Three days had passed since Hermes and his butler began their covert operation. They had moved through the streets like ghosts, gathering fragments of information without tripping any alarms. The investigation was proceeding with a precision that should have been comforting, yet Justin's constant reminders to stay vigilant hung heavy in the air. Overconfidence was a luxury they couldn't afford—especially not here.
An hour later, Hermes finally let his guard drop, resting on a weathered bench beneath a massive oak tree near the riverbank. His legs were stiff, aching from the relentless exploration of the village's winding corridors. He sat cross-legged, hands clasped over his lap in a posture of forced refinement.
"Phew, this is the life," Hermes muttered.
The harmonic hymn of the birds offered a vibrant backdrop that finally put his mind at ease. A cold breeze swept in from the east; it made him shiver initially, but soon enough, the chill became a refreshing companion. He watched the few citizens strolling nearby, taking in the picturesque view of a village that, by all accounts, should have been in ruins.
Yet, behind his relaxed facade, his eyes remained sharp. He was deep in contemplation.
'How can a village recover from a territory-wide war without its Lord's assistance? How do they maintain this level of peace without a single hindrance?' He checked his watch: nearly 4:00 PM. He exhaled a long, exhausting sigh. Despite days of digging and eavesdropping on local gossip, the core mystery of Neue Fiona remained frustratingly out of reach.
"Boss, are you alright?" Justin asked, stepping closer. His eyes never stopped scanning the perimeter. "Should I fetch you some food and drink?"
Hermes blinked, taking a few seconds to refocus on his butler. "Right. I suppose we should eat. By the way, Justin... is this truly a village, or a town? The scale is massive. The architecture is unique, and the 15th-century pavements are impeccably maintained—at least in this district. Yet the market systems and regional policies are inconsistent and weaker than I expected."
He lowered his voice, muttering to himself, "I still don't understand why I even attacked my own territory in the first place. It makes no sense."
"Pardon, my Don? What was that?" Justin asked with concern.
"Never mind. It's nothing," Hermes ordered, pointing toward a storefront a few blocks back. "Go get some food. Something not too sweet, but with a refined taste. I'm going to rest here for a bit. I'll keep in touch."
As Justin departed, Hermes began mentally mapping the strange layout of his "territory." The village was divided into five distinct zones, each managed by its own representative:
The 1st District: The administrative heart. Home to the Village Hall, the Camelia family's estates, and the Holy Church. It served as the primary hub for all international trade.The 2nd District: The intellectual center. This was where the newspapers were printed and where the primary school stood.The 3rd District (Current Location): The "Tourist Jewel." Home to the Neue Fiona Park and the orphans' school. It was the village's main financial artery, though the lack of a proper transportation plan and road funding made travel difficult.The 4th District: The residential sprawl for the middle class and immigrants. Safe by day, but a playground for bandits by night. It housed a massive temple for the "Immortal Elders"—a building that had never existed in the original game code.The 5th District: The forbidden zone. In the game, this was the site of the "Elven Fry Massacre," a quest involving elven races. Hermes remembered refusing to add elves to the game back on Earth, yet in this world, they existed. The district was now a lawless base for criminals.
Justin tilted his head, noticing the visible stress on his master's face. However, his attention quickly shifted. Fifty meters away, near the first block, a figure was lingering in the shadows.
'Someone is watching us,' Justin noted, his lips curling into a sharp, crescent moon smirk.
"I shall return immediately, my Don," Justin said, bowing respectfully. "Anything not too sweet, with a good scent and a convenient appearance. I will handle it. Please stay away from trouble while I am gone."
"Go on," Hermes waved him off dismissively. "I'm not going anywhere."
As Justin turned the corner, his smile widened. He wasn't just going for food; he was going to hunt a stalker.
Left alone, Hermes turned his gaze back to the blue sky.
Hermes remained on the bench, his eyes tracing the slow movement of the clouds across the azure sky. "What a beautiful view. The village has a simple life, just like the game intended. But," he whispered, a shadow crossing his face, "it isn't as beautiful as my country. A place bound by rich resources, home to smiling faces and the best singers in the world."
The humid air and the specific scent of the river reminded him of his former life on Earth. To him, this island was a mere speck; his homeland had more than 7,100 islands, a vast emerald archipelago that made this territory feel like a cage.
'I wish I could go back. Damn it, that Stump G must die at all cost,' he grimaced, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the wooden bench.
