The heavy atmosphere of the conference room pressed against Hermes as he settled into his chair. Behind him, Justin stood like a silent, immovable gargoyle, his presence projecting a low-level threat that kept the representatives on edge. Despite the tension, the group remained level-headed; these were the founders, and they understood the weight of the village's survival.
Lady Ylla, the second-grade water mage, stood up to present her report. She hesitated, her drill-shaped curls bouncing as she cast a suspicious glance at the masked young transmigrator.
"Chief," she began, her voice sharp but respectful. "Is it wise to let a stranger join a high-level security meeting so abruptly? This feels... irregular."
Richarde didn't let the silence linger. "Good grief, Lady Ylla. Show some respect to our guest. You've seen the emblem; you know the Chief's stance. Just proceed."
Hermes remained impassive behind the Mask of Destruction. As a transmigrator, he was mentally cross-referencing everything with his knowledge of the "game" plot, but the emergence of these Elders and the presence of Richarde had already proved this world was deviating from the script he knew.
Ylla cleared her throat. "On the 5th of January, at approximately 6:30 PM, the Priestess arrived. She was escorted by four bodyguards. As she approached the pickup party at the port, a group of unknown assailants struck. They moved with terrifying efficiency—using rifles and knives. The Priestess was captured alive and whisked away on a white horse."
She paused, looking grimmer. "At 6:58 PM, the kidnappers were spotted at the District 2 gate. They didn't stop to fight; they rushed out, running toward the village exit and into the dense forest. The village guards were only three hundred meters away, but they 'failed' to intercept. My conclusion? Someone was paid a very high price to sell out her schedule."
Hermes leaned back. 6:30 PM. The exact moment his new life in this body began.
"Next," Chief Zamor called out.
Rafel Uno stood up, his red hair catching the light. "Wait, Chief. I need to interject." He turned toward the group, his expression uncharacteristically somber. "First... I must offer my sincerest apologies. The kidnapping happened on my watch, at my port. My security failed to prevent these masked assailants from infiltrating the docks. It is a stain on my district's honor."
A heavy silence followed. Rafel took a steadying breath before resuming. "For the last two months, a specific container arrived at my shipyard every week. It felt... dark. When I moved to inspect it, Captain Mattia arrived personally. He handed me an order of notice—signed by you, Chief—forbidding any inspection of that cargo."
Zamor flinched. "I signed that?"
"The permit was flawless," Rafel continued. "Captain Mattia was just doing his duty delivering your orders, so I had no choice but to let them pass. Since then, nearly forty of these containers have arrived. And the population of District 3 has exploded out of nowhere."
At the mention of District 3, Daliah's legs began to tremble. Richarde noticed and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Chief..." Daliah raised a shaky hand. "District 3 has seen a massive wave of migration. Forty percent of these newcomers are 'middle-class'—wealthy people moving into a slum. I have no clue how they even got there without being noticed by my border checkpoints. I tried to send a militia to investigate their residences and businesses, but it's like they've vanished into thin air. No reports are showing up; no proof of their existence can be found once they cross into the heart of the district."
"You mean they aren't in the system?" Elder Wamo's voice boomed.
"Exactly," Daliah whispered. "I order an investigation, the militia goes in, and they come back with empty folders saying 'nothing to report.' It is as if a blind spot has been carved into my territory."
Hermes watched. These representatives were seasoned, but they were being outplayed by a ghost. If Mattia was delivering the permits and the migrants were disappearing into the Forbidden Place of the Fifth District boundaries, the pieces were almost touching.
"Chief Zamor," Hermes spoke up, his voice distorted by the Evil Slime and chillingly calm. All eyes snapped to the mask. "If your Captain is delivering permits for mystery boxes while your guards are 'patrolling' away from a kidnapping, and your militia can't see people standing right in front of them... you don't have a security problem. You have a shadow entity using your own bureaucracy as a shield."
He turned his gaze toward Daliah.
"Lady Daliah," Hermes continued. "These 'middle-class' migrants who leave no trace... do their disappearing acts happen to occur near the boundaries of the Fifth District? The forbidden place?"
Daliah's eyes widened. "How did you... Yes. Every single cold trail ends right against the wall of the Fifth District. There are rumors of an organization hiding there—something even more ruthless than the local gangs. They use the Third District as their economic mask."
Hermes felt a thrill. The Mask of Destruction vibrated against his skin. He didn't know the name of this "organization" yet, but he knew they were using the Third District as a front and the Fifth District—the forbidden land—as their base.
Daliah trembled, her fingers fidgeting nervously on the polished wood of the table. She bit her lip and took a deep, shuddering breath before she finally responded to the Elders.
