Chapter 44: The Shabby Shop

Chapter 44: Chapter 44: The Shabby Shop

Manager Lee stood just outside the guild entrance, hands folded behind his back, watching Victor’s retreating figure shrink into the crowd.

The smile stayed on his face right up until he turned to the operator beside him.

"What happened in there? Is that normal?"

"No, sir." The operator shook his head firmly. "I’ve never seen anything like it. Not once. And I’ve been working here since the Blackest Night."

Lee’s eyes lingered on the spot where Victor had disappeared. "A late Ranker with the recommendation of a priest. And now this. I think we might have stumbled onto something. " He paused, considering. "Is there still space on the exhibition heading out to the Outer World?"

The operator blinked, caught off guard by the shift. "There... yes, sir. We still need E-Rankers for excavation work, after the higher ranks clear the monsters."

"Good." Lee’s smile returned, thinner this time, more deliberate. "We just got ourselves a new E-Ranker. Add his name to the list. Mark it as a personal recommendation from me."

"Sir..." the operator hesitated. "The S-Ranker in charge of that exhibition won’t like that. Adding someone outside the usual selection, especially one with no record of raiding gates..."

"Don’t worry about it," Lee said easily, already turning back toward the guild entrance. "I’ll handle him."

Meanwhile, Victor was walking down the main avenue with a grin that refused towipe off his face.

He was officially a Ranker now. That alone was enough to make the whole morning worth it. But then he’d checked his new account, the one the guild set up automatically the moment his rank was confirmed, and found something he hadn’t been expecting at all.

Money. Actual money, already sitting there.

It turned out that Paul had opened the account for him ahead of time and deposited funds directly into it. He even left a short message with the accountant.

"Here is your cut from yesterday’s Gate loot. A hundred thousand gil. Make sure to buy yourself and your dad something nice."

Paul... you really are heaven sent. Victor felt like shedding grateful tears.

He stared at the number for a solid ten seconds. If this was his share, the rest of the team must have walked away with considerably more. Still, he wasn’t about to complain. He hadn’t made a single worthy gil off gaming. Coming back in time to a moment of being broke was its own kind of curse.

He looked down at himself, at the worn jacket hanging slightly loose on his new muscular frame, the pants he’d borrowed straight out of his father’s closet that morning because none of his old clothes fit anymore.

Victor massaged his chin.

I can finally buy something that fits now. Maybe something for dad too. The last time he went shopping was probably when mom was alive. And maybe we could have grilled fish for dinner.

Yeah... that makes—

"Fresh Ranker, huh?"

Victor turned. A man had sidled up beside him, thin, sharp-eyed. He had the kind of smile that belonged to person used to talking people into things they didn’t need.

"You just got tested today." The man’s eyes fell on his hands and pockets. "But you are not holding any guild’s business card. Which means you can’t be ranked too high."

Victor frowned, though the guy wasn’t exactly wrong. The moment the result had come back E-Rank, every single recruiter in that hallway had lost interest in him instantly.

E-Rankers weren’t worth fighting over. E-Rankers didn’t fight monsters, mostly. They normally showed up after the real Rankers finished the job and picked through the leftovers for materials.

"Low rank, am I right?" the man continued, undeterred. "Well, here’s the thing. Doesn’t matter how high or low you are, you’re still walking into Gates with monsters in them. Correct?"

"...Yeah."

"Then you’re going to need an armament." The man’s grin widened, salesman-smooth. "Come by my shop. I’ll set you up."

Victor vaguely remembered passing this salesman on his way into the guild. He was the one claiming to sell rare armaments.

He was no fool. Rare armaments were all in the hands of high rankers with powerful families and guilds backing them.

"I’m good. Don’t really need one." He continued walking.

"Wait." The man ran up to him, "Even if you don’t want something for attacking, you’ll want something defensive." The man fell into step beside him, undeterred. "A little insurance. You don’t know how dangerous gates can be. I’ve got materials that could buy you a second chance against things that would easily kill you..." He snapped his fingers. "... like that."

Victor kept walking. Still not interested.

"Alright, alright." The man held up both hands. "Forget weapons. Forget armor, even. What if I told you I had something that could save someone you care about?"

Victor stopped.

His mind flashed back to yesterday. To the ambulance.

The man on the stretcher, with his chest torn open, carried out on a gurney while Mrs. Kelly stood there crying as she held her son tight.

Mr Kelly wasn’t someone Victor knew personally. But Victor believed he had caused what happened. If there was something, anything, that could ease that man’s pain or help him heal faster, he wanted it.

He turned back to the salesman. "Okay. I’m listening."

The man’s smile widened into triumph.

—

They wove through narrow back alleys, cutting past corners that smelled faintly of garbage and pungent piss, until they reached a cramped, shadowed street tucked away from the main avenue.

The shop sat at the end of ithe street. It’s sign hung crooked on one hinge, paint peeling, and looking like it hadn’t been touched up in years.

Victor’s stepped slowed, "maybe I made a mistake."

Along the street, Victor’s eyes caught figures of people slumped against the walls and doorframes. They were thin, hollow-eyed, some barely conscious. A few had needles resting beside them, from which fell drops of a purple liquid.

Victor’s eyes caught on one of them a second too long, and they stretched their arm to him, pleading, "give...me." Eye rims purple.

"Ignore them," the salesman said, waving a hand without even glancing over. "Dreamer. It’s the latest thing the kids are into these days. Helps you dream, supposedly. Half the city’s drug adicts are hooked on it."

Victor’s stomach tightened slightly at the name. He remembered this drug. It became a drug epidemic that got bad enough the government eventually had to step in and crack down on its black market sales. Seemed like that hadn’t happened yet.

He said nothing, just followed the man toward the shop entrance.

The second he stepped inside, the smell of lavender hit him. Unexpectedly, it was pleasant after the alley outside. And unlike the shabby exterior, the inside was spotless, orderly, everything in its place. One wall held racks of weapons, neatly arranged by type. Another held smaller tools, vials, pouches of materials Victor didn’t recognize.

And then he took another step, and suddenly, his Babarian instincts screamed a War cry...