Chapter 152
Chapter 152
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 152
Chapter Title: Hassan and the Nine-Headed Thief #3
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I had a vivid memory of Dorgo and his peculiar way of speaking.
Not long ago, during the war. There was a dark-skinned Sandman walking silently ahead of me. His name was Dorgo.
"Barbarian, good to see you. Dorgo, saved by you in battle."
Dorgo seemed to recognize my face as well.
My face might look like an ordinary everyman back on Earth, but in this world, I was treated as having a rather distinctive appearance. Probably hard to forget once you'd seen it.
As Dorgo and I greeted each other like old acquaintances, Malco—who was sitting across from us—curled the corner of his mouth upward.
"Keheh, what's this? You two already know each other? Broader connections than you look."
"Dorgo, fought in war with this barbarian."
"Then we all have battle experience. Did I ever tell you how I cut off the cultists' supplies from the main force?"
Perhaps because the tension from this unexpected encounter had melted away, we spent a few minutes chatting about our respective military experiences.
Everyone complaining about how much they'd suffered, the hardships they'd endured, the absurd situations they'd been thrown into.
What was odd was how it felt like an underlying mindset: my suffering was grander and more overwhelming than anyone else's, so yours must be nothing.
It was like slaves bragging about their chains.
But it was kind of fun anyway.
We were in the middle of piling up our war stories when—
"Oppa, what are you doing! Take their orders!"
A dancer scolded Dorgo, making him flinch.
"Ah. Dorgo, taking orders."
Only then did we realize we hadn't ordered yet.
A menu scrawled with curly script.
Malco stared at it for a while before saying, "The usual for two."
As Dorgo turned to fetch the menu, Malco added casually to his back.
"And be generous with the happy powder, yeah?"
"That stuff. Got it."
And with that, the order was placed. Who would've thought I'd run into a war buddy in a place like this? We didn't know each other well, and our time together had been short, but for some reason, it felt familiar.
More than that, his sister, huh.
I gazed quietly at the dancer padding barefoot through the scattered coins as she moved.
Not as toned as Hippolyte, but her figure had that lithe grace unique to performers—supple and dynamic. The men must love her.
Indeed, plenty of them seemed utterly entranced. Her face was veiled, but that only fueled imaginations of the beauty beneath.
Mysterious. A desert girl. Who knew I'd catch a show like this here?
"That's the owner's little sister. Plenty of dancers around, but she's the most popular at this hour—and the best, if you ask me. Being the owner's sister, she's got real showmanship."
"I see."
Not just some part-timer, but a co-owner helping run the place, so she thinks of it as "my shop" and works hard?
A hardworking woman is attractive.
It means she's got real survival instincts, and that translates to being a healthy, lively mother who won't let her kids go hungry.
Liking women like that must be instinct for a man.
One reason I like Luna is that she doesn't just rely on me—she tries hard on her own.
Dual incomes are the way to go, huh.
Just then, Malco muttered offhandedly.
"If Baldy Little Bro were here, he'd love this place. That brother of his is surprisingly into stuff like this, despite appearances."
"Come to think of it, what happened to Kalidur?"
I recalled the bald elf with the broken leg, carted off somewhere. Wasn't his real job chasing Elfriede?
With Elfriede openly wandering the city now, where the hell was that guy?
"What? What'd you say?"
Malco had been too absorbed in the dancer to catch my words.
"I asked what the baldy's up to."
"His leg got busted bad. Busy with rehab, last I heard. Holed up at the Venus temple."
"Got it."
Anyway, Malco and I dazedly watched the jangling jewelry until Dorgo's sister—Dorthea, I think her name was—took her break after a few songs.
Who knew the world had ways to unwind like this.
As I watched the female dancer's retreating figure slip into what looked like a staff room, feeling a twinge of regret, Malco—who'd already sipped his drink—asked.
