Chapter 1: Cheat
At the forest's edge, where the path led to the village, a fiery orange glow in the distance pierced the darkened sky.
Swoosh—
"Von Sun, by the heavens... I knew I smelled something burning," murmured a member of the vigilante group, his lone eye fixed on the scene.
Beyond the forest, a raging inferno consumed everything.
"Didn't you say the swordsman was alone, Captain?" the one-eyed man asked, turning to his leader.
The vigilante Captain leaned against a tree, his brow furrowed beneath a beard flecked with gray.
"Must be a spellcaster with a sword. Saw it myself. Don't you believe me?" His eyes glinted, ready to draw his sword at any moment.
The one-eyed man forced a sly smile.
"Just double-checking, you know, just in case."
The Captain was a deserter from the distant imperial army, a skilled swordsman despite his past.
"Captain," interjected a burly, bald man beside him, eyeing the forest nervously.
He, too, was a member of the vigilante group.
"Shouldn't we change our plans? Mages are rather troublesome...."
"Exactly, Captain. It seems to be in the direction of the kobold stronghold," the one-eyed man added, seizing the opportunity.
"If the mage can single-handedly set a stronghold ablaze, perhaps it's best to retreat?"
The Captain's frown deepened. Encouraged by his silence, the one-eyed man continued,
"No need to risk our lives for a side job, right? He didn't look like he had much on him anyway."
"...Sigh." The Captain conceded. He had formed this vigilante group to protect the village from kobolds.
The danger seemed real, but in truth, it wasn't. Crobon, small demonic creatures, rarely ventured out of the forest and would flee at the slightest threat.
Their group was profitable.
They received free food and drink as payment, and their side business was lucrative.
They would often ambush weary mercenaries who had failed to destroy a kobold stronghold. No one had ever succeeded. Crobons became fiercely protective of their home when threatened, charging in like demons without fear of death.
So, the Captain and his men waited on the path, preying on the battered mercenaries who escaped the stronghold. They disposed of the bodies in the forest, leaving them for the Crobons and making cleanup easy. Even if they found nothing, scavenging the corpses during the day was enough.
Crobons cared only for the flesh, not the belongings.
It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. And today was to be no different.
"These fools." The men's shoulders tensed at the Captain's remark, not realizing the full extent of the situation until they witnessed the blazing spectacle.
"If that's really the Crobons stronghold burning, who cares about our side job? We might lose our main gig by tomorrow."
Both the one-eyed man and the bald man were wide-eyed in alarm. The Captain clicked his tongue.
"That's why we need to silence that spellcaster. For now, the villagers mustn't learn about the stronghold's destruction."
They nodded in understanding. The bald man, swallowing hard, asked, "Can we really keep... deceiving them?"
"We'll just pretend to raid the stronghold tomorrow. Bring back some loot and say it was easy, thanks to that spellcaster. Who's going to know?" the Captain answered
.
"...!"
"...!"
Their eyes widened again. The Captain shrugged nonchalantly.
"Then we can continue as the village's vigilantes. Maybe even get officially recognized for our efforts," he said.
"Smart as always, Captain," the one-eyed man muttered, admiringly.
But soon after, the bald man voiced his concern.
"Can we really win, though? Against a red mage...?"
"That's exactly why we strike now, you cowardly baldy.
Magic isn't some endless miracle," the Captain cut in sharply.
"With flames like that, he must've exhausted himself clearing the stronghold. He won't have recovered his Mana yet. We're in the twilight of magic now. A mage without Mana is weaker than a child."
He ran his thumb across his throat.
"Just a few stabs with a sword should do. I've seen plenty of spellcasters die pathetically on the battlefield."
"What if he still has some Mana left?" asked the bald man.
"Red magic takes time to cast. If something seems off, we throw our swords first," the Captain replied.
Finally, a spark of resolve lit in the bald man's eyes. He nodded firmly.
"Understood, Captain."
That was a lie. The Captain planned to use his men as bait, to create an opportunity to strike the mage. He trusted his own swordsmanship more.
"Don't worry," the Captain said, patting the bald man's shoulder and hiding his true intentions.
"No great mage would bother coming to such a remote place. The real deals are holed up in the towers. Just stick to the plan as usual..."