"They are men of Captain Mattia," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "These guards questioned my authority directly. They requested—no, they demanded—that I not interfere with their business, claiming these new citizens were boosting the economy of our district."
Everyone in the room was astonished, with the exception of Hermes and his butler. The young Don remained focused, his mind a whirlwind of deduction as he synthesized her reports. Behind him, he felt the Evil Slime pulse with a strange rhythm, as if it were feeding on the growing tension in the room.
"So, what's wrong with that?" questioned Elder Kilo, looking genuinely curious. "The village guards are competent. If they explained that these people are boosting the economy, then they made the right decision to stop your interference, my dear. What is the issue?"
"The issue is that those men didn't do their jobs properly!" Daliah's voice rose in a rare moment of defiance. "They even dared to make me apologize for questioning them. It was embarrassing and insulting. I didn't report this to the Chief because I know how much he respects Captain Mattia."
Zamor leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "What exactly did you find out about these newcomers, Daliah?"
"I heard rumors... that they were the people hiding within those mystery containers Rafel mentioned," she answered. "It is just my speculation based on the timing of their arrival."
"What the heck?" The Chief looked bewildered.
"I knew it!" Rafel slammed his fist onto the table in a burst of anger. "They illegally migrated through my port. Damn it, I let them pass because of those permits!"
Daliah looked down, her face pale. "I let it slide because they didn't technically commit a crime in the open. The economy of District 3 actually is boosting; our tax collection is at an all-time high. But... some of our oldest vendors are failing now. Only the businesses of these new citizens are booming. And the rumors... people say a new gang has emerged. They say they work for a mafia. I sent a request for an investigation into these rumors, but again, nothing was done."
The Chief looked at her with a heavy, piercing gaze. "Alright, Lady Daliah. I want a full written report. I'll personally look into it."
"Y-y-yes, sir," she stammered, visibly shrinking under the pressure. "But it is just a hypothesis... a woman's instinct. You don't need to rush."
"Lady Daliah, calm down," Zamor suggested gently. "Richarde, please assist our girl. Take her outside to breathe some fresh air."
Richarde stood up with a bright, predatory smile. "Consider it done, sir! Let me carry you, my princ—"
Guwuu! Daliah's elbow connected sharply with Richarde's stomach. The "pitiful" noble slowly slumped back into his chair, his appetite for teasing temporarily extinguished. Daliah looked at him with a face of pure disgust before sitting back down.
"Alright, we're losing the trace of our main topic," the Chief said, clapping his hands to restart the meeting.
Ylla stood up, her gothic dress rustling. "The report states the guards dispatched immediately to save the Priestess, but it was too late. The guard leader defended his men, saying they weren't well-informed of her arrival time. Captain Mattia has personally promised to save the Priestess at all costs, but there are no leads. I am convinced... I am convinced the guards themselves are part of the kidnapping."
Rafel heaved a sigh and agreed. "Chief, the evidence is clear. Our main security forces are corrupt. Everything went bizarre the moment Captain Mattia took office. This kidnapping wouldn't have happened if the guards did their jobs."
The Chief clasped his hands together, his resolve hardening as he looked each representative in the eye. "We can't say that. There is not enough evidence to convict them of kidnapping or illegal migration. Ylla, Rafel, Daliah—you can't just throw accusations without proof. You don't have the right to judge a man's status."
"But Chief," Richarde added, having recovered from the elbow strike. "We should be cautious. Since Mattia took over, criminals arrested by decent guards are always released with his approval. Most of them come from District 3. As the handler of the Fourth District, I guarantee this is factual. Luckily, the secret weapons factories and warehouses haven't been affected by their schemes yet."
Hermes's eyes narrowed behind his mask. Factories? Warehouses? Richarde was being incredibly reckless, revealing the existence of secret military production in front of a "stranger." But Hermes didn't complain; he was grateful for the leak. He now knew exactly where the village's power sat.
Suddenly, he felt a slight poke in his back. Justin had scribbled a note on a small scrap of paper:
Hermes felt a cold sweat break out. Justin, his loyal but terrifyingly literal "Don," was ready to blow the village's entire industrial base to kingdom come just to be helpful.
Hermes turned slightly, whispering in a voice so low it was like a ghost's breath. "Don't do anything stupid. Don't even think about it."
Justin lowered his head, his shadow-like presence receding. "As you wish, my Don."
Hermes sighed and turned back to the Chief, who was now defending the legal system.
"Everyone, it's normal for criminals to bail out," Zamor argued. "We have accumulated massive funds thanks to Mattia's system. More criminals paying bail means more money for our village funds. It is a highly effective countermeasure."