"By the way, didn't you get a glass vial with a scroll from the Thieves' Guild earlier? Mind if I ask what's written on it?"
"Oh—."
His words reminded me of the scroll tucked in my pocket. Head there, and I'd meet some Thieves' Guild execs or whatever.
I pulled it out and handed it to Malco.
"Ho, could be something valuable. Even for friends, you sure it's okay to show it so casually?"
"What kind of friends are we, you punk?"
"What else? Brothers beyond friendship. A great warrior and his personal bard—soul partners straight out of any myth."
"Fuck off, punk."
"Keheh, still the modest brother. Anyway, let's see what it says."
Malco unrolled the scroll with a rustle.
I watched indifferently and took a sip of my own drink.
Desert booze had a taste I'd never tried before. Less like grain alcohol, more like fermented goat or sheep milk.
No nasty aftertaste, surprisingly sweet and drinkable.
Soon, Malco's big nose seemed to twitch even larger.
"What's this?"
"No idea."
"You sure this is right?"
"Yeah."
"Strange."
Malco spread it out on the table, forgetting he'd been secretive moments ago. But I didn't care.
Because the scroll was completely blank. A printing error? Typical thieves. I'd been scammed.
But as Malco stared at it, he furrowed his brow and muttered to himself.
"Nothing but blank space. Interesting. Maybe the blankness itself means something?"
"Hmm—."
I grunted softly.
His words made it feel like there could be meaning, but it was literally empty white space—no clues jumping out.
Malco, not ready to give up, kept turning the blank scroll this way and that, muttering.
"Maybe this is their entry test for the Thieves' Guild, in its own way."
"A test? Not just a screw-up?"
"Just my thought, but... they saw your lockpicking skills. Now testing your wisdom to crack a code?"
His explanation sounded plausible. The guy had a talent for making dumb ideas seem clever.
That voice of his?
If he were handsome too, he'd have women weeping everywhere.
Bards were infamous for their messy love lives.
A smooth-talking, good-singing church-boy type was the natural enemy of boyfriends everywhere, Gaia or Earth.
"Amusing, anyway."
As Malco scrutinized the empty scroll, Dorgo reappeared from afar, carrying platters.
Broad slabs of mystery beast meat and small side dishes covered the table.
Dorgo glanced around furtively, then placed tiny bowls in front of Malco and me.
Each held a single white, hard-looking crystal.
Crystal? Grain? Not sure what to call it, but it resembled star candy from what I knew.
Suspicious size and shape, for sure.
Malco grinned seeing it.
"Oh, big one, and fine color too."
"Dorgo, for war buddies. Special favor. Don't spread word."
"Heh, pure crystal. Already feeling the bliss."
Dorgo sternly repeated not to tell and withdrew.
Left alone with Malco, I stared blankly at the grains, clueless what they were.
"Judging by your reaction, no such thing in the Black Wasteland, eh? First, crush it flat like this with something smooth."
Malco raised his wooden spoon and smashed down on the grain in his bowl with the broad end.
Crunch.
It crumbled into small powder and bits.
But Malco kept grinding until the pinky-nail-sized crystal became invisible fine dust.
"Grind it as fine as possible for best taste."
"Right. Though I'm passing."
I'd seen crystals ground to powder in movies or dramas. So I did the same with my spoon.
With my high strength stat, it powdered easily without much effort.
Soon Malco and I had piles of white, translucent powder before us.
"Go ahead, brother—first taste is yours. Special patience for a newbie."
No clue what courtesy this was, but Malco's theatrics suggested it was a big deal.
"No need to hold back. Real men love it. Aren't you a real man, brother?"
A real man? Damn right I was. I'd been a bit wary of mystery powder, but no way I'd look like a coward here.
I jabbed my index finger into it.
Powder clung thickly.
"Usually pinky finger for a taste, but... Samaritan-sized boldness! Man among men!"
Pinky, huh? Too late to back out now—I brought it to my nostril.
