Chapter 151
Chapter 151
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 151
Chapter Title: Hassan and the Nine-Headed Thief #2
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I imagine myself smashing the padlock right in front of me.
But I'm no spy action movie hero, so that image just doesn't come to mind easily.
Even if I pour all my strength into it, can I really break a padlock built that solidly?
For a moment, doubt creeps in, but now's not the time for negative thoughts—I need to focus on my own potential. Imagination can definitely become reality.
So, I need to picture unleashing a massive finishing move.
"Ban-kai!"
Crack, craaaack!
The club gripped tightly in my hand starts emitting an ominous screech like it's screaming, and I swing the raised club down like a falling thunderbolt.
"Re—quiem!"
Whoooosh—!
Clang!
My club drops straight like a guillotine blade, slamming into the iron bars' padlock without missing a beat, producing a deafening racket.
It's less the sound of metal clashing with a blunt weapon and more like an explosion, leaving my ears ringing.
"Uwaaah!"
"Kyaaak!"
Startled by the massive noise, a few in the crowd scream and huddle down. But I have no time to worry about the surroundings.
Tingling, tingling.
My hand feels like it's been struck by lightning.
Maybe I sprained a wrist ligament.
I overdid it.
"Hoo—."
I exhale a deep breath to calm my heaving chest.
Clank, clunk...
Right before me, the padlock's shackle separates from its thick body, shattered and falling to the floor. I've broken the damn padlock after all.
More than the pain in my hand, a strange exhilaration bubbles up from having smashed this sturdy-looking device with my own power.
But thanks to the massive boom and my scream-like shout, everyone looks terrified, their faces rigid with tension and fear.
The only one excited in this situation is Paranoya, who's licking candy.
"A—!!! That is!!!"
Paranoya screams with her mouth and eyes wide open, as if she's seen something truly astonishing.
"...Th-that is!!! The second of Lord Hassan's 24 ultimate techniques!!! The Big and Sturdy Samaritan Club!!!"
Now I'm sure. Paranoya's got issues. This is the life of someone constantly targeted as material.
"...Lord Hassan! Using such a dangerous technique in a place with so many people...!!! You nearly killed us all...!!!"
That little nymph might as well be broken.
But the problem is, the chaotic locked-up atmosphere starts to stir at Paranoya's words.
"What, some ultimate technique?"
"...They say it's incredibly dangerous? The sound was huge too....."
"I thought my heart was gonna burst...!"
Their reactions make my own heart start pounding. What the hell am I even doing here?
Right then, someone speaks up. It's a woman with a long cloth wrapped around her head like a turban.
"I. I've heard about it. Samaritans have a big and sturdy club.... Whether man or woman, once you taste it, you never go back...."
In response, a wrinkled old man from the opposite side chimes in.
"...I've heard you should hide your daughters and sons from Samaritans. So that's what it meant. It's gonna shatter everything!"
"Me too .."
"Me—."
The room grows noisy with everyone chiming in. They're whispering while staring at me! Seems like it's not just Paranoya that's busted.
"More than that, a Samaritan named Hassan— isn't that the guy making waves on the surface lately?"
"Whoa.. I've only heard the songs and rumors. First time seeing him for real. He really has a big and sturdy club."
"They say the city lady specially grooms it, names it and treats it like a treasure."
They're clearly talking about the club, but for some reason, my lower half keeps twitching.
Where the hell did this go wrong.
Anyway, sticking around these murmuring crowds is too much for my soft sensibilities. So, I open my mouth to wrap this up quickly.
"Alright, the padlock's broken now, right?"
"...To think someone could smash a titanium padlock with raw strength."
The Thieves' Guild interviewer, the masked man, mutters while eyeing the shattered titanium padlock.
Clank, click.
He fiddles with the broken pieces like trying to reassemble it, then tosses them aside onto the floor.
"Totally smashed. Hate to admit it, but before raw power, skill and wits mean nothing. You pass. Here's your Wildling. But pay the one silver entry fee."
"Oh."
I hand over one silver coin I'd exchanged earlier and legally claim my prize, the Wildling.
"Hassan, how'd you break something that sturdy?"
Luna asks as she hands over the Wildling cradled in her arms.
But Luna seems reluctant, like she regrets handing the liquid monster she's holding to me more than me breaking the padlock.
-Gyuiing.
Luna wanted to use this weird creature to make potions.
No spare totems to boost stats right now anyway.
So, I decide to just give the prize I won to Luna.
"Take it. It's my gift to you."
"..For real? This thing costs 2 gold each!"
"Yeah, for real."
"Woo! Shweet!!"
Luna jumps for joy. Seeing her happy makes me happy too. Like before, I get why lovers exchange gifts.
"Then I'll make it into a potion and give the first one to Hassan! Hehe, Wildling potion."
Watching someone you like be happy makes you want to give them anything. Malco, who'd been watching from under his red, flowing hair, pipes up.
"A Samaritan and his big sturdy club. That's prime song material. Rich old noble ladies would eat it up. Maybe time to move my gigs to the upscale district on Back Street....."
"Shut up, punk."
I tuck the club securely at my waist, then rub my wrist where the tingling won't fade. Definitely injured the ligament.
Wrist tunnel syndrome or whatever—common for masseuses who overuse their hands, nothing new.
A chronic issue for modern keyboard-and-mouse jockeys too.
"Seems your vessel can't keep up with your power."
