#004. The Brainwasher Is Too Kind (4)

#004. The Brainwasher Is Too Kind (4)

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[Level 3 Quest Acceptance Requirements]

-Level 1 Quests Completed 20/20

-Level 2 Quests Completed 10/10

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Before the gauge could even register the quota being met, Mother slammed a fist on the table, placing a quest form down with a thud.

“Gimme a Level 3.”

The receptionist shook his head.

“You need to find party members.”

“That wasn’t a requirement before.”

“It’s because you have the children with you. This reception booth only detects the number of people who come to the booth.”

━━━

Quest Participants 3/2

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It was true.

I grabbed Anna’s hand, and we quietly slipped out of the booth.

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Quest Participants 1/2

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*Beep beep*. A red warning window immediately popped up.

Undeniably below the required minimum.

“I’ve proven my achievements and combat power needed for promotion. I don’t need party members.”

“If you are going to bring children with you, you absolutely must recruit some. High-intelligence monsters are able to target vulnerabilities, and from Level 3 onwards, our guild has determined that you absolutely cannot protect the children from all the unexpected situations that may arise by yourself!”

“And if I can’t accept that?”

“Unfortunately, we plan to reject all Level 3 or higher quests brought by Theresa.”

“No matter what you say, I’ll prove it. I’ll do it all myself.”

Mother grabbed five Level 2 quest forms all at once.

Long-term assignments.

Unlike the day trips or overnight adventures we had done until now, these would take a minimum of two days.

In effect, a forced march that would require combat power comparable to undertaking a Level 3 quest.

The receptionist panicked and tried to stop her, but Mother grabbed his collar and gave him a good shake.

“aaah!”

“Take it.”

“Please, save meeeee!”

“Take it.”

“Help meeee!”

“Take it.”

“I’ll take it, I’ll take it!”

Only after accepting the commission was the receptionist freed from her high-altitude game and able to plant her rear on the chair.

In this world, where the roles of men and women were reversed and women were treated harshly, the receptionist unni was in a pitifully rough state.

The neckline of her shirt, loosened from having been grabbed by the collar, revealed her cleavage, but I naturally turned my head away.

“Take it! Take it!”

My younger sibling, ecstatic thanks to our super-strong mother, thrust stones, earthworms, and frogs they’d picked up off the street at me, barking out orders.

The frog was a little much, though.

“Granny. You home?”

Before departing, Mom pounded on the door of our next-door neighbor’s house, which stood tucked away in the alley.

The latch clicked, and the door creaked open to reveal an old woman with a gloomy air, glaring at Mom with a face full of suspicion.

“What?”

“Selling the house.”

“Are you crazy? What makes you think you’ll be anything? You’ll be back, anyway.”

“If you’re not buying, we’re leaving.”

“Hmph. A cheap, worthless house at that. Thirty Donghwa.”

“Fifty Donghwa and a bag.”

“What do you need a bag for?”

“For the kid.”

The old woman’s gaze landed on Anna and me.

Anna flinched as if she’d made eye contact with a wicked witch from a fairy tale.

Unlike my sister, who scurried behind me, the old woman frowned at me for not averting my gaze.

“Your son has too little wariness. Keep a close eye on him.”

“I know.”

“Fifty Donghwa and a bag. Food rations are a bonus.”

The old woman was a pawnbroker.

We acquired a reasonably decent bag and some preserved food.

The fifty Donghwa from selling the house went towards our preparations for the adventure.

Mom was a little different from the countless, run-of-the-mill Rank 2 adventurers.

They usually didn’t spend money on adventure preparations.

They’d casually beat up a few easy monsters, and then squander the money they earned on food, drink, and merrymaking, living like mayflies.

A life without tomorrow doesn’t invest in tomorrow.

The me of tomorrow is merely someone else.

Only the me of today exists.

Mom was different.

Wasn’t like this in the days of drunkenness.

Now, it feels like there’s a future.

What does the future hold for Mother?

I don’t quite know yet.