Sniff.
Powder rushed up my nose, clogging my throat instantly.
"Cough, khehk.."
"Who snorts sugar, brother?"
"Y-you bastard, say it's sugar upfront! Happy powder my ass...!"
"Happy powder? Nothing but sugar. And not just any—this is high-purity luxury, mined only from southern desert depths. Rare treat even here, in small doses."
"Tch, got it."
I'd misunderstood alone. Malco was no debauched bard—just a goof.
Still, sugar was a pricey spice here, a true luxury.
"Dissolved in milk booze like this? Out of this world."
Malco pinched some powdered sugar and sprinkled it into his cup.
I followed, dumping a bit in mine and sipping. The subtle sweetness made it pretty good.
Moderate sugar perks up the brain and relieves stress—good for you.
Ping, ping-ping—.
Booze and sugar together, my mind pleasantly fuzzy. Maybe now I'd crack the blank scroll.
* * *
But even after the dancers clocked out and the shop closed, no dice.
Malco and I paid two silvers each and stood. Two silvers per person for an evening? When did I get so fancy?
"Friends. Come again. Gift."
Dorgo, stacking chairs on tables, handed us a few small grains. Star candies made of sugar.
Luna would love these.
She adores sweets. Luna eats anything well, but especially sweets.
Not just Luna—Elfriede, Paranoya around me, even my little sister back home loved sweet stuff. Though finding someone who hates sweets might be quicker.
Does Hippolyte like candy? A rigid Gold-tier adventurer sucking on sweets...
Drunk, hard to picture. Come to think, I'd never seen Hippolyte eat. Photosynthesis? Her skin's red like a tan,
"Ah—."
Snapping from drunken thought-tangents, I took the star candies from Dorgo.
Holding them bare-handed felt off, so I wondered about wrapping—then pulled out the blank scroll from earlier.
Dorgo went, "Ho—." Short exclamation. Impressed by my wrapping skills?!
"Fun thing. You have. Friend."
He seemed to know something about my "wrapping paper."
"You know what this is?"
"Yellowish. Odd texture. Twin-hump camel skin. Attracts same skins."
"What about it?"
"Usually. Wife. Husband. One each. Barbarian friend. Has wife."
He acted like he knew, but drunk as I was, and his speech so halting, I couldn't parse it.
This guy barely talks, yet got citizenship...
Still, with my 21st-century college brain, it seemed: this leather attracts to matching leather scrolls.
We'd focused on content or blankness, missing the material hint. Sneaky.
I asked.
"So how does it attract? Any method?"
"Clothes. Hair. Rub leather. Works."
Following Dorgo's advice, I rubbed the leather on myself, half-hoping.
Like static from childhood pranks. After a few more rubs and pulling it away—
Whirr...
The scroll fluttered in my hand like a magnet to opposite pole.
"O. Mate. Close. Strong reaction."
It reacted toward the staff room depths. Something in there? Or that direction?
Leaving Dorgo cleaning and drunken-stumbling Malco aside, I followed the pull.
Step, step.
Into the staff room the leather led me. Clutter everywhere, clothes just shed nearby. Thin fabric? Seen it before.
Slap.
The scroll clung tight to a fluttering scarf-like thing. Broken? As I flailed to peel it off—
"What are you doing!"
A woman shrieked at me.
Veil hid from nose to chin, but probably Dorgo's sister.
"Why are you touching someone's clothes! Barbarian!"
"...Damn it, not that. Looking for something here..."
"What're you searching for in there? Pervert! No service like that!"
"No, this. Here it is..."
Gaining notoriety, but sexual harassment or panty thief rumors would tank it.
I rummaged the fluttering fabrics, held up my scroll. Proof of innocence.
"...That's it!"
Her brown Sandgirl eyes flashed through the veil. She glanced around, then whispered just for me.
"...You're the ninth thief, the last piece of the plan!"