A not particularly strong Beyonder aura, Sequence 8 at most.
Silas glanced at the man while eating breakfast.
He was a middle-aged Loen man with a large anchor tattoo on his thick arms.
He looked utterly downtrodden, unshaven, his expression numb.
He barely touched the breakfast that had been served, just kept tilting his head back to drink hard liquor.
A Beyonder reduced to this state?
Silas felt somewhat suspicious, though he didn't show it.
He finished his breakfast, stood up, and left the dining room.
The older man remained immersed in his alcohol, paying him no attention whatsoever.
Stepping out of the inn, Silas stood on the bustling street.
This was the most prosperous district on Skalter Island.
Further ahead were the Moulin Rouge, casinos, and bars, though none of these establishments had opened yet this early in the morning.
He carefully observed the people.
Based on their ethnicity, the people on the street displayed distinctly different demeanors.
Those of pure Loen descent were naturally the most relaxed and comfortable.
They walked the streets with the air of masters, perfectly at ease.
The locals were more humble.
Most appeared to be servants, fawning over the Loen people they followed.
But when they saw their own countrymen working as beggars or laborers, they'd adopt an arrogant attitude, scolding and shooing them away.
The most wretched were the locals without masters.
They either hauled cargo-laden carts like beasts of burden, kept their heads down doing various menial tasks, or begged along the streets.
The further one went toward the outlying districts, the more pronounced this phenomenon became.
Dilapidated houses crammed with families of ten or more.
Naked children running wild on dirt roads.
Elderly people bent double as they dug into the earth, their eyes vacant as they took in the world the gods had made.
Loen's booming maritime trade had only brought them more hardship.
Silas studied their eyes carefully.
He saw numbness there, exhaustion, and yes, hatred too.
Hatred was good. Where there was hatred, there was the drive for revenge, the impulse to change the status quo.
He had no intention of recruiting a band of ruthless pirates.
Instead, he planned to draw his crew from these natives.
They'd be easier to manage than pirates without principles, and they better suited his requirements.
Silas's gaze swept over the crowd.
Suddenly, he whipped his head around, looking toward the other side of the island.
A powerful spiritual fluctuation had erupted there.
---
The other side of the island, the two-story building of the Free Adventurers Union.
"Jante, is the bounty all ready?"
Anderson strode into the room, calling out loudly to the bulbous-nosed man behind the bar.
"Keep it down. It's all here."
The other man grumbled in dissatisfaction, pulling out a briefcase and opening it on the bar.
It was stuffed full of bills. "Kircheis's bounty was 9,500 pounds. The other two came to 1,500 pounds combined.
After our commission, payments to the various churches, and bribes to civil servants, your cut is 8,000 pounds."
"That's highway robbery."
Anderson said sincerely, pulling the case toward himself and glancing at the bills inside.
Row after row of banknotes, each bearing the stern king's portrait, looked particularly dear.
"Hey, what do you mean robbery? That's the going rate everywhere!
If anything, the Free Adventurers Union is already the most conscientious one out there!" Jante protested.
"All right, all right. I know how magnanimous you all are. Go back to your Lanti."
Anderson did a rough count of the bills, confirmed there were no counterfeits and the amount was correct, then snapped the briefcase shut.
"Hmph."
Only then did Jante fall silent with a huff.
He glanced at the case, then at Anderson, unable to help asking, "Anderson, tell me the truth. Who really killed Kircheis?"
"A demigod who prefers to remain anonymous."
Anderson's expression didn't change.
"Actually, I only survived because of him.
But he didn't want to show himself, so he had me collect the bounty instead.
With how much you're skimming off the top, better watch out that he doesn't get angry and come looking for you..."
"Cut the crap!"
Seeing Anderson unwilling to reveal the person's true identity, Jante cursed and returned to his seat to drink.
"Speaking of which, this place is really quiet today."
Anderson scanned the hall and noticed that while yesterday there had been a few scattered adventurers around, today it was completely empty.
"Well, I'm heading out. Not safe carrying around this much cash. I'll buy you a drink next time!"
Leaving the first floor, he emerged onto the lively street.
Time was gradually approaching noon, and foot traffic had picked up. Besides pedestrians, various vendors and shops had opened for business.
Some sold the maritime delicacy "Gulu" tree sap, others grilled fish. The crowd was overwhelming, making it quite difficult for Anderson to navigate.
But he was a Sequence 5 Hunter after all.
Clutching the case and flexing his arms, he naturally pushed through the pressing crowd and continued forward.
"Fresh grilled fish! Caught just ten minutes ago!"
At a nearby stall, the owner was hawking his wares.
Suddenly, without warning, the steel skewer in his hand thrust out, aimed at Anderson's side.
"Bang!"
A pirate standing close by abruptly drew his revolver and fired at Anderson's head.
"What am I doing?"
After the gunshot, he seemed to come to his senses, muttering to himself with a look of shock and terror.
But in that moment of mortal danger, Anderson suddenly moved.
"Swish!"
His body twisted forcefully, dodging both the skewer and the revolver bullet with an utterly incredible motion.
"Ahhh!"
The crowd erupted.
The gunshot stimulated everyone's emotions. They began running wildly, trying to flee.
Anderson, at the center of the incident, was immediately surrounded by the surge of people, unable to move freely.
What's going on?
Did Jante leak information, or was it one of the other adventurers who was there at the time?
Anderson had no time to consider such questions. He clutched the briefcase tightly and struggled to escape toward the distance.
But at that moment, more attacks came.
"Splash!"
A pot of just-boiled water was thrown by an elderly person, aimed right at Anderson's face.
He ducked his head to avoid it, only to see a large expanse of gleaming light below him.
Cold steel, knife blades, held in the hands of everyone approaching him.
Strange!
No matter how slow on the uptake, he'd noticed something was wrong after this string of incidents.
Someone was manipulating all of this from behind the scenes, trying to kill him!
It seemed that exposing the Blood Reverend's information had drawn an official assassination attempt.
Or perhaps they'd simply discovered he was carrying a large sum of cash and wanted to rob him...
"Boom!"
Blazing white flames erupted from Anderson's entire body.
The knives thrusting toward him melted before they could pierce his flesh.
The high temperature snapped people out of their daze. Seeing the extraordinary phenomenon before them, they screamed and scattered in all directions.