Chapter 9 - Physiology of the gutter
Click-
A control chip fits into the port.
Now the Servant's code of conduct stored in the control chip database synchronizes through the bastard's brain nerves. Like transferring data saved on a USB memory stick onto a computer.
If the rejection is severe, he'll become an idiot or die···
Even if it fails, it can't be helped. He's a bastard I don't care about at all even if he dies right now.
"Ghk, gaaaaah-!"
I asked the guy screaming in pain for his thoughts.
"How does it feel? Are you dizzy, by any chance."
"How does it feel, my ass! What the fuck did you plug into my port, you crazy bastard!"
"Seems fine."
"You, you, are you connected to Samho Gate? Or a hired fixer? I don't know what you are, but when the boss arrives you—"
"Stop making noise and shut your mouth."
Crunch.
I drove my elbow down into his head.
Along with a dull sound like a watermelon cracking, Rudolph's face crumpled like clay.
I kicked the wheezing bastard away, then pulled out the dagger that had been stuck in the dead body's chest. Red blood gurgled and spilled out.
"Rudolph. Because of you, seven innocent men died."
"Crazy, you killed them!"
This bastard still has no sense, huh.
Or does he still not understand his situation.
Still, this is fine. I can fix it soon enough.
Shing-
I brought the bloodstained dagger up in front of him.
"······?"
"Now, if you think you've grown some sense, speak."
Slice-
Without thinking, I swung the dagger.
A cross-shaped bloodline carved deep into his face.
As blood began to stream down along the split wound, only then did Rudolph realize what was happening and start screaming like he'd tear the bar apart.
"Uhhk···? Wait! Just wait!"
Half-listening to his shouting, I raised the dagger in a reverse grip and stabbed down. There are two eyeballs—having one less is fine.
"I've got it. I've got sense now-!"
Stop.
I halted the cut right in front of his suddenly cringing pupil.
"You already got some sense?"
"Yes! It's all my fault!"
"See, that's what you think too, right?"
"Yes! It's all because of me, big bro. Hahaha. Man, me too, huh."
Just a few knife swings and he's already gotten that friendly. Maybe he's surprisingly cheerful.
"Then continue what you were saying earlier. Who's coming?"
"Ah! Yes! R-right now, Captain Musco and that snake-eyed Mage are coming this way. The captain's a human who cut off every intact limb and replaced them with cyberware parts. Recently, I don't know where the credit came from, but he said he's even going to replace his skin with real skin. He's completely insane. Even for you, big bro, he'll definitely be dangerous. And···and, ah! I just called for backup. I'll confess in advance. I'm sorry. Let's run together right now. For the record, I know the roads around here like the back of my hand, and I'm more useful than you'd think. If you kill me you'll seriously fucking regret it······."
What the hell is he even trying to say.
I cut off Rudolph's long-winded explanation a beat late.
"Just shut up."
"Yes! I'll do well from now on! Betraying and stuff, I'm unbelievably good at that!"
"Why do you drag out pointless crap like this."
"······Huh? I'm not sure what you mean."
"Are you enjoying this situation right now?"
Thud-!
I drove a fist into his abdomen.
If he can't even endure this and passes out or dies, it can't be helped.
Like I said, I don't really care if he dies.
I'll just retrieve the control chip and plug it into some other bastard's head. This neighborhood is full of trash like him—wouldn't there be at least one who takes well to the chip.
Thud! Thud!
I beat him mercilessly until he felt like he was really going to die. I didn't pick and choose where.
"···No, why! Ah, fuck···."
"Don't swear."
"···Ugh! Ugh!"
After pounding him with all my strength for a few minutes.
Just when I thought he was holding up surprisingly well, Rudolph—whose already pathetic face had become even more pathetic—clung to my leg and wailed.
"I'm sorry···please spare me···at first I didn't really know, but these bastards are truly vile. They kill people like it's nothing. They even chop up the bodies and sell them, I'm telling you. I'm actually kind by nature so I can't do that stuff. Whew, good riddance, those damn bastards."
A rose tattoo on the bridge of his nose, dyed even redder under the coating of blood.
And seeing him still spout hard-to-understand nonsense as if he'd taken too many hits to the head, did he really get even stupider in the meantime.
