"Oh, please—you're just a loser, plain and simple." Facing Montport's seething rage, Charles only pressed on, mocking, "What's the matter, can't swallow your pride?"
Montport ground his teeth. But, knowing that Charles's strange purification power could truly obliterate his soul, he forced himself to swallow his anger. "Of course, I admit it!"
Still, the fire inside him raged.
Just wait, Charles. I don't buy that your good luck will last forever! The day you get ambushed and fall from grace—that's the day I rise again!
Demon Lords can wait a thousand years for their revenge!
...
Charles had no interest in whatever dark schemes Montport was cooking up. After thoroughly taunting and insulting the Demon Lord, he sheathed his weapon and made to grab some lunch.
Just then, a mosquito buzzed by his ear, and Andny's voice came through:
"Master, there's someone here to see you!"
Charles paused. "Who is it?"
"Umm… I think he's the captain of the South Harbor District Guard? Name's Chauvin, or something like that," Andny reported. "I'm not usually the one to deal with these folks—Sephera's talking to him right now."
"Master, do you want to come?"
Charles's eyes lit up. "Absolutely!"
He instantly knew what this was about—Blackstaff Tower's purge order had to be officially out, and the South Harbor District was about to receive its assignment.
He'd given Anno special instructions to pass his name along up top, so when orders came down, he'd be included. That meant Chauvin's visit must be to hash out those plans.
"Tell him to wait a moment; I'm changing." With that, Charles slipped into the dressing room.
At the monastery gate, Sephera stood in a pitch-black habit, her body inclined slightly forward, hands pressed together in a prayerful posture, her expression quiet and pious as she faced the few Guards from South Harbor District.
Even with her curves mostly hidden by the heavy nun's habit—and Sephera herself not being especially buxom—her shapely physique still drew more than a few lingering glances from the Guards. A couple of them couldn't help but swallow nervously.
Luckily for them, though desires ran hot, they knew spellcasters were no joke. For mere Level 1 Warriors, they knew better than to cross someone so far out of their league. Aside from a bit of sneaky side-eye, they didn't dare make a move.
At the front of the group stood their chief—Chauvin.
He was a massive, brawny white man, standing well over six feet with a frame close to 200 pounds; his face was broad and rough, the back of his neck sunburned brick-red.
If not for his standard-issue South Harbor Guard chainmail vest and the badge-marked cap on his head, you'd take one look and peg him for a thug or brute who bullied the innocent.
Yet right now, this tough-as-nails police chief wore a face of pure flattery—hyper-attentive, eyes darting toward the monastery's gates, as if waiting for the big shot whose decision might shape his fate.
He didn't have to wait long. The gates swung open, and Charles strode out, now dressed in black priest's robes, eyes locking immediately on the visitor. "Chief Chauvin?"
Though this guy wasn't any kind of epic boss, much like Alan and his slum tavern, as one of the district's staple NPCs, Charles knew him well enough.
Basically… he was a guy with more ambition than talent, always bullying the weak, sucking up to the strong, and chasing after anything that lined his pockets. If you had muscle, status, or wealth, you could easily control him.
At hearing his name, Chauvin's face split into a toady, obsequious smile. "That's me—Priest Charles! It's a real honor to meet you!"
No kidding. The orders today came straight from Mithral District's City Hall. Word was Charles had a ninety percent chance of becoming some noble's future son-in-law.
Who wouldn't be honored?
Plus, Chauvin had his own little schemes: if he buttered up this Mr. Charles enough, maybe he'd remember him—and someday Chauvin might get reassigned to a cushy, well-paid post in Mithral District. Dreaming about that future, Chauvin's grin only grew wider.
Charles eyed the man's hulking frame—even more brutish in person than any 2D game sprite—and nodded, faintly satisfied.
Perfect. Peel away the Guard uniform, and he'd make a perfect executioner.
So be it, Chief Chauvin. Take the fall for me like a champ!
Ahem.
"Honored to meet you, too, Chief." Charles offered a relaxed smile and got right to business. "Chief Chauvin, you're busy as always—what brings you to the monastery today? Have you been moved by the goddess's teachings and come to receive baptism, maybe join our faith?"
Chauvin's toady grin didn't change. "Priest, you're too funny. Actually, I'm sure you'll recall—recently, you filed a report to City Hall, about devil worshipers lurking in Liberl Port?"
It wasn't me, it was just a clue I gave my girlfriend—but whatever she did with it, that's beyond me, Charles thought to himself, but kept a straight face. "Ah, yes, there was some business about that. Why do you ask?"
"City Hall gave me direct orders to join forces with you to root out any cultist elements in South Harbor District." Chauvin's smile bloomed like a chrysanthemum. "Uh, this is no small matter; and as it happens, it's lunch hour—Priest, would you be willing to discuss things over a meal?"
Charles nodded, not declining. "Sounds good. Sephera, you can eat with the other sisters—I'll have lunch here instead."
Sephera nodded gently while Charles strode forward, wearing a dazzling smile. "After you, Chief Chauvin."
Chauvin nodded. "Right this way."
...
There weren't many decent places to eat in South Harbor, so in the end, Chauvin took Charles to a seafood place he frequented.
He and Charles shared a table, his four guards sat at another, and Chauvin ordered up a mountain of seafood—clearly hoping to curry favor with Charles by going all out.
No big deal; it was all on the district office's tab. He didn't care.
He even wanted to pop open a couple bottles of wine to celebrate, apparently not caring how he'd work his shift drunk.
Charles, ultimately unable to stomach it, firmly insisted business came before pleasure, so Chauvin didn't actually drink.
Even so, all through the meal, the compliments didn't stop: how impressive it was that Charles had amassed such wealth at a young age, defeated an Abyssal Lord, destined to become a legendary mage, blah, blah, blah…
Charles nearly got sick of it, having to drag the conversation back to business again and again before they actually talked about anything important.
At least there was no drinking, so the lunch wrapped up in a reasonable time. After the check (charged to the district office, naturally), Chauvin belched his satisfaction, then led Charles and his men back to Guard headquarters to prep for the next phase.
"…So, if you believe the key to rooting out cultists is getting a handle on South Harbor's lawless elements…" Chauvin dragged a chair up for Charles, only sitting himself after Charles was settled, then slouched into his office chair, panting as if lunch had practically killed him.
He rummaged through the drawers beneath his massive wooden desk, talking as he searched. "Well, as it happens, I have a list right here. All the lawless types in South Harbor: human traffickers, drug dealers, arms runners, smugglers—you name it… Ah, here we are!"
He pulled out a thick stack of files and thumped them down in front of Charles. "Take a look. Some of this might be outdated—like, Kendrz is dead, so naturally his whole crew scattered to the four winds, ha!"
"But aside from that, the rest should all be solid."
Charles flipped through a few pages and couldn't help looking a little surprised.
It wasn't shocking that Chauvin kept tabs on all this—after all, as police chief and the man running the only armed force in South Harbor, he'd have to be a complete idiot not to know who really controlled his turf.
What Charles hadn't expected was just how thorough this list was—like Chauvin had been prepping for years, simply waiting for the right person to show up so he could finally pull out the roots of every last tumor choking the district!
"Is this list current?" Charles asked. Chauvin's face flashed a smug look. "Of course! Anyone not on here isn't likely to last long anyway!"
"All those little gangs—Eagle Claw Gang, Tiger Head Gang, whatever—they look fierce, act all tough, but when it comes down to it, they crumple like paper in front of me. None of them can really make waves!"