Chapter 142. Victoria Kazimieśi Domain (2)
I checked the map on my device.
Night surrounded me.
After multiple subway transfers and a taxi, I arrived near the meeting point on time.
Pausing, I looked around.
Elsyde Domain’s 37th Outsourcing District.
A lawless zone, its bustling heart.
I’d been here before, but the vibe still felt unique.
Walking, I glanced at a dilapidated skyscraper’s corner, marked ‘0037’ in peeling white stencil.
A city of such towering structures.
Not surprising.
Elsyde’s fortress walls dwarfed these urban skyscrapers, looking like a giant curtain from afar.
Maybe I was used to such monstrous architecture.
Hood up, I tightened my robe, hurrying through the streets.
Soon, artificial lights filled the path. Crowds thronged the asphalt road.
The district’s nightlife.
Towering shops, rusted vents, neon signs for bars and karaoke.
Entertainment venues lined the high-rise shops, their garish lights stretching endlessly.
Like a star-world built in a dump.
Drunken stumblers, scrawny cats rummaging trash, hawkers, and flyer distributors crowded the night.
If anyone recognized me, it’d complicate things, but no worry.
I wore the robe Elena gifted per my request.
Glancing at a shop window, my reflection showed.
A black metal mask and visor, like a knight’s helm, under an urban tech-style black robe.
Wrapped this tightly, my identity was safe.
“Here, huh.”
I stopped in an alley.
A bar’s neon sign glowed brightly.
Stairs led down, like an underground karaoke. Walls were plastered with flyers, wanted posters, and colorful graffiti.
“Even for a meeting, such a shady spot.”
I muttered wryly.
First-timers might find the alley’s danger alluring, but I felt nothing.
Having roamed the underworld and districts, it just seemed grimy.
Descending, I reached a flyer-covered glass door, pushing into the underground bar.
It was packed.
Despite the crowd, I spotted someone at the long bar table.
A long duralumin weapon case, fit for a hunting rifle, leaned beside their seat, standing out.
“Hey, you came?”
A woman waved, smiling.
Short hot pants, holster on her thigh.
Pink eyes and hair, cat-like features.
April.
“Good effort getting here. Sit.”
She nodded to the seat beside her.
“Why ignore my messages? Lucky we connected. Deadline’s tomorrow.”
“Deadline?”
“You’re here for work, right? These jobs have registration limits. Secret request. Plus, I promised drinks.”
Glancing at me, she asked.
“But, robe aside, you always wear that face-hiding mask and hood?”
“Problem?”
“Nah, plenty in the districts cover up for reasons.”
Staring, she added.
“Still, hiding even off-duty’s kinda odd.”
“Lots of odd things.”
“Hmph, hoped to see your face this time. Honestly, bit disappointed.”
“Stay disappointed, then.”
Pouting, she leaned closer.
“I get you won’t unmask. But isn’t that stuffy?”
“Not really. More comfortable than it looks.”
No lie. I touched the visor. Quality material, not stifling.
Eating and drinking were limited but possible through the mask-visor gap.
“Fine, if you’re comfy.”
“…”
“Not my place to meddle. Could get messy.”
Grumbling, she downed her glass, slamming it down, turning.
“Drink? Menu? I owe you drinks, keeping my word.”
“No alcohol needed.”
“Haha, no drinking on the job? Fair. I’m the same.”
She raised her glass, shouting.
“Another milk!”
Her drink was plain milk. Not a cocktail—actual milk.
Stunned by the wholesome choice, I stared dryly.
“…Milk in a bar?”
“Haha, I’m weak to alcohol. I just vibe here. Regular, you know.”
“…”
“What, want me drunk? I’d make quite a show.”
Grabbing a fresh milk glass, she rambled.
“Last time I drank, I bet a freelancer I could shoot an apple off their head. Put one on their head and—”
“Enough heroics.”
Cutting off her excited tale, I got to the point.
“Victoria Kazimieśi’s magical beasts. Tell me details.”
“Alright, that’s why I called—”
As she spoke, a man approached from behind.
“Hey, freelancer. Matches the description.”
Bulky, with protruding brow bones, reeking of alcohol.
He held a matte black, mechanical axe—magic gear.
Striding toward me, he shouted.
“Sorry, but talk to me first. April invited you, right?”
Utterly out of nowhere.
“Hey, old man, stop! Why start trouble?”
Ignoring April’s protests, I responded calmly.
“What’s that mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. Word’s out freelancers trashed Scavengers. All hell’s loose. That was you, huh?”
All eyes turned to me. I replied evenly.
“How’re you sure?”
“Hah. CCTV from the Scavenger hit zone showed a black-clad guy, face hidden. April was on that job. If you’re pals, you’re the…”
“Get to it.”
I replied coolly.
He snorted, retorting.
“Fine. I’m a freelancer too. Newbies making waves get noticed.”
“Don’t like it?”
“Nah, interested in that fame.”
He aimed the axe at my neck. The bar’s air chilled.
“Old man! What’re you—”
“Here’s the deal, rookie. Listen.”
As April protested, he glared, growling.
“Reputation’s key here. It gets you jobs. A newbie stealing it?”
He twitched the axe handle.
“Chopping your head for a game could boost my rep. Right?”
“Quite a speech.”
Madness-inducing words.
Reputation, even in outsourcing districts. I glanced at the axe blade.
Its black surface reflected my visor and hood.
It looked threatening, but I stared at him, turning.
“April, how long do I listen?”
“Huh?”
April, more shocked than me, gaped.
The axe-man’s face twisted.
“What?”
“If I took the bait, I’d lose jobs. Testing me, right?”
Speechless, I added.
“Unless enemies on a job, freelancers don’t fight peers. Basic rule.”
Scanning the crowd, I said.
“For job sharing, freelancers only share with their office. If you wanted my eligibility, here’s my answer.”
“I…”
“This bar’s a hub for freelancer jobs. A secret network office.”
The axe-man and crowd’s eyes widened in shock.
A bystander, flustered, asked April.
“Hey, April, didn’t you say this guy’s a rookie? How’s he know the office?”
“Uh, well…”
I looked at April, low.
“So you introduced me as a newbie.”
“Eek! No, just a hunch, not sure—!”
Panicking, she flailed. I tilted my head.
Her introduction didn’t matter. Acting green here gained nothing.
I knew some freelancer ecology from side stories.
> “Outsourcing district freelancers discuss work only within their office or info hubs.”
> “To prevent leaks in lawless zones.”
When April called me here, I suspected the bar wasn’t ordinary.
A sort of initiation.
“Man, that’s embarrassing…”
The axe-man lowered his weapon.
Scratching his head, he nodded at April.
“Do well. You brought him. Risky trusting an unknown guy’s skill.”
April glared coldly, stomping.
“I never asked for this, old man! Office tradition or not, stay out of my business. One more time, I’m out!”
Gritting her teeth at his back, she sighed, turning to me.
“Sorry. This secret office is a geezer club. Some freelancers are nosy. They did this to me too.”
Looking apologetic, she cautiously suggested.
“Shall we continue?”