A highly effective way to let a shadow army buy their way onto your streets, Hermes thought, the Evil Slime on his face shifting into a grimace. The "system" wasn't protecting the village; it was a toll booth for the organization hiding in the Fifth District.
Ylla's jaw tightened. She could feel that the Chief was being willfully blinded by a sense of misplaced loyalty. She leaned forward, the white-gold gothic fabric of her sleeves rustling against the table.
"Chief, that is fundamentally wrong," she debated, her voice trembling with restrained passion. "Even if we earn money from their penalties, we cannot ignore the fact that these criminals are living prosperously while our people suffer from their activities. I believe these morons are completely under the control of the rumored organization—or rather, they are working together with them."
Zamor shook his head. "Lady Ylla, how can you say our security forces are involved with such people? I trust their competence and their loyalty to this feud. They are the ones who risk their lives to save others. We cannot assume such things."
Ylla gently tucked a blonde, drill-shaped curl behind her ear and flipped to the next page of her report folder, her eyes cold.
"First of all," the Chief continued, "there is no basis and no proper evidence. Your documents are based on the gossip of people who are likely envious of their positions. Look around. Even if we lack resources and have slow growth, we are still safe. Under Captain Mattia's guidance, we have lived with no casualties ever since."
Fearing the situation would worsen, Rafel interjected, stopping the mad little girl, Ylla, before she could snap.
"Indeed, those men are always there to save the people," Rafel added, catching Ylla's gaze with a mocking smirk that made the girl feel disgusted. "They are more capable than us. Compared to those of us who sit here and do office work, they are the people who always place their lives on the line to fulfill their duties on the field."
He turned back to the Chief, his expression becoming serious. "Like Ylla, I don't like some of their involvement in illegal activities. But without witnesses, we are chasing shadows. Chief, we respect your decision, but let me remind you: corruption is at a high density. Do not ignore these warnings."
"I have already planned for that," Zamor insisted. "Ms. Ilona has been running countermeasures for years. We've decreased the 'corruption level' by 69 out of 100 percent. Now, we are losing track of the real issue."
Richarde muttered under his breath, "Please, let us talk about the kidnapping for goodness' sake."
Ylla and Rafel sighed in unison, disappointed by the Chief's optimism. Daliah leaned over to comfort the smaller girl. "What should we do? The guards are so useless. I'd rather place my trust in my fellow representatives than those people."
Richarde laughed and leaned his elbows on the table. "Well, they are worthless shits. Who knows, maybe they are part of the crime. Bribing them is a piece of cake. For example, I got drunk and destroyed a bucket of beers last night. A uniformed guard tried to arrest me for not answering a dumb question, so I just gave him two hundred Luzers to shut his mouth. We separated like nothing happened."
Thwack! Daliah's hand connected with the back of Richarde's head again.
"Ouch! What was that for?" he barked, rubbing the sore spot.
Daliah pointed a finger at him, her blue eyes flashing. "You! So that was you! Do you know how much money those beers cost my customers? Do you know how much trouble you caused? I swore I would find the man responsible for hurting my kitchen staff. Prepare to get hurt, Richarde!"
"C'mon, wait! He was one of yours?" Richarde stammered. "I'm innocent! I just happened to pass by and accidentally got hit by that muscle man. I admitted I punched his face because he was too handsome compared to me. I'll pay for the damages!"
Daliah flustered for a moment but quickly regained her composure. She folded her arms, looking away. "Whatever. Back to the main topic. The guards cannot be trusted, but since they are our only protectors, we must make a plan. I suggest we create a chance for them to prove their innocence. Captain Mattia promised to solve the case. That's a start."
Ylla looked at Daliah, her cheeks pouting slightly before she softened. "Lady Daliah, that's such a positive response. I wish I could be like you."
The compliment made Daliah turn red from her neck to her ears. She lunged forward and embraced the smaller girl. "Oh, Lady Ylla! This big sis of yours is so happy to hear that! I'll buy you a massive teddy bear to pay you back for praising me!"
"Thanks, Lady Daliah," Ylla smiled, looking embarrassed by the public display of affection.
"Childish. Dogs are better than teddy bears," Rafel muttered aside.
Richarde giggled, trying to rejoin the circle. "Oh, Lady Ylla, don't worry! I can give you more bears than my angel—"
Both girls turned and stared at him with pure disgust. Daliah cracked her fingers, a sharp glint in her eyes. "Stop saying that. I am not your property, stupid. And I won't let you touch my beloved Ylla. Never. If you lay a hand on her, I'll kill you."