Right then, the masked man speaks from behind me.
Swoosh.
He holds out a small glass vial stoppered with a cork. Smooth and transparent like a potion bottle, inside is a single rolled-up parchment.
"What's this?"
"You're Hassan the Samaritan, right? You passed the interview. Head to the place written there, and you'll meet the executives waiting for you."
Oh yeah, this was a Thieves' Guild interview.
Shit, I passed an interview for a guild I should smash and wipe out.
Still, getting this close to their inner workings is a huge stroke of luck. So, I pop the cork and unroll the parchment inside.
Rustle.
"What the hell is this."
* * *
Emerging from the underground sewers, the sky had already grown dim. We'd shopped hard with our free money, so everyone's arms were heavy with full bags.
We'd all bought on impulse, blowing through every last gold coin we'd saved.
Still, I think I spent mine meaningfully. Snagged titanium-plated gauntlets—underground exclusive—for 4 gold and equipped them.
Shit, 4-gold armor.
Clank.
Pretty sturdy iron plates—heavy, sure, but they'll protect my wrists and fingers well. These fingers are my biggest asset right now.
Plate gauntlets, shoes with metal soles—they double as weapons too.
Ankle greaves, arm wraps, gauntlets, chest guard.
Heavy to wear, yeah, but now I actually look the part of an adventurer.
Looks-wise, no one'd peg me as a green newbie—more like a vet with 2-5 years of quests under my belt.
Just need shoulder guards or a helmet? Then I'd really be Steel Warrior Hassan.
"So, one drink before heading out? Sky's not fully dark yet."
Malco asks, gazing at the bluish-glowing moons after emerging from underground. Ice-cold booze after shopping fatigue sounds perfect.
"I wanna hurry and make potions! Got mandrake root, clownshroom, elm berries—gonna be something amazing."
-Gyuiing.
Luna shakes her armful of bags, eager to get back to the cabin. Reminds me of a buddy who loved model kits.
He'd rush home itching to assemble after buying one.
Maybe Luna's potion-making is no different from model-building for a hobbyist.
"Paranoya! You too! Help me!"
"M-me too...?"
"Yeah, stay over tonight! With nymph extract, hehe, definitely, hehe.. hehe—."
Luna can't finish, giggling too hard. Something fun just from imagining. So, in the end, it's just me and Malco for drinks.
"Gotta give the guys some bro time sometimes, Hassan!" Luna said, blocking me from the cabin for a bit.
This is how it goes when she makes her secret ingredients she doesn't even show me. Kinda curious what it is at this point.
But hey, a chance to drink and relax without worries ain't bad.
So Luna and Paranoya head to the cabin, leaving me and Malco scouting taverns.
Can't go to the usual 『Nymph's Wing Inn』—might run into Elfriede's crew.
While looking elsewhere,
Malco says in a super sleazy voice.
"Girls went first, so now it's bro-only spots."
"Like underground bars?"
"Quick on the uptake, good. Add some happy dust there, and the mood's unbeatable."
Happy dust?
At that, cold sweat trickles down my back.
"Stuff like that really exists?"
"Kuhuhu, looks like my brother's still green on continent nightlife. Just follow ol' Malco tonight."
Suddenly Malco's back looks huge, like some life mentor.
This punk climbed life's stairs several steps at a time without me knowing.
Always seemed tweaked out, turns out he actually was. Kinda a twist.
"How good can it be?"
"Best around. Once you try, can't quit."
We wind through slum alleys to a weird underground entrance blocked by hulking bruisers.
"No randos here."
The meat walls blocking us. Their size matches mine, pretty intimidating. They frown tensely at me behind.
"No rowdy drunks allowed."
"Samaritans get wild on booze. Turn back."
Shit, getting barred at the door as a barbarian. Kinda unfair—I'm only black-haired like those other savages. Damn Samaritans.
Then Malco pulls a few coins from his pocket.
"This guy's doing his first time today. Let us in, yeah?"
The guards loosen up taking the coins.
"What? First-timer?"
"Heh, lucky bastard. I had my first too. Can't feel that thrill anymore."
Swoosh.
They step aside.
"Go on. No trouble though."
Feels like some weird male solidarity transcending race and age. Shit, what is this.
Anyway, heart pounding, I descend the stairs.
Guilt like I'm about to do something evil, hesitation wondering if I should turn back, massive curiosity—all weighing against each other.
Clap, clap-clap.
Then come instrument sounds, applause, and rowdy laughter.
Not the seedy underground club I imagined.
Instead, a surprisingly bright, normal-looking tavern.
Only difference: a veiled woman in thin cloth dances to the claps and music.
Fiery red hair, fluttering fabric barely covering key spots, slim tanned belly eye-catching.
Barefoot, she dances nonstop. Coins pile at her feet.
Sandman dancer. Guess that makes her a sand girl.
"Cool, right? Brother Kalidur loved this place. C'mon, that spot over there—best view of the dancing girls."
Definitely not a place to bring delicate types like Luna or Paranoya. Mostly male patrons too.
I plop down where Malco leads. Haven't touched a drop, but head's spinning like I'm drunk.
Spicy scent—or happy dust?—stings my nose, sharp and tangy.
"Barkeep, orders here."
Malco calls to the approaching turbaned sandman owner.
"Dorgo, taking orders. Mujirak brew today. Fresh batch."
"Y-you bastard, Dorgo!"
"Oh, barbarian."