can... can we leave now, ma'am?"
"Yeah. Don't go around pulling this crap anymore. If I ever catch you doing this again, you're dead meat. Got it?"
"Y-Yes, understood, ma'am! We'll never do it again, never!"
With that, I watched the two delinquents limp pathetically out of the alley.
Seeing them hobble away, my conscience pricked at me just a little... but I had kept the beating within reasonable limits so they wouldn't be permanently crippled, so it was fine. Besides, a lesson of this caliber was necessary to prevent retaliation or future offenses. As for taking their money, well, consider it a tuition fee for etiquette and socialization training. So really, I hadn't shaken down the defenseless at all. Absolutely not!
"...Hmm."
I peered into the coin pouch. A quick count showed it was easily enough to cover a night at a decent inn with plenty to spare. Gazing at the shiny copper and silver, I murmured under my breath:
"Wait. Shaking people down is actually pretty damn lucrative, isn't it?"
For a fleeting second, I seriously contemplated switching classes to a street delinquent. Fortunately, the desperate protests of whatever moral compass I had left snuffed out the thought before it could materialize.
"Well, whatever. At least this'll get me through today."
Gripping the funds that would buy my survival for another night, I stepped out to find an inn before the sun went down.