Chapter 18
Chapter 18
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: The Waters of the Styx River Flow Nobly
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A room with a single candle flickering dimly. I opened my eyes in a space thick with the musty smell of mold and dampness.
An inn room?
Looking around, I saw a fairly spacious area. A desk and a chair. And atop it, a burning candle.
No matter how you looked at it, it was the scene of a single room in an inn. In this world, sleeping in a single room? Who knew I'd indulge in such luxury.
The bed wasn't some pile of straw topped with a ragged blanket thrown on haphazardly—it was properly stuffed with thick cotton, so comfortable it felt like my body was melting into it.
That was why it took quite a while to drag myself upright.
Once I finally managed to sit up, the first thing I checked was my pocket.
This was a habit of mine—to make sure the money I'd gathered hadn't been stolen or lost overnight.
In a world overflowing with pickpockets and thieves, it was as routine as breathing for anyone.
Inside the pouch: 10 silvers and 40 coppers. It seemed a bit less than before, probably spent on the room.
Next, I checked the number of fingers and toes, any broken teeth, any injuries.
Fortunately, money and body parts were all accounted for, no issues.
Now, onto my thoughts. Exactly when had I come here and gone to sleep? I racked my brain to recall the last memory I could.
But after drinking with Luna, my consciousness had faded to black. Like a film cut.
I'd never blacked out from drinking before, no matter how much. That bluish liquor Luna poured must have been viciously strong.
To think I'd drunk enough to pass out. Lucky nothing worse happened—I could've lost all my money or gotten hurt.
Damn it, I'll never touch booze again. With that thought, I gathered my things from the inn room and headed outside.
Descending the stairs to the now-familiar first-floor lobby, the atmosphere was gloomier than last night, tables sparse, a few people scattered about, picking at their morning meals.
"Well, if it isn't the Samaritan himself."
The bald innkeeper, wiping bowls and cups with a dry rag at the counter, spotted me and greeted me familiarly.
I vaguely remembered he was the owner, but were we on greeting-each-other terms?
"Ever since you rubbed my shoulders, the pain's eased up a lot. Doesn't hurt anymore. Sit down. I'll bring breakfast."
"..."
Unsure how to respond, I just did as the bald innkeeper said and plopped down at a nearby empty table.
A backless chair, hard as hell—so uncomfortable it felt like my ass was getting flattened just sitting there. But my mind was unsettled for more reasons than the chair.
"Look, it's that guy from yesterday. Check out that scary mug."
"Did you hear the bard's song last night? Said he slaughtered fifty goblins single-handedly."
"No kidding. Looks as vicious as he fights—scary bastard."
Whispers from all around, eyeing me. And weird rumors spreading, from the sound of it.
The bard talk pointed to Malco stirring things up. But neither Luna nor Malco were anywhere—beats me what happened.
"Here's your breakfast. This is included in yesterday's day rate for the single room, so no worries about the price. Oh, threw in extra chunks as a bonus."
While I was glancing around nervously, a bowl of morning soup was set before me.
A wide, large earthenware pot filled with thin broth—a plain breakfast. As the innkeeper said, veggies and bits of meat floated generously.
Looks tasty.
Stomach churning from the hangover but ravenously hungry, I picked up the spoon and sipped bit by bit.
The broth was bland as hell, barely seasoned, but I had to fill my gut, so one spoonful led to scooping it down until the bowl was scraped clean.
With my belly full, my head cleared a bit. And with a clearer head, my chaotic situation sank in calmly.
Let's sort this out. Yesterday, after finishing the job, I got plastered celebrating.
Woke up to the innkeeper and strangers whispering about me or acting overly friendly.
Something happened last night, for sure. The innkeeper mentioned I treated his shoulder?
On a hunch, I muttered under my breath, too quiet for anyone to hear.
"...Chaos Eternal."
My brow furrowed.
Ding-.
『Name: Hassan Lv. 8
Strength: 3
Agility: 2
Vitality: 3
Karma: 227 → 247
Status: Oath of the Styx』
Boons: Blessing of Chaos』 Amateur Handiwork』』
What the fuck. A lot's changed?
First up, the Karma value jumped by 20. Guess I unknowingly fixed someone's insomnia or stiff shoulder.
But what really bugged me was the Status line. Those unfamiliar words.
Oath of the Styx?
What the hell?
Didn't sound good. Every status I'd seen before was stuff like Dusar's Curse or insomnia.
Negative shit dragging down life, mostly. Like back pain.
This Oath of the Styx was probably bad news too. Another curse?
Curse.
Remembering those two years cursed impotent, sweat beaded between my legs, palms turning cold.
My morning wood was raging, though, so not the Dusar's Curse....
No way to figure it solo right now.
So I sidled up to the bald innkeeper, who'd been grinning and winking at me, and probed gently.
"Uh, about last night, I wanted to ask..."
"Ah, no worries. No one's paying attention. It'll stay secret forever. I swear on the god of taverns and revelry, Bacchus!"
