I Can't Be the Only One Getting Screwed by NeckX (2)
Criminals had their own brand of civilization and their own ways of staying connected to it.
Of course, they didn't do it themselves.
It was through other loosely affiliated cell organizations.
All across the empire, bandit troops and robber gangs sprouted like mold. The empire's subjugation orders only applied to groups of ten or more, which meant that staying under that number kept you safe.
Those who survived the purges burrowed into their own rat holes throughout the empire and hid away.
They didn't trust one another. Yesterday's comrade becoming today's enemy was just business as usual in this line of work. Still, when it suited them, they joined hands.
The people who made those connections possible were the liaisons.
These middlemen formed the network between criminals while also acting as fences. With faces that carried no bounties, they moved between cities and forests, collecting loot from each cell group. The stolen goods were then sold off for pennies through back-alley channels in the cities.
Naturally, the fences took a massive cut in the process. The commission was bigger than the actual haul. But the wanted men had no other choice.
It wasn't as if the liaisons only engaged in one-sided exploitation, though. Just as the empire had its guilds, the mold-like criminals had their liaisons playing a similar role—albeit far less organized.
Liaisons arranged requests that could never be openly posted in any guild. The entrance-guard duty Zakar's crew had accepted was one such request, arranged by a liaison.
It came from a certain "cult." The job was to protect an "entrance" somewhere in the forest near this abandoned barracks.
They were obviously slacking. Their original orders had been to watch the entire surrounding area, but these lazy bastards had decided guarding the entrance alone was good enough. So today, as usual, they were camped out in the barracks.
That wasn't all. Zakar was currently plotting to betray those very clients.
Something had been bothering him. The cult that called itself the "Cult of the God of Sand and Flowing Rivers" didn't belong to any of the known pantheons Zakar was aware of. Ignorant as he was, even he understood what that meant.
They were heretics.
If I rob these heretic bastards and offer their treasures to the true temples...
Maybe he could earn forgiveness for his sins and lead a proper mercenary company again.
It was a perfect plan. At least, that's what he believed.
On a moonlit night, drunk on cheap liquor, he basked in the fantasy of regaining his old status.
"Kuhahaha! Drink! Drink up! Kerobe! Walter! Get over here and drink too!"
The stench of meat fat dripping onto the roaring campfire fouled the air. Zakar, thoroughly sloshed, bellowed toward the outside of the barracks.
"Hey! The boss is calling and you idiots aren't even answering?!"
What came back from the barracks entrance wasn't a reply but an irritated shout.
"Will you shut the hell up?! We're stuck out here sober while you bastards are drinking!"
"Should've rolled the dice better, dumbass!"
The men inside cackled and joined in teasing the sentries.
"Goddammit, shut your mouths already!"
The meat was gone and the alcohol was nearly finished. Thinking he'd have to raid a supply caravan next time, Zakar gestured to one of the subordinates sitting across from him.
"Go drag those idiots over. We should at least give them the last cup."
The subordinate grumbled in annoyance but stood up.
"Ugh, shit... Fine."
He stepped away from the campfire.
And he didn't come back.
"......"
The humming laughter around the fire died.
Hector, seated beside Zakar, spoke up. "Boss. Isn't it too quiet?"
The usual sounds—the wind outside the barracks, the insects, the idle chatter of the sentries—had vanished as if they'd never existed. Perfect silence.
Hector shot to his feet and yelled toward the sentry on the watchtower.
"Hey! You see anything up there?!"
No answer.
By then, even Zakar's alcohol-soaked brain registered that something was wrong.
The moment Zakar stood, a woman emerged from the darkness.
"......"
Everyone around the campfire fell silent.
Under the moonlight, with darkness at her back, the woman's face was revealed.
In that instant, Zakar felt stone-cold sober.
Or perhaps he had simply become drunk on something far more potent.
Skin pale as if carved directly from moonlight. Hair like molten fragments of the blackest night cascading down like a waterfall. Lips that seemed to have stolen every trace of red from the world, perched beneath an arrogantly sharp nose. And above it all, a pair of red eyes so deep and empty they appeared devoid of any human emotion whatsoever.
That was not human.
That was not beauty a mortal could possess.
Would the statue in the deepest sanctum of the imperial pantheon—the one depicting the Goddess of Beauty descending to mortal soil—look like this?
Or perhaps the opposite. If the calamity called "beauty," feared by the gods and sealed in the deepest abyss, were to reveal its true form, wouldn't it look exactly like her?
An overwhelming, blasphemous presence that eroded the mind simply by being seen and turned everything around it into mere background.
In the boss's hazy, intoxicated mind, a crude desire bloomed.
Dalban's Zakar.
Zakar was always lucky on moonlit nights. Sometimes a thread of good fortune would roll his way beneath the moon.
And tonight was the luckiest night of all.
Without realizing it, Zakar spoke.
"Miss... if I may ask, what brings you all the way out here?"
The woman answered from the shadows.
"I'm an adventurer. I lost my way in the night... Could you possibly let me stay for just one night?"
A voice of peerless beauty that could topple kingdoms.
The moment he heard it, Zakar dropped every last shred of caution.
"Of course. This way... You must have gone through a lot of trouble coming to a rough place like this."
His eyes full of ulterior motives, Zakar allowed her to approach.
"We've got warm meat and liquor right here. Come on over."
Zakar reached out his hand.
