Chapter 11: The Eleventh Inning

Following the five officers out the door, Ryuzaki saw the unique transportation of the Southern Swamp Plane waiting at the entrance.

All cities in the Southern Swamp Plane were built in overlapping tiers, so motorized vehicles were naturally non-existent. Generally, travel outside the city involved the "beast-ships" Ryuzaki had used to reach Adal-Malik. Within the city, however, there were various modes of transport: rail lines connecting districts, automated elevators between levels, and these sturdy, stable pack-beasts before him.

Carriages were rare, not because people couldn't afford them, but because the city streets were entirely wooden. Inherently limited, they could not accommodate multi-lane roads, and a carriage might easily get stuck in the gaps between the walkways. Even the nobility lacked the habit of using carriages, preferring instead to simply customize the breeds of their pack-beasts.

The creatures waiting outside the Hedran Mercenary Guild were specifically for police use—half-biological, half-mechanical entities that resembled snails, with seats mounted atop their shells.

After Ryuzaki stepped out, an officer brought one of these snails forward. "Lord Sandro, please board. We will lead the way."

Ryuzaki glanced at the snail, which stood only slightly shorter than himself, and realized this was an attempt to intimidate him. He rolled his eyes at the five officers, raised a hand, and settled onto the snail's back. He found the minor provocation beneath notice; compared to the rocking of a ship on the open sea, the snail's back was incredibly stable. For someone of Ryuzaki's caliber, this was a trivial matter.

Once seated, Ryuzaki spoke directly to the leading officer: "You, get on. We need to talk. The others will lead the way."

The officers were stunned by his demand, staring at one another in confusion. Ryuzaki barked, "What? Are my orders not to be followed?"

"Lord Sandro, they lack the authority to make such decisions. Why don't we have a talk instead?"

At that moment, a man emerged from the nearby rain. He stood two meters tall, but unlike Ryuzaki’s gaunt frame, this man was well-proportioned, his exposed arms thick with muscle. He wore a standard police uniform, but as he stepped out, Ryuzaki noticed his left arm was mechanical, complete with exhaust pipes at the shoulder that sputtered black smoke and sparks. The sparks fell onto the man’s head, scorching his thinning hair to a charred yellow.

*Mechanical-class, Transcendent, Professional-tier.*

A single glance was enough for Ryuzaki to form a judgment. He knew the man was not a player; in these three planes, all players were restricted to the classes of Necromancer or Death Knight. While other players occasionally passed through, they never stayed long.

"Fine. Get on," Ryuzaki nodded.

A burst of flame erupted from the man's back, propelling him two meters into the air before he landed heavily on the snail's back behind Ryuzaki. Seeing this, the five officers immediately steered their snails toward Golden Scissors Street.

Standing on the snail's shell, the heavy-looking man moved with a grace akin to light-foot kung fu, not disturbing the creature's gait in the slightest. He looked Ryuzaki up and down before speaking with forced politeness: "Ralph Van, Chief of the 11th Precinct in the Bunir District. Our precinct is near your jurisdiction, and we handle patrols in that area."

Ralph gave Ryuzaki a knowing look.

"I know. While I don't care what you do there, I am only responsible for ensuring the area remains uncorrupted by the Netherlight Abyss. Your business is your own."

"Excellent. That is exactly the attitude we were hoping for. Don't worry, the 5% protection fee will be paid on time every month; we won't let you lose out. Furthermore, there are some capable individuals in that area. If you have any needs, just say the word, and they will see to it."

Hearing Ralph’s insinuation, Ryuzaki grasped the situation. It seemed the "business" Ralph referred to was smuggling; in a city this large, there was always demand for cheap or illicit goods.

"How much can I expect to receive?" Ryuzaki asked.

Ralph was somewhat surprised by the directness, but after a moment's thought, he replied, "150 to 300 Gold Cloths per month."

Gold Cloth was the currency unique to the Southern Swamp Plane—a cocoon produced by local silkworms. These cocoons could not be reeled for thread but were impervious to fire and water, and could be pressed into thumb-sized sheets. The exchange rate to the game's standard currency was roughly seven to one, and it was a rare commodity. For Ryuzaki, 150 to 300 Gold Cloths was a small sum.

"Forget it," Ryuzaki mused. "I have a stipend and expense accounts. Gold Cloth is of little use to me. Once we arrive, I will give you a list. Tell those 'capable individuals' of yours to keep an eye out for specific herbs for me."

"Oh? Is your lordship an alchemist?"

"A poisoner. A trait of my path as a Necromancer, currently shifting toward alchemy, so my consumption is high. Tell them clearly: if the materials they provide are of high quality, I can sell them some potions I have no use for."

"That is a fine arrangement." When profit was involved, all animosity vanished. Ralph sat down across from Ryuzaki and began briefing him on the situation around Golden Scissors Street. Ryuzaki listened attentively. Ralph was indeed capable; he had a deep understanding of the area under the 11th Precinct's control, detailing exactly how many gangs and Transcendent individuals operated there. Most importantly, he knew what had happened on Golden Scissors Street, having personally witnessed the nearly twenty workers swallowed by the mire.