The Deceived One
The gatekeeper strode briskly into the black market.
Gripping his twin blades, he couldn't hide his confusion.
The news that had reached him from inside the market was unbelievable.
"That young noble from earlier completely cleaned us out?"
And now the order was to recover the lost money by any means necessary?
That couldn't be right.
Every dealer in the black market was not only a skilled gambler but also a seasoned con artist.
They would go to any length to fleece their customers, milking their marks down to the very bone.
"And yet we got conned?"
He couldn't believe his ears.
Of course, such things weren't entirely impossible.
Once in a while, a gambler from another region would show up, thinking they could outsmart the local sharks—
and, on very rare occasions, one of them actually succeeded.
"So that guy's a gambler too?"
There was no way to tell just by his appearance.
Still, the more the gatekeeper thought about it, the less it made sense.
Not from the man's clothes, not from the company he kept, and—most of all—
"Those eyes."
He recalled that clear, profound gaze.
It was nothing like the eyes of gamblers—those wild, desperate fools who'd risk anything for money.
No, it was the opposite: the kind of gaze he'd seen in people of an entirely different breed.
"He looked like one of the Brotherhood."
In Aulrax's underworld, there were two major factions:
the Black Society and the Brotherhood of Chivalry.
Both ruled the backstreets, but their codes of conduct couldn't be more different.
The Black Society focused on profit, running illicit operations like this black market.
They'd do anything for money, legal or not.
The Brotherhood, on the other hand, didn't chase wealth.
"Those guys call themselves righteous thieves."
They broke laws in the name of justice—
even cooperating with the city guard when it suited their ideals.
Their principles were the exact opposite of the Black Society's,
and the two factions clashed constantly.
Only a few days ago, the Brotherhood had raided several illegal taverns owned by the Black Society,
taking money and supplies.
Rumor had it they were short on both funds and equipment.
"Wait… could it be?"
A thought flashed through the gatekeeper's mind.
That young noble—
"Could he be one of the Brotherhood's agents?"
Those clear eyes… that calm composure…
And the fact that he'd chosen this place as his target—
it all fit too perfectly.
For an organization desperate for resources, the black market was a goldmine.
"I can't take chances. Better to capture him alive!"
The gatekeeper quickened his pace.
If he brought the man in alive to the boss, he'd surely be rewarded handsomely.
Taking down a Brotherhood operative would be a major victory for the Black Society.
"Maybe I'll even get promoted to the upper ranks…"
Dreaming of a rosy future, he unsheathed his twin blades.
Just as the black market's labyrinthine hallway stretched before him—
"Uwaaaaah!"
"Hey hey hey hey hey!"
…Huh?
"Move! Out of the way, you bastards!"
"Aaaagh! Why are you running away? Help me!"
"How the hell am I supposed to help you?!"
…What in the world?
Confused, the gatekeeper slowed down.
Then he saw it—the source of those frantic screams.
Something came tumbling toward him with a thunderous clatter—
a chaotic mass of people.
He froze on the spot.
"…Am I dreaming?"
Even seeing it with his own eyes, he couldn't believe it.
A black ball of gangsters was rolling down the corridor like a human snowball,
and every one of them was screaming.
"B-Boss! Help us!"
"They used some weird magic!"
Magic?
What kind of magic does that?!
But there was no time to think.
The human snowball was barreling straight toward the exit.
"Run!"
"Gyaaaaaaah!"
Those who hadn't yet been caught up in it were sprinting for their lives.
They shouted at the gatekeeper as they ran past.
"Boss! Move!"
"Huh?"
"MOVE, damn it!"
"Turn around and RUN, idiot!"
Panic turned their shouts into curses.
"I'm the boss here!"
But this wasn't the time to argue.
The rolling human boulder was almost upon him.
At the horrifying yet absurd sight, instinct took over—
the gatekeeper spun around and ran with all his might.
"Waaaaaah!"
"Boss! Don't leave us—help!"
"S-Shut up!"
Their desperate cries faded behind him,
but he didn't dare look back.
Getting caught meant becoming part of that monstrous pile!
"What the hell is happening?!"
"Does it matter? Just RUN, damn it!"
The Black Society's thugs tore through the corridor,
sprinting for their lives from the oncoming avalanche of men.
"…Wow. They can really run."
Step, step.
Leisurely following behind them down the escape route
was the man responsible for all this chaos.
"Healthy bunch. Must exercise a lot."
It was none other than Third Prince Gillothian.
Behind him trailed Kals, Tyrbaen, and Igral,
all wearing stunned expressions.
"Sir Sui, is this… really okay?"
"Don't ask me, Sir Silion."
"What kind of insane strategy is this?"
All three shook their heads helplessly.
Only five minutes ago, the situation had been entirely different.
