Chapter 473
Now, I said it was a dungeon, but this place is actually man-made. An adventurer or someone who'd been in real dungeons might be surprised. But look closely. The magic power is thin. No monsters. It's an underground facility, yes. But not like a real dungeon. The owner's taste.
"Really interesting taste."
"Glad you like it! Welcome."
A man walks toward me. Leather shoes clicking. Black skin. A perfectly shaved head. So shiny, people say Hagets got its name from it. He's wearing a white suit. Not combat gear. Welcoming gear. American mafia style. A cigar and fedora would complete the look. His chest is thick. You can see he's trained. Not just a leader. He can fight. An aura of strength.
And a Named character I know. I'm relieved.
"You're the leader of Hagets?"
"Yes! I'm Verocchio!"
A grin. White teeth. At the same time, something changed around me.
"You noticed my men."
"You said it was your taste. But it's camouflage. To hide them. Impressive. No sound. Minimal presence. I can't smell them. A beastkin might."
"Haha! An interesting customer."
Eight people. Elites of Hagets. I don't know their levels. But they use skill, not just stats. That's why Hagets survived. To the end of the original story. Respected by FBO players. Trustworthy as allies.
That's thanks to the man laughing in front of me. Verocchio.
"Now, I've introduced myself. Your name?"
His movements are theatrical. But they suit him. He offers his hand.
"Liberta. Known to those who know."
"...Seriously?"
The air shifts. Even the surrounding men react. Verocchio's smile fades.
"Word travels fast in the underworld."
"There's no one more famous than you in our world. If you're the real one. We've had fakes. We allow lies. But not deception. That's our rule."
My name is famous now. Depending on what they know, I might be annoyed.
"You need proof."
"Not necessarily. We've had idiots try to threaten us for free information."
"Ah."
He won't give details. I thought he'd need proof. But apparently not. To Verocchio, I'm a potential customer. My identity is secondary. He probably wants information about me. To judge if I'm a problem.
"You're not bluffing. The fakes do that."
"Trying that on information brokers? Stupid."
"The world isn't full of smart people. Overconfident idiots. People who underestimate others. People desperate for money. They're everywhere."
"I know too many."
Does he think I'm the real one? Not sure. But possible.
"I don't care if you doubt me. If you need proof, pick someone you trust. An archbishop. A duke. The king. The prime minister. I can arrange it. Or—"
"Wait! Why are you dropping names like that!?"
"Wouldn't you need someone you trust? Someone credible?"
I want to clear up any doubts. For the future. I tilt my head. Verocchio holds his.
"Credible, yes. That's the problem. People like us can't meet nobles. Best case, arrested. Worst—"
He draws a finger across his throat. He knows what he is.
"Another option. A temple. A contract. No lies. I can do that too."
"People like us can't go to temples. If we could, we wouldn't be here."
"Right."
Hagets doesn't do human trafficking. Or drugs. Or assassinations. But they do things people hate. They're criminals.
"Real or fake, it doesn't matter. Trust. That's all."
They have their own way.
"You made it this far. You know. Show me."
"Okay. Lead the way."
I know the flow.
"This way."
He leads. The passage is dark. Like a dungeon. But maintained. No worries about footing. But if I cause trouble, this place becomes a trap zone. Floors, walls, ceiling. I know that. I'm a little nervous.
"In."
We walk. Three minutes. A small room. Clean. A reception room. Being brought here is good.
Verocchio has several接待 rooms. The grade shows his trust. Dirty for distrust. Sterile for thirty percent. Average for fifty. This clean room? Seventy percent. Or he's being careful because I said I'm Liberta. Can't be arrogant.
A man is already there. Butler clothes. Middle-aged. No expression. He bows. Pulls out a chair.
I look at Verocchio. He nods. Sits across.
"Weapons and bag."
"Sure."
The man speaks. Flat.
My spear. Bought in the capital. Good quality. My bag. Supplies and money. I hand them over. I sit. I don't care if they're stolen. My Transfer Pendulum is around my neck. I can fight unarmed.
The butler prepares two glasses. Pours wine. Shows me a white pill.
"Poison."
"You'll die in thirty minutes. I put it in one glass."
He puts it in the glass closer to him. The butler takes out a bottle.
"Antidote. Ten minutes."
Verocchio looks at me.
"Choose. I drink the other."
A test. Obvious. A normal person's choice is clear. Choose the glass without poison. Then Verocchio drinks poison. You wait for the antidote. That means you don't trust him.
The other choice. Drink the poisoned wine. Show trust. But Verocchio might not give the antidote. He said it's antidote. He didn't promise to give it.
A psychological test. FBO players called it the Judgment of Hagets. There's a time limit. Hesitation is also judged. Show weakness, and you're not trusted. The glasses are taken away. You're killed.
"That glass."
"Sure?"
"I'll take it."
"Give it to him."
The test also includes how you drink. How much.
Verocchio takes the remaining glass.
"To our meeting."
"To our meeting."
"Cheers."
We touch glasses. I drink. All of it.
"Good."
I'm a child. But I've drunk alcohol. This is good quality. The poison is odorless. Tasteless.
"Heh. Hahaha!"
My body warms. Not from the alcohol. The poison is spreading. I smile. Verocchio laughs.