Chapter 149
Chapter 149
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 149
Chapter Title: Hassan and the Underground Market
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Crunch, crinkle crunch.
I poured strength into my arms and grip, and the flat, sturdy iron plate folded in half. I folded it once more, then crushed it completely.
Thud.
I flung it in front of the man with the black bandana.
"There, that's done. Now give me my money back."
"No, this... this is titanium. You really just bent it like that...?"
The owner of the underground junk shop stared back and forth between my face and the ball of crumpled metal, his expression utterly incredulous. The astonishment and shock in his one remaining eye were plain as day.
Of course, I was just as surprised.
I'd been itching to test my overflowing strength somewhere. But I hadn't imagined I could actually crumple a plate like this.
Damn, my strength stat of 12 is no joke.
Well, Elfriede in her prime condition could probably manage this easily. She'd bent thick iron bars with her bare hands before.
Wait, doesn't that mean anything she could do with brute force, I can do now too?
The thought suddenly filled me with surging confidence.
"Come on, hand over the money quick, you punk. Or I might just peel your skin off for real."
I reached out toward the head of the bandana man sitting in the chair. Pinching his temples between my fingers and squeezing hard, the man flailed wildly and screamed.
"Gaaah!"
I hoisted his slumped body up by the head. Paranoya shrieked from behind me at the sight.
"Th-that's the fourth of Hassan-nim's eighteenth desperate techniques! Gritty Death's Grasp...!"
I had no idea what Gritty Death's Grasp was, but the move I was using actually had a name.
Iron Claw.
It wasn't one of the more dangerous attacks among wrestling techniques, where showmanship mattered most.
Grrrrunch.
But combined with my powerful grip and precise pressure-point strike on the temples, it could definitely inflict serious damage.
"D-Death's Grasp!? Kkiii! My-my head's exploding! I'm really gonna die!"
The man writhed and groaned in agony.
It might look like he was overreacting just from having his head gripped.
But somehow, right now, it felt like I could crack his skull with my grip strength alone.
"Giii! O-okay! I'll give it back! Just let go!"
"You should've done that from the start."
Thud.
I eased the pressure in my hand. The one-eyed bandana man collapsed to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.
"Hueh, sh-shit, I thought my head was gonna split open... Thought I was a goner..."
Bloodshot veins bulged in the man's one remaining brown eye.
He clutched his head, glancing warily at us, then rummaged through a corner of the shop and tossed a small bundle my way.
"That's my pocket money...!"
Paranoya spotted it and snatched it out of the air with a bright cry.
Clink.
The ditch water nymph carefully inspected the contents.
"Th-there's all seven of them... Hassan-nim, this is truly moving...!"
Her tiny body didn't match her huge sparkling eyes as she pretended to tear up. Seven gold coins were enough to bring tears to anyone's eyes, so it wasn't strange.
"Don't go blabbing about refunds anywhere. It'll bring every Tom, Dick, and Harry swarming, and that'll be a hassle."
Watching us, the bandana man grumbled and spat on the floor.
He didn't cower after just a couple hits—truly a merchant surviving in this lawless underground.
"Damn, who knew a Samaritan could have such monstrous strength. They say Samaritans are strong like bears. Guess it's true."
Paranoya, the convert nymph, answered the grumbling man.
"Hassan-nim is a Samaritan who returned alive from hell...! Stronger than a bear...!"
I'd used the strength, but she was acting prouder than me.
Like a fox riding a tiger's back. Or in this case, a squirrel on a fox? Still, being hyped up by someone didn't feel half bad.
I'll have to remember some of these lines to use on Hippolyte later.
"Samaritan Hassan, huh. I've heard the name. You wouldn't happen to be that adventurer from the Mars Guild making waves on the surface lately?"
The man rubbed his head, frowning as he asked.
Malco replied.
"That's right. The hero of that Samaritan hymn sweeping the west gate slums and the barbarian's ode to slaying the lion. And I, Malco, composed both."
"Oh, that hilarious song. I've heard it too. Sometimes bards down here in the underground sing it."
"What? They dare sing my Malco's work without paying a dime? No business ethics!"
Malco clenched his fist, genuinely furious.
First time I'd seen him this mad. Weird guy, but as an artist, he had his pride, I guess.
Though the effect was ruined by his underwear.
"Whoa."
The bandana man scanned me, Malco, Luna, and Paranoya, then stroked his beard and grinned.
"Whoa, I thought the rumors were exaggerated. Impressive power. Looks like you could wrestle a lion barehanded. So, about that crumpled plate—think you could uncrumple it for me?"
"You want me to straighten this out?"
"Seems like you have questions for me. I'll answer nicely if you do."
The bandana man held out the crumpled metal lump. I'd crushed it on impulse, but could I really fix it?
"This is child's play for Hassan-nim...! Sit tight and watch, you con artist!"
"Hassan, you okay with this?"
Reactions varied: Paranoya beaming with pride, Luna eyeing me with subtle concern.
Luna even grabbed the crumpled plate and tried herself.
"Hnngh—."
It didn't budge.
"Hassan, how did you even bend this?"
"No idea."
