Minute Mage: A Time-Traveling LitRPG

Chapter 160.1: Welcome to the Kingdom: Takeover

PART 1/2

Carison stood on the sidewalk of a crowded, dirty street. He was right next to the crime scene he’d created, beating that drug dealer to near-death, and at this point, that man had woken up and run off, while Carison stood right where he was, waiting.

It only took a couple hours for them to come. A gang of around eight people, all heavyweights, obviously Classers, and obviously walking with purpose. And obviously walking directly toward Carison.

The people in the street parted the moment they noticed the gang of people, forming a clear path between them and their destination. Onlookers stared.

“Carison Aakbi?” the one in the front said with a disgusted look.

“That would be me.”

“We heard you’re beatin’ up on our men.”

“Mhm.”

“We don’t appreciate that.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

“So what? You got some conflictin’ territory? You trying to take over?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Well you better get explainin’. Cause if you don’t, you’re in for a few hells of a beating.”

“Well, first off, I seriously doubt that. And second off, I don’t want to explain anything to you.”

The man laughed, looking back at his posse, who chuckled along with him. “What are you? Some kinda tough guy? Think you’re all strong cause you got a couple Levels? Lemme tell you somethin’. You’re gonna need a whole lot more than what you showed our dealer friend.”

“Good to know. But I will explain if you do something for me.”

The man shook his head. “I don’t think you know what kind of position you’re in. We don’t do things for you.”

“Take me to your leader.”

There was a moment of silence, before the man barked out a laugh. Then another. Then he broke out into a full-face smile. “Hey, fellas! He wants us to take him to Boss! What, you think we should do it? Just to be nice?”

The rest of the crowd laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” one of them said, “I think we’ll be doing this guy quite a service!”

“Instead of being beaten to death, this guy wants to be skinned alive!”

The laughter subsided, and the man in front looked back to Carison. “Now I really don’t think you know what kind of situation you’re in, fancy man. I don’t think you want to be taken to Boss. I really don’t think you want that.”

“I think I know exactly what I want.”

“Hey man,” one of the lackeys laughed, putting a hand on the front man’s shoulder. “Maybe we should take the guy to Boss. Just to show him how stupid he is.”

“No, no,” the front man responded, shaking his head. “Sure, Boss’ll have him skinned. But then he’ll have us skinned, too, for wasting his time. He told us to do a job, we do the job.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ tired of talking,” another said. “Let’s beat his ass and get outta here.”

“I have an idea,” Carison said. “You guys like money, right? I’m a man of money. I have it, I make it, I love it. It’s my specialty.”

“So what, you gonna try to bribe us?”

“Let me just show you what I’m talking about, first.” Carison dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small sphere, not even large enough to fill his palm. Its etched brass exterior shined in the afternoon light. “This little Enchanted item is a wonder. All of the ingredients combined, a single one of them would cost…maybe…thirty-five silver to make.”

“Listen, fancy man. If you wanna convince Boss to let you live, you’re gonna need a lot more than thirty silver.”

“But that’s the beauty of it! Thirty-five silver for the ingredients. The economy isn’t about ingredients, though. It’s all run on labor. See, labor is the only thing you can generate on your own. If you want to get a material, you either have to take it from someone else, or you have to take it from a place nobody else has thought to look. Eventually, materials run out. And then nobody can get anything. But labor, see, that’s something you can always do. As long as you have a body, you can do things. What you’re doing right now, right? This Boss guy is telling you to do something, and if you do it, he pays you. You don’t give him anything, you don’t take anything from anywhere else, you just…do it. And that’s the value of things like these.”

“Yeah, we do take something from someone. We take your life. Now listen. If you want us to even consider taking you to Boss, you better show us something that makes it worth his—and our—while. Some real coin. Cough it up.”

