Chapter 177
Chapter 177
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 177
Chapter Title: The Tooth's Gift
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Ramin Solrost glared at the enigmatic figure before him.
'Is this really a Tooth agent?'
The organization known as the Tooth traced its origins back to the conflict between Heukrin and Danri over autonomy—it was that ancient.
These days, its operatives lurked throughout Heukrin, pulling out all the stops to ensure the Allied Kingdoms triumphed in the war. Naturally, "seduction" was one of their tactics.
Not just famous figures, but ordinary folk whose names no one knew had fallen for it and betrayed Heukrin.
They'd defected to Danri clutching proprietary tech or research data—or banking on their own smarts—convinced they'd live large, or so Danri claimed.
Of course, within days, Heukrin's newspapers would report the traitor's "tragic accident."
'Might not even be the Tooth.'
That said, there were other rumors too.
In the Empire, they tested so-called "subversives"—those highly vulnerable to seduction or likely to react strongly—by dangling bait. Ramin had no idea if any of it was true.
The Allied Kingdoms' Tooth agents were flashy for covert operatives, while no one knew how the Empire's Intelligence Bureau worked.
Baseniol seemed peaceful, far from the front lines, but wars never ceased within its walls.
'Doesn't seem like Gorgota.'
Even Ramin, a vampire, had a handler assigned to him—but to his eyes, the man looked like any ordinary bureaucrat. Far more nondescript than this self-proclaimed Tooth agent.
'Different species altogether.'
Ramin's handler, Gorgota Palu, was a Froglin.
This Tooth agent, mask or no, had a smaller head than a Froglin's—and the mask tilted skyward rather than forward, suggesting some snout-protruding race, not human or elf.
"Taking your time, I see."
The agent twitched the blade at Ramin's throat.
Ramin spoke.
"...If I had a chance to blow Baseniol sky-high? I'd march straight to the local security office and report it. Why would I destroy the city where I'm living the good life?"
"Hmm. 'Living the good life,' eh..."
The agent said.
"You're suspicious of me."
"..."
"Well, time's on our side... Here's a gift. I'll ask again later. You'll have a proper answer by then."
"A gift?"
"Head to warehouse twelve at landing field three, outside the west gate."
The agent sheathed his blade, pulled something from his pocket, and dropped it at Ramin's feet.
Metal rang out clearly.
Ramin scooped it up on reflex.
"...A key?"
He looked up. The agent was gone.
The Pantheon expanded with floors, rooms, and sections as needed, each claimed by its owner.
Seong-un had no peculiar aesthetic tastes, but other players did.
So when he traversed his own minimalist corridor—bathed in soft indirect lighting, its pale gray expanse bright and spacious—and entered RD's domain, he felt a twinge of bewilderment.
White marble walls, floors, and ceilings. Chandeliers dangled from the heights.
Thirty-six tiered baths sprawled across multiple levels, vast and deep enough to swim dozens at once—like pools, really.
Each steamed with hot water gushing from duck statues, ornate Art Nouveau gold trim lining the edges.
"More baths added?"
Seong-un remarked. RD, floating in the largest central one, kicked his legs and spun around.
RD wore sunglasses.
"I rest hard when I rest. What's up?"
"Sorry to interrupt your soak, but I've got questions. About the eastern front."
The Empire's war raged on four fronts.
South, north, and west pitted them against Danri; east was the Ronande-Oroban Alliance from Continent One.
Post-outbreak, the west had successfully pushed out one of Danri's Allied Kingdoms lingering on Continent Three.
Beyond that, no gains—just tedious naval skirmishes and occasional infiltrations by small units in north and west.
Most Danri fighting stretched along Continent Four's southern lines.
Nearly twenty years in, Heukrin had nearly conquered Continent Four—until the Ronande-Oroban Alliance intervened, costing them control.
That alliance hammered Heukrin's Fabi territory in Continent Four's east.
Seong-un had left the eastern front to RD.
Partly because the alliance wasn't that strong—but mostly because RD's odd "rubberpunk" strategy proved him more capable than others thought.
'Just stubbornly weird.'
Seong-un had thoroughly discussed Heukrin's forces with RD.
"...So pulling the three apostles from the east won't hurt our strength right away?"
"Yeah. Gordius and Polpura should suffice."
RD replied.
"Southern front giving trouble? Looked fine yesterday."
Seong-un shook his head.
"No, not that."
"Then?"
"The 'leak issue' might be solvable."
"Oh."
Lost World had phenomena hard to grasp.
The "leak issue" was one.
"Leak" meant faith resources draining inexplicably—troubling because the source was unknown.
Faith generated from believers' numbers, prayers, faith objects, temples—but consumed by miracles, revelations.
Some, like summoning creations to the surface, drained continuously.
Even tallying all that, some faith vanished tracelessly.
That was the leak.
In the old game, players chalked it up to hidden values or bugs—minor enough to ignore.
Now, it plagued Seong-un.
Heukrin faced the mighty Allied Kingdoms, backed by Hegemonia.
Even Wisdom deemed stalemate against an empire-spanning giant "not bad."
And Hegemonia held the "Domain of War."
Minimal faith from them sparked conflicts escalating to war; Tooth special forces fanned the flames.
