The Calm Before the Storm (1)
In the dim alleyways of the Lower Streets, life flowed like the murky water between the moss-covered sewer walls. It was a place where countless lives intersected—drug addicts, refugees, third-rate thugs pushed out from the Bronze District, and recluses hiding from the world.
Rumors of a recent uproar in the Western District had circulated, but life here remained unchanged. Bread had always been scarce in these grimy sewers, and the deaths of drug addicts were as common as ever.
Damir Putin, one of the more notorious drug dealers in the Lower Streets, thought the same. At least, until recently.
Whoosh!
A flame ignited in the empty air, swelling to the size of a watermelon in an instant.
“Damn it, how can a muscle-bound brute cast a spell like that…!”
Even as he fled, his mouth kept running, his face pale with fear. His pursuer chuckled, snapping his thick fingers.
“Ignite.”
“Crimson Fireball.”
Whoosh!
The red fireball surged forward, evaporating the sewer’s dampness in its path. Putin barely managed to dodge, ducking around a corner just in time.
Boom!
“Ugh!”
Though he avoided a direct hit, the explosion’s shockwave was unavoidable. Flaming debris and dust swept through the passage, lifting Putin’s hefty body several meters into the air.
Splash!
He landed in a puddle of filthy water. Despite his thick flesh cushioning the fall, his bones ached. Gasping for breath, Putin pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket—a talisman inscribed with black and red characters.
“This… damn protective charm. It cost a fortune, and they said it would block any spell. What a scam…”
“It’s not a scam.”
Zap!
A bolt of lightning shot toward him, only to deflect at the last moment as if hitting an invisible barrier. The talisman in his hand flared brightly before tearing apart.
“Wha-what…?”
“Damir Putin, drug dealer. Originally from the southern regions of Tsarland. Your village was raided by bandits when you were ten, and you escaped while being sold into slavery, eventually starting your drug business in the Labyrinth City.”
In front of the bewildered drug dealer, a massive warrior emerged through the settling dust.
“Twenty-four years in the drug trade. Recently expanded your influence by recruiting refugees as clients and gang members. Is that correct?”
“How do you know…?”
“A pig with a pearl necklace. Your brain works well enough when selling drugs, but not in situations like this?”
“Pig? How dare you…!”
The fear that had gripped him moments ago vanished, replaced by a fierce glare as he stood up. The warrior, Dalen, took a step back, smirking.
“Did I hit a sore spot?”
“You bastard!”
The drug dealer shouted, rummaging through his pockets for something. His frantic movements sent various trinkets flying into the filthy water.
[Oh…]
A demon from the interdimensional space licked its lips at the sight of the fallen items.
[A ring engraved with runes, a high-grade ink bottle with protective functions, a spell stone from the Elgaia Tower, and a high-grade soul stone that would fetch a high price from dark wizards. Master, this pig seems wealthier than expected.]
‘Of course. He’s one of the top drug dealers around here.’
Damir Putin. A boss mob who had used his wealth from decades in the drug trade to arm himself with powerful magical tools. His personal abilities were lacking, but his arsenal of expensive magical equipment made him a formidable opponent.
For an average player, he’d be a suitable challenge between the early and mid-game.
“Found it! Heh, no one has ever insulted me and lived to tell the tale. You’ll be no different.”
Putin pulled out a bracelet emanating a sinister aura, forcing it onto his thick wrist. Dalen had sought him out for a reason beyond just completing the Crow’s Nest’s request.
The real reason was to retrieve the corpse of someone who had died at Putin’s hands.
“Klakaros—Se Glam!”
With a short incantation, the intricately engraved black magic activated, and the soul stone embedded in the bracelet became a sacrifice to open the gates of hell.
Crack!
A massive wolf-like beast emerged, filling the sewer passage.
Grrr…
The eight-eyed wolf growled lowly. Its body bristled with sharp spikes, and the fierce glint in its eyes was anything but ordinary. It was a top-tier monster, rarely seen even in the Labyrinth, and powerful enough to have its own contractor.
[We’ve found the corpse of the wandering spear master in the sewers.]
Of course, Dalen’s focus was on the notification hovering above the wolf’s head.
“Hahaha! Behold the majesty of one of Klakaros’s guardian hounds!”
The drug dealer shouted excitedly. Dalen sheathed his hand axe at his waist.
“Better to die quietly than resist with those scraps of metal. Go, hound of hell! Tear apart the one who insulted me!”
The drug dealer, still oblivious to the situation, commanded, and the contracted wolf charged forward.
Crash—
The wolf’s massive body scraped against the walls and ceiling of the passage. There was no room to dodge.
Not that Dalen needed to.
Inhale—
He took a light breath, gathering his strength into his fist. Without needing to conjure any imagery, he stepped forward and drove his fist into the wolf’s snout.
Crunch—
The sound of the monster’s tough hide and bones being crushed. The impact traveled from the tip of its upper jaw, shattering its internal organs.
Boom—
The result was an explosion of flesh and hide. The wolf, its back half blown apart, collapsed without a whimper.
The monster’s tenacious life force allowed it to take a few more ragged breaths. Dalen drew his axe and brought it down, ending the labored breathing.
“Wha-what… is this…?”
Covered in the monster’s blood and entrails, the drug dealer stammered in disbelief. Dalen struck him lightly.
A chest caved in, ribs shattered, and a heart crushed. The defensive spells woven into his fine clothes failed to absorb the impact, as did the various protective magical tools in his pockets.
“Cough… scammer…”
“Scammer, my ass.”
