Chapter 200
Chapter 200
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 200
Chapter Title: Hassan's Business
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Creak, creak.
Every time I stepped on the wooden floorboards, an ominous sound echoed through the air.
The floor was riddled with holes crudely patched with planks, clear signs of hasty repairs everywhere.
The wood was damp and riddled with wormholes, giving off a thoroughly dreary vibe, and through the occasional open door slits, I caught glimpses of eyes watching me intently, gleaming with unspoken intent.
This place didn't even seem like a cheap motel.
Unlike the Nymph's Wing Inn I frequented, which buzzed with people eating, drinking, and chatting just to get through the day, this Nymph's Pupil Inn shared only the "nymph" name—the management and atmosphere were worlds apart.
If the Nymph's Wing felt like a hub for those scraping by today and tomorrow, this spot seemed like a reluctant pit stop for folks just trying to exist.
How to put it?
A medieval version of a rundown flophouse?
Yeah, that nailed it.
And in a dump like this, I could picture the kind of guy Kerold was—the type who'd hang himself.
A bottom-tier adventurer, Iron Tier fresh out the gate, stealing just to survive.
"This is the room."
Lost in those thoughts, I snapped back as the innkeeper, lantern in hand, halted abruptly at a door.
Room 204.
Second floor.
Fourth room from the stairs, hence 204. The closed door looked worn but ordinary enough.
Clink, clack.
The innkeeper fished a keyring from his pocket and unlocked it. With a decisive click, the bolt slid free. Shrugging his shoulders dramatically, he said,
"Whew, this is as far as I go. Can't bring myself to step inside, so you're on your own."
He wouldn't even dare peek in.
"Return the key later. I-I'll head down now. Might have guests, and gotta feed the cats outside—"
Mumbling excuses, he shuffled back the way he'd come.
What the hell was back there to scare him like this?
It reminded me of something I'd heard: firefighters hate callouts to abandoned suicide scenes.
Was there some gruesome sight like that waiting? The thought made me hesitate a bit.
But I was a Samaritan barbarian and a rising adventurer with a rep as a rookie. Getting spooked by this would make me a laughingstock.
So, picturing Luna grinding away back home, I steeled myself. She was probably working right now. No way I could just cower forever.
Hand on the knob, I twisted it and flung the door open.
Inside was pitch black, even in broad daylight—nothing visible.
Curtains drawn?
A room plunged in total darkness.
A chill hung in the air, cool even for summer, evoking that baron's blackout villa.
Yeah. I'd wondered where this vibe came from—it was just like that place.
Hard to step right in.
At least, no vomit-inducing horror show like I'd feared. Small mercies.
I took a deep breath, then slowly advanced into the room.
My target: the curtains at the far end. Pulling them back should brighten things up.
Clink, roll.
My feet knocked into odds and ends, annoying but no big deal, and I reached the curtains.
Whoosh.
Sweeping them aside let sunlight flood in, illuminating the space.
That single beam piercing the gloom felt profoundly reassuring.
No wonder so many religions revere light above all.
"Oof, shit—"
Of course, brightness revealed weirder shit too. Frowning at the emerging scene, I wasn't sure what to say.
First off: wooden walls crammed floor to ceiling.
Like the hallway, worm-eaten and moldy, they were scratched and gouged with writing, packed tight.
The scrawl was so illegible I couldn't make heads or tails of it.
Anyone carving words into every inch of wall probably wasn't right in the head anyway.
Either way, it was deeply unsettling. No surprise folks in this superstition-sensitive world avoided this room.
A true bold Samaritan warrior wouldn't bat an eye, though?
"Nothing much."
Muttering like a mantra, I steadied myself. It worked—my furrowed brow eased a tad.
Glance.
Finally, I took in the whole room.
What caught my eye: bizarre wooden idols scattered on the floor. The stuff I'd kicked in the dark?
Each about the size of my palm, give or take.
Seven in total. Two finely carved, the rest barely humanoid lumps.
Kerold's handiwork? Why leave 'em unfinished?
No pattern, no clue what they meant.
Hunting for anything useful, I found only rat bones under the bed, like some cat's leftovers.
Nothing else.
"Fuck, what is this."
Zero info, zero leads. Total bust. Sitting on the bed, pondering next moves, the rat bones sparked an idea.