Beyond that, innate war bonuses: units crumbling at twenty percent losses were done—but Hegemonia's miracles sustained theirs through worse.
Thus, Seong-un reworked doctrines against Hegemonia's armies.
In Heukrin-Danri's tug-of-war for dominance, leaks mattered hugely.
Faith was prime war material; fixing this could break the deadlock and overwhelm Danri.
The Pantheon's leak rate was worryingly high.
RD said.
"Got a solid lead?"
"Too soon to say."
"Yeah?"
"Just... might tie to vampires."
"Vampires? That evil god's creation?"
"Less 'created' and more... yeah, close enough. Take it easy."
RD said.
"Loosen up yourself."
Seong-un waved as he turned away.
Exiting RD's room, he opened the system window.
It shared a bird's view over Baseniol.
The bird watched one vampire.
"Ramin Solrost."
A status window floated beside: grotesque, even to Seong-un's veteran eyes.
Its history held unbelievable entries.
Seong-un muttered.
"Even after all this time, so much unknown."
Ramin sat on a rooftop railing, glanced at the parrot staring intently, then kept walking. Parrots were common in Baseniol.
'Landing field three, warehouse twelve.'
Baseniol had two main landing fields.
One by the north gate for unloadings whenever airships arrived.
Today, with one due, most merchants and workers would be there.
The other: west gate airship field.
Yoben sat high on a plateau; northern rails underdeveloped. Thus, military depots clustered west for bulk supplies—plus runways for merchants and passengers. Airships visited once a month at best.
Luckily, field three held civilian warehouses—unguarded save entrances.
'Still gotta hop the fence.'
Ramin skirted Rakshasa guards, past vehicles and rubber-powered carts, to a deserted stretch. Confirming no eyes, he vaulted it.
'This it?'
Big numbers marked each building.
A hefty padlock yielded to the agent's key with a click.
Inside: dim.
Ordinary warehouse.
Stacked wooden crates, nothing odd.
'What's the point?'
The throat-at-blade encounter now felt like a stupid prank.
Maybe some university jerk's idea of fun.
Ramin considered leaving—then spotted a crowbar by the door.
'Gave me the key to check it out. Peeking won't hurt.'
He dragged a heavy crate, pried the nailed lid.
Inside: something unimaginable.
'Glass jar...? Something inside?'
Cylindrical glass tube, brass-capped ends.
'Wait—this...'
Ramin carried it to the sunlit entrance.
Then nearly dropped it in shock.
Red mist filled the jar.
Heukrin-Danri's war birthed inventions.
Deadliest: weapons.
Scholars obsessed over mass killing; efficient WMDs undreamt by ancients emerged.
Some recreated ancient horrors.
'Zombie plague.'
The red mist symbolized it.
Ramin numbly scanned the warehouse.
All identical crates.
'Not all of them... no.'
He peered into his opened one.
Smashing these across Baseniol would raze it.
Zombies spread themselves.
Hands shaking, Ramin resealed the jar, slapped the crate shut crudely, locked the door, hopped the fence, and walked out.
'It's real.'
No denying it.
He'd head home, think it through.
En route to Baseniol proper, a voice called.
"Ramin Solrost?"
Familiar. He turned.
Suit-clad Froglin.
Teal skin.
Hard to ID unfamiliar races, but heavy eye markings helped.
"Oh, Gorgota?"
"Yes. Looking for you. Airship came early—had to bump up the routine check."
"Ah, right."
"Wasn't home. Figured you'd head straight back after class."
Ramin's mind raced.
Gorgota Palu: his handler.
Because Heukrin deemed him high-risk surveillance. They no longer killed vampires—but watched closely.
"Nice day, so I strolled to the airfield."
"As a vampire?"
"Old habits die hard. Humans love blazing sun."
"Hmm."
Gorgota eyed him skeptically. Ramin waved it off.
"Truth is, the airship."
"The airship?"
"Attic gets all the street noise. Thought it'd calm the excitement. Seems pointless, though."
A gaggle of kids chattered past.
A steamcar rumbled by, belching smoke.
Gorgota nodded.
"Regret that the Harmony Bureau can't provide better housing."
"Covering boarding is plenty."
"Shall we head to your room?"
"Sure."
Ramin led, steadying his pounding heart.
'Hasn't noticed, right?'
The Harmony Bureau mediated interspecies disputes, handled quirks.
Froglins got monthly "Deluba ointment" for skin moisture—letting them live beyond rivers and lakes.
New arrivals from outside Heukrin—sans wild blessings—got violence suppressants or social aids.
For vampires, it verged on surveillance.
"Routine checks" weren't pleasant.
Home reached, Gorgota pulled a binder, inspected while saying.
"You've done this before—keep it casual."
"Okay."
"Possess any edged weapons like swords or axes?"
"No."
"Firearms next. Gunpowder-based?"
"No."
"Rubber-powered?"
"No."
"Magic-powered?"
"No."
Gorgota checked boxes.
Ramin thought done—then another.
"Last one, Ramin. Met any suspicious masked figures?"
Ramin said.
"That's new."
"Recent addition. Orders from above."
Gorgota showed the printed form.
"Anyway—have you?"
Ramin answered.
"...No."