The distance at which her beauty, her face, her hair seemed close enough to touch.
"?"
-Prick.
A sensation like a bee sting on the back of his neck.
"Guh...!"
The world spun.
Zakar's eyes slowly opened.
His head felt like it would split open.
The last thing he remembered was the goddess beneath the moonlight and the prickling sensation on his neck. That was all.
Zakar's eyes flew open. What the hell was that woman? Where was she?
"...!"
He realized he was bound tightly with ropes. Looking around, he saw the rest of his men were in the same state—including Hector and even the ones who'd been inside the tent.
The campfire still burned, but the festive mood had vanished completely.
All that remained was icy silence and the two figures standing at its center.
Before them stood the woman from before—now wearing a mask—and a man in a robe.
"You... you... sons of bitches...!"
Zakar ground his teeth. Goddammit. Whoever they were, he'd been thoroughly played.
"Who the hell are you people?!"
The woman looked down at him coldly. Unlike earlier, she now wore a mask.
"Shut up."
But he could clearly see her red eyes burning behind it.
"I didn't give you permission to speak. If you don't want your head spinning like a top, stay quiet."
No room for argument. Who was she? A bounty hunter?
"...What do you want?"
But a bounty hunter wouldn't bother with conversation. Hector seemed to think there was still room to negotiate and quickly spoke up.
"If it's treasure you're after, we'll split it with you. So..."
Hector's words were cut short.
"Thud!"
"Urk...!"
The woman's kick slammed precisely into Hector's gut. He rolled across the ground, gasping for air.
"I told you to shut up."
Her voice was ice-cold. Zakar felt a chill run down his spine. This woman was dead serious.
She slowly scanned the bound men with the casual gaze of someone browsing goods at a market. Then she asked the most bizarre question imaginable.
"Alright. It's survey time."
"...?"
"No time to waste, so I'll be direct. Raise your hand if you've ever committed rape."
"...What?"
Zakar doubted his ears.
Why would she ask something like that?
As the former leader of a mercenary company and current bandit boss, Zakar had imagined the excuses he'd make if he were ever captured. It was a kind of defense mechanism.
Who I am, the unavoidable circumstances, the company fell apart so I had no choice, the empire that didn't pay the subjugation fees is at fault, the client is at fault, I'm not wrong, I'm not wrong, I'm not wrong.
The final self-justifying argument that it couldn't have been helped.
But the woman didn't ask any of that.
She asked something genuinely strange, which made it all the more eerie. Even the object she held was bizarre—a broken longsword. Why carry around a blade snapped in half?
"......!"
There was only one reason to ask about rape.
Revenge. Retribution.
And the price of revenge?
The moment that thought crossed their minds, the faces of Zakar and his bandits drained of all color.
She pressed the broken blade under the chin of Kerobe—the sentry who'd been captured first.
Kerobe burst into tears and snot, screaming desperately.
"N-no! I swear! I've never done anything like that! I swear it!"
"Hmm. Really?"
The woman stared at him for a moment, then withdrew the blade as if she'd lost interest.
Relief flashed across Kerobe's face.
Zakar breathed easier too. She might be powerful, but she clearly lacked experience.
Zakar's bandits couldn't enter cities and had few outlets for their desires. They were men who'd turned to banditry after everything else went wrong. Their behavior was predictable. If a caravan or group of travelers had women, they satisfied their urges without hesitation.
Zakar's mind raced. He didn't know who this woman was, but she seemed inexperienced. He wouldn't have fallen for such an obvious lie. If he played his cards right and talked smoothly, he could probably find a way out of this...
Before his thoughts could finish, the woman swung the blade again.
-Slice.
"GYAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"
Kerobe couldn't even choke back the scream. His lower body was instantly drenched in red blood.
The woman flicked the blood from her blade and narrowed her eyes.
Zakar felt goosebumps crawl across his skin.
"See? I really, really hate men who lie."
She whispered again, like a devil.
"From now on, you'd better answer my questions properly."
Zakar and his bandits swallowed hard. Her actions were completely unpredictable.
She continued casually.
"You guys are allowed to lie six times. Two per hand, two per foot, and one for the neck."
Zakar swallowed again. This woman showed zero mercy—like a devil.
But he couldn't help asking.
"...Six times? Then what's the last one...?"
The woman gave a bewitching, eye-crinkling smile.
"I'll leave that to your imagination."
"......!"
"Oh, and the order is completely random."
"What?!"
She spoke gently, as if granting them a favor.
"There's nothing quite as fun as gambling in this world, right? But isn't it a shame that dopamine can only come from gambling?"
"......!"
"Luckily, I've learned a few things in my time. I'm going to share that wisdom with you all. Pure, unpaid kindness."
The woman nodded, looking pleased with herself.
"By adding a random element to everything, I'm elevating your lives to be overflowing with thrill and dopamine. I'm taking the lead in spreading advanced civilization like this."
She placed a hand over her chest and added proudly.
"The Saint of Gacha. That's me."
Zakar trembled.
A crazy bitch so insane it was impossible to measure stood before him.
This is what Thirin usually looks like when she's out and about!!!
(Thirin whose eyes have grown fiercer because she couldn't achieve Rebirth)
Next is the service cut!!!! Rear view warning!!!!
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(Klaus and the other characters who will appear later—the reason they lost their lives after laying eyes on this. No regrets.)