Chapter 76
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 76
Chapter Title: Shall We Make a Bet?
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After the Iron Age dawned.
Rimon had grown accustomed to many things.
Greenhorns who'd never even held a sword boasting about being swordsmen just because they'd learned a swordsmanship skill.
A mindset where everything revolved around skills, judgments made through that lens, and a world shaped accordingly.
"H-Hey! What the hell kind of nonsense is that?"
"Hm? Did I say something I shouldn't have?"
"You just asked if we can't even control our own piss and shit!"
And yet, in this moment.
Rimon couldn't hold back his irritation.
"No, I just figured since you said music without a skill is all noise, folks without a bowel skill can't hold it in either."
Not content with turning back on his way, he was even sneering at these strangers.
[Team Leader? What's gotten into you?]
Just seeing Yuna Kyung hovering above him in confusion, trying to rein him in, made it clear this wasn't like him at all.
But Rimon had no intention of suppressing his annoyance.
The moment he heard that performer's song dismissed as "noise" without a second thought.
The stress from all those recent skill-reliant performances he'd endured, mixed with the dark jealousy stirred by the performer's voice, exploded all at once.
"To you guys, food from someone without cooking skills must all taste like dog chow, right? And kids without learning skills are all failures."
"What kind of bullshit is that?"
Sneering at the bristling trio, Rimon shot back.
"Why? Isn't that better than saying no skill means you can't sing?"
"That's a different case."
"How so?"
"Bad cooking or studying is personal, but butchering a performance in public harms everyone else."
"So why do you get to decide it's butchered?"
Finally grasping why Rimon was picking a fight, the trio sighed.
"Look, big bro. We're sorry if our words were a bit hasty."
"A bit?"
"It might not be total noise, but obviously a skilled player's better than some unskilled nobody."
No music skill meant just a regular person.
Comparing that to a skilled player's performance? Basically noise.
As the trio defended themselves logically by "common sense," Rimon smiled coldly.
"Hey, how about a bet then?"
"What kind of bet?"
"I'll put on a show without using any music skills."
The trio eyed him suspiciously at the out-of-left-field proposal, but Rimon laid out the terms.
"If you still say the same thing after, I'll apologize properly for my rudeness. Hell, I'll double whatever fee you paid to book this spot."
"And if we can't? You want us to yield the stage?"
"Nah, do whatever you want."
"Whatever we want?"
"Apologize or not, up to you. I'll still double your money."
"Then why even bet?"
The trio looked baffled.
By those terms, they decided the winner, and stood to gain no matter what.
But Rimon's attitude remained utterly nonchalant.
"Chicken?"
"...Fine. Go ahead and do your thing."
In the end, the trio accepted the bet.
No downside for them, and if the performer backed off on his own, even better.
With the deal sealed.
Rimon disentangled from their shoulders and called out to the performer.
"Hey, friend."
The song had just ended, leaving the performer staring blankly.
Hearing the sudden address, he tilted his head.
"Yeah?"
"Lend me that guitar and your voice for a bit. I'll make sure you put on a way better show."
The performer's eyes widened in surprise at the abrupt offer, but Rimon just grinned confidently.
Was it that cocky smile?
Or because he'd taken his side?
Maybe just sounded fun.
After staring blankly at Rimon, the performer finally grinned back and nodded.
"Sure, friend."
His agreement wasn't just words.
Without hesitation, he thrust the guitar at Rimon and stepped aside.
Rimon took the surprisingly hefty instrument, settled into the vacated spot, plucked the strings once each, and chatted with the performer.
Ding.
"Song?"
"The one you just sang."
"Don't look at me? That's my original—can you even play it?"
"Heard it once."
"For real?"
Most would dismiss claiming to play a song after one listen as nonsense, but the performer didn't scoff.
He just looked intrigued, wondering how far Rimon could go.
Yuna Kyung, on the other hand, was flustered.
Ding.
