Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Pluto's Black Star
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"Hmph, ahem. The Hassan of Samaria has a habit of channeling the thrill of battle into lust, does it? But I'm no priestess of Venus. If it's your lust you want to sate, go find someone else."
"That's... actually, it was a rescue procedure for someone in respiratory distress..."
"Hoo. Fine. Given your contributions this time, I'll let it slide. But there won't be a next time."
Hippolyte, now recovered, had jumped to her own suspicions and just as arbitrarily forgiven me.
In a world that deemed most medical procedures illegal, there was no way she'd know about CPR, so I gave up on explaining. No matter what I said, it wouldn't register with this woman.
If I'd woken up to find some woman stripping off my pants, shouting that she was performing the "Juji resuscitation technique," would I take it at face value?
"More importantly, impressive work. Crude and barbaric as it was, you precisely avoided all their vital points. They'll be injured, but no fatalities. Perfect for capturing and interrogating them."
Shifting the mood, Hippolyte praised my swordsmanship. The fact that blades I'd swung with killing intent had all missed vitals was somehow amusing.
With my amateurish skills, though, that was probably as good as it got.
"Necromancer Koma. As of today, I, Hippolyte, priestess of the Mars Temple, hereby place you under arrest."
Hippolyte addressed the necromancer, who was flopping on the ground with both arms severed. He coughed up blood and let out a raspy "Heh heh heh..."
"Death... cannot be bound by anyone... I told you that... It's the ultimate equality..."
Poof.
With that, his body began crumbling like parched sand, scattering in all directions. Shit, what the hell?
It wasn't just the necromancer—every cultist sprawled around us disintegrated into powder.
"...Poison, then. Suicide. Are you not afraid of eternal torment in Tartarus?"
"I've already... achieved all I desired... The primordial firmament... Its seed has been planted in the rightful heirs... Chaos... desires renewal..."
Those were his final words as his body collapsed into dust. All that remained atop the pile was a filthy, bloodstained robe in tatters and the bizarre iron mace-shaped necklace he'd worn.
Hippolyte picked it up and said,
"This is a Saga-grade relic. The Black Star. I heard it vanished from a temple in the Kalan region over a decade ago. So he had it."
Swish.
She held it out to me. Having already experienced its ominous, terrifying power, I couldn't help but panic, my voice trembling.
"W-What is it?"
"You killed him no differently than I did, so the spoils are yours. The ownership of this Black Star belongs to you."
"R-Really?"
A Saga-grade relic? Fuck, jackpot!!!
I could have this? Didn't they say Saga-grade relics were worth tens of gold coins?
"Shit, thank you, Hippolyte!"
"It's just recompense for your deeds. More than that, you're exceeding expectations, Hassan of Samaria. The Black Star of Kalan emits mana so intense it shatters minds, yet you endured it and subdued them all—"
Hippolyte kept talking, but my head was filled with visions of glittering gold coins. What to do with all that money?
Buy a house? A carriage? Shit, my impoverished brain couldn't decide!
"Anyway, take it. Gives me the chills. Seems this relic and I don't mix well. Hate holding it."
"Affinity? Relics have affinities?"
"Yes. Saga-grade relics are tools and treasures once wielded by heroes whose names grace the annals of history. They're miracles born from karma deeply imprinted upon them. Unless you're compatible with that karma, they're little more than useless trinkets. Some can't handle it and go mad."
I didn't fully get it. Like job-specific gear?
This Black Star must be necromancer-exclusive—priceless junk to anyone else incompatible.
Swish.
Anyway, I took the relic from Hippolyte's hand.
Instantly, electricity shot from my palm up my spine to my brain, followed by a ding and text floating before my eyes.
『Acquired Pluto's Black Star.』
『Consume 100 Karma Value to reinforce the equipped Black Star.』
『Consume Karma Value to upgrade Black Star to Pluto's Pupil?』
『Yes.』
『No.』
The floating text told quite the story. Consume Karma Value for gear reinforcement? Relics could do that?