Still, I didn't feel sorry for him at all.
He did things that wouldn't be strange to die for, and yet I didn't kill him—so I'd already shown plenty of mercy.
I'm such a merciful man.
"You think so too, right?"
"Huh? Ah, of course. Naturally."
I stopped the violence I'd been doling out and began leisurely rummaging through the corpses around us.
All kinds of guns they'd been using, and guns I found on the shelf, plus thirty old paper bills worth 100 credit each.
On top of that, I picked up a usable blade.
A straight sword a little under five spans long. Far better than a short dagger.
Just as I was doing that.
Hoo, huff.
From behind, I saw Rudolph fidgeting like a dog that needed to take a dump. His irregular breathing carried all the way over here.
It was so obvious what he was waiting for that a laugh slipped out. Stuffing the blood-smeared guns into the bag, I said.
"The guys you're waiting for won't come."
"······Huh? What do you mean?"
He pretends he doesn't know anything.
I was a little dumbfounded. Even a punk who carried a gun around calling himself a gang member doesn't know the physiology of the gutter?
"Think about it. If some guy barged in alone and killed everyone in the blink of an eye except me. Everyone was alive. Now they aren't. Anyway, please hurry over and avenge your dead comrades······if I tell you that, do you think your friends will loyally come running?"
"Uh······."
No way. Not a bunch of back-alley punks.
Unless they have a fetish for fresh corpses, they won't show themselves. They'll crawl in later just to assess the situation.
"If they value their own lives, they won't come."
"···You're right? I think I would've done that too."
"So come and stuff this in. Before you get beaten more."
"Understood, big bro! Hehe."
"Don't laugh."
"Yes."
From my long experience in the underworld, I can say for sure.
Gutter life isn't gutter life for nothing, and third-rate punks aren't third-rate for nothing.
There's always a reason.
"Let's go. Take it."
I practically threw two bulging bags at Rudolph and went down to the first floor. Just like before, the noise of the arcade machines and the bartender's question reached my ears.
In weather like today, how about a bitter Blue Martini? It'll be an excellent choice.
"Give me a whole bottle of the most expensive one."
Yes. Understood.
After taking a whole bottle from the humanoid bartender, I looked at Rudolph standing awkwardly and ordered him.
"Go out first."
"Huh?"
"My guess could be wrong. Someone might be outside firing a gun at us, so you go out first and check."
"······Ah."
Safety comes before anything else.
Safety. Nice.
"Don't want to?"
"Actually, it's that—"
"If you're useless, I'll have to dispose of you."
"······."
Rudolph hesitated, then glanced at the blade tucked at my lower back, and finally limped toward the exit.
Looks like he's gained a little sense now.
Of course, as expected, there was no hail of bullets. As expected, the bar entrance was quiet as a mouse, and the alley was still sparse. Only the doorman's corpse with its breath cut off came into view.
Seeing the corpse, I clicked my tongue. Because he'd really died with his finger shoved into the wound.
"Just kidding. You actually believed that."
Soon, together with Rudolph, I melted into the 17th Street crowd packed with passersby and sex toys.
Under the chaotic street and the red neon lighting, even if you're bleeding from your face, no one would care.
After walking like that for about five minutes.
I sensed someone following behind us.
I stopped, picked a straight sword and a few handguns in good condition, then tossed both looted bags onto the ground.
"Come take them."
And then.
"······."
Two men stepped out from the alley with blank expressions. They looked back and forth between me and Rudolph, then introduced themselves.
Their tone was very cautious and polite.
"The boss sent us. We were checking whether there were any stragglers tailing you, and if it felt like surveillance and offended you, we apologize."
I waved my hand as if to say it was fine.
"Then I'll······check the bags first."
Soon.
After opening the bags and seeing the firearms smeared with blood and oil, they narrowed their eyes.
Isn't that just how used guns usually look?
Feeling oddly guilty, I added an explanation.
"There's a bit of wear and scratches. Still, the rounds fired fine. I tested it myself, you know."
"It's not that—there's more than we expected, so checking and sorting will take time. If it's alright with you, could you spare us a moment?"
"Then just take it and tell him I'll stop by again tomorrow."
