Settling Accounts
Having savored the rush of his first successful escape, Bennett pushed himself up from the stone pavement.
Rising to his feet, his gaze naturally swept across Pioneers' Hall. There were unmistakably fewer people than when they had first entered. The dimensional rift had not closed yet, and there were likely additional secret exits scattered throughout the ruins, but the thinned herd was glaringly obvious. The Mercenary Guild guidebook had noted that the average survival rate for Easy difficulty hovered just slightly above fifty percent.
"People die in droves inside these dungeons, yet instead of shrinking, this city only keeps expanding," Bennett murmured.
Kyle nodded beside him in somber agreement. "I've always found that strange myself. Though, seeing how many folks cross entire continents just to chase a fortune in Dungeon City, I suppose it makes a twisted sort of sense... Bennett-nim, shall we head over there? I hear Sylvia Firm offers decent rates."
"Is that so?" Bennett agreed with an easy nod.
"Welcome to Sylvia Firm. Are you looking to sell?"
"Yes."
Bennett, Kyle, and Edgar approached the trading post without delay to liquidate their haul. There was no need to wander far. Pioneers' Hall served as both entrance and exit to the dimensional portals, so merchant cartels and faction envoys had long established permanent appraisal stations directly on the floor. Scavengers pledged to an official organization could process their spoils through their respective outfits, but independent freelancers could simply conduct business on the spot with any firm of their choosing.
Thud!
A mountain of assorted gear poured out as they tipped over three heavy duffel bags. Among the haul were bloodstained, grime-caked pieces that had clearly belonged to other scavengers, but not an eyebrow was raised. It was the unspoken rule of the trade. While foreign blood and bodily fluids were unsightly, a quick wash was all it took to clean them off. So long as the equipment remained functional, the merchants had no reason to turn profit away.
Appraisers sorted and evaluated the armaments with practiced, indifferent speed. They examined each piece meticulously, scribbling tallies before handing the appraisal slips to the chief manager. It took some time to inspect every single blade and plate, but in this line of work, thoroughness was second nature.
"Thank you for your patience. Our appraisal comes out to—"
The purchasing manager of Sylvia Firm slid over a freshly drafted ledger. It itemized each piece alongside its assessed value.
Scanning the figures, Bennett tilted his head.
...This is lower than I calculated.
The profit fell short—substantially short, in fact—of what he had projected. In absolute terms, it was not a meager sum; it was respectable money for a single delve. Yet if asked whether it was satisfying, the answer was a resounding no. Kyle and Edgar appeared to reach the same conclusion, exchanging flustered glances.
Bennett never hesitated to voice a legitimate concern. "Is this accurate?"
"Ah, well... first off, the equipment stripped from those scavengers wasn't particularly high-grade," the manager explained smoothly. "Blood can be wiped away, but our inspection showed that, aside from a handful of pieces, the quality simply isn't exceptional."
"And why are the valuables salvaged from the dungeon world priced so low?"
The merchant gave an awkward, sheepish smile. "They're surprisingly common, you see. They commanded high prices years ago, but the market has been steadily saturated ever since."
On top of that, a flat thirty percent municipal tax cut into their net earnings, shrinking the payout further. Wondering if Sylvia Firm was pulling a cheap trick, Bennett caught the eye of an appraiser from a rival stall nearby. The man merely nodded with a noncommittal shrug, confirming that the rates were standard across the floor.
"If you ever find the opportunity, why not attempt Hard difficulty?" the manager suggested. "Items recovered from Hard difficulty consistently fetch far higher sums. And the equipment carried by other parties..."
The clerk caught himself and pivoted abruptly. Though he cut the sentence short, Bennett knew exactly what the man had almost blurted out: scavengers venturing into Hard difficulty carried vastly superior gear—which meant far richer pickings should they perish.
"At any rate," the clerk continued, "Hard difficulty is perilous, but the profits match the risk. It might be worth your serious consideration."
"...I'll keep that in mind."
The man was not lying, leaving Bennett no choice but to nod and accept the settlement.
"Would you prefer Sylvia Firm promissory notes or hard currency? As a reminder, our promissory notes circulate as standard tender in parts of the city and are accepted across all affiliated establishments. If you opt for notes, we provide an additional five percent bonus—"
"I'll take coin."
The manager paused at the blunt refusal, but quickly recovered his professional smile. "Right away, sir."
A heavy coin pouch passed through the manager's hands into Bennett's grip. He slipped it straight into his pack. Freshly emptied of scavenged gear, the bag swallowed the pouch effortlessly. Though dense and bulky, the coin settled cleanly into the bottom without drawing unwanted eyes.
With the transaction settled, Bennett turned to Kyle and Edgar. Unlike him, the two had chosen a split payout of coin and merchant notes.
"Take care out there!"
Out in the broad plaza extending beyond Pioneers' Hall, Bennett offered his farewells.
"Get some rest. See you next time."
"Thank you for your leadership, Bennett-nim."
