The night after the fall of the remnants of the Handdog gang, a chilling stillness settled over the island. While the streets were quiet, a secret organization remained active, hiding within the depths of Hermes's realm. The location was classified, a sanctuary of shadows where only a selected few were permitted to tread. For the uninvited, there was no trial—only a swift, silent death as punishment for trespassing on the cult's sacred ground.
In an assembly room decorated with ancient Celtic patterns, four figures draped in black cloaks emerged. They moved in perfect synchronization, forming a circle beneath a ceiling of transparent glass that allowed the cold moonlight to illuminate the hidden chamber.
At the center, lying upon a rectangular concrete altar, was a child. Her arms and legs were tightly bound by heavy iron chains. She struggled, her small frame heaving against the cold stone, which was etched with symbols of several demons and ancient scribbles in every corner. Her eyes were wet with tears, silently begging for help, her body trembling with a desperate plea for mercy.
"Everyone, we have gathered tonight to offer this maiden's soul to our creator," the leader of the cult spoke, his face obscured by a deep hood. "The village is full of sinners; we adhere to the path that saves them from the tyranny of false goddesses. This girl has been chosen to serve as our path to the Great Root. Our messiah keeps watching us from his eternal tomb. And so, we shall begin the ritual."
The leader pulled out a rare, ceremonial knife and lifted it high with both hands.
"May our Messiah bless us with more gold and let this soul make him happy to make us bold. Oh, Messiah, give us more blessings for our future should retain our eternal upbringing!"
With a sickening thud, the leader drove the blade into the little girl's heart. Blood splattered across the stone floor, pooling around the ancient carvings. Her eyes turned blank, the light of life draining out until she was already dried out. The witnesses clapped their hands, praising the image of the goat-headed statue that served as their conduit to the Root.
At the Archnemesis mansion, a newspaper fell to the floor.
[New Objective: Save the Priestess. The life of the beautiful maiden is at risk. Unable to save her will result in the user dying in vain. Luck will be demoted to negative forty and the user's life will become miserable.]
[Status: Completed.]
[New Objective: Destroy the unorganized gang located in District 3. The time limit is 20 days.]
[Status: Completed.]
[New Objective: Start a business. The time limit is 7 days.]
[Status: On progress.]
[Rewards: You will earn the right to marry a beautiful maiden.]
[Status: Given.]
[New Objective: Defeat the dark organization residing in the village. The time limit is 20 days.]
[Status: 16 days remaining.]
The newspaper's notes started to change into headlines.
[Virus Detection: Searching for master Aljen Mura a.k.a Hermes Archnemesis... now begin.]
In the morning, the young Don kept doing his workout: jogging, jumping jacks, and push-ups. He even added pull-ups and squat thrusts to increase the muscle in his forearms and legs. At exactly 8:00 AM, he would start his office work, so he kept his body in check to relieve stress. Exercising every day improved his health and kept his mind relaxed.
Improving his health without relying too much on his slime was his main objective. This was often neglected by the reincarnators who were gifted with overpowered abilities, according to what he could recall from his past life. Since he was a young lad in his previous world, he often read fantasy stories. However, the books by famous authors disappointed him; they never gave him an idea of how to live a normal life.
He theorized he might encounter a reincarnator like him someday. Someone living inside a character, studying their powers to become a powerful jerk. He imagined an immature individual carelessly building a harem for pleasure.
"God, I wish he won't regret doing it since the women in this world ain't even normal," he muttered, rolling a pen on his fingers.
"My Don, it's about time for your shooting practice. Should I prepare your favorite gun, my Don?" asked Justin, showing a genuine face.
The young Don raised his eyebrows and smiled back. "Yes, please."
"Affirmative," Justin lowered his head.
Bang!
Several gunshots were fired, but only two managed to reach the middle red dot.
"Man, I need more practice. Give me one more magazine, Justin," he demanded.
