The Hero's Descent into the Slums
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Porter: Johann32
The sky was dyed orange. The sun leisurely declared the end of the day. As it slowly dipped below the horizon, the people of Wanderer's Village, who had bustled through their routines, wrapped up their work.
The fruit vendor at the market shouted out her clearance prices, sorting through the wilted produce. Poor folks, hovering like hyenas, rushed to snatch up the bargains. It was a heartwarming sight common to any village.
In the bakery, apprentices training under the master artisan scrubbed the oven. The blacksmith shop shuttered its doors and began tidying the workshop.
For the grueling repetition of tomorrow, they tidied up today. It was the final chore in the endless wheel of daily life.
The adventurers were no different. Those who had struck out finding work spat on the ground in frustration and trudged toward the inn.
An adventurer fresh from the dungeon staggered toward the guild, struggling under the weight of a bulging backpack. Their last task was to cash in the dungeon's treasures for a satisfying close to the day.
Wanderer's Village's adventurer guild stayed open 24 hours. You never knew when an explorer might return.
Most villagers were winding down like this. But not everyone. Even on a balmy summer day under warm sunlight, shadows lingered in the dark corners.
The dank back alley felt none of the sunset's romance.
This was a place where the sick lay scattered, and dropouts who had given up on life huddled under straw mats to sleep. It was a dangerous spot, far removed from the village's vibrant energy.
Day and night didn't exist here. It was filled with people who had no days at all.
Moldy back alleys rolled with beggars, vagrants, homeless folk, and thugs who knew nothing of the future. They were the dregs of society, numb even to the scorn of being called parasites.
"Boss. I'm back."
A deep voice echoed through the filthy back alley, thick with menace.
"That you, Bin? How'd begging go today?"
"Struck out. Damn, this village's charity gets stingier by the day."
"Kyahaha! Don't sweat it. Just as the moon wanes after waxing, poverty follows plenty, right?"
"Boss, you always sound like some ink-drinking scholar. How'd a guy like you end up with us lowlifes?"
"Life's like that, ain't it? Moon waxes, then wanes. Uphill follows downhill."
"What a screwed-up life we've led. Hey, who's that guy over there?"
Bin, one of the countless homeless in the alley, tilted his head at the unfamiliar face.
People came and went in these alleys often enough—life's losers weren't new.
Still, having scraped by as a long-time sky-gazer, he knew the area inside out. Especially since begging was his trade.
What was begging? Staring at faces all day, pleading for scraps.
He prided himself on knowing faces better than the info guild. Hell, they even bought tips from him sometimes.
So a face missing from his vast mental database meant a newcomer to Wanderer's Village. Rare for fresh arrivals to hit the slums so quick.
"Buddy, you must've had a rough go. Where'd you pawn that arm?"
Bin approached with his trademark bold grin. It was his secret weapon for befriending anyone. The reason he topped earnings among alley beggars.
"......"
The man looked up. His gaunt face looked one step from a skeleton, like artificial skin stretched over a frame. Even Bin, who'd seen it all, shivered. Despair was etched large across it.
"Ahem! Well, everyone’s got their story. You look brand new to the village, but already staking a spot here. Fate must've clubbed you hard too."
Bin pulled a small vial from his inner pocket. A thumb-sized, reddish-brown bottle.
Booze, the homeless essential. Usually watered 1:1, but beggars didn't care. In the slums, strong meant good.
"Down it. Your woes are appetizer enough."
He tossed the bottle. Luxurious for a beggar—morning's haul might barely cover it. But Bin handed it over without hesitation.
His gut said: This guy's no ordinary mark. Good ties could pay off.
The man caught it mechanically and uncorked it. The sharp booze stench spread. Nearby homeless licked their lips.
"Hey, Bin! Skipping your old pal for that newbie? Unfair!"
"Pay back what you owe first. That 3-copper loan from last year? Interest's piling up in gold."