Richarde gulped. "C'mon, I won't fight you. You're my beloved angel who'll carry my—"
The girls ignored him. Daliah fixed her expression and asked: "Anyways, please forgive us for making a scene. Chief, should we build a team to search for the Priestess as our second option? If we don't want to rely on those men, I fully suggest forming a group outside our territory."
Everyone turned their gaze toward their leader, who looked caught in a vice of his own making. Chief Zamor remained quiet, closing his eyes for a long minute. He gulped down some air and exhaled sharply before giving his response.
"Unfortunately," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of the village's poverty, "we can't."
The room flinched. Daliah, her voice trembling with concern, leaned forward. "But why? There is nothing wrong with asking for help from others. We need to save the Priestess!"
"We don't have enough time to prepare such an operation," Zamor replied. "Some of the villagers are not... they aren't powerful or courageous enough to bravely volunteer for a mission like this. And frankly, we don't have enough money to pay for outside help."
Daliah slumped, her expression turning somber. "Agreed. But we must save her before they do something terrible to her. If we can't hire help, how do we move?"
Elder Wamo spoke up, his voice like grinding stone. "Young lady, please hold your tone. Calm your heart so you can find a solution for this madness. I have been entertained watching you all talk like a family, but do not give up. Every problem has a solution. If the youth feel gloom, we are here to enlighten them from their doom."
"Thank you, Elder Wamo," Zamor nodded.
The Chief turned back to the table. "As you can see, our village is in bad shape, despite the polished appearance of our streets. For five years, we've struggled to survive on this island. Prior to the continuous assaults of the Archnemesis men—" Hermes's eyes sharpened behind his mask at the mention of his own household "—we conducted solutions that the law considers illegal, like creating weapons without permission."
"So?" Ylla asked worryingly.
"So, we cannot judge Captain Mattia for being corrupted," Zamor stated firmly. "All of us have committed sins to keep this place afloat. We have a small budget, and progress is slow."
Richarde interjected, stopping another representative from speaking. "The Neue Fiona village has a budget from last year's taxes, but allocating funds for a rescue team would result in a massive deficit. Our budget is preserved for—" He paused, glancing at Hermes. "Oh, I'm sorry. Mr. Aljen, I hope you still plan to invest. Merchants usually flee when a place is in a deep crisis."
"Don't worry," Hermes said, his voice distorted and calm. "I'll keep it in mind. Everything negative you say about this village is nothing but smoke in my ears. Please, proceed."
Elder Kilo inquired, "Chief, why not use the guards as the rescue team? Who is in charge of commanding those men?"
"The representatives have that authority," Rafel answered. "We act as commanders in emergencies. The Chief has given each of us thirty men under our banners."
"And thanks to the secret factories, we've given them proper equipment," Richarde added. "They are competent killers."
Elder Damaso rubbed his beard. "So we have a total of 120 village guards with average equipment. Like my brother suggested, we must use them. It will be their way of proving their innocence."
Ylla folded the pages of her documents, her expression cynical. "These people are militia—well-trained security personnel, comparable to the soldiers of any mafia family. But they won't agree to it. They are losers who only play hero if there's a guaranteed reward."
"Right," Rafel seconded, sounding annoyed.
"Why not use them then?" Elder Wamo asked, confused.
"Too expensive," Rafel answered, tossing the financial files onto the table. "These people will riot if their wages aren't increased for a mission this dangerous. They won't work without a massive payout. These competent employees won't move without proper rewards."
"I can't argue with that," Daliah agreed.
"I second the motion," Ylla added. "You actually have a piece of intelligence in your brain, Rafel."
"Shut it, bitch," Rafel muttered.
The room fell into a suffocating silence. Hermes rested his elbows on the table, his hands pressed together.
"Cough Please stop staring at each other and continue," Chief Zamor said, feeling like his head was about to explode.
"The village guards are not a simple security team who can be mobilized easily," Zamor explained to Elder Kilo. "Despite their reputation, they won't move without a high price. They are essentially mercenaries in all but name."
"This quest is certainly entertaining. My heart and mind are boiling in excitement," Hermes muttered to himself, hidden by the Mask of Destruction. He had just learned the exact military strength of the village: 120 militia members, divided among four leaders, equipped by secret factories they couldn't afford to run, and loyal only to the highest bidder.
The village wasn't a fortress; it was a powder keg waiting for a spark. And Hermes Archnemesis held the matches.
The Chief let out a weary sigh that seemed to deflate his entire frame. With a tired wave of his hand, he called for a break. The representatives and the Elders stood, offering stiff, formal bows before filing out of the room. Only the young Don and his butler remained, their presence anchoring the silence of the now-empty hall.
