Chapter 23
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Hunting Dog
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Nngh... Bro, not there..."
"What's wrong? Feels good, doesn't it?"
I breathed hot air into Anne's ear while sliding my hand even deeper under her thin top.
The skin touching my fingertips was scorching hot.
It was a bit rough from the harsh life in the slums, but she couldn't hide the youthful elasticity unique to her age.
"Hahk, too... rough..."
"Sorry, sorry. I'm just a bit eager."
Even as I said that, I didn't loosen my grip.
Instead, I relentlessly teased her nipple with my thumb, downing strong rum like it was a chaser to her sweet moans.
Gulp.
The burning sensation scorched my throat.
And the heavy weight of her breast in my right hand.
"Heh heh..."
This was living.
After always watching that crazy bitch's mood back at the mansion,
coming to a place faithful to instincts like this made me feel alive.
But my eyes weren't on Anne's dazed gaze.
They were piercing into the back of the room.
That was when it happened.
Rattle.
Three of the guys at the inner table stood up: two burly tattooed thugs and one scrawny junkie.
They glanced around before heading toward the back door.
I clicked my tongue in regret and pulled my hand from Anne's cleavage.
"Wha... Bro?"
Anne looked up at me with hazy eyes.
Her face flushed deep red. She clearly wanted more.
I smirked and gave her ass a light smack.
"Wait here a sec, cutie."
"Where... are you going?"
I pretended to adjust my pants.
"Gonna drain the lizard. We'll pick up where we left off when I get back."
"Oh...... Okay."
Anne bit her lip in disappointment but shyly nodded.
I readjusted my mask and stood.
Stagger.
Pretending to be drunk and stumbling, I followed them to the back door.
...
Creeeak.
Stepping out the back door brought a blast of cold night air laced with a foul stench that stabbed my nose.
The tavern's back alley.
A utopia of trash piles, filth, bugs, and rats.
Only faint moonlight barely pierced the darkness.
Walking deeper into it for a while,
"Gahk!"
Thud! Thump!
Sounds of flesh and bone being pummeled echoed from ahead.
"Money? You got no money?"
"Urk! Please... tomorrow, I'll pay tomorrow for sure...!"
"You little shit, you think we're suckers? Begging for dope with not a coin to your name?"
Crack!
"Gaaahk!"
Situation clear.
The best fighter among them?
The two burly tattooed guys had the scrawny junkie pinned to the ground and were kicking him like a soccer ball.
The human ball was already half-mashed, foaming blood at the mouth.
'Junkies are hopeless, as always.'
Memories of my past life flashed by.
Plenty of those types there too.
Couldn't pay rent, gas cut off, shivering on cold floors, but somehow always scraped up cash for their next fix.
Stealing from parents, stabbing friends in the back.
Even when thugs beat them like dogs, they all said the same thing.
"P-Please...!"
Just like this bloodied mess in front of me.
"Kehuk! H-Hit me more if you want... just a little powder... even scraps, please...!"
Crawling on the ground, clutching the thug's pant leg, begging.
No pride, no human dignity.
Just a brain-melted lump of meat.
I tsked and approached them.
And then,
Thud!
I full-swing kicked the junkie in the side as he lay on the ground.
"Kek?!"
The junkie rolled away with a squeal,
and the two thugs who'd been kicking paused, staring at me.
"......?"
"......?"
Question marks floated in their eyes.
But I ignored them and stomped the junkie's solar plexus again.
Crack.
The cheerful snap of ribs screaming.
"Fuck, you deaf or what!? No money?"
"......"
"You suck on other people's shit when it suits you, but where's your shame?"
I wiped fake sweat from my brow and grinned at the thugs.
Of course, the mask hid my refreshing smile.
"Whew, good workout. Keep going, boys. Why stop?"
Silence. The thugs exchanged baffled looks, then sized me up.
"......Who the hell are you?"
One tattooed brute scowled.
"New guy? Or did you sell to this fucker too?"
"Nah, neither."
I shrugged.
"Just a righteous citizen passing by?"
"Bullshit."
The thugs barked hollow laughs in disbelief.
Then they drew blades from their pockets, eyes sharpening with killing intent.
"Masked fuck, don't mess with our business. Piss off while we're asking nice."
"Ooh, scary."
I pretended to cower, backing up,
then toed the gasping junkie's head.
"But is scaring off a potential customer like that smart?"
"......?"
I pulled a leather pouch from my pocket and jingled it lightly.
Jingle, jingle.
The crisp sound of silver coins clinking.
Instantly, their eyes changed.
Killing intent flipped to greed in a heartbeat.
"......What? A customer?"
"Yeah. Heard you got killer powder."
I twirled the pouch on my finger, testing them.
"Plenty of coin. As long as the goods are legit."
They exchanged glances.
Seemed to ponder briefly,
then,
whoosh.
One tattooed thug smirked and reached into his pocket.
"Lucky you. Got one bag left."
He pulled out a palm-sized red leather pouch.
The loosened mouth gleamed with red powder under the moonlight.
That's the stuff.
Exact same as the one in the duke's study.
Definitely. These are the distributors.
"Cash first, let's see it......"
As the greedy hand reached out,
whoosh!
I kicked off the ground and lunged. No hesitation.