A few minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. Hermes's brow furrowed. Justin was a man of absolute efficiency; a simple errand for snacks shouldn't take this long. Unease settled in his gut. He stood up, deciding to follow the path his butler had taken toward the second block.
'I wonder what happened to that man,' he worried.
As he approached the corner near the candy store, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew heavy, thick with a sudden, suffocating pressure. Hermes's heart hammered against his ribs. Without warning, he unruly knelt down on one knee, his body acting before his mind could process the threat. He leaned his left shoulder against a rough brick sidewall, gasping for air.
This was the [Maternal Danger Instinct]—a minor, non-combat ability of the original Hermes Archnemesis. Game players had mocked it as a "coward's radar," but in this reality, it was the only thing stopping him from walking into a death trap.
He tried to stand, but his legs were like lead. Suddenly, a thin, white material slapped directly onto his face.
Infuriated and startled, he ripped the object away. It was a newspaper. But as he looked around, the candy store was gone. The vibrant park was gone. The world had warped.
'W-where am I? Did this paper do this to me?' he stammered, his eyes widening in panic.
He looked down at the headlines. They were written in a font that pulsed with a mocking, ethereal light.
BREAKING NEWS:
[Mission Failed: Failed to start sub-quests. Why didn't you do this?]
[Mission Failed: Failed to save the Priestess.]
[Mission Failed: Failed to secure the Shadow Realm.]
[Reputation: -100, you moron.]
[Mission Failed: Unable to establish business.]
[Mission Failed: You bastard got betrayed and sold out.]
[Reputation: It's getting even worse, you moron.]
[Penalty: Due to lack of effort, the villain will be punished and skipped directly to the Main Quest.]
Hermes looked around, and his stomach churned. The environment was a nightmare of urban decay. The street was dull, covered in a thick layer of soot and specks of oily dirt. Dry, skeletal plants scattered across the road like tumbleweeds. The pavements were wrecked, jagged stones protruding from the earth, surrounded by piles of rotting trash that attracted swarms of black flies.
Worst of all was the smell. The open canal nearby was a stagnant soup of filth, flooded with the corpses of rodents and the floating waste of animals and humans alike.
'D-don't tell me... Goddamn it, Stump G!'
Fifth District, Neue Fiona Village5:44:11 PM
Nearby, a crooked wooden sign hung from a single rusted nail outside a dilapidated tavern: "BEWARE OF BANDITS!" Hermes gulped, his throat dry. He looked for a way out, hoping to reach Gate 4, but the streets were a labyrinth of shadows. No guards. No law. Just the cold breeze from the east that carried the scent of wet iron and decay.
Suddenly, another sheet of paper hit his face. He grabbed it, his temper flaring, but he froze when he read the text:
<< TUTORIAL MODE: ACTIVATED >>
[Mission Objective: Cross the old post. A group of goons is assaulting an old lady. Save her, but beware—the victim is not an ordinary resident. Do not get too close.]
[Rewards: Mask of Destruction]
"Stump G... what is this?" he hissed, trembling with rage. "I'm not a hero! I'm a merchant! I'm a villain!"
In a fit of defiance, he tore the newspaper into tiny shreds and threw them into the filthy canal.
[Warning: The Host destroyed the page.]
[Punishment: Force Quest Activated.]
"What the—?!"
Hermes's body suddenly jerked. His legs began to move with mechanical precision, marching him down the alley against his will. His arms swung in rhythm, his spine straight as a rod. He was a passenger in his own skin, a puppet being pulled by invisible strings.
'What the fuck?! My body is moving on its own! Goddamn it, it's out of control!'
His forced march took him toward a large, rotting wooden post at the next corner. As he rounded the bend, the invisible grip suddenly vanished, and he stumbled, gasping as he regained control.
'D-don't tell me... Stump G, stop this madness! Oh? I... I can move again.'
He looked up, and his heart sank. The quest had begun.
"Somebody, help me!"
The scream pierced the stagnant air of the alley, sharp and desperate. An old lady, her clothes tattered and her face etched with terror, reached out toward Hermes the moment she spotted him. In an instant, the group of thugs shifted, their loose formation tightening into a predatory circle that cut off any easy exit.
'Suspicious,' Hermes noted, his developer instincts firing despite the adrenaline.
"I wonder why an old lady like you is wandering around here," Hermes said, scratching his hair with a look of profound disappointment. "Don't you know this goddamn place is dangerous?"
"I-I'm so sorry! Please help me, sire!" she begged, tears streaming down her weathered cheeks.
