Chapter 2: The Luxury of a Jail Cell
The "brand identity" I established at the gate had one immediate, measurable ROI: nobody else tried to cut in line.
The downside? The guards are now looking at me like I'm a ticking briefcase full of high-explosives.
"Names and species," the guard grunts, though his grip on his spear is white-knuckled.
"I'm Rimuru! And this is Shinji. We're both slimes!" Rimuru says, still doing that bouncy, cheerful thing that makes my non-existent head ache.
Analysis. Species identification complete. Reaction: Guard fear levels at 40%. Probability of peaceful entry: 82%.
Azathoth, find me a path to a high-end rug. I'm tired of vibrating against this wooden cart.
Error. Resolution insufficient. Local commerce data not yet indexed. Suggestion: Complete entry protocol.
We move through the massive stone archway. The scale of Dwargon is impressive—a subterranean metropolis carved directly into the bedrock. It's a feat of civil engineering that almost makes me forgive the lack of a welcoming committee. Almost.
"Wow! Look at this place!" Rimuru's internal monologue is basically a sparkler at this point. "It's like a fantasy RPG city!"
"It's a giant hole in the ground with poor lighting," I pulse back. "Though the stone-work suggests a stable real estate market. We should look into local zoning laws."
We didn't get five minutes into the city before the inevitable "plot" happened.
A group of three rough-looking dwarves, led by a particularly greasy specimen in a stained vest, blocked our path. I didn't even listen to the dialogue. It was the usual "monsters aren't allowed here" or "pay us a toll" drivel.
I was too busy looking at the greasy dwarf's vest. Is that... silk? No, too coarse. A blend?
Warning. Hostile intent increasing. Target 'Greasy Dwarf' is preparing to kick the cart.
Targeting confirmed.
[Transaction Domain]
The air in the narrow street suddenly turns heavy, the atmospheric pressure mimicking the feeling of a board meeting where everyone is about to be fired. The dwarves freeze mid-step.
"A kick costs ten thousand gold," I broadcast, my voice a cold, telepathic razor. "Since you clearly lack the liquidity, I will accept your physical motor functions as collateral."
"Wh-what are you—!?"
The lead dwarf tries to move his leg, but the [Transaction Domain] imposes a 'fee' on his kinetic energy. He feels like he's trying to move through molasses. It's not magic—it's just bad business.
"Shinji, wait!" Rimuru interjects. "Let me handle—"
Suddenly, a squad of Dwargon Kaidou guards—the serious ones—bursts onto the scene. They don't ask questions. They see two slimes and three local "citizens" in a standoff.
"Stop right there! You're under arrest for disturbing the peace!"
Notice. Arrest is the most efficient path to meeting high-ranking officials. Probability of encountering the Blacksmith 'Kaijin' increases by 65% if processed through the central garrison.
Fine. I suppose I can endure the 'rustic' charm of a dungeon if it gets us out of the sun.
[Capitalist's Inventory]
I quickly stash the wooden cart—might as well keep the lumber—and allow the guards to surround us.
"We surrender," I pulse, projecting an aura of bored compliance. "But I expect a receipt for my person. If I am scratched in transit, the litigation will be historic."
Ten minutes later, we are behind bars.
The cell is made of cold, damp stone. There is no bed. There is a bucket.
I am currently hovering two inches off the floor using a minimal magicule output, because I refuse to touch "public" stone.
"Man, we really messed up, huh?" Rimuru sighs, oozing into a corner.
"Speak for yourself," I reply. "I've already appraised the bars. High-quality magic steel. If we're here long enough, I might just 'liquidate' the door."
Notice. Guards are approaching. They are bringing 'Recovery Potions' for the wounded from the earlier scuffle. Assessment: Opportunity for asset acquisition.
I ripple. It's time to see if the local economy can handle a hostile takeover.
Current Magicule Reserves: 99.7%. Location: Dwargon Central Prison. Status: Waiting for a broker.
Chapter End