Chapter 17

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 17

Chapter Title: This MSG Kick is Unreal

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3:30 a.m.

The cramped studio apartment was shrouded in heavy silence.

"……."

"……."

The situation was straightforward.

In the middle of the narrow room sat a naked man and woman, utterly bare.

And one of them was a silver-haired elf with pointed ears straight out of a fantasy tale.

I stood there, arms crossed and one leg casually crossed over the other, while she lay prostrated on the floor like a criminal awaiting judgment.

"M-Master…."

Her pointed ears trembled as she barely lifted her head.

Her gaze naturally swept over my naked body, freezing the moment it reached the heavy presence below.

"Eek!"

Thud!

She jolted in terror, slamming her forehead back against the floor.

"S-Someone like me dares… d-dares to look upon you… I'm sorry! I was wrong!"

Her voice came out in a choked gasp.

Her shoulders hunched as if expecting a whip to lash out any second.

"If you order it, I'll gouge out these eyes right now… Please, have mercy…."

"No one's gouging anything. Now lift your head. The floor's filthy."

I sighed and scratched the back of my head.

In this day and age, one wrong move and you'd get sued. What a refreshingly unique reaction. You're hired.

The floor was caked in dust and stray hairs from who knows how long without cleaning.

Never thought I'd be showing a woman a sight like this.

An elf, no less.

"Let's get some clothes on first. This is an eyesore."

I opened the wardrobe.

Of course, no women's clothes in sight.

I pulled out the largest thing I had: a white dress shirt.

The one I'd bought for a job interview, worn once, and shoved away.

"Put this on."

Thud.

The shirt dropped right onto her head.

The elf picked it up with trembling hands, her eyes widening in shock.

"Y-You're… giving this to me?"

"You want me to wear it?"

"B-But… a slave wearing her master's clothes is… unforgivable…."

"Quit yapping and put it on."

"Y-Yes! Right away!"

I furrowed my brow, and she scrambled into the shirt like her life depended on it.

Just as expected.

A shirt roomy enough for me draped over her skeletal frame like a blanket.

The sleeves hung past her fingertips, and the hem reached halfway down her thighs.

Even buttoned up fully, her delicate collarbone peeked through the loose collar.

And etched starkly against her pale skin: a vivid red geometric tattoo.

The mark of a slave contract.

Damn. Not like I planned this.

Bottomless with just a white shirt on top.

The classic male fantasy outfit, but all I could think was, She needs to eat something.

Elf or not, she was skin and bones.

Gurgle.

Right on cue, her stomach growled.

Her face drained of color in embarrassment.

"S-Sorry! How dare I make such a crude noise in Master's presence…."

"Shut it. And drop that groveling tone already."

Irritated, I headed to what barely qualified as a kitchen: the sink area.

Three minutes later.

Two steaming cups of instant ramen sat on the tiny folding table.

My last reserves, saved for if I somehow made it back alive.

"Eat."

I snapped open a pair of wooden chopsticks and handed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them over.

She took them gingerly and stared down at the ramen.

Fiery red broth. A pungent, spicy aroma assaulting her nose.

Her mystical elf pupils shook violently, as if being sucked into an abyss.

Th-This is… execution?

Her expression made her thoughts crystal clear.

A deadly poison to torment a useless slave to death.

Or some horrific punishment on her final road.

"Um… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠do I just… drink this?"

She asked in a voice thick with resignation, chopsticks rattling in her grip.

Slurp—

I ignored her—my own stomach was starting to stick to my spine.

I scooped up a big bite and shoved it in.

Ahh, that's the stuff.

"……?"

The elf's eyes went wide watching me.

Master ate first. Must not be poison, then.

She finally relaxed a bit and timidly sipped the broth.

Zero point five seconds later.

"……!!"

Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

The intense spicy punch hit her tongue like a freight train, followed by the umami wave of MSG.

Her taste buds—likely starved on bland Hailon gruel and muddy water her whole life—were screaming in ecstasy, plain as day.

"Wh-What is this…?"

"Why? Poison's never tasted this good?"

"N-No way…."

She clamped a hand over her mouth.

"A flavor like this… it's my first. My tongue… it's melting…."

"You're exaggerating. It's just ramen. Won't kill you, so dig in."

"Hmph…!"

From that moment, she lost all reason.

Clutching the cup like it might vanish, she buried her face in it and inhaled.

Slurp, smack.

Nose running from the heat, but she never stopped.

How starved was she?

I clicked my tongue.

Wondered how all that fit into her tiny frame.

Finally, after licking up the last drop of broth, she snapped back to reality, face paling as she looked at me.