Hermes stood frozen. 'Should I play along? This feels like a trap.' Usually, the former owner of this body would have turned tail and run. But as he looked back the way he came, a horrifying realization hit him like a physical blow. He hadn't been "transferred" here by a teleportation spell.
"Oh, he really showed up," said Rag, the leader with the red, curled hair. He grinned, his eyes holding a knowing glint that didn't match his thug persona. "You really walked right into the lion's den without a second thought, didn't you, 'Mr. Merchant'?"
The words—walked into the lion's den—echoed in Hermes's mind. He looked down at his muddied boots and the trail of heavy footprints leading back toward the 3rd District. He hadn't popped into existence here; he had marched, mile after mile, through the gates and into the filth of the forbidden zone while his mind was stuck in a fog. He had been walking unconsciously, his limbs moving with the mechanical precision of a robot while he was "away" in his thoughts.
He hated it. The realization that his body could be hijacked by the Newspaper's "Force Quest" logic made his skin crawl. He was a Mafia Boss, a man who should be in absolute control, yet he had been led here like a dog on a leash by a piece of sentient trash paper.
Rag's voice dripped with sarcasm. He knew exactly who was behind the mask—the Mafia Boss, Hermes Archnemesis. Someone had leaked the information that the head of the Archnemesis family was heading for the forbidden district, but Rag had been instructed to play along with the merchant facade for now.
"Someone told us a wealthy merchant was heading straight for the 5th District," Rag continued, chuckling. "We didn't even have to hunt you; you just delivered yourself to us on a silver platter."
"Leader, is that him?" the bald thug on his right asked.
"Yup, it's him," Rag answered, his teeth glinting. "The 'Merchant' who thinks he can stroll through the forbidden zone like it's a park."
A blonde man with a jagged scar stepped forward. "Hey kid, your luck is running out. To think you showed up early to play hero. You're a stupid child, aren't you?"
"Nope," Hermes responded flatly.
"Do you wish for instant death? I'll send you straight to hell."
"Oh, well. Sorry lad, I'm going to heaven. No matter what you do, I won't go to hell," Hermes answered bluntly.
Rag and the others erupted into mocking laughter. Hermes's eyes drifted to a fresh Newspaper pinned to the rotting brick wall.
Tutorial mode:[Secondary Objective: Introduce yourself. Provoke them to fight you.]
Hermes clicked his tongue. 'Fine. I'll give them the name.'
"Greetings, foolish morons," Hermes's mouth began to move, forced by the Newspaper. "My name is Aljen. I am an amateur merchant. I don't know who leaked my location, but I don't care. This is a forced quest. Leave her alone. It's not a request—it's an order."
'Fuuuck! That's not what I want to say!' Hermes screamed inside his mind. His mouth unruly moved according to the original monologue. He had meant to offer them money, but the Newspaper had forced a "Villain's Arrogance" onto his tongue.
"Boss, the 'Merchant' has guts to demand us like that," the shirtless bald man chuckled.
"Excluding the weird mask he wears, that outfit can be sold at a high price. The shoes alone are worth 200 Luzers. If we take him as a slave, we could earn a large portion of money!" said Rag, smiling.
Hermes felt a cold pit in his stomach. If he couldn't fight, he had to bluff.
"Oooh, you dare approach me? Do you really think you can take me down easily? You gotta be kiddin'," Hermes giggled, hands shrugged off.
"Why so confident, brat?" Rag asked, his smile faltering. Even though he knew this was the Mafia Boss, the man was supposedly a physically weak figure. The boy's total lack of fear was unnerving.
"Because I am always confident that I won't lose against you all," Hermes answered bluntly.
"Targeting an old lady... do you guys have no idea that there's authority will get you and bring you to prison?" Hermes placed a hand on his mouth and giggled.
"Of course, we are," Rag chortled. "Some of the guards on that place are working for us, kid. No matter what you do, money will turn them blindly. This means everything is already decided. Not only that, we've already paid out the guards stationed on the Gate, so whatever you do, no help will come. In short, you won't win against us."
Hermes's eyes closed as he contemplated it. 'Poverty invites corruption, and corruption deepens poverty,' he mused. 'What a disappointing reality.'
"Aah, that explains everything. I see. Poverty is the reason for them to work with you. Unbelievable, money prevails over their dignity. What a shitty development. Money corrupted the world too far. Man, what a disappointing reality. Gosh, why Chief Zamor didn't even tell us about this before? Oh, well. You guys are an asshole, so there is no need to pity you all," Hermes laughed.
