Hermes's jaw dropped as the Chief's declaration hung in the air like a death sentence. A cold sweat broke out across his skin, and his lips pulled into a sharp downturn of dread.
'Why the hell do you want to kill me on the spot?' Hermes screamed internally. 'I knew the villagers were angry, but this man loathes me to the core. This is completely off-script! This wasn't in the game!' He swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing steady. 'This has to be a bug in the settings. Damn you, Stump G! You sent me here on purpose, you bastard!'
"What's wrong, Aljen?" Chief Zamor asked, tapping his index finger rhythmically on the armrest. "Did something bother you?"
Hermes flinched, quickly schooling his features behind the gas mask. He shook his head, forcing his emotions into a tight box. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm sorry for spacing out. It was nothing," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.
'Good. A solid excuse. I can't let my emotions derail the plan now. This is a test of courage and perseverance. Calm down, Hermes. You can do this.'
Zamor tilted his head, his gaze heavy and searching. After a long moment, he closed his eyes and nodded. "Fine. It seems you're not lying, so I won't ask any further." He took a long sip of his coffee.
"Thank you for sharing that... classified information. I promise to keep it to myself," Hermes said, pivoting back to the safer topic of trade. "The beans used for this coffee are fascinating. If you don't mind, I could help spread its popularity outside the nation."
"That's kind of you," Zamor scratched his chin, "but the production can't sustain high demand. Also, there's a problem. These products are... illegally manufactured."
"W-what? Illegal?" Hermes's mouth hung open. "You mean the Lord of this territory declared them illegal?"
"Nope," Zamor denied. "I simply never informed him they exist. We don't pay protection money to that bastard—not a single penny has entered his treasury since he ordered the raid years ago."
Hermes felt a pang of realization. 'I see. My own treasury is being ghosted by my own village.'
"Anyway, Sir Aljen," Zamor beamed, "I'm happy you enjoy the coffee. Despite the misunderstanding earlier, you're still willing to invest. I won't tell you the rest of the plan yet, as the other half is still classified."
'Half? You've only given me half the plan?' Hermes thought, scratching his cheek. 'Sounds like I haven't earned full trust yet. But I'll take the compliment.'
"I didn't do much," Hermes confessed. "I'm just a man who couldn't stand to see kids in danger. They are the key to the future of this nation, after all."
Zamor placed a hand over his heart. "That's why I'm grateful. You saved the reason for my living. As the head of the Camelia household, I swear on my life you won't go unrewarded. Ask for anything."
"If you insist," Hermes giggled, "who am I to refuse? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
"You got it. By the way," Zamor added casually, "can you show me your passport?"
Hermes's heart stopped. 'P-p-passport? Fuck, I forgot!'
Zamor chuckled, seeing Hermes's frozen expression and misunderstanding it. "Is something wrong? It's just policy here. I need to see some ID to prove you're a legal immigrant from another state."
"Ah... sure..." Hermes fumbled through his pockets, his body trembling. 'Holy crap! I don't have one! All I know is that in the game, you didn't need one, but I forgot—ID is mandatory in this world's reality!'
Using his mask to hide his panic, Hermes claimed, "Well, too bad for me, I forgot to bring it on this trip. I could go back for it, but it would take two days. Is there a secondary option for tourists who lose their papers?"
"There is another way," Zamor nodded. "But where did you leave it?"
"I... I left it at my hotel," Hermes lied, fidgeting his hands.
"Hotel? I don't recall a hotel in this area. Was it in Eastern Scily? What was the name?"
"It was the Archne—I mean, the Arch Hotel," Hermes blurted, barely catching himself before saying "Archnemesis Mansion."
"Arch Hotel, huh?" Zamor murmured. "I've never heard of it. Perhaps a new building in the neighboring territory? Anyway, shall we head to the village hall?"
"Wait! Give me a minute, sir," Zamor said, standing up. "I need to tell my children we're leaving and pick up the materials for your new ID card. Enjoy yourself for a while. Feel free to wander around."
Bored and curious, Hermes decided to explore. He wandered toward the warehouse, where sacks of red, blue, and green herbs were piled high. Suddenly, a small, glowing orb fell from the rafters and hit the ground. As Hermes reached for it, the object vanished.
Suddenly, a heavy, lukewarm drop of liquid hit his forehead. He wiped his face and looked at his palm; the substance was translucent but moved with a strange, oily thickness. He looked up, and his heart skipped a beat.
Hovering near the ceiling was a pulsating, gelatinous mass that shifted from pitch black to a blinding, ghostly white. It didn't have eyes, but it seemed to sense his presence. Suddenly, the creature's center split wide like a wet mouth. A flood of the viscous liquid poured out, drenching Hermes in a suffocating, sweet-smelling slime that felt like thousands of tiny needles pricking his skin.
"Aaargh, what the fuck?" Hermes yelped, the world spinning as he collapsed.
He snapped his eyes open, gasping for air. He was back in the living room chair. 'A dream? But... it felt so real.' He rushed to the warehouse, but the rafters were empty, and the floor was bone-dry.
Disappointed, he went to the second floor to find the Chief. He found an open door and heard Zamor's voice—not in a friendly tone, but a pleading one.
"I know... I know. We'll pay! Just don't harm my people!" Zamor growled into a phone, slamming it down. "What a bunch of morons. I need more time."