Beckon.
I gestured at the withered skeleton. It rattled oddly, then blue glow ignited in its empty skull.
Raising a tiny beast like this? Just a flick, no incantation needed.
My sword skills barely budged, but Necromancy proficiency shot up weirdly fast.
Growth is growth, but leaning too hard into this might paint me as a cultist ripe for extermination.
Clatter, clack.
The risen rat skeleton climbed my leg to my palm.
"Kerold might've stashed something here. Sniff it out."
Clack.
It scurried off, soon nosing into the bed—specifically, the pillow of rolled blanket and straw.
It wriggled into a seam, thrashing.
Seemed tough, so I yanked its tailbone. Out popped a flat something in its jaws.
A notebook?
Leather-bound.
"Anything else?"
Clack, clack.
"Alright, good job. Here's your treat."
Pet its skull a few times as reward.
"Now, rest."
Clatter.
Necromancy released. Felt like it went peacefully—maybe just my imagination.
Anyway, priority was the notebook.
Hoping for Goblin King or secret dungeon intel, I opened it—and recoiled at the crooked handwriting.
Goddamn awful penmanship.
But the guy who carved those detailed idols? This must've been scribbled in a frenzy.
Deciphering it bit by bit, I read on.
Torn pages and illegible spots galore—only fragments made sense.
'The abandoned shrine ruins to the west? Nothing worth shit. Just weeds and trash. How the hell am I supposed to make money there? Easier hitting a general store.'
This prick—tons of herbs and beetles crawling around. Lived off stolen cash, so no clue how real folk earn.
'One day, spotted a hole in a rock crevice. Rabbit hole vibe, but seemed deep and roomy. Thief's instinct said treasure hidden inside.'
Rock crevice hole? Rabbit hole?
I flipped ahead fast.
Flip.
'Inside: goblins. Goblins. Hordes of 'em. Pouring out endlessly, like hell's gates flung wide.'
Oh, goblins.
Finally, something useful.
'Sneaking past was easy—numbers don't mean smarts with hellspawn grunts. Pushed deeper, found a grand bone throne. And atop it, a massive. Massive goblin.'
Massive goblin—!
Fuck yeah, Goblin King was a goddamn giant, as suspected.
Huge goblin. Head's gotta be massive too. Hauling that in spikes my fame instantly.
Next page? Torn clean off—story lost.
Next readable bit was different.
'I saw it. The future where the Seven Plagues crawl forth. Born and bred in hell, they're demons. Mocking everything I'd built, sneering. Their laughter still rings in my ears. Almighty Mercury, take this torment from me—'
Clear he was terrified.
Seven Plagues crawling future, demons, blah blah. Tied to those floor idols? Only guess with what I had.
'More pages? Just repeats: Almighty Mercury, lift this burden—'
Later pages devolved into unreadable scratches.
Then it hit me: those wall scars were Mercury's name too.
Filling the room with a god's name—like swallowing a talisman?
Vision of the panicked man carving in fear. Not a pretty picture.
"This notebook's mine now."
Mission done, I pocketed it and the two finished idols in my belt pouch.
Rabbit hole in a rock crevice.
Half-day search should turn it up.
Out the door, straight to Sodomora's west gate. Soloing a goblin-packed dungeon? Worries lingered.
But roping in others dilutes the rep I need all to myself.
Beg a bigshot like Hippolyte? She'd snag the glory; I'd be the sidekick's sidekick.
Solo it is.
Though "solo" might not fit my style.
Kekek—!
Kek—!
Standard greeting: two goblin pups. Gauntlets crushed their skulls, then I raised 'em as blue-eyed undead minions.
"You lot know anything about the Goblin King?"
Clack, clack.
Asked on a whim—they just clacked jaws blankly. Expected as much; goblin base material's dumb.
"Find that rock crevice rabbit hole. Search everywhere. Bring me goblin corpses you find; hide from people. Go—"
Whoosh.
They crouched and vanished at speed.
This—
This was my solo play.
Soon, scouts returned.
Clack, clatter.
"Found it?"
Clack.
"Tch, nice. Good work."
My method was gold.
Me, handling shit this smooth?
Watch the papers, punk.
Article incoming—!