No clue what he thought I'd say, but he cut me off on his own.
I tried asking more, but he stonewalled: "Nothing more to say. Don't sweat it."
Fuck, I'm the one sweating.
Like with the Dusar's Curse, maybe red spots on my body? Stripped in the room, checked everywhere—nothing.
*
"Ah, Hassan."
By mid-morning, I hit the Mars Guild. Returned the wooden tag, collected my pay, and sat before Daphne.
"I heard from old Platan. He's not one to praise lightly, but he said you show real promise—rare for him."
Doc Platan blabbed to Daphne. Can't recall buttering him up or doing anything praiseworthy.
If anything, just nodding along to his yapping. And getting my ass kicked by goblins?
Anyway, I pocketed 30 coppers reward. Time for the other reason I came: casual questions.
"Anyone else show? Besides old Platan. Malco or Luna?"
To learn what went down at the tavern last night, better ask them than anyone. That's why I headed here tracking them.
"Those folks? Left early morning with their pay."
"Any idea where?"
"Nope. Can't track personal lives. Problem?"
Whoosh-.
Daphne's eyes narrowed at me.
Sounded friendly, but those appraiser eyes screamed, "Problems go on your record." Couldn't push.
"No, none."
"Honestly, I worried sending you out—couldn't focus. Arms and legs look fine. Glad it ended safe."
Cleaning job risking limbs? Whatever— not the point.
"Miss Daphne, got a question. Know anything about 'Styx'?"
"The underworld river deep underground? Why?"
"Then, Oath of the Styx or something...?"
"Ah—that? Better hit the library than me explaining. You read, so borrow the book I note down."
Riiip-.
She tore parchment, scribbled, and handed it over with her wooden keyring thing.
"Library pass. Not for just anyone, but I owe you. Good to learn continental basics till next job!"
Encouraged—"You'll meet lots of folks"—I took the parchment scrap and tag.
『One Book and I'm a Continental?』
Weird title, but in this world, weird's normal for stuff and people.
*
Hit the library past lunchtime. City signs and arrows were a pain—got lost, ran late.
Memorizing the layout later wouldn't hurt.
This the library...?
After guild-temple awe, expected something grand. Instead: rundown warehouse. More alley used bookstore.
Pushed in. At the desk—counter?—a pale-as-death guy glanced over.
Ashy hair, ghostly skin—young or old? Ambiguous. Spoke in a slightly hoarse voice.
"Not a place for casuals, barbarian."
Barbarian—old-school slur for us savages. Mostly from cultured types.
This librarian seemed bookish, refined. Doesn't make insults compliments, asshole.
"Got a pass."
Handed the prepped pass to the robed guy, scanned around.
Scrolls and tomes crammed shelves. Shabby outside, decent inside.
"Stolen?"
"Nah, from Daphne at Mars Guild. Check if you want."
"Fine, wait. Hey, anyone?"
"Erimanthos sir, I'm on duty."
"Right, Isophos. Pop to Mars Guild. Ask receptionist Daphne..."
Fuck, always assuming stolen? Wasting time verifying. Living as a barbarian here's a hassle.
....
....
"Alright, verified. All good. So, what book? Killing people? Learn that in the wilds, not here."
Grinned like it was clever. Why'd I need that, punk?
"This one here?"
Showed Daphne's note; his brow wrinkled.
"Wait."
Vanished between shelves, returned with a thick, heavy hardcover.
Insanely hefty at a glance. Smashing a skull with it? Instant death—hard, rigid tome.
How's this scrawny guy lugging what looks heavier than him? Book carrying librarian level.
"Loan: one week. Swear on Minerva—if damaged, you pay."
"How much?"
"23 silvers."
"Geometry-!"
"Not a geometry book?"
"No, nothing."
Fuck, 23 silvers? More than I have.
Makes sense—no printing press, books are handmade luxuries for rich literates' brain games.
Had to treat this brick like royalty. Solve my questions quick, return it.
First library loan done, out to street. Found a quiet park, leaned against a tree in the shade, flipped it open.
Ugh, just opening made me sleepy. Two years dodging books, letters, study—brain not prepped for this text wall.
Snap out, idiot. Drool in your sleep? Screwed.
Fear of the cost woke me; checked table of contents. Alphabetized entries, A to Z.
Need Styx. S, S, S...
『Styx ? One of the rivers said to flow in Pluto's underground labyrinth, deep in the underworld. Legends say its bed harbors the grudges of the dead and monsters.
Styx holds great meaning for gods and men. Oaths sworn upon it cannot be broken, even by gods.
Modern systematic theologians purging superstition deem it symbolic.
But many who've broken Styx oaths met ruin—coincidence or real? Hot debate.
Famous figures: Goddess Styx and—』
Styx entry spanned over sixteen pages. No time for all; skimmed key bits.
Styx: symbol of ironclad oaths and vows.
Rings a bell from kid comics on myths.
If etched on me, means I swore something with someone.