"Eek! H-How dare I share a table with Master… covet such precious food… I deserve death…."

She tried to prostrate again.

Fed her once, and we're back at square one.

"Enough already. You'll get indigestion eating like that."

I tossed her some tissues.

The red broth stain on her cheek bugged me.

Swipe.

I reached out without thinking.

Just to pluck the strand of hair stuck to her cheek—halfway into her mouth.

Flinch!

The second my hand rose, she instinctively hunched her shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut.

Her body, scarred by abuse, triggering a reflexive defense.

"……."

I paused, then carefully flicked the hair away with my fingertip.

"You planning to eat your hair too? Clumsy thing."

"……?"

No pain came.

Just a gentle pluck of the hair from her cheek.

"Ah…?"

She peeked open one eye, startled.

I brushed off the hair like nothing happened and cleared the empty cups.

"All done? Clean up."

"Y-Yes! Right away!"

She snatched my cup too and bolted to the sink.

Her shoulders looked a tad less hunched from behind.

Seemed she'd realized her master wasn't some psycho swinging fists for no reason.

"Hey."

I called out abruptly, and she whipped around mid-wash, attentive.

"Sogran's some slur for your kind, right? No real name?"

"I… don't remember. I've been a slave since I was little… They just called me Room 104."

"That's awkward. Let's pick one. Everyone needs a name."

I pondered for a sec.

Silver hair, elf.

Reminded me of my favorite character from that old RPG I used to grind: Eternal Saga.

"Yuriel. How's that?"

"Yu… riel?"

She rolled it around in her mouth.

Unfamiliar, but not bad—her eyes blinked in surprise.

"Y-You're giving that to… me? Such a noble name…?"

"Hate it? Call you Bob instead."

"N-No! Yuriel! Yuriel it is! Thank you, thank you, Master…!"

Her eyes misted over.

One name, and she's this touched.

Pitiful, but damn good value as a slave.

Stomachs full, titles sorted.

Time for real talk.

I sat at my desk and fired up the banking app on my phone.

"Ha…."

A deep sigh escaped.

Delivery gigs and the Hulk Hong challenge cash? Gone to rent and a week's groceries.

And now one more mouth to feed.

That elf—Yuriel, from the way she scarfed it down, her appetite could bankrupt me.

Plus clothes to buy.

Need money. Lots of it.

The answer was obvious.

Why else did I bring it?

The [Leader's Qualification] card.

I booted up the PC and launched the deep web browser like second nature.

The site I'd hacked open last time for intel.

[Abyss Survivor Archive]

A private community, accessible only via shadowy paths.

Straight to the 'Trading Board' tab.

"Picky bastards."

I posted a [For Sale] thread on the free board first.

Hit post.

A DM pinged right after.

Ding.

I smirked.

The intent was obvious.

Method: Use [Soul Vault].

Prerequisite: PK (Player Kill) for Soulless items.

Meaning this exchange was a black market for killers hauling loot from corpses.

Regular survivors wouldn't know, or couldn't pull it off.

Whatever.

I typed without hesitation.

Self-defense, cleaning up trash anyway.

And it applied to other races too, so no issue.

Just to be safe, VPN's solid.

A: ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Soul Vault registration. Prerequisite: Obtain Soulless item via PK.

Send.

Thirty seconds later.

"Easier than expected."

Straight to the trading board.

Barren, as predicted.

Few listings, and they'd delete after deals to avoid traces.

I kept my post simple.

No idiot would post a phone number.

Just the secure messenger ID even politicians used. Leaned back in my chair.

Now to wait.

Sweep, sweep—

A sound from behind.

Yuriel was already sweeping the floor with a broom.

Still just the shirt, flashing her butt now and then—did she realize?

Though she's so skinny right now, it's more tragic than tempting.

Impressive she took initiative without orders.

She kept stealing glances at my monitor, fascinated.

"What're you looking at?"

"N-Nothing! Just… the little people moving inside that box… it's amazing…."

She pointed to my screen: the [Dungeon Odyssey] game running.

While waiting for replies, I'd been simming the next stage, 1-2 [Foggy Swamp].

"Amazing?"

"Yes… It feels like another world."

"It is. Kinda like where you lived? Speaking of, what was Hailon like?"

I asked casually while maneuvering my game character.

"Oh… it was…."

Yuriel's face darkened.

Just as she opened her mouth.

Ding—!

A sharp alert pierced the room.

Secure messenger.

Hoo.

Posting a personal number openly on an underworld site?

Either ballsy or confident no one could trace them.

One or the other.

I grinned and replied.

I smelled money.

The thick, heady kind.