Knock. Knock.
"Oh, Sir Aljen," Zamor said, rubbing his neck. "Sorry, I had a call."
"It's fine. Shall we head off?" Hermes suggested.
'Man, it's boring. Maybe I should try to look around for a bit. He gave me permission, so why not?' Hermes thought, a smirk playing on his lips behind the mask.
The young Don stepped out into the hallway. He first checked the warehouse, his eyes wandering over the organized chaos of the Camelia household's trade. Sacks upon sacks of dried herbs were stacked high—vibrant reds, deep blues, and earthy greens to his right, while golden yellows and sunset oranges lined the left. Despite the colors, nothing truly entertained him until a small, glowing orb suddenly tumbled from the high rafters and bounced on the stone floor.
Startled, Hermes moved toward it, but the object seemed to vanish the moment he reached the spot. He scanned the floor, perplexed. Then, a heavy drop of lukewarm liquid hit his forehead. He wiped it away, glancing at his palm. It looked like water, but it moved with an oily, unnatural thickness.
'Another one?'
He looked up. The glowing object was hanging directly above him, its color shifting from a void-like black to a ghostly, translucent white. Before he could react, the mass distended, spreading its liquified body like a wide, hungry mouth. It detached itself from the ceiling and fell directly onto his face.
"Aaargh, what the fuck?" Hermes yelped, the cold, suffocating weight of the slime drenching his mask and skin.
The world went dark, and he collapsed.
Hermes snapped his eyes open, his head jerking up. He gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs, only to find himself sitting in the same foam chair he had occupied during the coffee break. The living room was quiet, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.
'A dream? But... it felt so real,' he thought, touching his forehead. His skin was dry, but the phantom sensation of the prickling slime lingered.
He rushed back to the warehouse to investigate the crime scene, but he found nothing. No orb, no liquid, no traces of an unknown species. Disappointed, he gave up on the mystery for now and went to the second floor to find the Chief.
As he explored the upper hallway, he found an open door. He was about to knock when the Chief's voice, uncharacteristically pleading, stopped him.
"I know. I know. But please, don't do any harm to my people. We'll pay. We will pay you so much... Alright, goodbye," Zamor said, hanging up the phone with a snarl. "What a bunch of morons. Damn it, I need more time to finish my task."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Who's that? Oh, it's Sir Aljen. Sorry for taking too long, I got a call," Zamor said, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped into the hall.
"It's fine. If you're ready, let's head off, sir," Hermes suggested, keeping his voice neutral despite the suspicious conversation he'd just overheard.
As they strolled toward the village hall, Hermes was amazed. Despite the raids his own mercenaries had conducted, the village remained beautiful and well-guarded.
"By the way, Sir Aljen," Zamor noted, "the village is divided into five districts. Four are under our protection, but the fifth is still on the verge of chaos. Do not cross into that place, or you will encounter criminals. No help will come for you there."
"I'll note that," Hermes said, narrowing his eyes behind his mask. "Chief Zamor, why were the kids in the forest in the first place? Why let them work like that?"
The Chief's mood shifted instantly. He stopped in his tracks and gestured toward an emptied clock shop nearby. Once inside the quiet, dust-covered room, Zamor sat opposite Hermes, his hands clasped together, his head bowed in shame.
"I admit my mistakes," the Chief whispered. "They escaped the house and left a letter. They insisted on going, knowing the risk."
"Hold on," Hermes interrupted. "I think you're misinterpreting me. I want to know why they had to go. They wouldn't risk their lives without a reason."
Zamor sighed. "They heard about the latest proposal from the Naples government. They wanted to help their hopeless father. Our clan has a hereditary skill called [Ora]—it allows us to perceive and locate rare herbs at high speed. My twins have already mastered it. Because of the economic depression caused by the continuous assaults from the Archnemesis troops and the bandits in District 5, we are desperate. My kids knew we had no money for supplies. Those people must die. They are not original descendants of Italia. Fucking Archnemesis. But now, that brat is the true nemesis!"
Hermes felt his legs tremble. 'Sure, I'm that brat,' he thought, maintaining a forced half-smile. "So... has he killed someone personally?"
"No, not really," Zamor waved a hand. "But he took away my eldest daughter. She hasn't come back since last December. I just wish to see her again."
"Wait, what? Seriously—"
"Boss, I'm back!" Justin barged in, ending the heavy conversation. "Fuyuuu, I made it in time."
Hermes gave Justin a warning look as the butler regarded the Chief with visible disgust. After a forced, painful handshake between the two, Justin reported on the militia.
"Your men are fine... for now. Doctors say they only have bone fractures and broken ribs. It's good news they're alive," Justin said.
'That's severely bad news, Justin!' Hermes muttered under his breath.
As they left the shop and headed for the Village Hall, Justin leaned in and whispered, "Boss, I used my [Agenda] to explore the area. I've memorized the streets, tunnels, and buildings. Also, the spy I killed was right—there is something strange happening around the village."
Hermes grinned. 'So there's more to this than a simple rebellion.' "Investigate further," Hermes whispered back. "Time to create a quest for ourselves."
After arriving at the Hall, Zamor shook Hermes's hand. "May we explore the village freely after we fill out the papers?" Hermes asked.
"Of course," the Chief smiled, poking his chest with confidence. "With those papers, no guard will stop you. Explore wherever you want!"