"......Guk?"
Before he could react,
my dagger pierced his throat precisely.
Squelch!
"Gu...... kuh......"
Not even a death rattle. Eyes rolled back, foaming blood,
the pouch dropped limply from his hand.
Red powder bubbled into the pooling blood.
"Y-You crazy fuck!!"
The other brute freaked, swinging his knife.
I used the dying one as a shield to block, then yanked his wrist.
Crack!
"Gaaaahk!!"
Joint snapping backward, his scream echoed through the alley.
I kicked away his dropped knife and drove my knee into his solar plexus.
Thud!
"Kehuk!"
Choking, he crumpled.
I grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the wall.
Bam!
"N-No! Sp-Spare......!"
Trembling in terror.
Seeing his buddy's throat pierced in seconds snapped his mind.
I held my bloody dagger right before his eyeball.
"Quiet. Answer only what I ask from now on."
"H-Hiiiik......!"
"That."
I nodded at the red pouch on the ground.
"Who told you to sell it?"
"C-Can't say..."
Stab.
The sharp tip burrowed into his left eye like jelly.
No resistance.
Just the squelching stickiness of a ripe grape bursting at my fingertips.
"Gaaaaaaaah!!!!"
A beastly scream erupted.
Vitreous humor and blood poured from the burst orb, streaming down his cheek.
"Agh! My eye! My eye!!"
He clutched at it, but
I slammed his head harder into the wall, gripping his hair tighter.
And slowly, very slowly, twisted the dagger still lodged in the socket.
Squelch, grind.
Nerves snapping, orbital bone fracturing—satisfying sounds.
"Hyaak! S-Sorry... I was wrong! Please... pull it out...!"
"Shh."
I whispered low.
His remaining right eye rolled back white with fear.
"I said answer only what I ask."
"Heok, heuk...!"
"One more word outta line, and the other eye goes too?"
I yanked the dagger free.
Pop, with a chunk of bloody goo dangling from the tip.
"Now, again."
I tapped his trembling cheek with the bloody blade.
"Who. The guy spreading this shit to small fries like you."
"......Hic, sob..."
"Fine. If you wanna be blind that bad."
"I-I'll talk! Please... kuh...!"
He wailed, snot and spit mixing with tears from pain and fear.
"Wh-Warehouse... abandoned one at the end of zone 8...!"
"Who's there?"
"G-Go there... 'middleman' is... we just pick up from him...!"
Middleman, huh?
As expected. Long tail on this.
"Name?"
"D-Don't know! We just call him 'Viper'... swear! Never seen his face proper!"
Sheesh, Viper? Really.
Like some cheesy old noir flick.
"Good. Very cooperative."
I wiped the bloody dagger on his clothes.
He kept hiccuping sobs,
"Hic... s-so now, let me go..."
"Yeah. Gotta send you off."
Stab.
"To your friend."
So the road won't be lonely.
...
Twisting the blade into his nape, he gurgled a few times before going limp.
I wiped the knife on the corpse and scanned around.
"......Nah, no one's watching."
Even if some drunk wandered in,
hearing beatings would've sent him running scared.
First, cleanup.
Rifled their pockets for coin pouches quick,
then stuffed the bodies into nearby rotten straw and crates.
"Sweet dreams, trash."
I brushed bloodstains off my clothes,
then scaled the fence to slip away, just in case.
...
The edge of zone 8.
A hill strewn with collapsed building debris and discarded materials.
I pressed flat against a large ruined wall,
overlooking the dilapidated warehouse below.
"...Damn, quite a few."
Two torches flickered at the entrance,
four sentries patrolling lazily around.
Light leaked from inside, raucous voices carrying from afar.
Obviously more inside.
Better assume over ten.
"Can I take them all?"
Suddenly, recalled my chat with Kain before.
[Old man, be straight. What's my level?]
[Old man? Wanna get beat more?]
[With my skills now, roughly?]
Asked after training beatings, during a steam.
[What, you're still dogshit.]
[No, objectively. Knight ranks or whatever.]
[Well... your dog's got levels, but mid-tier knight at best?]
Mid knight. Not laughed at anywhere,
but not rampaging through mobs solo either.
"Ten..."
Numbers alone? Doable.
Killed more before.
But situations differ.
Then, I had the massive, terrifying Kaintrea backing me.
One "Kneel, you fucks" and they groveled fearing reprisal.
Slaughtering terrified prey was easy.
Now?
Just a masked black-haired merc nobody.
They won't fear me.
Think intruder trash, fight to the death for my head.
Worst: escape.
Kill frenzy inside, one slips out?
Rumors of masked attacker?
Clean sweep fails. My head rolls too.
"Not the final boss. No need to charge and gamble."
Politely asked earlier, got middleman deets kindly.
I chewed my lip.
Not just a fight.
Must be a 'massacre' for silence.
Frontal assault too risky. Can't call backup.
Hunched in shadows, I scanned the warehouse.
rickety wooden pillars, haystacks everywhere,
cheap booze barrels they'd rolled around drunk.
"Haa... hate that shit. Bad memories."
But no choice.
To live, do what it takes.
I exhaled cold breath under the mask, moving silently.
Hunting dogs don't bark.
They just cut the breath at the perfect moment.
...