The door had not yet opened.
""N-Nari. Are you—are you really sure this is okay?""
"It'll be fine."
I patted Thomson, whose hands were trembling with fear, and turned my head.
Kals and Tyrbaen were tense too, even though they said nothing.
Especially the little witch — she had no experience in combat inside cramped spaces like this.
She was so nervous that she didn't even notice the magical wrinkles forming around her fading away.
'Looks like she really has no clue how to use the Forest Rosary yet.'
Alright — time for a one-point lesson.
I looked at Tyrbaen and spoke.
"Master, the Forest Rosary isn't a combat artifact, is it?"
Tyrbaen blinked and nodded blankly.
"Uh? Well, no. It's a sacred relic of the Green Elves, so it amplifies wood-attribute mana, and…."
"What else does it do?"
"Oh — and it contains the allied formation spell 'Tree-Root Defense,' which hardens the formation and maximizes overall defense. It's very much a magic fit for the peace-loving Green Elf clans."
"Very thorough." I smiled.
'Prompt him and his specs spill out nicely.'
As an elite witch, she described it perfectly.
[Accessory] A precious rosary crafted by the forest folk. While worn, it increases wood-attribute mana recovery and magical effectiveness by 50%.
Grants the bound skill Tree-Root Defense.
The Tree-Root Defense is fundamentally a war magic. As Tyrbaen said, it increases allied cohesion to strengthen the formation and raise defense — a defensive buff for the whole line.
'That's how it's known to work — nothing more.'
But I knew an aggressive application of that spell.
In a chokepoint like this, borrowing the force of the Balance Shield that Kals and Igral hold —
'It's not lethal, but it becomes an incredibly troublesome combo to deal with.'
I gave Tyrbaen the order.
"When Thomson opens the door, cast Tree-Root Defense immediately. Push it to the limit of your mana."
"You want me to burn all my mana?"
"Yes. But not on us."
"...Huh?"
"Cast the defense only on him."
I tapped Thomson's shoulder and Tyrbaen looked utterly baffled.
"W-what are you saying? You want me to unleash Tree-Root Defense at full power, but cast it only on that person? Am I understanding this correctly?"
"Yes."
"Why? Then we won't get the defensive boost! This is a formation spell for the entire line!"
Her objection made sense. From her point of view, it was madness to waste a spell that way.
"I know. But do it."
The reason would become obvious immediately.
"Kals."
"Yes, Nari."
"When Tyrbaen casts the spell on Thomson, hit him with your shield — send him flying toward the enemy's blocked direction. Understood?"
Thomson's eyes widened like lanterns.
I ignored it and signaled Igral.
"You too — help out if you're free. If you didn't know, 'Strike-and-Roll' is 1.5x as effective when two people do it together."
[Armor] A small shield made for the judge of the Unruled Arena. Designed for sword use, it's smaller than usual but tougher and heavier than it looks.
Grants the bound skill Strike-and-Roll.
Literally: strike to send rolling.
That was Strike-and-Roll.
If Tyrbaen blasted Tree-Root Defense at full force on Thomson, and then Kals hit him with the shield to send him rolling — Thomson would, like a magnet, gather his own people around him and start tumbling like a human snowball.
'If he doesn't pick up speed, Kals can hit him harder.'
From the start, Thomson's allies were his people — not ours — so the Green Elf defense magic would function exactly as intended.
That would clear the path for us.
"Oho, very creative."
"Ah — so that was the plan!"
Tyrbaen and Kals finally nodded as they grasped my intent. Igral had a similar reaction.
"To think you could combine skills like that…"
He peered at the Balance Shield in his hand as if it were a curiosity.
Does he really not know this? Using a buff spell on the enemy as a sabotage tactic is one of the high techniques in the New-God-Version game meta. You have to understand spell attributes and apply them situationally.
Old hands probably know this trick.
'Maybe he just doesn't play the game much?'
It was hard to judge without reading his expression.
"Nari! You said you'd save us!" Thomson's face turned deathly pale when he realized our plan.
"He's warded, so he won't die. Don't worry."
"B-but!"
"Don't you trust our witch? If not, I won't cast it — I'll fling you out without magic."
"Waaaah!"
"And your health bar is full, isn't it? What are you worried about?"
"...Health bar? What's that?"
That was a slip—talking to an NPC like that.
"Anyway, you won't die from that much." I grinned.
"And use this chance well."
"Eh? What chance?"
I took his hand and placed it on the door latch, answering simply.
"What do you think? A chance to change your back-alley life."
"...!"
Creak.
The door to the corridor opened.
"Hit him!"
"Knock them all clean!"
A feral roar and dark shapes surged forward.
But for us, the operation had already begun.
[Defense Magic: Tree-Root Defense]