Mob Protagonist ~ Mob in the Novel But There is a Problem

Chapter 35?Part1

Chapter35?Part1

Chapter 35.1. Slums And Drunks

-???’s POV-

A dog’s howl comes from somewhere. The howl gives a somewhat ominous feeling to those who hear it. The sun has already set, and the sky is pitch black. The neon lights on the ground obscure the starry sky. And no one can’t see a glimpse.

The full moon has reached the mid-sky, and a chilly wind is blowing through the streets. Winter is almost over, but it will be a few weeks before the cold is gone. People are turning up the collars of their coats, hands in their pockets, and speeding home.

Those who wanted to warm up early would go into the taverns and have a drink before going home, either with a good-humored laugh or with a complaint about the company.

That’s an ordinary night scene in the Imperial capital. Occasionally, a police officer, looking like a pain in the ass, would straddle a bicycle and make his rounds. Children, who are happy to go out at night, secretly buy food at convenience stores.

It was a peaceful scene.

However, from the sky, something strange happened. The neon lights and household electric lamps illuminated a corner of the cityscape, but it was dark as if the power had gone out.

The area looks cut off by a black hole or something. Some places in the Imperial City are off-limits, and this is one of them.

The area is a slum. It’s a place where even the police are not allowed to enter, and it’s dangerous unless a group of warriors enters together during criminal investigations.

The slums are an area that was abandoned during urban planning due to a lack of budget. It’s also unclear who owns the land, and many of the buildings were stopped halfway through construction, with most of them exposed to rusty steel. The store, with a dirty and tattered banner hanging down, was probably intended to be open, but the windowpanes were black, and the inside was not visible. There were no shelves, and a pile of garbage covered the store.

Some shops are open, but the waxed windows, which used to be glassed like barricades, are firmly bolted down with sheet metal affixed.

Dirty people are hiding on street corners, keeping a watchful eye out for any prey. The weak ones hide at the end of narrow streets, in the corners of houses that have crumbled, and no one will go near.

Those who are a little stronger form groups and live in their territory. That is a world in which the strong eliminate the weak, and the weak eliminate the strong too. An easy-to-understand world where power speaks for itself. That is the slum.

In such a dangerous slum, an old man entered the slum, unsteady on his feet, his body swaying.

The people living in a relatively safe area on the border between the slum and the outer city were burning garbage in drums to keep warm, but they glanced at the old man.

The old man’s appearance came into view as they approached the flames.

He was a shabby old man. He wore a hat with an unusually wide brim and a coat that was once a deep blue color but now looked black with dirt.

His face was beardy, with a white beard extending down to his chin, giving him a dirty image. He appeared to be a poor man and did not seem to have anything of value. He must have one eye. One eye is closed and does not seem to open.

However, his eyes, which were unusually sharp and shining, gave a sense of intimidation and awe to those who looked at him.

The people surrounding the drum were various. From a thin middle-aged man to an old man with missing teeth and a young man with his face blackened with mud and dirt.

They look at the old man and think he probably has no money.

And then, they smile at him, their faces twisted into grimaces. He won’t have anything of value. But that is a commoner’s story. For the people in the slums, it is different.

Each of them, with an iron pipe, a knife, or a club in his hand, smirks and laughs as he approaches the drunken old man.

“Oh, old man. You look like you’re in a good mood.”

The man in the lead calls out, pitter-pattering a rusty iron pipe with his hand as he does so. The others, grinning and sneering, surround the old man.

“Hmm? I, who look like this, am in a good mood. That’s an interesting thing to say.”

The one-eyed eyes old man look at the men surrounding him with amusement. One of the men in the circle bursts out laughing at the lack of sense of urgency in his demeanor.

“Is this your first time here? Well then, let me tell you something. In this slum, even a look like yours is good business. Leave your hat, coat, and shoes. And you’ve got booze, booze. Leave that, too.”

“That’s your toll to get into this slum.”

“You may look like you’ve fallen on hard times, but this slum is worth a lot more than the commoners.”

Even if you don’t have money, you have clothes. In addition to clothes, there are shoes. They could sell the leather shoes for a lot of money if they remove mud. Even if he has no wallet, if he has clothes, he can strip them off. Moreover, an old man like this would be easy, and the men would look at the old man in front of them with a glazed look as if he were their prey.

“I see, I see. If you starved. You’ll strip an old man of his clothes, even in winter. You got a pretty good heart, don’t you? No, you don’t seem to be starving.”

The old man looks at the man, touching his beard, impressed.

“Shut up! Come on, take it off before we beat you to a pulp. If you don’t, you’ll mourn for your life!”

“Well, it’s a cold winter. I might die.”

“It’s okay to hit the bonfire. We’re kind.”

The old man glared at the laughing, mocking people, and opened his mouth.

“Munin. Who are these people?”

The old man mutters to no one. The people around him frown, wondering who he is talking to, and thinking it is the ramblings of a drunk, but then a high-pitched voice comes from the darkness.

“[Analysis complete]. These guys robbed the day before yesterday. They broke into an old woman’s house, killed the old woman, and took her money.”

The cawing voice belonged to a crow.

“What is it?”

“There it is!”

Scurrying around, the men spot a crow perched on a telephone pole. The crow was almost invisible in the darkness, but only its crimson-red eyes were visible.

“Is that a crow talking?”

“What the hell?”

The old man fixes the tilt of the broad-brimmed hat he is wearing as he looks at the startled and fussing men.

“Hm. Is that all you got?”

“Bad guys ABCDEF, these guys are killing many innocent people. They are killers.”

“Well, that’s not a problem then.”

The old man is not surprised that the raven can speak and answers with the attitude that it’s only natural.

“Don’t tell me that’s a familiar, you’re a magician, huh?”