What the Hell is This Crazy Bastard Saying?
“Ughhhh…… Tattoo…… no, removing these memories is this painful……”
“Stella, healing magic.”
“Yes, Director.”
Zwiiing— Zwiing—
“Photos are all done. Stella, pass on the care instructions and ointment to His Highness the Grand Duke.”
“Yes, Director.”
Unlike a camera, the crystal orb scanned the subject with a red light like a barcode reader when recording. Just as I finished the shoot and was slipping the crystal orb back into my subspace pouch, a faint groan leaked from Tolstoy’s lips again.
“Ughhh…… I hope my heart heals someday, just like this vanished tattoo—”
“You did great. Stella will handle the payment. Rest up, Your Highness.”
After hours of laser removal, Tolstoy slumped limp on the treatment bed. I left the charred white husk of him behind and stepped out of the procedure room.
I was sick of his newborn-level pain tolerance whining, and I’d had enough of that lovesick act he’d nailed down at some point. Plus, I had to deliver the news to him right now.
By the time I emerged, Walter—who’d been waiting outside—pressed the elevator button and approached me.
“Good work, Director.”
“Haa…… Yeah, tell me about it. Should’ve just knocked him out with general anesthesia.”
“Might as well have killed him during—”
“Whoa, whoa, let’s go. The old man’s waiting.”
Walter, beaming infinite respect and affection my way, spat some otherworld savage talk that snapped me back to reality. I cut him off quick and mashed the first-floor button repeatedly.
We hustled out of the Beauty Tower’s ground floor and straight to the reception room of my mansion, where the Hoblood Clan’s grand matriarch emerita was waiting.
“Sorry to keep you waiting so long. His Highness was pretty torn up over those old memories, so the treatment took longer than expected.”
“No matter, child. Now, show me the proof.”
“Of course. See for yourself.”
Thud— Zwiing—
I pulled the crystal orb from my subspace pouch and set it on the table. A hologram of Tolstoy’s now-pristine arms from the procedure room floated in the air.
“Heh heh, perfect. Splendid. My name and those filthy numbers—gone clean.”
Minsia, the Hoblood Clan’s grand matriarch, stroked his nonexistent beard with a satisfied smile.
“But why just these? What about the tattoo on his chest?”
“Obviously, we haven’t removed that yet.”
“‘Obviously’? What do you mean by that?!”
“Think about it. If we wipe all the tattoos now, do you really think His Highness will just waltz off to the South Continent to help you out? You know him better than anyone—how sticky he can be.”
Minsia furrowed his unlined brow at my explanation.
“Hmmm…… Fair point. That damned chest still bears the Hoblood Clan’s insignia!”
“Easy now. Anyway, treatment’s done, so why not head out with His Highness? He should be recovered by now—perfect timing to roll. Oh, and settle the restoration costs with me right away.”
“Restoration? Costs? What are you on about?”
Minsia’s round eyes bulged, his face a mask of genuine confusion. Even my micro-expressions scan showed he had no clue what I meant.
Fine by me. Ignorance is fixable with a little education.
“I compensated you for the damage to your reputation by removing the tattoos from Grand Duke Lancaster’s body.”
“Right?”
“But didn’t you smash up the Beauty Tower’s first floor and my territory while it was under construction—nice and clean?”
“I—”
“I’m not saying I’m blameless, but shouldn’t I get compensated for your damage too?”
“You little punk! You’ve got some nerve, squeezing me like this! Overlooking your screw-up should be thanks enough! Back on the East Continent—”
“Sure, sure. No issue on the East Continent, but where are we? The WestContinent, right?”
“……”
Minsia’s face paled as realization dawned. Old man, tantrums are fine, but victims deserve compensation. When in Rome—or the West Continent—follow local law.
“I tried to let it slide as best I could, you know? But my territory borders the Frederik Dungeon Zone—security’s tight, surveillance crystal orbs everywhere, even down the alleys.”
Surveillance crystal orbs were monitored by the territorial office, like CCTV back home. And for a measly 100 gold, complaisant Rachel had already mapped out how to pick this old man’s pockets clean!
“Even if my hospital and territory are in a dungeon zone, friction with Frederik territory locals—or at the Gold Territory border—means we settle legally.”
