...
SNAP!
The scrawny old man smashed the book-shaped transmission device. He tore the expensive communication book to shreds and hurled it onto the filthy floor.
"GOD DAMN IT!!!"
The old man roared. He had wasted more than three months and a pile of money only to gather a bunch of useless garbage.
He cracked his knuckles, glanced back at the room behind him—which reeked of trash and maggots—and snapped his fingers to create a flame to burn it all to ash.
He was a Level 1 member of the One Line organization, and he was currently investigating the Level 1 Ron Irus on behalf of a Level 0 superior.
But despite the boss's growing trust in him, he was turning into a total laughingstock. If the Level 0 found out about this, wouldn't his neck be wrung?
Thinking back, Ron Irus was merely a petty Level 4 within the organization just a few months ago. Yet out of nowhere, he shot up like a firework, completing difficult missions to reach Level 1 despite his magic core being only Level 3.
Unlike this scrawny old man, who had wasted over a year and only got recognized to be sent on grueling missions related to the fate of the One Line organization once his core reached Level 8.
After all, he had climbed his way up from a Level 4 protection-money collector, to a Level 3 market manager, to a Level 2 street overseer, and now a Level 1 soldier. To see a mere brat leapfrog to the exact same rank after his own endless, grueling journey—it was infuriating.
...
"..."
Ron Irus walked down a street in a residential area, casually stepping past the judgmental glares of the crowd.
Surrounding him were food stalls and shops. Even though this village sat on the fringes of the Empire, its scale could easily rival a small city from his old world.
Ron casually stopped by a snack stall, nonchalantly took a skewer of meat, and ate it, completely ignoring the vendor's staring eyes.
"..."
The vendor merely glanced over, then noted it down in the ledger. According to the rules of One Line, even though high-ranking members held immense authority over the streets they managed, there were still many restrictions binding them.
One of those was a strict ban on freeloading. Even as the dominant protection gang of the area, they could hardly stand their ground if thousands of people filed lawsuits against them. If things escalated to a large-scale lawsuit that drew the attention of high-ranking judges, it would mean their deaths.
Therefore, no matter how powerful a Level 1 was, they had to both satisfy the public and abide by the law. Thus, Ron only dared to have them put it on his tab rather than making a scene.
Ron bit into the spiral-shaped grilled meat on the skewer, his expression looking as if he were eating trash. Yet, he didn't spit it out; after all, people were watching him here.
He walked to the end of the street, reaching a row of houses lined up like an alley, and entered a rather worn-out building.
This was his home—at least, the apartment he rented. Ron stood before the door, but he didn't intend to enter just yet, as his eyes remained glued to the ceiling where a fragile, broken black thread hung.
"...An intruder?"
The absolute calm in his voice carried a strange touch of disdain, as if the secrets those intruders might have uncovered weren't even worth his concern.