The fact that he hadn’t died immediately was proof that the numerous magical tools had done their job.
“Finish it.”
[Yes, Master. Human! Hand over the treasures.]
A black hand extended from the interdimensional space, grabbing the dying drug dealer by the collar and rifling through his pockets.
Swoosh…
Meanwhile, other portals opened in the puddle, sending dark chains to snatch up the magical tools one by one.
After fully absorbing the power of Kalkas, the demon had gained the ability to automatically loot.
[Heh, I’ll organize everything and report back later.]
Leaving the cleanup to the demon, Dalen reached for the gray silhouette beside the guardian hound’s corpse.
[You have retrieved the corpse of the wandering spear master from the sewers. You inherit their abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: Strength +1, Fire Spear Technique (D)]
“Hmm.”
Spending two days in the Lower Streets to catch a single drug dealer wasn’t ideal, but the rewards made it worthwhile.
It was a task that needed doing eventually. This time, it also provided an opportunity to gain favor and compensation from the reclusive transcendent, Philopon.
Compared to the corpses of late-game powerhouses, the rewards were modest, but considering the effort usually required for leveling up, the efficiency was undeniable.
“Well, that’s it for the Southern District.”
Dalen paused to tally his progress.
Since defeating the witch in the Western District, he had focused on completing requests and retrieving corpses.
Even without actively seeking attention, his reputation had soared, spreading like wildfire.
Every day, requests poured into the Crow’s Nest, and naturally, some of them were tied to the places or people associated with his death.
For Dalen, it was a body he needed to retrieve anyway, so getting paid for it was a bonus.
After two weeks of relentless body retrieval, he managed to collect all the bodies across the southern district.
Among them were the “body of an enraptured alchemist,” the “body of a back-alley musician lost to vice,” and the “body of a lowly grave robber,” totaling eight bodies in all.
The abilities he gained from these bodies exceeded a total of 10 points. To organize his gains, Dalen opened his status window.
――――――――
Name: Dalen
Level: 29
[Strength: 43] [Dexterity: 38] [Stamina: 34]
[Senses: 34] [Intelligence: 33] [Magic: 36]
Skills: Dehama’s Armored Combat (D), Night Vision (E), Leap (E), Flame Arrow (D), Rapantella’s Crushing Sword (C), Hegaleus’s Flame Rain (C), Piercing Lightning (D), Curse Ward Seal (D), Leredonara’s Hidden Blade (B), Sacred Flame’s Ember (C), Crimson Dragon’s Blood (A), Key to the Gates of Hell (C), Ackerman’s Construction Method (C), Filz’s Wind Barrier (C), Fire Spear Technique (D)
*Unique Skills (10)
――――――――
He was on the brink of reaching level 30.
After defeating the witch and leveling up once, he managed to level up again over the past two weeks by completing requests.
He also acquired two skills as inheritance rewards and twisted the Sacred Flame’s Ember skill to gain a unique skill.
‘I’d love to sweep through other districts too, but…’
He knew he didn’t have the luxury of time.
After the final attack through the witch, the demons had been silent for about two weeks, likely due to the shock of failure.
But if they were the type to give up so easily, there wouldn’t have been hundreds of cycles of failed apocalypses.
It was time to prepare for their inevitable resurgence.
‘And if they move as expected, I can grow in the direction I’ve planned.’
Who knew when he’d have such a reprieve again?
That’s why he’d spent the last two weeks tirelessly scouring every corner of the sewers.
[All sorted, Master. What should we do with this one?]
“Put it in a sack and take it to Philophon.”
[Understood.]
After the demon swiftly gathered the drug dealer’s body, Dalen headed above ground.
In the half-ruined passage of the low street, only the remains of a top-tier monster were left to crumble in the sacred flame.
Thud.
A large sack was placed on the table.
Judging by the dark red stains and its size, it was clear the contents were anything but ordinary.
Shania Philophon, the owner of the cabin, peeked inside the sack and nodded in satisfaction.
“Well, well, that’s the end of those pesky cockroaches. In business, one must have ethics, don’t you agree?”
“You’re absolutely right, ma’am. Even among merchants, there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed.”
“Ha, young man, you have quite the insight. No wonder the Elgaia Tower Master has taken notice of you.”
“Ha ha ha! To receive such praise from a renowned apothecary, it seems my thirty years of effort were all for this moment.”
Shania and Volcma exchanged pleasantries.
Or perhaps, at this moment, they should be called the apothecary Philophon and the head of the Galios Trading Company.
Who would have expected an unexpected guest at the orchard cabin where he came to collect his payment?
It seemed the sales route to Falcion was set through Philophon’s orchard, given the many good connections made in the herb city of Revivach.
[In my opinion, the title of ‘Master of a Thousand Faces’ suits that merchant better.]
‘Couldn’t agree more.’
It had already been ten minutes since he entered the cabin.
The man was talkative enough as it was, but in business mode, the conversation seemed endless.
“Well, well. Ah, please don’t mention this to Sienna. I’ll make sure your reward is generous.”
The old man, in high spirits, hummed a tune as he added a mysterious powder to his teacup. The weight of the money pouch he handed over was half again as heavy as promised.
If left unchecked, he’d likely continue with more unnecessary chatter. Dalen decided to change the subject.
“I heard the magic circle of Philoperin was severely damaged recently. Do you know how it’s being resolved?”
“…Well, that’s a tricky question.”
The old man’s expression stiffened slightly as he savored his tea.
Clink.
As he set the teacup down, a sound barrier spell separated the two from Volcma.
“By asking me that question, you must know about my lineage, don’t you?”