Hermes didn't move. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and clasping his hands on the table with the casual arrogance of a king in a foreign court. "What do you want to talk about, sir?"
Zamor quietly gathered the documents scattered across his desk. He closed his main folder and tucked it neatly away. He scratched his chin, exhaling a long, ragged breath. As expected, he thought.
"Mr. Aljen," the Chief said, sliding a thick, unmarked folder across the table toward Hermes. "What did you think of the meeting?"
"That? Well, it kind of sucks," Hermes replied bluntly.
He caught the folder and flipped it open. As his eyes scanned the first few pages, he let out a low, appreciative whistle.
"—Those files contain classified information," Zamor explained, his voice dropping an octave. "Corrupted officials, unfortunate 'accidents,' and every unsolved case for the past five years. It contains the exact data on their personal assets, liabilities, and equities. I have been tracking the money, Mr. Aljen."
"Oh? And why give this to me?" Hermes tapped his fingers on the armrest, his voice trailing with feigned disinterest. "I'm certainly not interested in meddling with politics. I prefer a normal life."
"Do you still plan to invest here?" Zamor asked, ignoring the sarcasm.
"Of course."
"Then tell me—do you know why you couldn't meet me for the last three days?"
Hermes tilted his head. "Because of that woman? Or rather, because you asked her to keep me away for a specific reason? Am I right?"
Chief Zamor offered a small, grim giggle. "Certainly."
"But why? I thought we were on good terms. You praised me in front of everyone as if we were old friends." Hermes's eyes narrowed behind the Mask of Destruction. "It's a bit insulting, old man."
"To be frank," Zamor said, his eyes meeting the mask's hollow sockets, "I don't trust you."
Hermes let out a sharp, genuine laugh. "You're interesting! Fair enough. I don't trust you either. So, we're in the same league. But if that's the case, why the emblems? Why invite me here?"
"Several reasons. One being that you saved me and my children. I had a feeling I could use you for a better cause. But I'll be honest, Mr. Aljen—from the day you arrived, I tried to investigate your origin."
"However," Hermes mocked, looking down his nose, "you failed."
The Chief flinched, then nodded slowly. "Indeed. I found nothing. So, I gave up."
Hermes sighed, the pity of the man's admission grating on his nerves. "You toss aside important details so easily. Fine. Let me guess: you want me to work for you, and you'll pay me handsomely. Right?"
"Yes."
Zamor stood up, the weight of his office visible in his slumped shoulders. "Three days ago, Ilona reported that several vendors are under a protection racket run by the Handdog Gang. These thugs are part of an organized crime ring protected by a noble mafia family. My villagers are failing to pay taxes because half their income is being extorted by these immigrants who hid in those containers."
Handdog Gang, Hermes thought. He recalled the second quest from the supernatural newspaper: [Destroy the unorganized gang located at District 2].
"I have a hunch," Zamor continued, "that involving you is the only way. My militia has been bribed to stay silent. I need an excuse to exterminate these bastards, but I can't do it through official channels. I told you that you couldn't start a business because I can't guarantee your safety if you get hurt—but really, I can't have you caught in the crossfire of what's coming."
"So, you want someone to work from the shadows," Hermes interrupted, his voice cutting through the Chief's desperation.
Zamor flinched, then smiled.
"I'm surprised you keep up this fake facade," Hermes resumed, his tone chilling. "I don't like trouble. But I cannot ignore a beneficial partnership. You were 'protecting' me for three days because you didn't want me to ruin the image of your village? How pathetic."
The Chief walked around the table, standing directly beside the young Don. He didn't look down on him; he looked at him as a savior.
"My apologies, sir. There was no other way."
Hermes turned his face slightly toward the old man. "A'right, what's your request?"
"Your service will be secretly rewarded. A man like you will no doubt guarantee success," Zamor said, his voice trembling slightly. "What I want you to do is rescue our new Priestess. And finally, salvage our village from the brink of corruption. Please, help us resolve this."
The Chief lowered his head in a full, ninety-degree bow.
Hermes let out a long, dramatic sigh. He reached out and patted the old man's shoulder, then raised his hand. "I was waiting to hear it from you," Hermes said, his voice smooth as silk. "I humbly accept the task."
As they shook hands, a vicious, predatory smile spread beneath Hermes's mask. The Chief thought he was hiring a mercenary to save a village. He didn't realize he had just handed the keys to the kingdom to the very "Archnemesis" the village feared most.
Behind him, Justin remained silent, but the air around the butler shimmered with a lethal intent. The game was no longer about survival; it was about conquest.