Chapter 260: Small Squabble

The moment Liam placed the backpack on the counter, the noise in the guild died down again.Every pair of eyes within hearing range turned toward the sound of the fabric hitting wood. The bag was unlike anything any of them had ever seen. Even the zipper caught their attention. It looked alien in a world of straps and buckles.

The attendant stared at it warily. His instincts told him the stranger wasn’t dangerous, yet every fiber of his being screamed caution. The man’s fingers twitched unconsciously toward the knife sheathed beneath the table.

Liam, noticing his tension, chuckled inwardly.

"Relax," he said calmly. His voice carried no threat, but it wasn’t casual either.

He unzipped the bag slowly. The sound of metal teeth parting was new to every ear in the room. Then, as he opened the flap, a soft blue light spilled out.

The attendant blinked, speechless. "Those are..."

"Monster cores," Liam said simply, his tone calm. "From a dungeon I cleared earlier."

The man swallowed. He reached forward, his fingers hovering over the cores as if afraid to touch them.

"How many?"

"Over a hundred blue cores," Liam said. Then he reached back into the bag and brought out a single crystal glowing faint red. "And one of these."

The entire room seemed to hold its breath when the red core made appearance.

Even those pretending not to listen were clearly watching. Everyone in the guild knew what that meant. The person in front of them defeated a high rank monster.

The attendant’s voice dropped unconsciously. "You... mind if I count them?"

Liam shook his head. "Go ahead."

The man exhaled, lifted the bag, and began laying each crystal out on a large black cloth, and started counting softly under his breath.

"...Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight..."

The process took several minutes. When he was done, he straightened and looked at Liam. "A hundred and thirteen total — one red, the rest blue."

He calculated quickly using a small slate board, his lips moving. "At current rate, that comes to thirteen gold coins and two silver."

Liam nodded once. "Fair enough."

The attendant hesitated again, glancing up. "You’re selling all of them?"

"Yes."

He didn’t question further. He slid a heavy leather pouch across the table.

Liam took it and pocketed it without even checking. "Thank you. Now, I’d like to register as an mercenary."

The attendant blinked, as if the words took a second to register. "You’re... not one already?"

"No."

That explained the lack of a guild emblem. The man composed himself, reached under the counter, and drew out a blank parchment form. "Name?"

"Liam Scott."

The man paused mid-scribble, staring at him. "That’s... an unusual name."

"So I’ve been told."

The attendant shrugged and continued writing. "Age?"

"18."

He jotted the details and pressed a bronze seal onto the paper. Moments later, he handed over a small metal badge shaped like a shield. It bore the letter F etched in black enamel.

"Welcome to the guild, Mr. Scott. You’re now officially an F-Rank mercenary. You’ll need to climb ranks through completed requests."

"Understood," Liam said. "Any available work?"

The man nodded and reached for a wooden board stacked with thin parchment slips. "These are F-Rank tasks. Nothing too dangerous."

Liam took it, scanning the board quickly. His eyes skimmed through lines that read:

Deliver herbs to the apothecary.

There was more but they were all similar.

Mundane. Too mundane.

He handed the board back. "Not today. I’ll return tomorrow."

"Suit yourself," the man said, watching him with quiet curiosity.

Liam gave a small nod, turned, and walked toward the door. The moment he stepped outside, he could feel the eyes following him.

***

The street outside was dimmer now. The sun hung low, spilling gold across the rooftops. Liam walked at an unhurried pace, hands in his pockets, taking in the rhythm of the city.

But amid all that sound, Liam picked out another — quieter, deliberate. Footsteps, matching his pace.

Four of them.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. Their breathing was heavy, uneven. Clearly mateurs.

He sighed softly. "And here I was hoping for a peaceful evening."

He turned into a side street, narrow and empty. The cobblestones were cracked, and the walls around him were covered with old posters.

He walked to the end of the alley and stopped.

Then he waited.

It didn’t take long.

The four men emerged from the shadows, forming a loose semicircle. Their faces carried the smugness of those who thought themselves predators.

The leader — a stocky man with a scar across his brow — grinned. "Nice bag you’ve got there, stranger. How about you hand it over nice and easy?"

Liam turned to face them, expression calm. "And if I don’t?"

"Then we’ll help you reconsider." The man’s tone hardened. "You’re new here. Don’t make it worse. Hand over the gold, the bag, whatever else you’ve got. Hell, we might even sell your clothes. Nobles love weird stuff like that."

Another man snickered. "You forgot one thing, boss — the buyers in the slave district pay good for foreigners. He looks healthy."

Liam’s eyebrow lifted slightly. "Slavery again. Seems to be the local hobby."

The bandits frowned at the casual tone. There was no fear or panic. Just mild amusement.

"You think this is funny?" one barked.

"A little," Liam said honestly. He crouched down slowly and picked three small stones from the ground. The sound of pebbles scraping against stone echoed softly.

The men tensed.

"Hey, what’s he—"

Liam flicked his wrist.

The first rock vanished in a blur. A crack echoed, sharp and wet. The first man screamed, clutching his leg as his knee shattered inward.

Before the others could react, two more flicks followed — so fast they couldn’t track them. Two more cries of agony filled the alley.

Three men dropped instantly, each clutching a ruined knee, blood pooling beneath them.

Only the leader remained standing, his mouth open in shock.

Liam straightened slowly, brushing invisible dust from his hands.

"That was me being polite," he said calmly. "Next time, I won’t aim for the knees."

The leader stumbled backward, his earlier confidence dissolving. He dropped his dagger, raised his hands. "W-wait! We didn’t mean—"

"You did," Liam interrupted, stepping past him. "You just didn’t think it through."

He walked past the groaning men without another glance. Their screams followed him only a short while before fading into the noise of the city.

At the end of the alley, sunlight spilled through again, washing over him like nothing had happened.

Liam stepped back onto the main road. The crowd moved as if the world hadn’t just shifted in a single backstreet.

He slipped through all of it effortlessly, blending into the rhythm once again.

He didn’t feel guilt or triumph — only mild disappointment.

"Even in other worlds," he murmured, "greed looks the same."

He continued walking, his eyes scanning the street ahead. The weight of the gold coins in his pocket was irrelevant; he wasn’t here for wealth.

The encounter had told him something far more useful — how justice and order worked in Astrin. Or rather, how little of it there was.

He glanced up at the evening sky as the sun dipped fully below the rooftops, the first stars glimmering faintly.

"Looks like I’ll have to build my own balance again," he said softly.

And with that, he turned the corner, disappearing into the flow of the city.