[Team Leader, what are you thinking?]
'What?'
[Everything from one to ten. You don't usually butt into stuff like this.]
Even if called a mad dog sometimes, Yuna knew Rimon respected social norms more than most.
She couldn't fathom helping a total stranger like this.
Ding.
'Call it a whim.'
[What are you, a moody teen girl?]
'Even I get fed up sometimes.'
[...Fine, I'll buy the whim excuse.]
Yuna nodded for now.
She knew how frustrated Rimon had been with all the recent performances.
But even accounting for that, his actions were shocking for another reason.
[You don't even know how to play guitar! So what, you're suddenly gonna perform?]
'It's fine. I learned guitar.'
[When?!]
'Right now.'
[What does that even—?]
Diring.
Yuna fell silent.
Rimon's fingers, idly plucking while they talked, were speeding up.
The faint guitar notes grew clearer.
Soft sounds swelled.
Slow tempo quickened.
Choppy string plucks connected seamlessly.
Before long, the simple plucks had become a proper melody.
Ding, diring.
"Huh?"
"When'd he start?"
The few onlookers who'd watched curiously since Rimon's intervention were stunned.
They'd been staring right at him, yet no one noticed when the performance began.
It was only natural.
This was a Sword Master's technique.
A strike that cleaved foes before they even drew—surpassing later initiative, embodying instantaneous precedence.
But curiosity about the start vanished in an instant.
Diring, diring, diriring.
'What is this playing?'
'That the same song from before?'
Rimon's fingers flew across the guitar.
The melody matched the earlier tune exactly, yet somehow burrowed irresistibly into their ears, captivating the crowd.
'This...?'
The most shocked was the performer himself.
Not just the subtly awkward yet vastly superior skill.
As the composer, he spotted it: Rimon was improvising an arrangement on the fly.
'This guy's nuts.'
Replicating a first-hear original wasn't enough—he was tweaking it live.
Hubris through the roof?
Or just winging it?
Either way, no normal performer would hand over their song, guitar, and voice to a stranger.
But that's why the performer grinned wider.
He drew a quick breath and joined in.
"Don't look at me—"
"...!"
In that instant.
The trio and onlookers gulped involuntarily.
A husky voice layered over the crisp guitar, sending chills racing across their skin.
But that was merely the beginning.
Didididing.
"Don't look at me like that—"
As if waiting for the lyrics.
The guitar erupted like a racing car flooring it.
Far from swallowed, the voice rode the melody, plunging deeper with fierce passion.
Beyond chills—it drilled into their hearts with shuddering ecstasy, unearthing unknown depths.
'This... the same song as before?'
The earlier crowd was dumbfounded.
The performer's own guitar-and-vocals hadn't been bad.
But atop Rimon's dazzling riffs, it was another level entirely.
'How?'
'S-Skill?'
'Or was he holding back earlier?'
They had no clue.
Though technically raw, the performer's voice held potential rivaling Julia, the witch of the violin.
That Rimon had replicated her performance after one watch, mastering it beyond teaching in months.
Or that this monster now channeled his Sword Master senses solely to compensate for the performer's flaws.
The result?
Pedestrians vanished; dozens swelled the crowd.
'I don't usually watch street shows.'
'Gonna be late... screw it, I'll treat for being tardy.'
Hurried commuters.
Those eyeing other acts.
Music indifferents.
Nine in ten who brushed by joined after hesitating.
"Don't look back—"
Ornate then serene, the unflinching performance.
Atop it, voice fraying, crushed—yet burning hotter.
Extreme contrasts fused into harmony slicing hearts like blades, storming souls.
Diding, diding, ding—
Fingers struck strings: not strings, but pulses throbbed.
Husky cries wrung not song, but raw emotion.
"look at me and smile like that—"
Finally, the song closed.
Even after the swelling, throat-tightening melody faded.
Hundreds stood spellbound, breaths held, lost in the afterglow.