Chapter 21 — Merciless (Part I)
The boy’s expression turned confused and he caught the kort with both hands, his eyes going to the fruit. “Wha-? It’s half-eaten!”
Toren’s left fist slammed into the boy’s head, flinging him into the space between the buildings, underneath the raised walkway.
“That not good enough for you?” Toren growled, following. “And here I thought I was being nice.”
The boy was drunkenly struggling to climb to his feet, and offered little resistance when Toren roughly yanked him up, kneeing him in the gut and tossing him back to the ground to cough out his lungs.
“S-sto…p!”
“Damn ingrates. You dropped it on the ground. What a waste,” Toren berated the boy while opening the boy’s belt pouch and dumping its contents onto the muddy cobbles.
Just a few silver chits and a wood token with a carved symbol.
“You should just be happy and say ‘thank you’. Next time, shut up and eat what you’re given.” Toren kicked him again for good measure before scooping up the token and leaving the boy there groaning and coughing on the ground.
[Intimidation] has increased to 2!
Heh.
That should be enough unless he wanted to kill the kid.
For defeating a Level 6 [Scout],
600 XP gained.
Keep up the good work!
Apparently, the World Spirit agreed.
Hmm. Rather than the World Spirit, was it Horevi speaking to him through the celestial shard?
He glanced up at the Great Phoenix burning in the sky.
…maybe he should ask a [Priest]?
Toren’s heart was still thundering when he left the alley and continued on the route he had planned with the hatter, but he couldn’t help a bit of a smile slipping out. That went about as well as he could have hoped.
With how easy the kid went down, chances were that he was just a hired street rat and couldn’t risk telling his employers that, because he offended some crazy guy, he lost sight of the girl—probably have to say everything’s fine or ditch on them.
He could have beaten the location of the Conclave contact out of the boy, but then what? That would’ve been fine if he was strong enough to rescue the girl’s sister and mother. At level 1? No way.
Besides, Toren knew plenty-well-enough that there were priest rituals for tracking down blood-relatives. It was one of the things the Sisters at the orphanage would arrange to be done when a new child arrived. No doubt the Eshem`zel cultists could do it too.
That made finding the token a lucky bonus of extra insurance that could let them track down the boy and whoever gave it to him later if needed.
Toren stopped walking and frowned.
With how unlucky Warnel was supposed to be, this was going far too well.
Closing his eyes, Toren concentrated on his new [Danger Sensing] Skill, but at skill level 1, he was asking too much of the Skill.
“Weirdo. Sleeping in the street, standing up. What’s this town coming to?” a mocking voice sneered from nearby followed by the chuckles of the teen’s two companions.
Another trio of thrill-seeking noble brats?
Well, at least Vim would have no shortage of marks.
With a brief glance behind to check the roof tops, Toren resumed walking and joined the majority of the pedestrian traffic on the raised walkway that adjoined the buildings and framed the busy town’s muddy black cobblestone streets. While the current thoroughfare wasn’t the main street heading to the market and the west gate, it was still lined with a variety of shops, as even the people using these buildings for residences took advantage of the location to sell things.
Stolen story; please report.
He kept his eye out for one shop in particular and soon spotted it’s sign hanging from a fancy bit of ironwork sticking out from the shop’s entry.
Starken’s Clothing and Attire.
The clothing shop they agreed to meet in.
It was Toren’s idea. Giving the tail the slip was only the first step. Warnel and his daughter still needed to get past the other Conclave members waiting in or near the market if they were to get to the shrine, and their fancy tailored clothing was far too recognizable.
The [Haberdasher] was inside, wearing much less conspicuous clothing and carrying a woven sack—presumably holding his old clothing. The floppy straw hat that had replaced his fancy one must’ve been a painful purchase, no doubt.
“You took care of it?” the man asked with a nervous whisper upon Toren’s approach.
“It’ll be a while before he can follow you again,” Toren confirmed. “How’s the clothing search going?”
Warnel gestured toward a row of wood-plank stalls. “Falma’s changing now.”
There were two pairs of legs visible in the stall in question.
“I’m done, dad,” Falma’s voice updated them as she stepped out. “It feels strange wearing pants and seeing myself attired like a hunter. Enly braided my hair like Mr. Toren said.”
“The jungle’s no place for skirts, even worn over pants—or so, I’ve heard,” the older girl that must’ve been helping Falma change asserted, a small pile of folded clothes in her arms. The girl, Enly, Toren assumed, efficiently returned the unpurchased clothing to the corresponding neatly arranged stacks on tables and in cubbies. “Is there anything else you are looking to purchase?”
“I think this will be all,” Warnel confirmed.
The change was almost enough, but even with the way Falma’s hat was worn low and hid some of her face from certain angles with its more relaxed brim and cutely frayed edge, she was still pretty enough to attract notice.
“Boot grease and a rag, if you would, Enly,” Toren called over.
They were soon on their way again. Toren had to remind the hatter and daughter to follow his lead and stop looking around as if they were terrified of being seen or followed.
With the grease darkening under Falma’s eyes and making her full cheeks look more sallow and less healthy, the teen didn’t catch the eye nearly as much.
Thankfully, the group of three rogues that liberated Warnel’s ‘excess wealth’ had left the man with enough to make the purchases. It wasn’t too unexpected, but was welcome. Even in the slums of Greenvale, the thieves knew that taking all of a man’s money could likely lead to his death or the starvation of his family. And the negative karma of murder often found its way back to the perpetrator. Except for the really dangerous areas, most seemed to understand that.
There was a popular saying: ‘The Thieving Fox might grant luck upon those engaged in creative acquisition from tyrants and the corrupt, but he has no love for those who take from people in need and despises those who enslave or murder for selfish gain.’ Vim had recited it to the younger boys at the orphanage on more than one occasion.
“Oh, I forgot,” Toren muttered, and dug the safekept kort out of his pouch. “Here, Falma.”
The girl had to reach in front of her father to take the purple fruit and looked at him oddly for a pace or so before hunger and curiosity got the better of her.
She wasn’t the only one looking at him oddly.
“You don’t get one, [Haberdasher],” Toren scoffed, and even with all the terror the girl had just been through, a small giggle slipped out from her at her father’s expense.
~~~
『Name: Toren of Theravos
Race: Human
Age: 20
Profession 1: Level 1 Burningblood Berserker (1700/2000)
Status: Injured (Broken collarbone: mending), Mild Soulstrain
Mana: 0/14
Strength: 16
Constitution: 12
Dexterity: 14
Agility: 12
Wisdom: 12
Intellect: 8
Will Power: 17
Perception 14
Appearance: 8
Charisma: 8
Luck: 10
Attribute Upgrade Points: 0
Traits:
Sacrificial Guardian
Abilities:
Burning Blood (Rank 1) Proficiency: Low
Slow Bleeding (Rank 1) Proficiency: Low
Ability Upgrade Points: 0
Profession Skills:
Pain Tolerance 4
Severe Wound Recovery 2 → 3
Berserker Knife Arts 1
Spear 9
Club 8
Focus Rage 1
Combat Awareness 2
Intimidate 1→ 2
Skills:
Theravos Language (Speaking) 15
Theravos Language (Reading/Writing) 10
Religion 10
Meditation 4 → 5
Bone Strengthening 3
Hunting 20
Butchering 13
Archery 19
Stealth 16 → 17
Arithmetic 4
Foraging 16
Tree Felling 6
Running 12
Mana Sensing 13
Danger Sensing 1
Wound Binding 8』