The Hunter of the Low Streets (4)
Sienna slowly opened her pouch, pulling out a bundle wrapped in cloth. As she unfolded the fabric, a rusty ring and a few coins tumbled out.
With a bitter expression, she asked, “How should I interpret this gift?”
“I’m new to this city, arrived just yesterday. No connections, no nothing. The best I can do with these is sell them to a fence for a pittance,” Dalen replied, scratching his chin with an indifferent look.
“But you, you can give these to the right people—the victims’ families, or their friends if they have none,” he continued, pushing the silver coins back across the table. “Consider this your fee.”
Sienna’s hand twitched slightly. She carefully tucked the pouch under the bar table and spoke firmly, “I’m not the kind of informant who makes excuses to withhold payment. I’ve already taken my share. That’s your money. Take it back.”
“If you insist,” Dalen said, pocketing the coins without protest. Refusing a gift would be foolish.
With his purse a little heavier, Dalen left the tavern. Before closing the door, he added, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“For the umpteenth time, please come during business hours,” Sienna retorted.
“If you serve me liquor instead of tea, I’ll consider it,” Dalen replied with a smirk, leaving Sienna shaking her head in disbelief.
The door closed with a clatter, leaving the tavern in silence. Only the sound of Bourbon wiping down a bloodstained table broke the stillness.
“Was he sincere?” Sienna mused aloud, though no answer came. She continued, as if it didn’t matter, “Refusing a reward—it’s not typical mercenary behavior.”
Perhaps someone driven by a sense of justice might act that way, but Dalen didn’t strike her as someone swayed by shallow ideals. Such a mindset wouldn’t earn him a silver badge. The world was harsh, especially for drifters like mercenaries.
‘A harsh world indeed.’
Without strength, you get devoured. Without resolve, you fall. The bottom of this world was grotesquely ugly, filled with those who preyed on the weak, shielded by the indifference of the powerful.
Sienna had spent her childhood in that abyss. Once, she had hoped someone might help her. But no one did. Not a single soul.
The clinking of glasses brought her back to the present. “Well, what does it matter if he was sincere or not?” she muttered, shaking her head. Her eyes regained their sharpness, the gaze of an informant who had clawed her way up from the depths of the Bronze District over the past decade.
“He’s a skilled mercenary. Working with him can’t hurt. Whether he’s truly trustworthy, time will tell.”
She quelled her emotions with reason. Dalen had touched a nerve, but it was surely by chance. Without knowing her past, he couldn’t have intended it.
“It’s almost time for customers. Bourbon, is this the new brand we got in?”
”…”
“Hmm, smells good. Let’s offer a round to our regulars later.”
Sienna joined Bourbon in polishing the glasses. It wouldn’t be long before business hours began.
Chirp, chirp, chirp—
Birds sang outside the window, and the first light of dawn peeked through the curtains. It was early morning.
Scribble, scribble.
Dalen sat at a table, writing on sheets of paper. Piles of them already littered the floor.
Room 412, Sword and Shield Inn.
Dalen had been staying here for a week now. During that time, he had been jotting down every piece of game information he could remember.
This sudden compulsion began after his first assignment. ‘I dealt with a threat that should have been a disaster and even retrieved the corpse that was supposed to die to it.’
The experience made Dalen realize how drastically the game dynamics had changed with just one in-game purchase.
His previous strategy had been to level up slowly, preparing for the end times—a stable but passive approach. But with the additional stats and successor options he had bought, he could now act more aggressively.
The old strategy was now inefficient, practically useless.
‘First, I need to recover as many bodies as possible.’
So far, Dalen had retrieved only two bodies. Yet even those had given him the equivalent of several level-ups. Considering he had only gained three levels in two years of mercenary work, his growth over the past week was nothing short of explosive.
‘It’s impossible to know exactly where all the bodies are.’
Dalen had played this game for five years, during which hundreds of characters had died. In an open-world game with immense freedom, those bodies were scattered across the continent.
‘Still, I can estimate their general locations.’
On Earth, it would have been impossible. But in this world, with his intelligence stat at a superhuman level, he could recall even the memories buried deep in his subconscious.
‘And then there are the doomsday scenarios to consider…’
Dalen picked up one of the paper bundles strewn across the floor. It listed hundreds of factors that could lead to the world’s destruction: slave revolts, witch covens burning villages, cultists lurking in cities, a vampire count invading the empire after four centuries…
“Damn.”