“I’m getting there. See, the materials cost thirty-five. But the labor required? Well, you need Enchanters. Plural. Several, all specced into different trees to get all of the Enchantments required to put this thing together. And to get it this small, you’re also going to need plain old mechanics. People skilled at tinkering with little, little gadgets. All of these people, doing their jobs. In the end, this single machine probably costs five gold.”

The man chuckled. “Well that’s a nice story. And five gold, now we’re getting to something we can actually negotiate about. But you’re still not there. Maybe throw in a few more of those things, and some hard coin to prove you mean business, and then maybe, maybe, Boss doesn’t skin you alive for disrespecting him. Because five gold? That’s chump change to Boss. Chump change. For a little fancy man like yourself, you think yourself an inventor, that buys you a house, new ingredients, maybe a new lab or whatever. But Boss doesn’t deal in single-digits. Even when it’s gold.”

“No, again, you’re still not focusing on the right element. It’s not about the money. It’s not about the materials. It’s not about what’s in my hand. It’s about what that thing does. And I promise, what this does will change your life. It’ll do so much more than five gold could ever do.”

The man rolled his eyes. “And what’s that?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Carison tossed the metal orb at the crowd of eight people after pressing its activation switch. The etchings lit up, and the man seemed to just begin to realize what was happening before it bonked against his chest.

Carison stood in front of a single-story house.

He looked over at the single surviving member of the group that’d confronted him. “This is the place, huh?”

“Y-y-yeah, man, just don’t, uh, can you just leave me, um…”

“Of course, you’re free to go. Fair exchange, right? You do something for me, and I let you live.”

He sprinted off.

Carison turned to the door of the house. There were people inside peeking at him through the windows. The building was one of the few that were left intact after the attack on Carth, though Carison wasn’t sure if that was because it was spared during the initial assault, or because it was rebuilt afterward.

He walked up to the door. But before he could even raise his hand to knock, it swung open before him. A bald-headed man stood inside, glaring at him. “Where in the hells are our men?”

“Well, seven of them are dead.”

The man stared at him.

“Unfortunate how that happens, really. Though I’d wish you people wouldn’t keep acting so surprised when drug dealers go missing. It’s pretty common in your line of work, no? Risk of doing business and all that. Anyway, if you wouldn’t mind letting me inside.”

“How did they die?”

“I killed them. Obviously. You know, this would go by with much less wasted time—and fewer wasted lives—if you just let me talk to the people I want to talk to. I hope you’ve learned that lesson by now. But if you really want me to redemonstrate that lesson, I am completely comfortable using you as an example.”

“...”

“Here’s five silver,” Carison said with a sigh, placing a pile of coins in the man’s hand. “Buy something for your family. It’s much better than them getting a couple gang members on their doorstep, explaining why daddy isn’t coming home.”

“I’m not supposed to let anyone in. Family rule.”

“Family rule? Why would you care about some ‘family’ when your life's on the line? I’m standing here, paying you to spare your own life. This is the best deal you’ll get. Don’t make me prove to you that I mean what I say.”

“...Alright, man, I get it,” the guy muttered. “Just…don’t cause trouble.”

“Sure.”

Carison walked inside, past the guard at the door, and through a living room with some beaten-up couches thrown haphazardly around a coffee table. Through a kitchen that was covered in grime and dirt and most likely insects and rodents, if one looked hard enough. Down a hallway and past a bathroom that had a horrible stench coming out of it. And through a door that led him into a bedroom-turned office—the mattress still pushed up into a corner, only partially out of the way.

A man in that ‘office’ was sitting on a couch, smoking a cigar. He was overweight and visibly greasy, and didn’t seem to notice Carison yet.

“I presume you are Boss?” Carison said.

The man looked over. “Who’re you?”

“I would like to make a deal. Mutually beneficial exchange between businesses.”

“I didn’t ask what you want. I asked who you are.”

“I am the man who has murdered seven of your men. And assaulted two more.”

That got his attention. The man, ‘Boss,’ snapped his head over at Carison. “...Okay. What do you want?”