* * *

The forest before the village.

Despite its plain name, a multitude of dangerous monsters reside here, capable of tearing humans apart.

It’s because of the mana from the mana disposal facility, hastily abandoned by a nearby city, that lured them in.

Guarding it with paid regulars meant exorbitant compensation if they were injured, and mercenaries were too expensive.

Adventurers fill that void instead.

A Rank 3 adventurer could at least earn a steady pittance.

Rank 2 adventurers were practically throwing their lives away for money.

That’s why the Adventurer’s Guild requires at least two Rank 2 adventurers to accept a Rank 3 quest.

Alone, there’s no tomorrow.

Too busy earning and spending day-to-day.

Only when you start thinking about sharing the earnings do you graduate from being a mayfly.

A better income.

A better future.

You start thinking about tomorrow, and a sense of responsibility takes root.

Mother might become a Rank 3, even without a partner.

Because she thinks about tomorrow, and she *is* responsible.

Rustle, rustle.

Returning home after a three-day absence.

The bushes lining the path to the village swayed suspiciously.

“Ian.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stray too far.”

The problem is envy and jealousy.

Acting like something special, when you’re just another piece of trash.

Trash, just like me.

And what happens when a Rank 2 adventurer like that tries to climb to Rank 3?

Malice descends.

We can’t let you rise.

Give us everything you’ve prepared to get there.

Adventurers, driven mad by jealousy and greed, become entangled.

Could the pawnshop crone not be satisfied with buying a house, and sold our personal information as well?

“That’s far enough.”

“Could you spare a moment?”

“Too late to run.”

Three women blocked the path ahead and behind.

The skeletal, bald woman clutched a stiletto.

The pot-bellied woman with shaved eyebrows hefted a club.

The long-haired woman, blocking our escape, brandished brass knuckles.

Each of them looked more terrifying than a low-grade goblin.

“Please, don’t do this,” I pleaded, pushing Anna behind me.

“I’m sorry, child.”

The long-haired woman was familiar.

The one who always bought my information with pocket change, somewhere, and touched my hand.

“You were the only hope in this dirty, stinking back alley life. Wisdom to escape poverty. The hope of leaving this slum. I always felt that from you. But where are you going? You need to stay by my side. If I’m here, you can’t leave this alley either!”

I felt a pang of guilt for even momentarily suspecting the pawnshop crone.

This woman stalking me must be the culprit.

But what about the others?

Accomplices brought along out of fear?

Or partners drawn by the scent of money?

“You could have made plenty of money with that information.”

“I did nothing.”

“Why?”

“Because your eyes, full of confident promise, were more pleasing than the value of the information itself. I never bought information. Only your hope, my heart’s solace.”

What a foolish woman.

Selling such valuable information for so little, yet unable to put any of it to use.

And, in a way, a pure woman.

Pure enough to seek dreams and comfort among the fleeting lives who drown their sorrows in cheap liquor and squander their days in fleeting pleasures for just a few coins.

She was lonely.

To soothe that loneliness, she needed hope, not liquor.

Her hope was in the stories I delivered every week and the unwavering belief in my eyes that held the promise of escape from the back alley life.

“Stay away from my children.”

Unlike the woman I always saw, another woman mocked my mother’s words.

“The child will be sold to the syndicate. The older one is a pretty boy; he’ll earn a lot. The younger one too…”

The bald woman cackled, revealing yellow, gap-toothed gums, when blood splattered across her face.

The rusty iron sword my mother wielded swept towards the pot-bellied woman with shaved eyebrows, wielding a club, in the blink of an eye.

The woman recoiled in shock at her speed.

The rusty iron sword struck the club that was thrown haphazardly.

*Clang!*

The rusty iron sword couldn’t withstand my mother’s strength as she tried to retrieve it and snapped in half.

It was an accident that happened at the perfect moment. Dozens of rank two monsters who died before my mother’s monstrous strength may very well have given a standing ovation in the afterlife.

