The Dark Side of the Bright City #1
Cliché. A term for worn-out expressions or stereotypical scenes. In fantasy, it means things like bandits always showing up; in martial arts tales, warnings like "beware women, children, and the elderly." Lawrence was experiencing one right now.
Bandits appearing at the campsite. Wasn't this the most classic cliché?
That was his thought as he watched the bandits suddenly emerge, each gripping their weapons menacingly.
The mages alternated glances between the abrupt bandits and the tower master.
"Hmm, guests in the dead of night. Looks like we're getting close to Oberon after all."
"What should we do? Slaughter them all?"
"No need for that. They're pitiful souls in their own way."
The tower master chuckled lightly, hands clasped behind his back.
Only then did the bandits encircling the camp get a proper look at him. His presence alone screamed he could snap an ordinary human in half with his bare hands.
"D-don't move! H-hand over everything you've got!"
"These guys don't seem like real bandits, do they?"
"There's a saying around Oberon: anyone who shows up at night is a gambling addict."
<If you run into people wandering outside the city, run.>
<They'll sell your organs for gambling money.>
"Y-yeah! So hand over everything and scram!"
"Tower Master, seniors, I'll handle this. You all go rest."
As they pondered what to do, Lawrence stepped forward. He was already holding a massive hunk of meat.
The bandits stared in disbelief.
"A-are you... looking down on us...?"
"Come on, bandit folks. Line up for your beatings. Oh, and hand over your stuff first."
Lawrence flashed the brightest smile. To him, the bandits' gear all looked like prime materials.
[Worn-Out Belt]
Manifestation: Poison
[Tattered Shoes]
Manifestation: Haste
[...]
If he collected everything they had...?
It'd tide him over nicely for a while.
"Don't run."
You'll cough up all your materials from now on.
It was a mad grin. Lawrence charged at the bandits with a feral smirk.
"Tower Master, the kid... he'll be okay, right?"
"Hmm..."
The senior mages watched with a hint of unease. Even the tower master suddenly remembered.
Lawrence Montemer. Before heading north, his annex was always filled with the sound of breaking furniture, or so the rumors went. The "madman" label had spread far and wide.
Iron Hanma scratched his head awkwardly.
"Makes me think we're raising a monster here."
"Even you, Tower Master...?"
Crunch!
With just Haste and Strength spells, Lawrence began brutalizing the bandits. His movements seamlessly blended Leila's swordsmanship, the northern soldiers' tactics, and the Iron Tower mages' footwork.
Already battle-ready...?
Duncan and the tower master watched in quiet admiration as Lawrence wreaked havoc.
"Aaaagh!"
"S-spare us!"
"He's a mage! A mage-!"
The bandits scattered in panic. Hearing their cries, Lawrence tilted his head as if realizing something.
[Iron Wall]
Remaining Capacity: 11/12
Rumble!
The 2nd circle steel magic blocked enemy attacks or escape routes. The sudden iron walls sealed off every path.
"Freeze."
"Eeeek!?"
"Who... sent you?"
"..."
Approaching with a huge chunk of meat in hand, he looked grotesque and deranged. The bandits trembled uncontrollably.
By now, Lawrence was radiating draconic aura.
At the same time, far off—beyond even the tower master's gaze—someone watched the scene.
He clicked his tongue at Lawrence's movements.
"Not bad, huh? A battle mage through and through. Good thing I took the job."
Crunch.
Ades munched on fruit, observing leisurely. The "sudden" bandits weren't some plot-hole cliché.
He'd arranged it ahead of time.
Oberon, the city of entertainment. That meant hordes drowning in vice.
Gambling was like quicksand—you sink and never escape.
'Give 'em a few coins and a scolding, and they go this far...'
All he'd done was approach desperate folks needing cash, dangling rumors and terms.
What was the best offer for them?
<Wanna hit it big? You'll need money for that, right?>
Gambling money. It sounded low-risk: provoke and retreat.
To those with nothing left to lose from gambling debts, it was a no-brainer.
'Head-on... that'd be risky for me too.'
Magic power wasn't the issue. Chantless casting at that level—no warning—would tax even a top assassin like Ades.
"Gotta watch a bit more, then isolate him thoroughly."
Poor guy. How's it feel getting a hit from family?
Ades shook his head and melted into the shadows.
'One more to check.'
Busy, busy. Shouldn't have taken two jobs at once.
Ades vanished into the night, glad he'd arrived at Oberon early.
"S-spare..."
"Who sent you? I don't wanna be a murderer."
"W-we don't know who either. But... they said if we scouted the mages' skills, we'd get paid..."
"Someone's scouting us out."
The elder interrogating beside him made the call. Someone was targeting them—identity unknown, but caution was key.
Duncan asked Lawrence.
"Kid, anything ring a bell?"
"Yeah. Hate to say it, but yeah."
"Hmm. Then we squeeze it out of him..."
"Family matter. Tower folks probably can't get involved."
Duncan nodded gravely at Lawrence's vague wording. Nobles...
He'd been one once, but nothing left now. Even great houses forced kids into harsh survival.
'Perfect chance. No one'd bat an eye if someone died hunting undead—anytime, anywhere.'
Lawrence stroked his chin. Time to uncover why they insisted on killing him.
Just because he was the stepkid? Too extreme.
Why not just ship him off forever? He needed answers.
With that, he released the bandits—after stripping them bare.
"Th-thank you!"
"Run! Hurry!"
"No need to finish them off?"
Duncan asked. Lawrence shook his head.
What gain from killing? What loss from sparing?
Wretches drowning in gambling debts. The type to harvest organs for cash.
They could end up like that too. But ultimately, they posed no threat.
"What about all this?"
"Got uses."
"Hm... your specialty, so I won't interfere. Won't slow the march?"
"Nah. I'll handle it clean."
Lawrence grinned lightly. Duncan nodded reluctantly.
Meanwhile, flush with materials, Lawrence smirked to himself. This'll last a bit.
"Alright, hit the tents and rest. Training's done for today."
"Got it."
"Good night!"
Needed deep sleep to run tomorrow too. Mages entered tents—all but the watch.
Lawrence stashed extracts in his subspace, picked a few for artifacts.
His days ran a tad longer than most.
Next day. They finally reached Oberon after the long trek.
Long lines of entrants from everywhere. The tower master chatted with guards and bypassed it effortlessly.
"Who are they, cutting ahead?"
"Shut it. Iron Tower mages."
"Whoa..."
"Mages and knights gathering yesterday and today... something's up."
Whispers followed. Tower mages. Academy knight cadets. Quasi-nobles with power beyond commoners.
Heads bowed, they stayed quiet. Guards treated tower master and mages with respect.
"Orders came down. Let tower mages in immediately. Head past the square, left to the barracks. That's the rally point."
"Thanks. Add this to your meals."
The tower master praised modestly. Even cash-strapped Iron Tower had class.
The guard bowed deeply.
Inside Oberon: a medieval Las Vegas unfolded. No visits pre-regression... novel feelings.
Iron Tower folk headed to the rally as clamor erupted at the entrance.
"Outta the way!"
"Knight cadets coming through!"
Cadets arriving right on cue. Lawrence glanced over and muttered unwittingly.
"Whoa! Check this out."
What a shitshow.