Just reading it made him curse. The world was a mess, and the game developers must have been insane to create such chaos.
Even if he managed to overcome all those threats, eventually, a rift would open, and the dark god’s army would invade from the ends of the earth.
’…Let’s not think about the dark god for now.’
Dalen shook his head. It was a disaster he hadn’t overcome even in the game, something he couldn’t deal with immediately.
He flipped through the stack of papers. Instead of worrying about distant doom, he needed to focus on what he could do now.
The pages stopped at a particular point.
‘These guys will do nicely.’
Dalen smiled. A cult operating in the labyrinth city of Falcion, demon worshippers wearing large masks. They were still gathering strength beneath the surface, but their potential was undeniable.
The monster Dalen had killed on his first assignment was their creation, after all. And he had no intention of letting them grow any stronger.
‘Cut off the limbs, and the body will be exposed.’
Thud.
He set the hefty stack of papers on the floor, donned his training clothes, and tied back his long hair.
The breeze through the curtains felt warmer than before. It was time to move.
With his heightened abilities, Dalen’s body demanded intense activity every day.
After a breakfast of bread, sausage, and a mug of beer, he headed to the training yard behind the inn.
In the yard, filled with straw dummies, he began his exercises.
Whoosh—. Bang!
Every swing of his limbs was followed by the sound of rushing wind.
Crash! Thud!
The dummies, made of toughened leather over solid wood, shook as if they might break.
His movements, incomprehensible to an ordinary person, had already frayed the edges of his new training clothes.
“Whew.”
After a vigorous workout, Dalen calmed his breathing and opened his status window.
――――――――
Name: Dalen
Level: 5
[Strength: 23] [Dexterity: 13] [Stamina: 12]
[Senses: 15] [Intelligence: 18] [Magic: 8]
Skills: Dehaman’s Armored Combat (D), Night Vision (E)
――――――――
Dalen hadn’t spent the entire week cooped up in his room. Mornings were for training in the yard, afternoons for taking on bounties from Sienna.
Through training and real combat, his proficiency in Dehaman’s Armored Combat was nearing 50 percent.
Completing assignments had also raised his level by one, a feat that had taken months before. He had invested the new point in dexterity, which greatly aided his combat skills.
Martial arts, after all, required not just understanding but also physical capability.
‘Proficiency is rising more slowly these days.’
Despite this, his skill growth had slowed, stuck at 49 percent for days now.
‘Time for a new challenge.’
His morning training ended past noon. After lunch, Dalen washed up, donned his armor, and left the inn.
His destination was the blacksmith’s district.
Clang— Clang—
From morning till night, the relentless sound of hammering filled the bustling street. Dalen wandered from shop to shop, leisurely browsing the wares.
His current weapons and armor were old and likely to cause trouble soon.
Rather than rushing to buy something in a panic later, it was comforting to familiarize himself with the options now.
Over the past week, he had exchanged greetings with the blacksmiths he had come to know, and now he moved on.
He found himself in the back alley just as the sun began to dip below the horizon.
Sienna’s Crow’s Nest was empty of patrons. There was still some time before business hours began.
Dalen didn’t mind. Even without customers, there was a bartender to pour him a drink.
“A Melond Highlander, please.”
Clink. Clink.
The bartender, known as Bourbon, silently poured the drink at Dalen’s request, ringing a bell by the table as he did so.
A clear chime resonated through the shop.
The glass, with its rare ice cubes floating in the amber liquid, was a luxury in the Bronze District. Dalen downed it in one go.
Sienna entered through the back door, sighing as she watched him.
“How can you drink something that strong and still look fine? Are you even human?”
“It’s not like I downed a whole bottle.”
Dalen wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Even before he ended up in this world, he could hold his liquor well and enjoyed it.
Besides, his physical stats were closer to extraordinary than ordinary, so one drink was no problem at all.
“When are you going to stop ignoring my ‘no coming before business hours’ rule?”
“If there’s a bartender and a customer, it’s business hours.”
“Always quick with the comebacks.”
“To a barbarian, that’s a compliment. Thank you.”
Sienna waved her hand dismissively, as if giving up. Dalen chuckled softly at her reaction. He spoke up.
“So, who do I need to take care of today?”
Sienna shook her head.
“Come inside. We have something to discuss.”
“Discuss?”
A mischievous smile spread across Sienna’s face.
“A special request has come in for the Hunter of the Lower Streets.”