With the number of clients exceeding what a single man could manage, Marcus was forced to intervene. He straightened his back as he descended.
"The Forum requires an equal exchange," he said calmly, pointing toward the elderly man in the white suit. "However, since the demand exceeds that limit, the client may instead place his personal belongings for bidding."
With that, he escorted them into a larger room, where the man in the white suit was to conduct an auction.
The man spoke without hesitation. "I wish to request an assassination."
Earlier, his desire had merely been to obtain information. Now, driven by rising demand, he had altered it into something far more severe. Marcus noticed the greed burning behind the man's eyes, but he said nothing. Perhaps it was not his place to judge.
Even so, the participants of the small auction quickly realized that the request far exceeded the value of a simple exchange of information.
"An assassination is far too much to ask," one of them protested. "The Eastern Sector is under constant surveillance by security officials."
Another chimed in, "Who exactly is the target?"
Both the bespectacled nerdy man and Rosacer chose to remain silent, listening rather than participating. For one, the request itself was already excessive. For the other, it would be far more beneficial if someone else managed to provoke the elderly man first.
The elderly man answered the latter question calmly. "A head hunter by the name of Darious Daken."
The moment the name left his lips, the room fell into dead silence.
Then, almost immediately, one person after another began to leave.
As he passed the doorway, one of them muttered under his breath, "That is fucking suicide you are asking for."
Curses were thrown toward the old man as the room emptied. Chairs scraped against the floor, footsteps hastened, and within moments, nearly everyone was gone.
Even the bespectacled man chose to leave, his composure breaking the instant the name was revealed.
In the end, only Rosacer remained.
Rosacer did not move.
The door shut behind the last man, leaving only the elderly man, Marcus, and himself within the enlarged chamber.
The candles wavered nervously, as though even the light longed to escape the name that had been uttered.
Marcus glanced at Rosacer. "So, I'm guessing you'll accept?"
Rosacer inclined his head. "I do."
There was no other choice; he needed to earn money quickly. It would also be a good chance to explore his abilities further. Since arriving in the mist city, he hadn't been able to fight because the opponents were incredibly strong and possessed strange powers.
A headhunter seemed like an easier opponent than a ruler's apprentice.
And if he needed to abandon the mission, he could easily do so.
Marcus cut in before the elderly man could speak. "You don't need to worry about the security department punishing you for taking down a headhunter—they find them a nuisance too. So rest assured, you're safe from them."
He said this to keep Rosacer from overthinking.
The elderly man studied Rosacer closely, fingers tightening around his wooden cane. "You will accept?"
"Yes," came the reply.
"Hmmm, but there will be no further compensation, remember it" the old man said, driving the final nail into the coffin of the argument.
Rosacer gave a firm nod in response.
A thin smile crept onto the old man's lips....
Mist curled through the cold of the night, broken by brief bursts of wind winding through the narrow alleyways.
Rosacer held the parchment open, his eyes moving across the basic information recorded about Darious Daken.
[Darious Daken of the Daken tribe.
Residence: Eastern side of the city.
Confirmed kills: Approximately thirty.
Physique: Small build, estimated height 152 cm.
Behavior: Extremely agile.
Weapon: Dagger forged from a dark stone of unknown origin.
Appearance: Face heavily lined with deep wrinkles. Whether this is the result of mutation or advanced age remains uncertain. The grooves are so pronounced that his expression resembles a constant, unnatural smile.
Attire: Tight, dark-colored clothing, body fully covered.]
Below it followed the list of victims.
[Victims: Heads removed and retained by the hunter. Names—]
Rosacer read through them carefully. At first glance, there appeared to be only one common trait among the victims. All were male. This aligned with the head-hunter tradition of claiming the heads of worthy opponents. By that logic, Darious hunted the strong, no different from others of his kind.
But the names told a different story.
Among them were children.
Rosacer's fingers tightened slightly around the parchment.
"This one is a psychopath."
Mist City had long since been stripped of happiness and peace. Even so, children were a rare sight within its borders.
And now something was hunting them.
Rosacer moved on, heading toward the site of the hunt. Even though any evidence would likely have long since vanished, he chose to see the place with his own eyes.
Along the way, he passed several security officials at work. Some trailed suspects from a distance, while others restrained criminals in the open streets. The Eastern Sector was unusually active.
"Why was his name never placed on the bounty board?" Rosacer wondered.
The question lingered. Perhaps there was more to the headhunters than simple criminality.
He directed the question inward, addressing the system.
The interface shimmered into existence before him.
[Headhunters: A nomadic tribal group originating from the eastern continent. They hunted strong individuals as a cultural tradition. Over time, they established a small kingdom of their own. During the Great War, they were conscripted as expendable foot soldiers by the Rise Empire. Under the leadership of Kingstone Nowill of the Rise Empire, a large portion of their population perished. Their kingdom eventually collapsed due to starvation, a consequence of Kingstone Nowill's war strategy.]
Rosacer's gaze hardened as the text faded.
"So that was the reason."
Not criminals by origin, but remnants of a people ground down by history, used until nothing remained. And yet, whatever tragedy had shaped them, it did not excuse what Darious Daken had become.
Being a victim didn't mean you were absolved. Rosacer had never been one to mix those up. But right now, there was a far more pressing question on his mind.
"How did such a tribe end up in Crescitlok?" He asked quietly.
The system responded at once, projecting a new window before him.
[After the emergence of the Karmic Dungeon of the Catacombs, a vast region of the continent was consumed. Crescitlok, the Daken-Sarious Empire, Dahaksetra, and even the Realm of Elements were engulfed within its domain.]
Rosacer stared at the text as it slowly dimmed...
He was already at the site. He searched the whole area for any kind of clue left behind. The victim was a baker, formerly an herbalist who baked sweet and effective healthy cakes. There was no sign of a fighter in him. Yet the hunter had come to hunt this weak man.
He searched every corner and nook.
Beyond the doorway where the body was found, there were marks of discoloration.
Rosacer found it odd. He checked the site once more but came up empty, so he moved on to another one.
By the third night, he found the pattern.