Walking through the city streets of Sword Rock, I finally saw the landmark that is exactly what it sounds like, a large stone sword stabbed into the ground. There were many legends about this sword, but the one I enjoyed the most was it was a relic left by the one in charge of the world, who surpassed even the Demigod rank and ascended fully into Godhood. When the world needs to be saved, the deity would use this sword to protect it.
Looking at the Task given by the System, I had to ask a question to this damn System.
[Task: A Hero of Few Deeds]
> Objective: Use your best judgement to perform good deeds to the locals, and raise your standing among the people.
> Reward: A C-Grade Meditation Technique.
> Failure: Penalty.
“Use your best judgement”? System, that is not a proper way to guide me! Speaking of, the punishment for failure is just “Penalty”?!
[A hero that can’t decide for himself how to better the lives of the people around him? Perhaps a new candidate needs to be found..]
I want to strangle this System.
“Using my best judgement” I spent some time tracking down the street rats of the street, surprised that a lot of the same tricks of the trade applied here. Keep your money pouch and valuables tucked away in the inner pocket on the chest, and if an alley looked too vacant and clean, it was likely an ambush spot.
“Kind sir, please grant us your mercy. We were only trying to afford medication for our sick mother, you see!” A weird feeling welled up inside of me looking at the two dirty boys before me.
The older brother holds his hands together in a friendly gesture, trying to sweet talk me, while the younger brother quietly waits behind. Standard protocol for a little street rat. Attempt a pickpocket, and be smart if you get caught to avoid punishment if you can.
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The kids winced as I put my hands on the top of their heads, and touseling their filthy hair, fearing that I was going to harm them. “I am not going to hurt you for trying to survive, kids. Tell me the truth however, is there actually a sick mother or is that your standard story?”
The older brother, street smart as he was, knew to easily open up about their personal lives, in case it leads back to their home. The younger brother was not quite as well versed in our street rat world, on the verge of tears said, “It’s true sir! Mother fell ill after working multiple jobs around the city to feed us! The doctors turned us away because we didn’t have enough money… Can you please help us?”
If the older kid had said this, I would likely think it was bait for an ambush by a local gang. This kid did not know how to mask his true thoughts and emotions yet, and it was obviously true.
“Can you guide me to the best doctor in this city, and tell me what your mother’s favorite thing to eat is if you know?” I asked the two boys, who expected a beating and got an offer to help instead.
The younger brother excitedly grabbed his brother who was still skeptical and sizing me up. He asked, “Why do you want to help us, sir?” and all I could do was smile at him.
“If I told you that I was a street rat like you once upon a time, would you believe me?”
“I don’t believe anyone, sir. To trust is to be burned,” he said.
He could not be more than 10 or 11, and he is already aware of the cruel reality of a life on the streets. “Then pretend you do for now, and we will take care of your mother first. Think of it as me performing a deed that nobody did for me on the streets when I needed help,” and instead punished me for bothering them or stinking up their business.
Having the kids as guides, they brought me to a market, and I saw the younger boy eyeing a street stall in secret that sold these soft buns filled with cheap meat. I purchased two for me, and three for each of the boys who were looking too lean as it stood.
The boys mentioned that their mother never mentioned a favorite food, and ate whatever they had on hand, so I purchased some high quality beef, with hearty vegetables and a few jugs of clean water. If their mother had fallen due to exhaustion, she was going to need a nutritious meal and plenty of water to recover.
The boys were different from each other. The older brother whose name was Ken, was the calculating type, who ran as many factors as he could think of to a decision. An experienced street rat, to say the least.
The younger brother, Alex, was closer to being a normal child than a street rat, a product of their mother’s love and hard work. Survival will not be the easiest for him, but he should be afforded the chance to be a kid like we never got to be.
The doctors in this city refused to take the house visit to the slums, so I acquired a round ball of medicine that was pricey, but was made for quick stamina restoration and recovery. Ken and I both looked at each other, and had the same thought: Is this guy a quack?
This doctor did have a good reputation, so I chose to take the gamble and got the medicine for the boy’s mother. Everything acquired, we headed to the slums of the city, filled with shabby wooden shacks that were barely protected from the environment.
Reaching their home, we see a group of brawny men in rags outside the house banging on the door, “Darliiing, we are here to collect the tax you owe for protection~”
Some things are universal across worlds, like street rats and scum like these.