“You b*tch, you’re dea…”

“Catch!”

“Mama, you scared me!”

The centipede Anna threw stuck fast to the club.

The pot-bellied woman, aghast, swung her club wildly in every direction.

Taking Anna’s hand, I stepped back out of the club’s reach, but without a shred of fear, Mom leaped forward.

“Wow.”

I’d seen plenty of adventurers in action in games, but even I couldn’t help but be impressed by the sight unfolding before me.

Mom kicked off the tree and jumped, landing behind the woman swinging the club.

Thwack!

The woman, her ankles swept out from under her, let out a strangled cry and fell.

Mom’s fist relentlessly hammered down on the pot-bellied woman’s head.

“Stop!”

Mom, straddling the woman who was losing consciousness and already bleeding so much she looked like a corpse, glanced back at us.

The long-haired woman placed her fist, adorned with studded knuckles, above my head.

“Let the kid go.”

“You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“I’ll let you go.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I felt a burning heat above my head.

Slowly, I raised my gaze and, through the strands of long hair, saw the woman’s face, marred by burns.

Beyond the shadowed face, tears sparkled like stars, and fell like shooting stars, toward me.

“How can I believe anyone? Everyone who trusted anyone ended up screwed over and living in the gutters. Look at me, this ugly mess. How can I trust anyone’s words!”

“I believe you.”

I grasped the woman’s hand resting above my head.

A hand too large for my still-small one.

Whether because of the burns.

Whether because of the passing years.

Whether because of poverty.

I used all five of my fingers to grip her wrinkled, rough hand.

Her face, contorted with fury and turmoil, stared down at me.

A sorrowful beast.

A wounded beast.

A beast that was not a mayfly.

I could tell, not having known her only for a day or two.

I could believe her.

I was sure that she could be swayed.

Looking up into her eyes, I cast my first enchantment on someone other than Mom.

I am an enchanter.

A deceiver who twists and manipulates people’s hearts.

Using this wicked power, I will…

[Enchantment Activated]

[Target – Woman]

[Command – Auntie is a kind auntie.]

I affirmed the auntie’s goodness.

“…”

The venom vanished from the auntie’s eyes.

Brainwashing takes root more easily in those who offer no resistance.

The auntie offered not even a sliver of resistance.

As if she had always wished for it to be this way.

She simply reached for my hand, as if recalling our own private alley, visited once every week.

I gave information, and the auntie stroked my hand and hair, praising me.

Like a parent praising a worthy child.

Even if the sound of a local thug beating a child and the child’s cries reached us.

Even if the sound of a drunkard breaking a bottle and fighting echoed.

It was as if all those things were happening in some distant world, unconnected to us; so we, the two of us, praised and were praised in our own alley.

This was the time that repeated every week.

A promise only for us, a scenery only for us.

Thwack!

The hand that had been gripping mine so tightly loosened.

Even though she could have held on tighter, it was a retreat born of fear that her greed would wound me.

The warmth of skin and the coldness of knuckles.

Two rough sensations slipped away from my hand.

Embedded in the back of the fallen auntie’s head was the dagger… the dagger Auntie had been holding.

In an instant, Mother had picked up the dagger and thrown it at the auntie’s head as she reached for me.

Mother hadn’t seen the eyes hidden beneath the long hair.

She had only seen the knuckles on the large fist.

“Let’s go.”

Only scorn and hatred lingered in Mother’s gaze as she stared down at her knuckles-clad hands.

I stared blankly at the end of her gaze, and then, unable to resist Mother’s urging touch, I took a step forward.

The wreckage where the star had fallen asleep was too large for a child like me, and as I fumbled to climb over it, a watch was caught in my hand.

The lid opened.

A single, faded photograph.

A picture of an unknown child, radiant with joy.

I closed the watch.

“This.”

“A watch?”

“Iron Sword. Buy.”

Mother picked up the brainwashing sorceress’s spoils.

The spoils, worth thirteen silver coins, were not enough to buy an iron sword.