His servant handed over three magazines for his submachine gun. The young Don reloaded and set it to semi-auto. He took a deep breath, concentrating on the target. In one pull, twenty bullets hit the mark.
"Hell yeah!" he cheered, making a guts pose.
Justin clapped. "Congratulations, my Don. You improved your skills for the past few days of practice. Remarkable."
Hermes rested the gun on his shoulder and looked at his servant, one eyebrow raised. "It was nothing. I still need to improve my shooting and increase my accuracy level."
"No," Justin shook his head. "You've improved a lot. You shoot better than all your peers."
"You're saying that since you're my butler. You can speak frankly, though. I won't get mad at all."
Justin felt ill at ease, his composure momentarily slipping, but he heaved a heavy sigh of relief when his boss allowed him to speak freely.
"Ah, is that so? Right. Despite what I told you, those skills are worthless against close-quarter combat," Justin said, his voice regaining its instructional edge. As a seasoned consigliere, he remained calm and observant, always calculating the tactical disadvantages of any weapon. "You might easily be killed by an experienced assassin specialized in melee weapons. To be frank, guns are useless against a mage's barrier—for example, mine. It won't even make a scratch—w-w-wait, my Don, be careful! That weapon is loaded with magical bullets!"
Hermes's face turned dark, a terrifying smile spreading across his lips. He leveled the submachine gun at his butler.
"I thought bullets couldn't hurt a mage? Like you mentioned earlier, you're a mage, so there's nothing to worry about. Right?"
"B-b-boss, let me explain very carefully," Justin stammered, his eyes widening as he stared down the barrel. Even a man of his discipline had his limits when facing a loaded muzzle. "It would hurt me quite a bit. I can still feel pain, to be honest. Wait, don't pull the trigger! I... I thought you said you wouldn't get mad?" He took two cautious steps backward, his eyes tracking Hermes's finger on the trigger.
"Oh, we don't know what might happen next. Let's try to shoot your head first, huh?" Hermes's face remained shadowed, his neon sight focusing intensely on Justin's forehead.
Justin pleaded, cold sweat beading on his brow. "S-sir, anyhow! We have an urgent request. There is an important person you must visit today. Please, reconsider. You won't be able to use the car without me, and I am the only one who knows the person who requested your presence. Forgive me this time!"
"Who's callin'?" Hermes asked, his voice grave and dangerously low.
Justin lowered his head, regaining his poise. "It is our client, my Don."
The young Don clicked his tongue and handed over the weapon. "Bring this back to the armory and prepare the car. I'm going to take a bath, so you better be ready. Make sure the person we meet is worthy of my time," he commanded.
As Hermes walked away, his servant giggled softly. As usual, my master has such a sharp sense of humor. Of course, he knows exactly who I am referring to.
"Ooh, I love seeing those devilish eyes of yours, my Don," Justin murmured, his observant nature noting the sharpening edge in Hermes's personality. "I guarantee this person will bring us good fortune, unlike that despicable Zamor. Now that I mention it, should I bring flowers as well?"
Hermes halted for a second, answering without looking back. "Flowers? For what? Well, do as you wish." He waved a dismissive hand.
Justin bowed, pressing his right hand to his chest.
Thirty-four minutes and twenty seconds later, the young Don emerged, having traded his workout gear for a refined merchant's suit.
"My Don, the car is prepared. Please, take this," Justin handed him a bouquet of vibrant red roses.
"Who are we giving this to, Justin?" Hermes asked bluntly.
Justin merely smiled, his expression composed as he opened the car door. "I'll tell you later. Please enter the vehicle first, my Don."
"Man, I wish this ain't what I've been—"
"—for... Greetings, milady. How are you today?" Hermes's words caught in his throat. His shoulders trembled as he stood in the presence of the girl he had saved four days ago. His face was instantly slick with cold sweat.