Suddenly, the Captain's voice trailed off. Peering into the darkness, he crouched down.
"Shh, he's coming."
"...!" Startled, the bald man and the one-eyed man quickly ducked to either side of the path.
Thud—
Thud—
Someone was approaching with uneven, slow footsteps.
"Fuck, this is heavy..." a voice grumbled. The stench of blood, burning, and sweat mingled together, assailing their nostrils.
The mage's figure emerged, a mess of ash and blood. His hood and even his sword were nowhere to be seen.
He limped on one leg and cradled something in his arms: a head with horns on its forehead. It was the head of a Crobon, much larger than any the Captain had ever seen.
That spellcaster really did destroy the Crobon stronghold. Insane…
The Captain felt a wave of relief as he realized it was the head of the Crobons chieftain.
Now was the only time to kill him.
The mage was clearly in no state to cast spells. The Captain waited for him to come within striking distance, then signaled to his men.
The bald man and the one-eyed man silently rose, swords drawn. Even in the darkness, the blades faintly shimmered.
"…?"
The mage tilted his head in confusion, but it was too late for secrecy. They were only six or seven steps away. A single leap would bring them within striking distance. The Captain, confident of victory, finally stood up.
"It's better if you stop right there," he spoke firmly, gripping his sword.
The mage stopped.
"Ah..." As the mage sighed, the Captain quickly added,
"Don't even move your mouth. And that," he nodded toward the chieftain's head,
"put it down. Then, your life will be spared."
A moment of silence followed. Then, the mage scoffed.
"As you wish."
He released his grip on the head. As it fell, his hand was revealed, glowing with a bright blue magic.
"…!"
The Captain's eyes widened in shock.
How did he—, he thought, instinctively crying out,
"Loose!"
Whizz!
A crossbow bolt whistled through the air from behind the mage.
Another of the vigilante group members, lying in ambush, had shot his crossbow.
Swoosh!
Almost simultaneously, a gray mist swirled behind the mage.
"Argh!"
The bald man dropped to one knee.
The bolt meant for the mage had lodged itself in his thigh instead.
"Ugh, aah!"
There was no time to comprehend what had just happened. The one-eyed man charged at the mage with a roar, followed closely by the Captain.
Whoosh—
A burst of wind, tinged with the smell of burning, suddenly pushed them away. This wind barrier, which had diverted the bolt, only lasted a moment.
Clap!
But it was enough time for the mage to clap his hands together.
Swoosh!
A wave of bright blue coldness burst from the mage, spreading out in concentric circles. Everything caught in the wave instantly froze.
"…!"
The one-eyed man, hit by the wave at close range, stumbled past the mage and collapsed.
Crack.
The sound of ice breaking echoed as his body hit the ground. The Captain, who had been behind him, was relatively lucky.
"Ah, ah..." He suffered severe frostbite over his entire body. The spell's range wasn't wide.
The mage glanced down at the fallen Captain amidst the icy shards, then turned away. In his hand, red magic was already flickering again.
Fwoosh—
Fwoosh—
Seven small flames, each the size of a fist, sprouted around the mage.
He launched six of them toward the rear.
Boom,
boom,
boom,
boom, boom, boom!
Though not precisely aimed, the explosions were powerful enough.
"Aaaah!" Even the hidden vigilante members were caught in the blasts.
"Save, save me—!" cried out the bald man.
Boom!
Whoosh—
The final flame engulfed the bald man, who was already a mess of tears and snot, setting his head ablaze. .
The surroundings brightened from the fire. Despite trembling, the Captain managed to look up at the mage's face.
"How... how can you..."
The Captain's lips barely moved.
"...use both fire and ice... simultaneously?"
He was a former imperial soldier, familiar with mages. He knew they typically specialized in magic of a single element and were sensitive about their knowledge, never sharing spells. This was common knowledge in the empire.
"Do what?" The mage picked up the Captain's fallen sword, speaking with annoyance.
"Because I'm a MOD character."
"MOD... character?" asked the Captain, confused, but those were his last words.
Crack.
The mage mercilessly slashed his throat with the sword.
"Annoying bastards..."
He sighed again, then bent down to search the Captain's body, a movement he seemed all too familiar with. Soon, he pulled up a small pouch.
Opening its slightly frozen mouth, the mage clicked his tongue.