Whatever, I grabbed the crumpled plate, figuring I'd give it a shot.
Hmph—!
Crunch, crinkle crunch.
The wadded metal let out a satisfying sound as it slowly began to unfold.
"Brother, maybe stop? Malco can't keep his wits about him. What kind of human strength is this...!"
Malco started trembling at the horrific sight. So I set the fully straightened plate back on the floor with a thud.
Truth be told, it was starting to strain me now.
How to put it—my stamina felt lacking.
I could burst with momentary power, but sustaining it? No endurance to back it up.
Damn, did I overinvest in strength?
As I reflected a bit on focusing too much on one stat, the bandana man clutched the smoothed plate and grinned in satisfaction.
"Heh heh, perfect as a memento that the famous city Samaritan dropped by. Customers will flock to see it. Mind signing it?"
"Beat it, punk."
"Well, no need for a signature. Who else but a Spartan warrior or Samaritan could crumple a titanium plate like that?"
The man hung the plate back in its spot.
But it wasn't shaped right for the wall, so after fiddling, he settled for propping it on the display stand.
"Alright, now. So, what'd you want to ask? Normally I'd charge info fee, but for a celebrity, one freebie's fine."
I pointed at the crumpled plate with a finger.
"Interested in that."
"Titanium plate? Underground smiths made it from special titanium metal. Tougher than regular iron by—"
"No, not that. The mark drawn on it."
"Oh, the Hydra. No need to explain Hydra. Ruler of the underground. Like underground nobility."
Luna followed up on the man's words.
"Underground nobility? What's that?"
"Literally nobles ruling the underworld. Hydra's a huge organization. But it also refers to one person. The king of thieves, Hydra."
The man stroked his goatee as if organizing his thoughts, then scanned the surroundings with his one eye.
He continued in a low whisper meant only for us.
"But these days, the thieves' guild ain't what it used to be. Back then, it had some... romance, you know? Now it's just a band of outlaws."
A guild of thieves was outlaws from the start, wasn't it? I couldn't grasp what he meant by "romantic."
I'd thought I'd adapted to a lot in this world, but no. Fuck. Romantic thieves? Like leaving a letter and roses after stealing?
Lost in confused thoughts, Malco asked.
"Heard the thieves' guild changed heads and shifted policy. That true?"
"Yeah. The current ruler's the eighth Hydra. A real heartless monster. Us small-timers don't know more. Advice to you, Samaritan: don't dig too deep."
* * *
"Hassan, he was kinder than I thought."
Lick, lick.
Luna licked her red candy and smiled. The bandana man had given each of us a hardened red candy as a parting gift.
"Nah, save it for the hut later."
Luna tucked the stick candy into the pouch at her waist, wrapping it in clean cloth to keep off the grime.
In this world, sweets were a luxury, so getting them free was quite lucky.
Friendly, like Luna said. But a truly friendly guy wouldn't have scammed us with fakes in the first place.
Even Paranoya, the actual victim, had forgotten the scam and was happily licking her candy.
"Thanks to Hassan-nim, we got free candy...! So tasty...!"
"Got clothes too. Bit small, though."
Malco waddled along in his tight leather outfit. I'd felt bad seeing the guy in just undies, so good he got spares.
Anyway, solid haul.
Candy and some intel on the thieves' guild.
Their king Hydra was the eighth generation.
Like mafia bosses passing the throne.
Catch one boss, another rises; catch that one, another takes over. Immortal.
To wipe out the guild, you'd have to exterminate them all?
Hippolyte, a high-rank adventurer, might manage somehow. But for me, Luna, Paranoya, and Malco? Way too risky.
No need to take dangerous paths with this party.
Hippolyte would handle it all tomorrow anyway.
Hippolyte.
Softer than expected.
Wanna call her sis.
Drifting in thought, we wandered the underground market when we spotted a crowd buzzing in one corner.
"Hassan, look! People are gathering!"
Luna had always been sensitive to festivals or events like brick-throwing bashes. She couldn't ignore a crowd.
"They're doing a brick festival underground too! Let's go watch!"
"Ahem, uhum. I'll pass, sister."
Malco reacted strongly to "brick festival." He'd been tied to a tree as a participant once—trauma resurfacing. Shit, should've let him get hit more.
Since we'd planned today as a chill spending day anyway, we squeezed into the throng.
There,
A thick iron-barred cage amid the circled crowd.
People fumbled with hairpins and such, struggling to pick the padlock.
Inside, a hefty pile of coins. On the "ceiling," a big masked man rode atop, barking everywhere.
"Slow, you punks. Too slow. Guards'll be here ages ago at this rate. Can't send amateurs like you into the thieves' guild."
"Grgh—! J-just a bit more time!"
"You moron, try that excuse on the homeowner. 'Gimme a sec, I'll grab the goods and go!'"
I had no clue what was happening. Iron bars and a whip-cracking masked guy? Some new pervert show?
This world's tastes were weird—maybe someone got off on men picking locks while getting yelled at.
Then Malco spoke.
"Thieves' guild entry interview, huh. Heard they hold 'em in the underground market sometimes. First time seeing one."
"This is an interview?"