"Oh, my gosh! Are these flowers for me? I'm flattered! Thank you very much. I didn't know you were such a charming man, Sir Aljen," she said, accepting the roses with a radiant smile.
"Uh... eh, yeah. Yeah, you're welcome," Hermes replied humbly, his mind reeling at the unexpected turn.
Her name was Venus Aphrodite, the new High Priestess of the Neue Fiona Church. She was pure, selfless, and bright. Her clerical clothes were classic yet majestic, signaling her immense authority within the village. Long white sleeves covered her silky skin, and a hood protected her head from the sun. To Hermes's observant eye, she looked about a year older than him.
"Oh, Mr. Aljen, God is good all the time! Not only did I receive this gift, but you are here in person! I am so happy to see you today!"
Without hesitation, Venus wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly.
"Guagh... my neck! R-r-right, please calm down," Hermes gasped, his face slowly turning blue as she rubbed her cheek against his like an affectionate cat.
Another good memory for the archives, Justin thought. Despite his usual disciplined persona, he couldn't resist the opportunity. He instantly pulled a hidden camera from his chest pocket to capture the moment.
"P-P-Priestess Venus, please restrain yourself!" a small girl in similar clerical robes snapped. "You are in the presence of guests! You are the head of this church, so show some manners!"
This was Ylla Ereneus, the second district representative and acting regent of the Neue Fiona Church.
Someone help me, Hermes thought desperately.
"Ylla, you're really annoying sometimes," Venus sulked, finally releasing her grip.
"Ms. Venus, Goddess Gaia would be disappointed if you keep doing that. Remember your position before your love life," Ylla sighed, her shoulders dropping in exasperation.
Hermes stood there, questioning where he had gone wrong. He hadn't even triggered an "event." He felt devastated by this sudden development. Women in love are scary!
Over the past few days, he had studied the psychological behavior of women in this world, concluding they were programmed to be attracted to boys with "vicious" personalities. But I'm not even that vicious! he lamented.
Damn it, Hermes sighed internally. I hate this otome game.
The atmosphere inside the chapel was thick with the scent of aged wood and morning incense. Sunbeams cut through the high windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced between the divine and the worldly.
The young Don, known to everyone here only as Mr. Aljen, took a seat on a single-seat chair upholstered in plush red foam. Opposite him, the two ladies sat together on a much larger four-seated red sofa. Venus was still clutching her roses with a dreamy expression, while Ylla sat beside her, looking as though she were bracing for a headache.
Behind him, Justin stood in his usual standby mode, exactly one foot away from his master's chair. His expression was a mask of professional stoicism, the perfect image of a loyal attendant to a successful young merchant.
At the head of the arrangement sat the Chief. His firm appearance and sharp, hawk-like glance were focused entirely on the young man. His single-seated black chair creaked slightly as he moved it backward, leaning forward to offer a hand of gratitude.
"Once again. Thank you for your service, Mr. Aljen," he said, his lips curling into a smile.
The young Don looked at the man's hand first, his observant eyes checking the grip before he reached out to shake it.
"You're welcome. It is part of the deal, though," he responded humbly, maintaining the poise of a noble businessman.
"So," the Chief continued, sensing the young man's efficiency. "I don't think we have time for compliments. Oh, don't look at me like that, sir. The reward is on the right side, in front of you. That's the desirable payment you ever wanted in the first place."
On the low table lay a thick, sealed document. Aljen picked it up and, without even glancing at the contents, handed it over to his servant.
The Chief raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "You don't want to check it first?"
Aljen simpered, crossing his legs and fixing the old man with a sharp, calculating gaze. "I don't think I have to take the time to check the content. I'm sure the legal documents for the transferee of consignation, land ownership, and titular management have been added to the list, in accordance with the agreement four days ago."
"Oh, I'm honored to be recognized as a trusted client for Mr. Aljen. Thank you very much," the Chief replied, bowing his head in respect.
"Hmph, don't even think about it."