Players Have No Mercy (I)

The storeroom Chris had mentioned was well concealed. It was right beside the apartment building's front entrance, exactly the same color as the wall, and had no handle.

Without his directions, Lin Ruoyu and the other players would have had a hard time noticing there was a door there at all. They had passed through several times without spotting anything unusual.

Lin Ruoyu pushed open the little door and found a small storeroom behind it, with barely enough room for two or three people to stand inside.

The little room had neither windows nor light. Three weapon racks stood in the dim, cramped space, hung with short weapons. The smell of some unidentified animal fat permeated the air.

Lin Ruoyu approached, picked up a weapon from a rack, and brought it close to examine it. These weapons all seemed to have seen use.

Take this dagger, roughly half an arm long: its gleaming edge had a dark red sheen, a trace that only prolonged exposure to blood could leave.

Drawing on his real-world experience and knowledge, Lin Ruoyu judged that the dagger was very sharp. It had a single cutting edge and a false edge along the spine to improve penetration.

The handle was made of cork, with nonslip grooves and ridges that fit between the fingers. Even with gloves on in winter, he could keep a firm grip without it slipping out of his hand.

"Nice!"

With a word of praise, Lin Ruoyu picked up the dagger and the cowhide sheath beside it, slid the blade inside, and tucked it into his sleeve. The length was just right, and nothing looked unusual from the outside.

Besides daggers, the storeroom held one-handed machetes, short-handled hatchets, one-handed combat shields, and a whole assortment of useful tools for street violence and assassination.

The gear in this storeroom alone was enough for Lin Ruoyu to conclude that Chris was definitely no law-abiding civilian.

"Hey, buddy, if you've got your weapon, move aside!"

"Oh, sorry, sorry..."

Lin Ruoyu hurriedly turned sideways and stepped out, clearing enough space for the other three players to come in and choose their weapons.

Once they had weapons, the four left the apartment building to look for the bodies.

With the information supplied by the dead players and the help of the system's minimap, they soon found two naked bodies buried under the snow in an alley a kilometer away.

Lin Ruoyu dragged the bodies out of the snow and examined them, finding the fatal wounds on the backs of their heads.

"They were ambushed from behind and beaten to death. Blunt force to the head. Dead as can be.

Come on, give me a hand. Let's drag them back..."

"Wait."

At that moment, the player whose ID was Little Ghost spoke up.

"The other two have posted too. They've been captured."

"Huh... captured? Where are they?"

The third player asked curiously.

"Let me check the map. They sent me their coordinates... hey, they're close, just five hundred meters away. They say they're in a little tavern. They went inside and got kidnapped, and now they're locked in the basement wine cellar."

Lin Ruoyu glanced at the bodies, then raised his head to look at the children outside the alley, craning their necks to peer in curiously. He thought for a moment.

"Let's go. We'll rescue the living first. They matter more than the dead. These two unlucky bastards won't go anywhere if we leave them here. Once we've rescued the other two unlucky bastards, we can make them carry the bodies."

"Will there be a fight?"

"Of course. Taverns have never been peaceful places. How are we supposed to get them out without hacking a few people to death?"

"Then what are we waiting for?"

The other three players immediately perked up, and Little Ghost was the first to step forward.

"Let's get moving!"

"Ahh... that hits the spot..."

Hubbard, the tavern owner, happily slurped a mouthful of undiluted liquor from his cup, savoring the sensation of cold liquid flowing into his body before turning into a rush of warmth that rose to his head.

His luck had been good today. He had only just opened that afternoon when two greenhorns barged in. Their thick clothes and clueless expressions marked them as outsiders, the sort who knew none of the rules.

Who went into a tavern during the day, especially one in the slums?

Their strangely styled clothes were clearly foreign. Both had fair, tender skin, with no signs of manual labor on their faces or hands. They obviously had never endured hardship and had enough money to afford an education.

If they were nobles or the sons of some powerful family, they would certainly have brought attendants, even on an adventure into the slums.

Based on those observations, Hubbard concluded that these two fat sheep were safe prey.

So, while they were still cluelessly calling for a server, Hubbard raised his hand in a signal. The thugs sitting on either side rushed them, pinned the two unsuspecting men to the floor, and locked them in the wine cellar.

Hubbard would keep the two fat sheep overnight, move them somewhere else tomorrow, then put the word out so their friends and families would know to bring ransom money.

Hubbard had principles. He did not kidnap nobles, because neither he nor his brothers could afford to cross them.

He did not kidnap locals either. Anyone from Inyama might turn out to be related to him somehow. How awkward would it be if he kidnapped one of his own distant relatives?

Hubbard only kidnapped outsiders. His favorites were fat sheep like today's pair, who were obviously the sons of foreign merchants, out wandering and seeking adventure in disguise.

Wood scraped, and a cold wind blew inside. Hubbard looked up to see four young men enter, all wearing the same black coats.

Well, those identical clothes made it obvious that these four belonged to the same group as the two fat sheep. They had come looking for them.

Hubbard set down his cup and composed his expression behind the bar, pretending to be a respectable tavern owner as he waited for them to approach and ask questions.

Just as Hubbard had expected, the four young men came up to the bar. One of the taller, more imposing men stepped in front of him and looked him over.

He was a young man with well-defined features who looked alert and upright. Snow clung to his eyebrows, suggesting he had been walking outside for a long time. His expression was calm, as if he had everything under control and saw no reason to hurry.

He asked very politely.

"Hello, sir. Have you seen two young men come in wearing the same clothes as me?"

"Oh, yes, but an hour ago they just..."

Before Hubbard could finish, he saw the young man abruptly raise his hand and slash it across him.

The movement was so fast that Hubbard, still busy making up his lie, could not react in time. He felt a chill at his neck, followed by a hissing sound from its side.

Shit, he slit my throat! This bastard is vicious! Ruthless!

That was Hubbard's first and last thought as he clutched his neck with both hands and collapsed behind the bar. In the final moments of his life, he heard his men's panicked shouts from the other side, along with the tearing sound of sharp weapons plunging into flesh.

Amid the chaos, the calm voice of the young man who had just spoken to him carried clearly.

"Block the door! Don't let them escape!"