The man shut up at Bin's witty retort. The armless newbie—Vints the hero—brought the pungent liquor to his lips.
He wasn't much of a drinker. Avoided rotgut like this; it messed with training.
"Gulp! Gulp!"
He nearly chugged it. Alley king Wangcho chuckled at the sight.
"Guy's got stamina. Looks like an adventurer who's swung a sword or two."
Vints finished the bottle and finally looked up.
His flushed face resembled a harvest tomato. He swayed side to side, drunk solid. But his venomous eyes stayed sharp through the haze.
Booze loosens tongues best. Bin sat before him.
"You took the drink, so spill. What's your story here?"
"......"
Vints set down the bottle, chin up, gazing at the orange sunset draping his face.
Blurred by booze or sorrow, the sky swam. After gathering thoughts, he spoke slowly.
"I was a hero."
Simplest intro. Bin nodded knowingly: Figured as much.
Other homeless, who'd eyed him slyly, averted gazes. Heroes were heroes, rotten or not. Cross one wrong, regret it.
"Some accident, huh? Lost the arm in a dungeon?"
Wangcho watched keenly.
Vints nodded, adding:
"Sacrificed it for the one I love."
"Romantic! Rare breed in this day and age."
Half admiration, half mockery.
Sacrificing an arm for love? Fairy-tale stuff. But fairy tales don't end like this—too bitter.
"Everything went wrong. Lost my love, lost my hero's pride. Don't know what to do."
"This place is full of that. We're all rudderless boats adrift. From showoff Bin there to me."
Wangcho grinned suddenly.
"You need a woman, friend. Heartbreak? Heal with love."
"Nothing left I need."
"Tanya. Got a job for ya."
A mat-wrapped woman bared yellow teeth in a grin.
"Ooh, handsome fella. Half price for that face."
"He's heartbroken young'un. Nurse him with love."
"N-no... I'm fine."
Vints waved her off. But Tanya leered closer.
First decent man in this sewer of losers. She wouldn't pass it up.
"Don't worry, pretty boy. Tab's open for studs."
"No, I have someone I love..."
"Fallen this far and clinging to fantasies? Looks like a virgin too."
Vints flinched at "virgin." Hit a man's pride.
"I'm not!"
"Prove it then."
Vints, zero womanizing experience, stood no chance against Tanya, slum-hardened by brothels and debts.
She sidled up with a sly smile. Unlike the others, this one had meat to squeeze.
Thus, Vints had his first time that day.
Location: back alley. Partner: streetwalker with a few STDs.
Surprisingly, it didn't feel bad.
"Where the heck did Sir Hero go?"
The Priest, waiting hours for Vints, returned alone to the inn. She'd safely lifted the clothing curse at church. But new problem: Vints vanished.
Hearing it, the mage Sharon drummed the table anxiously.
"Lost his way?"
Priest shook her head.
"Even our scatterbrain hero wouldn't get lost this late. Something's wrong."
Ominous dread crept in. Act fast.
"I'll commission the info guild. Hero's distinctive; results soon."
Johann soothed them. Priest stayed calm, but Sharon brooded.
"Shouldn't we search ourselves?"
"Waste of time. Needle in a haystack in this sprawl. We're no locals. Pros are best."
Déjà vu from Start Village.
Then, Vints returned wrecked. Feared the same now.
"I'm worried..."
Dungeon raid tomorrow. Vints missing left a bitter taste.
"Worrying changes nothing. Dinner first."
Dinner: Sharon's homemade soup. Her culinary pride was justified. Tastier than fancy restaurants for Johann. Probably 'cause a beauty made it.
Post-dinner, Johann left for the info guild.
Not for Vints. He knew where: watched constantly.
Shaking off Ada with a back-alley whore. Pathetic as hell.
Pity, but no rescue. Let him rot.
My job now: find Vints.
Ideally before his lucky break. This world's fortunes were his alone.