“Then it’s no issue. If you’ve got any decency—”
“Exactly, I tried the decent route, but law’s a tricky beast. Doesn’t bend just ’cause we play nice. Especially with outsiders or cross-continent disputes causing property damage—settlement’s off the table by principle.”
Thanks, Rachel. Back when I first got isekai’d, I wanted to strangle her most. But the soul-selling bureaucrat’s now my ace advisor—after feeling the pinch of her empty pockets one too many times.
“Im—impossible?! So what do you want? Money?!”
As Minsia fumed, I wet my dry throat with tea from the reception room’s cup, face full of pity.
“Aigoo, how’d you guess, Grand Matriarch? Must be all those years at the top—you know West Continent law inside out. I only learned when the office staff delivered the notice, haha.”
“What nonsense is this?! East Continent has dungeons and Dungeon Zone Special Law too—no clause about area-based compensation anywhere—”
“Whoa now, Grand Matriarch. Like you’ve never been to the West Continent, haha.”
I flashed a bright smile at his poorly hidden shock.
“As you said, Dungeon Zone Special Law’s universal across continents. But each territory has add-ons tailored to local conditions—you know that.”
I gulped more tea and continued.
“Gold Territory and bordering Frederik are remote backwaters. Once hit, resupply’s hell, good smiths scarce—restoration’s a nightmare. Hence the extra law.”
“N-No—”
“Damage once, and materials or smiths? Good luck. That’s the backstory. Check Frederik office for details. By damaged area: 2,835 gold, 9 silver, 7 copper. Here’s the stamped doc—give it a skim.”
About 300 million won at local rates. Sure, I rake it in like a trawler, but money multiplies best in bulk. Especially from this cranky powerhouse who threatened my life—I’d squeeze every last copper.
“2…… 2,000 gold?”
“No, 2,835 gold, 9 silver, 7 copper. Exact amount in coin or equivalent goods. His Highness pays in mana stones often—same deal.”
Micro-expressions confirmed: Minsia was broke.
Time for the follow-up.
“Not that the Hoblood grand matriarch would welch, but no payment means Dungeon Zone Special Law kicks in—equivalent time in the underground prison—”
“You punk! You telling me to go to the clink?!”
His rejuvenated-by-black-magic lungs boomed.
“Hey now, why so touchy, Grand Matriarch? When did I say that? I’d love for you to pay the 2,835 gold, 9 silver, 7 copper and stay healthy.”
But old man, remember this: I never forget who hits my wallet.
“Thing is…… law doesn’t care about tantrums. I pulled strings as Hoblood grand matriarch—‘cut him slack?’ Even the Emperor couldn’t sway it.”
“Punk!”
“Haha, not saying you’d throw a fit, of course.”
Clink—
I set the tea cup down hard, smile gone, eyes sharpening on his trembling form.
“Pay up. Cash.”
“……”
Eh? Why so quiet? This isn’t how I pictured it.
I’d planned to rile this bipolar kung-fu granny into a rampage with Frederik Dungeon Zone Special Law intel from Rachel.
Why’s he suddenly meek? Wait…… no way?
Vitals spiked at the unexpected twist. Micro-expressions showed my least favorite face.
“No…… way. You’re flat broke?”
“……”
“Grand Matriarch of the East Continent elite.”
“Not that elite……”
“……For real?”
“Well……”
“Not a single coin?”
“……”
Seeing him primly cross his legs and fold hands on knees like a proper lady—my calm sea turned erupting volcano.
“Walter, call the territorial office. Tell ’em one guest incoming per Dungeon Zone Special Law.”
“Yes, Director. Connecting now.”
“W-Wait! Hold on! Calm down!”
As Walter whipped out his crystal orb like he’d been waiting, the old man switched to deferential panic-mode.
“Grand Matriarch, know who I hate most? Deadbeats with no conscience. Stay home if you’re broke. Walter! Office call yet?”
“Ringing, Director.”
“Wait, easy! Spent it all on mana stones!”
“Oho, cash for your toys, but stiff the bill? Underground’s drafty—watch that jaw. Crooked? Clinic visit. Immunity issue usually—”
“F-Fine, something else! I’ll teach you martial arts!”
What the hell is this crazy bastard saying.
Martial arts? To mana-less me?