This wasn't my first time touching a Saga relic, actually.
Before my emancipation from slavery, I'd first obtained something called Clepio's Staff, which granted me this strange knack alongside some message.
I hadn't understood then, but now, cautiously piecing it together with this Black Star in hand: Saga-grade relics possessed bizarre powers beyond rational explanation.
Shit, so Karma Value gets used for all sorts of things. It's way more precious than I thought. Of course, now I had a rough idea of how to accumulate it, so no big issue.
"What's wrong? Something amiss? Your mind didn't break, did it?"
But Hippolyte drew her sword as if ready to behead me, snapping me from my thoughts. I spoke up.
"No problem. P-Put the sword away."
"Then let's head back. You did quite the deed, Hassan of Samaria. Expect good news from the guild."
* * *
Returning to where the group had partied with the skeletons, Priestess Cassandra was tending to the wounded.
People everywhere bandaged up and groaning. The first to greet me was Sver, the snub-nosed bard Malco.
"Brother! You're safe!"
"Shit, how'd you survive among those skeletons?"
"I soothed the departed with a dirge and safely ushered them to Charon."
"I protected Malco-kun."
Buser appeared, his upper body wrapped in bandages, casting a massive shadow. He glanced between the relic necklace around my neck and Hippolyte, then asked with narrowed eyes.
"Miss Hippolyte, Koma is...?"
"Dead. Him and all his Kalan cultist followers."
"I see. And Samaritan carrying that necklace—does that mean what I think?"
Nod.
Hippolyte nodded without a word, and Buser licked his thick lips with his tongue, making them glisten.
"Samaritan, you're more intriguing the more I see. My fondness for you has risen."
Shit, isn't this guy more dangerous than the cultists when it comes to men? I wanted to swing my sword and end him, but I'd lose nine times out of ten. Confident I'd drop in five seconds.
Losing wouldn't be so bad, fuck.
"More importantly, Sir Buser. There's a Pluto ruin entrance here in Kalan."
"Pluto ruins?"
"Yes. The cultists and unnatural fog might be connected. I've sealed the entrance for now, but we may need to return soon to handle it."
"That's for the other Silver Tiers to discuss. Anyway, time to head back. Good it ended quicker than expected. Traversing fog and swamp would've taken longer."
Thus ended our roughly two-day journey there—and three days total including the return.
Exhausted, the sight of Sodomora's towering walls drained the last of my energy.
Shit, finally back. Feels like I've aged five years.
"I'll handle the mission completion report as the leader. Pick up your shares from your receptionists tomorrow."
After disbanding at the west gate, it was personal downtime.
From Crocodile hide to goblin teeth in hand, the thought of selling spoils for cash lifted my spirits. This must be what walking on clouds feels like.
Where to sell? A general store? What was that one's name— Someone tapped my back as I pondered.
"What, Luna?"
"Hassan."
"Why, got something to say? Wanna drink together again today?"
"Yeah! You worked hard! Time for drinks! No other plans, right?"
Freshly returned, what plans could I have?
Maybe hit the bathhouse, wash off the grime, and ponder smart ways to spend my earnings?
"Nothing particular."
"Then come to the Nymph's Wings Inn by evening, like last time!"
She bounced off before I could reply.
She'd gathered swamp mushrooms and such during the expedition, so maybe off to sell them.
Thinking back, Luna—who I'd pegged as dead weight—performed amazingly. Without her repelling the Crocodiles, we might've been wiped out.
Our deal was a fixed party till she hit Bronze Tier, but if she kept this up, sticking together for quests long-term sounded ideal.
Sun still high, plenty of time till evening. I hit the bathhouse for a thorough wash, then wandered for a clothing shop.
I'd offered one Crocodile hide as tribute, but still had one quality piece left.
Which shop?
My gaze stopped at one with a big sign: "Clothing Shop Blessed by Minerva."
Blessed by Minerva? Like a tailor boasting sewing contest wins?
* * *
Ding-a-ling.