After waving the pair off, Bennett hastened his pace toward the outer quarter where his sister was waiting. A few pickpockets loitering near the hall's exits tried to shadow him, expecting an easy mark fresh off a dungeon run.
"Aaargh!"
They earned nothing but snapped wrists for their trouble.
"I know your faces now," Bennett said coldly.
"S-Sorry, sir...!"
"Get lost."
Arriving near his safehouse, he did not walk straight inside. Instead, he circled the perimeter, checking the alleyways and blind spots for anything out of order. Only after verifying there were no signs of surveillance did he approach the door.
Rather than a standard latch, the entrance was fitted with a specialized lock Bennett had acquired through private channels. It was exceptionally difficult to pick, requiring both an uncommon physical key and the alignment of a specific mechanical code to release the tumblers.
Click!
"I'm home."
"Oppa?"
Bella, her complexion still sickly and pale, stepped out from the adjoining room.
"How are you feeling? Are you holding up?"
"What about you? You didn't get hurt, did you?"
A faint smile touched his lips as he raised both arms to show he was whole. "Dangerous as dungeons are, did you really think I'd get injured?"
"Everyone says they're terrifyingly lethal."
"I'm never going to die."
Not until I cure you completely, and make every last dog of the Drake Family bleed for what they did... Bennett swallowed the rest of the thought in silence.
"Try this. It's called chocolate. Seems to be all the rage in Dungeon City these days."
"Thank you! I'll enjoy every bite."
Bella inhaled the rich aroma of the confection with wide, curious eyes before suddenly snapping to attention. "Oh, that reminds me, Oppa."
"Hm?"
"Someone came looking for you while you were away."
"...Who?"
"Well, actually, right now—"
Dickson, leader of the Hunters, made no effort to conceal his boiling rage.
"You're telling me fifteen men were wiped out by a single party?"
"F-Forgive me, boss!"
The squad leader, who had somehow managed to scurry through a secret exit amidst the chaos, slammed his forehead violently against the floorboards.
Thud!
He struck the wood hard enough to split his skin, sending a crimson streak down his brow, but it did nothing to quench Dickson's fury. With the dull, concussive crack of an aura-laden strike, the squad leader was blasted backward, smashing hard into the stone wall.
"Guh... hack...!"
"You worthless piece of shit! You dare bring me a report like this?!"
Gasping through shattered ribs, the squad leader dragged himself back onto his knees and pressed his forehead against the floor once more.
"I have no excuses! But it was an unexpected Update! It hit us without warning...!"
It was a blatant lie, but he was the sole survivor of the strike team. Furthermore, rumors had already spread throughout the lower rings that an unannounced Update had shaken Easy difficulty, resulting in an unusually catastrophic death toll. Never imagining his subordinate would have the suicidal nerve to fabricate an excuse under these circumstances, Dickson merely narrowed his eyes.
"What was the bastard's name?"
Terrified by the murderous stare promising summary execution if he faltered, the squad leader's mind raced frantically.
"Bennett! His name was Bennett! I-I can't say for certain, but he had the look of a mercenary!"
In truth, a vast majority of scavengers roaming the portals had mercenary backgrounds regardless of their current syndicate. It was a blind shot in the dark, but the squad leader struck gold.
"Bennett?"
Dickson's gaze shifted to the woman standing motionless in the shadows of the office.
"Look into the Mercenary Guild records."
"Understood."
She unlatched a small brass cage, and a carrier pigeon beat its wings, darting out into the open sky.
"And as for this trash." Dickson looked down with dead, pitiless eyes. "Strip him of his rank. Throw him to the bottom and make him start over as a fresh recruit."
"B-Boss, please!"
"What are the guards outside doing?! Drag him out!"
Enforcers waiting beyond the door marched in, seizing the former squad leader—now their lowliest rookie—by both arms.
"Have mercy! Just one more chance—!"
The heavy doors slammed shut, returning silence to the office. A critical piece of intelligence regarding Bennett's lethal capabilities had been completely omitted, but neither the disgraced survivor nor Dickson had any way of knowing.
"What are your orders?" the secretary inquired, her tone flat and devoid of emotion.
"What else? Blood demands blood."
"I will mobilize the assassination squad."
"You go with them."
Though she looked like an ordinary administrative clerk with no martial presence, she bowed her head without the slightest hesitation.
"Can't very well dispatch the squad without their commander, can we?" Dickson added darkly.
"..."
Flap, flap.
A soft flutter echoed from the window frame as the carrier pigeon landed on the sill. The secretary stepped forward, untied the parchment rolled around its leg, and handed it directly to Dickson. Reading the brief scrawl, Dickson's face twisted into an ugly sneer.
Unable to provide information. This is beyond my clearance to verify.
"...What kind of bullshit is this?"
Glancing over the response, the secretary's brow knitted together. "I have never seen a reply like this from our contact."
"Is that rat trying to play games with me?" Dickson growled, fixing her with a venomous stare.
Understanding his intent instantly, she bowed low. "I will send our people to apply proper pressure."