So, what exactly counts as the duties of House Fauce? Is it something simple like doing one good deed every day?
With his hands shoved into his pockets, Wensley Fauce wandered deeper into the capital's slums. People in ragged clothes sat or sprawled along the filthy lane, and soon enough every pair of eyes locked onto him.
Even in their ruined state, House Fauce still had a few decent noble outfits left in the wardrobe. The clothes on his back were not new, but they were clean, well tailored, and made him glow like a walking coin pouch in this place.
For the nobles, these alleys were no better than an open sewer. They almost never bothered to appear here in person.
Feeling the weight of those stares, a mix of hunger, jealousy, and dull resentment, Wensley clicked his tongue and gave a small shake of his head.
If I do not find a way out of this mess, I will end up living shoulder to shoulder with them.
"Hey, you." He stepped toward an old man hunched against a cracked wall and flicked a silver coin in his direction.
"This…?" The old man did not reach for it. He squinted up at Wensley with confusion and a flicker of fear.
The slums were dangerous in their own way, but nobody here was foolish enough to provoke a noble on purpose.
"What are you gawking at? Take it. It is a gift," Wensley said. He folded his arms and tilted his chin up as if he were tossing a bone to a stray dog.
Inside, his heart gave a quiet throb of pain.
A silver coin. There goes another piece of my life savings…
"For me?" The old man's cloudy eyes brightened for an instant, then dulled again as hesitation crept in.
Wensley traced the direction of that hesitation and noticed a few young, strong men loitering nearby. Greed flickered plainly in their eyes.
They did not dare lay a hand on him, but once he walked away, the old man would be an easy mark.
Strictly speaking, that had nothing to do with Wensley. He had not come here to play saint. He was here to gather Merit. Whether the old man got robbed later or not was not part of the transaction.
He could simply watch the old man collect the coin, turn his back, and never look again.
Instead, he clicked his tongue again and swept his gaze over the group of layabouts.
"What are you staring at?" he asked. "You all look stronger than me, and you are clearly getting enough to eat, if those arms are any sign. Yet you still have the nerve to eye an old man's coin?"
His lip curled in open scorn. "Do you even know who I am? I am that mad dog everyone whispers about in the capital. Wensley Fauce."
His tone carried that familiar lazy arrogance that fit his reputation a little too well.
That air of careless menace, combined with his sharp eyes and freckled face, did the rest.
The thugs stiffened, and their expressions changed at once. No one dared talk back.
"I do not care how rotten you behave on other days," Wensley continued, arms still folded, "but I will say this clearly. That money is mine. I chose to give it away. Anyone who tries to take it is picking a fight with me. If you want to test me, I will happily invite a few knights over to break your legs."
"Y–You…" the one who clearly led the group stammered, his face turning pale.
Of course, those knights existed only in Wensley's mouth. He did not even have one proper house guard left, let alone a knight willing to answer his call.
The old man, shaken and delighted, finally reached out and clutched the coin with both hands. "Thank you, young master. Thank you, truly…"
Wensley did not respond. His attention was on the faint little number in the Merit panel hovering before his eyes.
One second passed...then ten.
...Nothing changed.
He listened to the old man's grateful words, yet no new notification appeared.
What on earth? Wensley's expression twisted. I paid already. Hurry up and give me something back.
Had he just tossed away a silver coin for no reward? Did this miserable system think he was some wealthy young lord with money rotting in the cellar?
The old man and the nearby men watched as his face grew darker and darker. The mood turned so strange that even the would be thieves quietly edged further away.
A few more minutes passed by.
Still nothing.
Wensley turned his head and shot the old man a glance so sharp that the poor fellow almost dropped the coin he had just received.
For a brief moment, Wensley felt the absurd urge to walk over and say, "Sorry, there is a bug in my system. Please give back the money."
His gaze drifted over the old man's thin body, the worn cane leaning against the wall, the empty trouser leg flapping where one limb should have been. He clicked his tongue again.
Forget it. A young master does not beg for his charity back in front of an audience. That would be beneath pathetic.
The pain in his chest, however, was still entirely real. Why is there no Merit? That was a silver coin.
If a single copper coin had earned him one point, then a silver coin should be worth more, right?
That was how the so called idea king had done the math in his head.
The system clearly did not properly explain the way one should earn merit.
He left the slum district and bit down hard on a loaf of bread, tearing off a piece with more force than was necessary and chewing as if the bread itself had offended him.
So a copper coin counts, but a silver one does not? This dog of a system cannot even handle simple arithmetic.
Complaining silently, he strode toward home, attacking the bread with every step.
Nothing about his first attempt had gone the way he imagined.
As he walked, something small tugged very lightly on the paper bag in his hand.
He looked down and met a pair of large, dark eyes.
"Big brother, may I… have a piece of bread?" A skinny boy with tangled hair stared up at him, his voice trembling. "No, half is enough. Just half would be alright…"
The child's fingers barely pinched the edge of the bag. He did not dare pull harder. He swallowed, eyes fixed on the bread as if every crumb were a miracle.
He was clearly starving. Otherwise, no child in his right mind would risk provoking a noble for food.
"Looks like today really is my unlucky day," Wensley said, face twisted into open disgust. He shoved the entire bag of bread into the boy's arms.
"You touched my bread with those dirty hands. I do not want it anymore. Take it. All of it."
"Thank you, big brother!" The boy hugged the bag to his chest like treasure, repeating his thanks again and again before sprinting down a side alley.
"Thank me for what? I am a neat freak. I simply do not want to eat it now. Hurry along," Wensley muttered, waving him off as if chasing away a stray dog.
The boy vanished around the corner.
A heartbeat later, Wensley's Merit panel flickered.
[Merit Value +1]
He stared at the glowing text.
"…Well now," he breathed.
So the system was not broken after all.
Or maybe...
He rubbed his chin and thought it through.
The first time, he had given a single copper coin. The second time, he had offered a silver coin and nothing happened.
This time, he had handed over food and actually filled somebody's stomach.
Is that the difference?