Isekai Assassin: Volume 1 Read online

  “Fair.” She nodded. “What do you want to know?”

  “The city’s criminal underworld. Where can I find it, and who runs it?”

  Her eyes lit up in surprise. “Underworld?” She chuckled darkly. “You’ve come to the wrong city, mister. Most people head to a bar in the Pleasure District called The Cracked Cask. I stay away, so I don’t know who runs it, but if you’re looking to score, that’s where people usually go.”

  Hold up. That’s it?

  I paused, squinting, trying to discern if she was lying to me.

  “Score? Drugs.” I shook my head. “Definitely not what I’m looking for. What about you? Who runs the pickpockets and cutpurses?”

  She cocked her head to the side, giving me a blank stare. “I don’t understand. Are you asking who controls the pickpockets?

  “No one does. We’re all alone.”

  My eyes widened, and I ran my hand through my hair.

  Jesus Christ. I think she’s telling the truth.

  “No one controls the pickpockets. What about the beggars? The prostitutes, the smugglers, and drug peddlers?”

  She shrugged again. “Thanatos is sold out of the cask, but besides that, no one runs anything.” She held her hands up. “Well, except for the whores, they work for whoever owns the brothel, but that’s it. We’re all fending for ourselves out here.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I sighed, fighting a headache.

  Well, this complicates matters to a truly frustrating degree.

  Back home, London was kept on a tight leash, held by the rulers of the underworld. Each controlled a different racket, and they all worked together to keep the city in check.

  Well, for the most part. Dorset ran the smuggling operations and grew too powerful. But that’s where men like me came in handy.

  There was order, checks and balances. I understood it. It was the only way of life I knew.

  The girl folded her arms under her modest chest. “Why does that upset you? I mean, you said you’re new, but it’s been this way for years now; since Count Vohra took over.”

  “What do you do if you run afoul of the guards?”

  “We run. If we get caught, we’re executed or get sent to the mines if we’re lucky.” She tapped her fingers on her forearm as she leaned back. “But why does that surprise you?”

  “Because, where I come from, the city’s underworld was controlled, organized. Protected. I never even considered the possibility that Vohra City was any different.” I sighed, running my hands through my hair. “A mistake on my part.”

  I stood up and paced back and forth, trying to figure out my plan.

  If there isn’t a clear command structure in place, then I’m essentially on my own, which isn’t good. A city without a network is just unmitigated chaos, and that doesn’t suit my needs or my goal.

  Terrance was being cagey, and I guess this was why. From what the girl said, some business was run from a bar; drugs, something I never dabbled in, but it was a start—something to go off of at any rate.

  My best bet is to go to this bar and see for myself what the underworld's true state is like.

  But if it’s as bad as what she says, where does that leave me?

  I didn’t have an answer.

  After I got my thoughts in order, I turned to the girl and pulled out a fistful of vahn. “Thanks. A piece of advice, double-check your marks in the future.”

  She nodded as she took the coins from me.

  Without another word. I turned and set off deeper into the Pleasure District.

  Though, with such a name, it was a bit of a letdown. It was just a mish-mash collection of random buildings situated around the seedier side of Vohra.

  I was propositioned more than once on my way to The Cracked Cask, and from what I was seeing, there was no organization to anything. Drugs were being offered on the same corner men and women sold their bodies. All while the damned and the desperate roamed about seeking artificial comfort to ease their troubled lives.

  It was an utter mess.

  I miss home. It was such a strange sentiment, considering I never stayed in one place for too long, but I did have a home for several years when Liz and I were together.

  Damn it.

  My breath caught, and I stopped walking, standing in the middle of the street as it finally settled over me that I was no longer on Earth. That the life I’d built for myself was well and truly lost to me.

  Damn it.

  I sighed and kept walking. Trying to find the bar.

  Which wasn’t as easy as I’d thought. Trying to pick out a specific bar on a street filled with bars was quite annoying.

  I should’ve asked for directions.

  Though I eventually found it.

  It was nestled at the very end of a dark and grimy street. A few tall buildings surrounded it. A couple of buildings that seemed abandoned, and a three-story brothel comprised of white stone with pink curtains over the windows.

  Though, even on a street of sin, the bar itself stood out.

  It was a single-story, cobblestone building with wooden accents. A thick, wooden wraparound porch, and instead of glass, the windows held shutters. A tall stone chimney belched smoke, and a stiff breeze wafted it my way, bringing the succulent scent of cooking food.

  The heavy oak door was riddled with scars, thick slashes, and puncture marks, like someone had used the door for knife practice.

  I ignored the rather ominous tone it presented, pulled it open, and stepped inside. I entered a rather spacious room, lit by a roaring fireplace along the sidewall and candles in iron candelabras everywhere. Hanging in the fireplace was a large cauldron of stew, and it filled the room with the same delicious scent I’d smelled outside that made my mouth water.

  Tables lined one side of the room, and booths lined the other. The center was a rough bar top in the shape of a square with shelves lined with booze and heavy casks of beer.

  The bartender was a dark-skinned man with thick hair pulled back into a tail. He was thin but had enough muscle to suggest that he wasn’t just the bartender but the bouncer as well.

  Several men and women in various styles of clothing sat nursing mugs of ale around the room. But when I entered, most of the eyes turned to me.

  Once more, I let the mask slip and gave everyone a hard stare.

  Your Killer’s Stare skill has increased by 2! [Killer’s Stare: 4 (Novice)] +50 Exp!

  They quickly turned back to their drinks.

