Mentos skipped all the permissions from elementary, middle, and high school, and opened a restriction for Lann at the university level.
Sounds impressive.
But at this stage, neither Lann nor Mentos can feel any use for it.
It's just a restriction, not outright clearance; the brain's computing power and permissions are still locked at Human Union's elementary school level.
So in the future, maybe the [university level course completion] will be a bit easier?
Lann decided not to dwell on it for now.
"So, you're the village elder of Auridon, Allen?"
Inside the village tavern where a murder had taken place, Lann patted the rain from his head and asked with his head tilted.
Even though outside was shrouded in rain and thunderclouds, and the dim room was lit by a single candle that barely illuminated half the old man's body,
Lann's lowered beastly eyes still caught a lot of detail with sharpness.
A typical northern peasant.
His face was etched with weary numbness, covered in wrinkles. Thick calluses ran across his fingers, and his body had warped slightly from years of heavy labor, one shoulder higher than the other.
Even as the village elder, his financial situation only allowed him to wear an extra pair of pointed soft leather boots and chew on a pipe compared to ordinary villagers.
"That's right. Bill, you run a tavern! Don't just stand there, get our guest a glass of water."
You could tell the old man had no wish to talk to Lann.
But eyeing the Roaring Bear Head Necklace around the young man's neck, he pursed his lips and had no choice but to sit with him at the same table.
Even so, only half of his butt touched the bench, as if ready to run at any moment.
"Sorry, Demon Hunter. But... but we haven't issued any contracts recently. I don't know what you're here for?"
There were a few villagers in the tavern, but the moment Lann came in, they immediately distanced themselves from him, staring with wariness and alienation.
As if guarding against some source of plague.
The bartender named Bill kept wiping his hands after putting down the water.
Lann could sense the disgust and fear in the air, something all too familiar to him.
Even though he'd only been in this world a short time, he already understood clearly just how twisted the "racial hatred" he'd never truly felt in his past life could be here.
Vaguely, Lann felt that this atmosphere was being deliberately stirred up by someone.
He hadn't read the history books here, but his previous education had provided plenty of parallel cases.
So Lann looked at the villagers before him with both pity and resentment.
Resentment because of how easily they were manipulated.
Pity because perhaps, after a whole lifetime, they'd never realize they had been.
"Of course, you haven't issued a contract, and I didn't come for one."
Lann said calmly, carefully avoiding direct eye contact with his feline eyes for their comfort.
His mind spun faster after getting the brain, but it also tended to wander. At the moment he was making an effort to gather his thoughts; outwardly, though, no one could tell any change in emotion.
"Then you...?"
Elder Allen hesitated, the cheap stench of alcohol on his breath making Lann's nostrils twitch.
"Not long ago, there was another Demon Hunter wearing the same necklace as me. He killed two people here, right?"
The tone remained flat, but the reaction in the tavern was immediate and fierce.
A burst of commotion rippled through the already wary, hostile stares—which now turned a little savage.
"He's here to make trouble? Wants us to keep our mouths shut to the lord?!"
"We should get revenge! It was that mutant bastard who killed two of ours!"
"He's alone, we can gang up and toss him into the lake!"
The low murmurs from the villagers did not escape Lann's notice, but his calm never wavered.
By now, Elder Allen had completely lifted off the bench, poised to bolt at any sign of trouble.
But after all, he was a village elder—shrewder than most.
"Demon Hunter, we... we can't meddle with Lord Viserad's wanted notice. There's no point in you coming here."
The old man tried one last time to avoid bloodshed.
Not from any love of peace, nor reverence for life. In these times, every village couldn't afford to lose able-bodied laborers to injury or death.
The fragility of a small agrarian economy.
As adrenaline surged, the villagers' breathing grew heavy and they started groping for weapons, thinking themselves subtle.
Lann didn't want to see any bloodshed either, so for the first time since entering the room, he raised his gaze to glance at the agitated crowd.
In that instant, the feverish villagers were doused as if with a bucket of cold water.
In the gloom, a Demon Hunter's cat eyes would glow!
Magic existed in this world, but it was rare and mysterious—far beyond a bunch of peasants' experience.
A group of medieval farmers suddenly faced a man with glowing cat's eyes.
Even fear and awe left them speechless for a moment.
"The Demon Hunter who killed in your village is already dead. I'm not here to cover up his mess."
Lann's voice was so calm it was cold as he spoke to the elder.
He knew when to wield tone to retain respect. The playful, relaxed air he'd used with Mentos was nowhere to be found now.
"The Supreme Grandmaster of the Bear School heard about Bordeaux—the murderer—and what happened here. He also heard the local lord valued the case, so he invoked the sacred internal tradition to send me to offer some compensation."
This was a lie.
Heinkawei Castle was nothing but ruins now, and as for a Bear School Supreme Grandmaster?
Lann felt no sense of belonging to his school or even to the "Demon Hunter" identity. So flying the flag to trick ignorant villagers cost him nothing.
Old Allen hesitated, then sat back down.
"That's... much appreciated. Bill! Why are you still daydreaming? This is a tavern! I told you to bring a drink, not just water! Bring out something with taste!"
He scolded the bartender to vent his fear, but turned back to Lann with a nervous air.
"May I ask your name?"
The young man paused almost imperceptibly at that.
But then smoothly replied, "Lann of Sintra."
Bordeaux's full public title was Bordeaux of Sintra.
"Very well, Mr. Lann. But... but I've never heard of a mutant—Demon Hunter—doing such a thing?"
The youth's answer came harsh and unfriendly:
"You didn't listen? 'Local lord's concern.' Viserad is Velen's lord. To keep working here legally in the future, we have to consider his feelings. You think we hand out compensation every time someone gets killed?"
Compared to the earlier conversation, Lann's tone was now downright rude, but Old Allen visibly dropped most of his guard.
The villagers behind him were the same.
Because this fit their worldview.
Doing good meant losing out. Those forced to lose out sound bitter—that's normal.
If someone was forced to bear a loss, you'd expect their words to be sour. That's only right.
The bartender, resentful before, now hurried to pour a brimming glass and walked it over to Lann.
"Oh, is that so?! May Meretelli bless you, Demon Hunter Master. We're just fishermen, not much learning—please forgive what happened just now."
"Bill! You idiot! Don't give the guest cheap horse piss! Bring out your Royal Vizima!"
Turning back, Old Allen's tone turned cozy and solicitous.
"So, about the compensation—how much Oren are we talking?"
Allen's wrinkled face bloomed into a grin as he eyed Lann up and down, pipe dangling from his lips, seeking sight of a stuffed money pouch, his hands rubbing together like flies.
But facing that greedy smile, the young man merely raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"So, Elder Allen. You can arrange food and a place to stay for me, right?"
...
"Huh?!"
The man anticipating gold coin gaped wide-eyed, locking eyes with those cat's eyes.
...Wait, doesn't this logic seem off?
And right then, in Lann's head, Mentos gave a meaningful "Ohhh."
At this moment, the shared-brained AI saw that its master's actions, besides fulfilling his moral code... seemed to come with some practical benefit, too?!