"Yes. We'll deliver that message."
***
A bar's second floor, caked in blood.
Seven gruesome corpses and the traces of battle.
After Levan left 17th Street, the men who appeared at the hideout late couldn't hide their shock.
"They're all dead. If we'd rushed over right away, we'd be lying right next to them."
"But I don't see Vance."
"He probably ran because he got scared. He even scraped up all the guns and took them."
"There's one corpse that died from a knife wound, but the rest are all gunshots. He wiped them out on purpose."
"Was it Samho Gate guys? Those pathetic coward bastards were this ruthless? Doesn't fit."
At the members' chatter, a huge man whose whole body was plastered in cyberware—Musco, the boss of Harenio—spat in a furious voice.
"What kind of dogshit situation is this."
This had never happened even once until now.
It wasn't even a stylish shootout—they'd been massacred one-sidedly in their own home.
Just then, as Musco's lips trembled.
"Huh?"
A man who'd been scanning the place with a sharp gaze had faint magic power ripple in his eyes.
The wooden floor right in front of the second-floor stairs.
He stared for a moment at the section where the flooring was dented, then smirked and spoke.
"Wow, looks like a Murim sector guy?"
At that, Musco—who'd been fuming in the distance—strode over, shaking the ground, and asked.
"A martial artist? You sure?"
"Look, these footprints gouged in. It's definitely from stepping with inner power. I checked the bullet impact points too—this was all done by one guy. He started from the stairs here."
"······If it's a martial artist, hunting's easy. The thing we got from the factory instead of payment—let's use it to catch this bastard."
"That fake Sanggong Poison?"
"Yeah. How much longer do I have to wait to see this son of a bitch's face?"
At Musco's rage-filled question, blue mana settled into the two eyes of the man slit like a snake.
Then he flicked his tongue and said.
"Two days."
***
A cold chill wraps around my neck.
Back in a rundown inn room, I'm currently locked in a staring contest with Rena, with Rudolph kneeling in the cramped room between us.
"From now on, he's your new Servant-"
"Oh, yeah?"
Rena makes a contemptuous face.
Honestly, it would feel a bit unpleasant.
This is all because Rudolph is ugly.
"······So you plugged your chip into that person's port?"
"Since it's come to this, it's better to use him somehow. And."
I can't keep sticking to your side.
But that doesn't mean I plan to leave you right away either.
If a new Servant with weapons sticks nearby, I'll feel more at ease. This is all for you.
—Using that kind of sweet logic to stubbornly persuade her, her expression gradually grew gloomier.
I didn't really lie about anything big.
Soon, her eyelashes drooped.
"I appreciate what you're saying, but even so···bringing someone who's basically dying like that···."
"It's fine. He's tougher than you'd think."
And so, Rudolph—the bastard who'd slashed my face—ended up living as Rena's servant. A day passed quickly with me planning to torment him until he died.
And then, at dawn that day.
I didn't fall asleep.
What happened today.
Even if things stayed quiet for a few days, the bastards who call themselves a gang won't keep still forever. Once they finish figuring out what happened, they'll track us down by any means necessary.
'Did he say there's a level-4 Mage.'
"Level"
In this world, under the Federal Government's official recognition, the Murim sector, the magic sector, Heterogeneous races, and the realm of force held through cyberware procedures are integrated and used as a single yardstick.
That is the "Level", divided into a total of twelve stages from 1 to 12.
To divide it simply.
Level 1. An ordinary person who can sense qi.
Level 2. Beginner level.
Level 3. A third-rate martial artist, a First Circle Mage with a single circuit.
··
Level 7. A peak martial artist, a Fifth Circle early high-tier Mage.
Level 8. Peak supreme, a Sixth Circle upper high-tier Mage.
Level 9. Hwagyeong, a Seventh Circle high-tier Mage.
—Anything above level 10···they're out-of-spec existences not even worth mentioning, so I'll exclude them.
Anyway, if it's level 4, then by Kingdom Magic Tower standards, a Second Circle Mage who has woven two rings. By martial-artist standards, around the realm of second-rate.
You have to assume they've learned a few basic defensive spells.
So I couldn't just rely on a rifle.
'First, I need to make a mana circuit.'