Opening the wooden door revealed a brightly papered interior stocked with fabrics—a well-lit haberdashery.
It even smelled fresh and crisp. Jasmine? Lavender? No clue.
"Oh, a young Samaritan. Welcome."
Greeting me was a woman with long, deep navy hair.
She wore a silky magenta off-shoulder short dress, boldly exposing white thighs, calves, shoulders, and neck—dazzling.
Her side profile, tied precariously at one knot, was intensely alluring. Fashion industry pro, indeed.
Her face was sharply fierce yet stunningly beautiful overall, exuding an eerie aura. Early to mid-thirties?
In this world, don't judge age by face alone. As I mulled that, the proprietress spoke.
"Young Samaritan, what brings you? Nice necklace, too. Stylish. Looks expensive. Kinda familiar."
Her eyes gleamed at my relic. Fashion savvy meant accessory expertise?
"Uh, well, here to sell some hide."
"Hide? Rabbit? Squirrel? Deer?"
"Crocodile."
"What? Oh, Crocodile? Wow, fun. Let's see it."
I pulled the long, stiff hide from my pack. Her blue eyes flickered as she took it—I caught that.
"Excellent quality. Swamp Crocodile hide spoils easily, but you preserved it well. Drying could've been better, but still, 7 silver's fair."
"Oh."
7 silver? Higher than expected.
"Or add 3 silver, and I'll make you clothes. One jacket, pants, with some left over."
The young proprietress eyed me up and down. My rags must've looked pitiful.
I'd planned clothes from this hide anyway, so I gladly accepted.
"3 silver it is."
"Great. You look rough but earn well. Now, measurements..."
She sidled up, measuring waist, chest, arms with a tape—navy hair swaying.
Squish.
Her large, soft breasts brushed my arm and back. Blood rushed south. Unaware? Or deliberate?
I'd heard rumors among male adventurers: proprietresses using bodies to hook regulars.
"Wait thirty minutes over there."
"Thirty minutes for completion?" Sver, that's fast.
"I'm blessed by the goddess of talent, Minerva. Leagues above amateurs."
Snorting confidently, she grabbed shears, needle, thread, and began cutting, sewing, padding the hide into clothes.
Snip, snip—swish.
Like a spider weaving with countless legs—flashy, masterful.
"Some fabric and hide left. Need anything else?"
"Uh, could you make something like this with the scraps?"
"Ah, easy. But 2 silver extra—it's intricate."
"Hmm..."
Thus, I got sturdy leather pants and a sweatshirt-style jacket.
Plus a bonus tool from leftovers—surprisingly well-made. Blessed folk have real skill.
"Come again, Samaritan friend!"
Waving goodbye, I headed out.
Dusk falling, I navigated familiar streets to the Nymph's Wings Inn. There, in the first-floor tavern corner, sat a pink-haired girl at a table.
"Hassan! Here!"
"Malco's not here yet?"
"Huh? Didn't invite the sniffer. He had plans with Sir Buser. New clothes! You look like a pro thief!"
Luna'd called me murderer-like, bandit-ish, robber-ish before.
Her compliment? "Pro" this time—overkill praise, shit. Still a compliment.
As I pondered, Luna eyed me curiously.
"Wow, Crocodile leather's top-tier. In Ideophe, it's elite—restricted wear."
"Yeah?"
"Jealous! Wish I were strong enough to hunt gators!!"
True, even in my old world, Crocodile leather was pricey. Animal rights debates and all.
Sniffing my new clothes, Luna's eyes sparkled at something behind my back.
"Hey, what's that behind you?"
"Oh, this? Here, for you. Your share."
Meant to give it later, but caught red-handed.
"M-Mine? Really!? For real!?"
"For real. Cost 2 extra silver."
30% of the hide—without Luna, no gators taken. Her rightful cut.
I handed her small Crocodile leather sandals.
Strappy kind, like ancient Europeans wore.
Her emerald eyes widened like saucers.
Drip.
Tears streamed from those huge eyes.