Chapter 35

An old man stumbled into the slums, his body swaying unsteadily. In the relatively safer area near the boundary with the outside world, some residents were warming themselves by burning garbage in a drum can. They glanced at the old man as he approached.

As he got closer to the fire, his appearance became more visible. He was a wretched old man, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a coat that was originally a deep blue but now appeared black from dirt. He walked unsteadily, his face covered with a long, unkempt white beard that gave a dirty impression. He looked like a pauper, and it seemed unlikely that he had anything of value. One of his eyes was closed, and it didn't seem like it would open.

However, his single eye emitted a sharp, piercing light that gave a sense of intimidation and fear to those who saw it.

The people around the drum can were a varied group, ranging from a thin middle-aged man to an elderly man with missing teeth, and a young man whose face was blackened with dirt. They looked at the old man and thought he probably didn't have anything of value. They then smirked and approached him, brandishing iron pipes, knives, and clubs.

"Hey, old man, you look well-off."

The leader of the group, holding a rusty iron pipe, tapped it against his hand and spoke. The others also smirked and surrounded the old man.

"Huh? Me, well-off? That's quite a joke."

The old man's single eye looked at the men surrounding him with interest. One of the men laughed at his lack of concern.

"Is this your first time here? Let me tell you, in this slum, even someone like you can be well-off. Leave your hat, coat, and shoes. And if you have any alcohol, leave that too."

"It's a toll for entering this slum."

"You might look down and out, but in this slum, things are different. Even without money, you have clothes and shoes. Leather shoes can be sold for a good price once the mud is cleaned off. We'll take your clothes and shoes, and you, an old man, will be easy prey."

"I see, I see. When you're hungry, even in winter, you strip an old man of his clothes. You have quite the heart. But you don't seem hungry."

The old man stroked his beard and looked at the men with interest.

"Shut up! Take off your clothes before we beat you to a pulp. If you don't, you might lose your life!"

"It's a cold winter night. You might die, you know."

"You can warm yourself by the fire. We're quite considerate, aren't we?"

The old man looked at the group of men who were laughing mockingly and spoke.

"Hmm. What kind of people are these?"

He muttered to himself, and the surrounding men frowned, thinking it was just the ramblings of a drunk. But a high-pitched voice came from the darkness.

"‘Analysis complete.’ These men committed a robbery two days ago. They broke into an old woman's house, killed her, and stole her valuables."

The voice was that of a crow, which cawed.

"What the—?"

"There it is!"

The men, looking around, spotted a crow perched on a utility pole. In the darkness, the crow was barely visible, but its bright red eyes stood out clearly.

"Is the crow talking?"

"What the hell is this?"

The old man adjusted the tilt of his wide-brimmed hat as he watched the men's reactions.

"Hmm. Is that all?"

"The criminals A, B, C, D, E, and F have killed many innocent people. They have killed many, many people."

"I see. Then there's no problem."

The old man responded without surprise, as if it was a matter of course.

"You can't be a familiar, can you? Are you a wizard?"

The men, realizing the crow's true nature, felt a sense of danger. However, they didn't run. They thought the old man was just a drunk who had fallen into the slums, and he couldn't be a powerful wizard.

"So, what will you do? Run?"

The old man asked in a sharp, clear voice. The men, however, were convinced it was just a bluff. They thought he was just a fraud, and he only had a talking crow.

One of the men sneered as he saw his companions approaching the old man from behind.

"No, I just thought you might have some magical tools!"

To draw attention to himself, the man facing the old man shouted. As he did, one of his companions attacked the old man from behind with an iron pipe.

"Is that so?"

With just one word, the old man spoke indifferently. The iron pipe was swung down with a thud, and the men thought the old man would fall to the ground, but instead, the man who swung the pipe was the one who fell, convulsing on the ground with blood pooling from his head.

"What the—, you!"

"Get him!"

The other men, not understanding what had happened, attacked the old man en masse. They swung clubs, stabbed with knives, and tried to kill him. The old man, however, remained calm and stood still.

"Thud"

"Ugh"

"Ow!"

The old man, who was expected to be killed, didn't even receive a scratch. Instead, the men who attacked him groaned in pain and fell to the ground. Some had caved-in heads, others were bleeding from their torsos. All their attacks had been deflected.

'Physical Reflection Barrier'

"Physical attacks are always reflected once. You should have used a feint."

The old man looked down at the fallen men with a cold voice. The leader, who had not attacked, turned pale and looked at the old man as if he were a monster.

"Wizard! Why is a wizard here?"

"Hmm, there are various reasons. But I have a question. Can I ask you something?"

"Y-Yes, anything!"

The leader, trembling, realized the old man was a powerful wizard who could cast real spells.

The old man stroked his beard and narrowed his eyes. He ignored the fallen men and spoke indifferently, as if they were just pebbles on the ground.

"Is there a dungeon in this slum? A dungeon that is secretly managed. Is that correct?"

"D-Dungeon? You came for the dungeon? But it's dangerous. Even in the slum, it's managed by a group with wizards."

The man, who happened to be a member of the organization managing the dungeon, felt a sense of regret. He was just a low-ranking member, and he never imagined he would be targeted for such specific information. Was he targeted from the beginning?

"Indeed, as the young lady said, there is a dungeon. Then, tell me the location."

The old man asked in a commanding tone, exuding a sense of authority. The man, trembling, pulled out a knife from his pocket and threw it at the old man.

"I won't tell you! I value my life, ugh!"

The knife was expected to hit the old man, but a ripple appeared in front of him, and the man's shoulder started bleeding. He clutched his shoulder and fell to the ground, groaning in pain. The old man snorted in disapproval.

"Did you not listen, or do you have a poor memory? Either way, tell me the location."

"Spare me! If I talk, I'll be killed!"

"Then you will die here."

The old man said this to the man who was desperately resisting, and the man realized he was serious from the cold tone.

"Alright, alright. Don't say I talked! It's in Zone Z, Block 12. The dungeon is hidden in one of the warehouses there."

"Hmm, thank you for your effort."

The old man, satisfied with the answer, took out a bottle of wine from somewhere and drank it before disappearing into the darkness.

"Am I... saved..."

The man, who had braced himself for death, felt relieved and looked around. His companions were severely injured and might die if left untreated.

"Heh heh. I have no choice. Don't take it personally, guys?"

He picked up an iron pipe and smiled cruelly, intending to finish off his companions and take their valuables. In the slums, the weak are eliminated, and the injured are killed. That was the rule.

The man, clutching his shoulder, was about to kill one of his nearby companions when he made a fatal mistake. He should have run.

"Growl"

Two large wolves emerged from the darkness. They were as big as tigers and had the eyes of predators targeting their prey.

"W-Why are there dogs here? Ah, wait, wait!"

Those were the man's last words.

A scream echoed, followed by the sound of chewing, but soon the sounds faded into the night.