The mood at the table plummeted from celebratory to code-red in less than a second. Kazuma had seen Deadpool display a wide range of emotions: manic glee, theatrical despair, homicidal rage, and a deeply unsettling form of psycho-therapeutic benevolence. This was different. This was the cold, silent focus of a predator that had just spotted a particularly plump, slow-moving wildebeest.
"Wade, what are you doing?" Kazuma hissed, trying to pull him back into his seat. "Don't make a scene. We just got paid. We're respectable now."
"Respectable people don't let destiny pass them by, Kazuma," Deadpool said, his voice a low hum. He stood up slowly, his movements unnaturally smooth. He pushed his chair in neatly. "Respectable people seize their opportunities. They engage in aggressive, high-stakes negotiations to acquire assets that will define their legacy."
He started walking toward the corner table. He didn't saunter. He glided. Each step was silent, deliberate. The rowdy Guild hall seemed to melt away, the noise fading into a muffled backdrop for the drama that was about to unfold.
Aqua watched him go, completely bewildered. "What's wrong with him now? Did he see a sock with a particularly offensive pattern?"
"The tension in his posture… the controlled focus…" Darkness murmured, her eyes wide with a strange, analytical light. "He is treating this merchant as a true adversary. Not with open aggression, but with a palpable, suffocating pressure. It is a battle of wills. Fascinating."
The scruffy adventurer, whose name was Mogg, was in the middle of his sales pitch. "...and the wickerwork is top-notch! Very rustic. It adds a certain charm to any room. So, what do you say, fellas? A thousand Eris for a magical mystery?"
The two rookies he was trying to sell to looked unconvinced. It was then that a shadow fell over their table.
Mogg looked up and saw a man in a full-body red-and-black suit standing over him. The man said nothing. He just stood there, radiating an aura of intense, unblinking purpose. The eye-lenses of his mask seemed to stare not at Mogg, but through him, as if calculating the market value of his soul.
"Uh… can I help you, pal?" Mogg asked, his bravado faltering.
Deadpool slowly pulled out a chair from a neighboring table and sat down opposite him. He folded his hands on the table. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
"The hamper," Deadpool said finally, his voice soft but carrying an unnerving weight.
"The… the hamper?" Mogg stammered. "Yeah! A fine piece of magical miscellany. You interested? For you, my friend, a special price. Nine hundred and fifty Eris."
Deadpool didn't respond. He just continued to stare. The two rookies at the table suddenly felt a desperate need to be somewhere else. They mumbled their excuses and fled, leaving Mogg alone with the silent, red-and-black enigma.
"Okay, okay, nine hundred," Mogg said, his voice getting higher. "That's a steal! It's practically a historical artifact!"
Deadpool slowly reached into a pouch and pulled out a single gold coin. He placed it on the table and slid it forward.
Mogg looked at the coin. He looked at Deadpool. "This is a hundred Eris."
"I'm aware," Deadpool said.
"The price is a thousand!" Mogg squeaked, his confidence evaporating. "Or nine hundred! It's magic!"
"You and I have very different definitions of the word 'magic'," Deadpool said, his voice still unnervingly calm. "You see a novelty item, a conversation piece, a way to swindle rookies out of their lunch money. I see an engine of infinite potential. A solution to one of the fundamental paradoxes of the universe. The mystery of the missing sock."
He leaned forward, his presence seeming to suck all the air out of the immediate vicinity. "You are in possession of an artifact whose true significance you cannot possibly comprehend. You are a caveman holding a smartphone. You are a dog who has caught a car. You are profoundly, hilariously out of your depth."
"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Mogg stammered, sweating profusely now.
"Let me lay out your options," Deadpool continued, holding up a single finger. "Option one: You take this one hundred Eris as a gesture of goodwill. You give me the hamper. You walk away, richer and blissfully ignorant, and you never speak of this again. Option two…"
He paused, letting the silence hang. "Well. Let's just say option two involves me explaining the concept of 'aggressive asset stripping' in a way that is very hands-on and deeply unpleasant for you. It will likely involve the creative use of this barstool and a lengthy conversation with your spleen."
Mogg's face went pale. He looked around for help, but every other adventurer in the Guild was suddenly engrossed in their drink or a fascinating spot on the ceiling. No one wanted any part of this.
He looked at the hamper. He looked at the single gold coin. He looked at the terrifying, motionless figure in front of him.
With a trembling hand, Mogg pushed the wicker hamper across the table. He then snatched the gold coin, bolted from his chair, and ran out of the Guild hall as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.
Deadpool watched him go, then turned his attention to his prize. He ran a hand over the wickerwork, his touch filled with a reverence usually reserved for holy objects. He lifted the lid and peered inside. It was just an empty, clean-smelling hamper.
"He didn't even know what he had," he whispered to himself.
He picked up the hamper and walked back to his party's table, carrying it as if it were a newborn child.
"One hundred Eris," he announced proudly. "I talked him down."
Kazuma just stared. "You didn't talk him down. You terrorized him. You committed economic extortion with implied organ damage."
"Semantics," Deadpool said, placing the hamper on the table with extreme care. "Now, for the inaugural test."
He stood before the hamper, a look of intense concentration on his face. The entire table, and indeed the surrounding tables, watched with bated breath. This was it. The culmination of his quest.
He closed his eyes. He took a deep, centering breath. "Be lucky," he whispered. He plunged his hand into the seemingly empty hamper.
He rummaged around for a moment, his face a mask of focus. Then, his fingers closed around something. His eyes snapped open. He pulled his hand out.
And in it was a single, perfectly clean, perfectly white sock.
It wasn't fancy. It wasn't magical. It was just a sock.
Deadpool stared at it. A single, perfect tear of joy rolled down his masked cheek. "It's real," he breathed. "It's all real."
He immediately plunged his hand back in. He pulled out another sock. White. Clean. Single.
He did it again. And again. And again. A pile of single, white socks began to grow on the table. He was like a magician pulling scarves from a hat, but with more foot-related laundry.
"It's beautiful," he sobbed, hugging the hamper. "An infinite supply! I'll never have to worry about the dryer eating one again!"
It was in this moment of pure, unadulterated joy, as Deadpool was surrounded by a growing mountain of solitary socks, that the doors to the Guild hall slammed open.
Standing in the doorway was not a monster, or a general, or a terrified merchant. It was a royal messenger, clad in the pristine livery of the kingdom's capital. Behind him stood two royal knights in gleaming, ornate armor.
The messenger unrolled a scroll, his voice high and clear, cutting through the stunned silence of the Guild.
"By royal decree of His Majesty, King Belzerg Alderp, the adventurers known as Kazuma Satou, Aqua, Megumin, Darkness, and Wade Wilson are hereby summoned to the capital!" he announced. "You are to answer for grave crimes against the state, including the destruction of a nobleman's property and suspected treasonous association with the Demon King's army!"
The pile of socks suddenly seemed a lot less important. The party stared, dumbfounded.
Their fame had finally reached the ears of the king. And he was not sending a reward. He was sending an indictment.