"Hoped for something better with such a decent sword."
Just a few coins. If the Captain had so little, his men wouldn't have much either.
Nevertheless, the mage thoroughly searched the pockets of the bald man and the one-eyed man, too. After collecting a few more meager pouches, he finally turned away. Suddenly, his gaze fell on his hand.
"...Now this doesn't make me tremble anymore," he muttered bitterly, picking up the kobold chieftain's head again.
"Ah, it's cold," the mage said.
The chieftain's head was also frozen solid.
"Always something new, really..."
Using the Captain's sword as a walking stick, the mage limped away, leaving the bodies behind.
Squeak—
Bang!
The door to the tavern was flung open with force.
The chatter inside ceased abruptly, as if sliced by a knife. The eyes of the drunken patrons unanimously focused on the man who had entered.
Yet, no one shouted or expressed anger.
They simply blinked in stunned silence. The man, looking like he had returned from hell, was not only alarming in appearance but also carried a gruesomely large head in his arms, its face frozen in an expression of pain and fear.
Thud—
thud—
Ignoring the stares, the man made his way into the tavern and headed straight for the counter.
Bang!
He carelessly dropped the monster's head onto it. The muscular innkeeper, who had been nodding off, jerked awake.
"This is...? Oh. Huh."
Initially confused, the innkeeper looked at the chieftain's head and then let out a forced chuckle.
"You really wiped out the stronghold. Wasn't expecting that. Thank you." Despite the innkeeper's gratitude, the man offered no response. Instead, he raised his right hand.
Crack!
A sword was embedded into the counter.
"...?"
The innkeeper's frown turned into a realization as he gazed at the sword. A sigh escaped his lips.
"You encountered the vigilantes."
He recognized whose sword it was.
"Yeah," the man finally replied curtly.
"Are they all dead?"
"Yeah," the man replied, fixing his gaze on the innkeeper. The silence in the tavern grew even heavier. Despite the man being smaller, the innkeeper found himself unable to move under his gaze.
"Is that all you have to say?" the man asked.
The innkeeper met his eyes. They were calm, deep black pools, but the murderous intent within them was just as tranquil and profound.
"...You did well," the innkeeper responded, barely managing to withstand that intense gaze.
"Those bastards. They did nothing but guzzle meat and drink without contributing anything, right?"
Several of the patrons quickly agreed.
"Yeah! They called themselves vigilantes, but they were no different from thieves. Good riddance to those scoundrels!"
"A burden on the village gone, two for the price of one!"
This also served as a passionate plea for their innocence.
None of them had the courage to confront the man who single-handedly annihilated the kobold stronghold and wiped out the entire vigilante group.
"...I see." Finally, the man nodded. As he pulled the sword out of the counter, he spoke.
"You haven't forgotten the payment for the job, have you?"
Swallowing a sigh of relief, the innkeeper nodded.
"As promised, room and board in our tavern will be free for life. And if you want, we can scrape together some extra coins. It won't be much; times are tough."
"That's alright. I just want a good night's rest," the man said, casually reattaching his sword at his waist.
"Just prepare a hot bath for me. Right now."
"Right away. How much should I keep it ready?" the innkeeper signaled nervously to the barmaid
"Until I say it's enough," the man limped up the stairs.
"By the way, we never got your name. What is it?" the innkeeper asked, watching him go.
"Zen." His reply was brief, as before.
"Let's hang this head on the wall! Hahaha, it's so ugly!"
"It looks like you. Got any kobold ancestors?"
"What did you just say, you bastard?"
The noisy chatter reverberated clearly up to the floor.
"...So damn noisy." Zen, sitting in the bathtub, clicked his tongue. Even as he grumbled, he continued scrubbing his body. It was his third change of bathwater, and he had washed away most of the grime, but the feeling of dirtiness still had not gone away.
"If only there were even a cucumber soap, I'd have no more wishes." Zen chuckled to himself at the thought.
"No more wishes, my ass..." His greatest wish was something else—to return to his original world.
Zen slumped back into the tub, staring at the cobweb-filled ceiling and muttered softly,
"...I shouldn't have used illegal downloads in the first place."
It was about a year ago that he had found himself in this world one that lacked a couple of unimportant things like basic hygiene and fundamental human rights.
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(To be Continue)