"Okay, fine. Playtime is over. Capture him," Rag ordered.
Hermes closed his eyes, his mind momentarily drifting back to the economics text he had skimmed earlier that morning.
'Corruption isn't just about the elite getting rich,' he mused. 'It's a regressive tax on the soul of a nation. Poverty invites corruption, and corruption deepens poverty. It's a closed loop that thrives on broken trust.'
"Aah, that explains everything," Hermes said, his voice echoing in the narrow, filth-ridden alley. "Poverty is the bait you use to make the guards bite. Unbelievable. Money prevails over their dignity. What a shitty development. Gosh, why didn't Chief Zamor mention this? Oh, well. You guys are assholes, so there's no need to pity you at all."
Hermes let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Okay, fine. Playtime is over. Capture him!" Rag snarled, his patience snapping.
"Don't move!" Hermes demanded, his voice dropping into a grave, authoritative tone.
"Huh? What now?" Rag paused, his lip curling. "Stop bluffing already, kid."
"Do you truly think I would show up unprepared?" Hermes smirked with a determined face. Inside, he was panicking, but he had to maintain the facade of a fearless merchant.
"You're bluffing," Rag growled, though a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. "There's no way you anticipated this. Take him, men!"
Rag pointed toward Hermes, but his men hesitated. The absolute confidence in the "merchant's" scarlet eyes was unnerving.
"Look at the corner, the red wall, you morons," Hermes chided, pointing a gloved finger toward the Newspaper pinned to the bricks.
"Red wall?" Rag followed the gesture, and his face instantly turned a sickly shade of blue.
"What the hell?!" the bald guy shouted, stumbling back.
'See? I told you,' Hermes cheered up, though internally he was screaming, 'Wait, what am I telling them?!'
Rag bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. He was completely bewildered. 'Wait... we were the ones who received the leak. We were the ones waiting in ambush. But looking at this... it's like he knew we were coming. How? Did he leak his own location just to lure us out?' The misunderstanding began to spiral. 'Oh, he's good. To think he set up a magical crossbow! We thought he was the prey, but we walked right into his trap!'
"Don't move, pal," the bald bandit hissed, grabbing his companion's shoulder. "Something is pointing right at us."
Hermes noticed something odd. 'What are they looking at?' He followed their terrified gazes to a massive, jagged hole in the wall on his right. Hidden in the shadows of the masonry was a heavy, magical crossbow—its bolt glowing with a faint, violet hum.
'Eh? What the heck, it's a crossbow?'
"Darn it, this is not what we expected. Why the hell is there a weapon around here?" Rag complained in a low, shaky voice.
"Sir, I think that weapon is a magical item," the bald guy pointed out, his voice trembling. "It looks like a powerful long-range weapon with an explosive arrow. One shot is enough to kill us all. Damn, this kid has a lot of secrets on his sleeves. No wonder he was so confident to show himself!"
The other bandit suddenly touched his neck, his eyes bulging with fear. "Sir... I'm also in a shit situation. There's a string around my neck."
"What?" Rag turned, his anger replaced by pure dread. "He really got us."
"What is this?" the blonde-haired henchman inquired, barely moving a muscle.
"Don't touch it! That string… that magical string might be a poisonous type. Looking at the purple color, it could be one. I experienced touching something similar in my previous occupation as a merc. One wrong move and your heart stops," the bald bandit explained, wiping sweat from his face.
They all turned their gaze toward Hermes. In their eyes, he was no longer a simple traveler; he was a powerful, calculating opponent who had perfectly anticipated their every move. Rag was spiraling—it made no sense. How could a merchant walk like a mindless robot into an alley unless it was a deliberate provocation to activate his pre-set traps?
'E, a trap? What the hell is he talking about?' Hermes's mind was reeling. 'Seriously, I just warned them to look at the newspaper because I wanted to distract them! I didn't even know there was a crossbow there! What's special about those strings? Unless they mistakenly thought it was a poisonous weapon. Oooh…' His face turned dark, and his scarlet eyes trembled with the scheme. 'What a coincidence.'
"Ooh, you finally realized, maggots?" He shrugged his arms and stepped three steps forward. "You see, I've already held your asses from the beginning. Judging by your ugly and filthy faces, you're a group of stupid assholes who don't like to negotiate in a good way. As the saying goes... to make a dog listen to his master's words, he must give them a little taste of the food to follow his command. Now, now, now…. put down your weapons, raise your hands, and hand over the old lady immediately."