  Interesting, I received two skill increases that time. Is it because of the number of people? I put it out of my mind for the time and walked up to the bar. I sat on one of the many wooden stools lining the counter and waited for the bartender to head over.

  He noticed me immediately and shifted to look at me. “What can I get for you?”

  “Coldest ale you have and whatever it is that smells so good.”

  “Three vahn.”

  I paid, and he poured me a drink.

  “Just brought a fresh pitcher from the cellar.” He set the mug down and went to the cast iron pot and fixed a steaming bowl of stew for me. “Got a shipment of spice from Monros last week, so I tried adding it to the perpetual stew. It’s a little spicier than usual, but I think it adds a good depth of flavor.”

  The wafting steam tickled my nose, and when I inhaled, I could definitely detect hints of spice.

  “Still smells delicious.” Then what he said registered. “Isn’t Monros where the Beastkin live?”

  He nodded. “They may not be exactly welcome in the city, but they have very exotic spices and amazing cuisine.” He grinned at me. “So, they can’t be all bad, right?”

  “Right.”

  I turned back to my meal and dipped a finger in before bringing it to my mouth. I couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary, but the spice could easily mask the taste of any number of poisons.

  But I’m betting he didn’t poison the food just in case a nameless stranger came by who looked lik
e trouble.

  I may have been paranoid, but it’d kept me alive in the past. I tested my ale in the same way but couldn’t detect anything.

  Without waiting, I dug in and ate my fill, all while keeping an eye on things, watching the comings and goings of the other patrons. I tried to find the supposed drug dealer, and my intuition immediately led me to my most likely suspect.

  He was a small, tanned man sitting in the back corner booth. He was handsome with shaggy black hair, dark blue eyes, and polished white teeth, a rarity in this world I’d noticed.

  Though he had no overt sign that said crime boss, he exuded a swagger that said he owned the place.

  It didn’t help that two women of the night were draped on either side of him, wearing little more than smiles on their faces. They pressed against him in overtly sexual ways, but it was a little too forced.

  Being paid well for their services, it seems.

  There was also a large man in the booth next to him, nursing a mug of ale. He seemed out of place in the bar, too alert to be there simply for the rather delicious food and drink.

  He’s the muscle. Seems competent, too, not like those fools in the forest.

  I smirked around the lip of my glass. Might actually put up a fight, but let’s wait and watch. I only get one chance at a first impression, and I’d like to make it a good one.

  Time ticked by as people came and went, though most stayed away from the booth with the gentlemen in it. A few came by, always with small pouches of money.

  They dropped the coins on the table, and he pulled out small green vials of liquid—a handful at a time from seemingly out of nowhere before he handed them over.

  I had no idea where the vials were appearing from, but a few of the people that approached had the same marks on their hands that Renard had in the forest.

  My eyebrows lifted. What the hell do the numerals mean?

  When the bartender returned, I flagged him down.

  “I never got your name. Mine’s Elias,” I said, holding out my hand.

  “Christoff,” he replied. “A pleasure.”

  “Likewise. Hey, I have a question. The numerals on the backs of people’s hands. What’s that about?”

  Christoff held up his hand, where two tally marks resided, side by side. “Man, you’ve never had a hit of Thanatos? Like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, guarantee it. Even if you aren’t into that kinda thing, you should still try it, at least once.”

  Thanatos? Like the god of death? I frowned, rubbing my chin. “So, the marks are drug-related?”

  He nodded. “A necessary precaution. A hit of Thanatos is strong. But beyond that, it stays with you, like forever. Too many hits, and you die.

  “Every time you purchase it, you get marked. Thirteen marks, and that’s it. Any more and you risk death from your next dose.”

  “That’s…intense.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Some people think it’s worth the risk. That’s how strong it is.”

  Another customer called him over, and he went to tend to them while I got back to watching the man in charge.

  After a while, a newcomer entered the bar. They were greasy, skittish. High on something. Likely the Thanatos that seemed to be the in-demand drug of the city. Ten marks on his hand answered my thoughts.

  He walked over to the man in the corner but stopped a respectable distance away.

  The guard stood and walked over and gave the addict a pat-down, checking him over for weapons.

  I snorted into my beer. That check on the inner thigh was a bit half-assed. My assessment of the guard dropped by a fraction, but he still seemed like one of the most capable men I’d come across yet.

  “Speak, and make it quick,” the boss said.

  “Louie got stopped at the gate this morning. He was arrested. His shipment confiscated,” he said in frantic, high-pitched bursts. “Our supply is running low. Without that shipment. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  “Son of a bitch!” He slammed his palm down on the table hard enough to rattle the coin pouches that lay there.

  Both girls squealed at the sudden outburst.

  He turned to them and waved them away. “Leave. Now!”

  They scurried off, heading for a door on the back wall that led to a downstairs area.

  After taking a moment to compose himself, he spoke. “Who was at the gate this morning? Was it Gordon? Of course, it was fucking Gordon.” He held his arm up and snapped his fingers, “Ale!”

  Christoff jolted up at the shout and rushed to get the man a fresh ale. When he had it in hand, he drained it in a few gulps and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Goddammit, I’m so sick of his self-righteous bullshit. I need that shipment back, and I need Gordon dealt with. Permanently. Vohra and I have a deal, but Mays won’t get off his grizzled ass and reprimand that son of bitch, just because of Gordon’s family.

  “He thinks he’s untouchable. Well, we’ll see about that.”

  His ring shimmered, and the boss pulled a roll of parchment from within the ring and scribbled something on it quickly.

  My eyes widened. Magic. Was that where he got the vials of Thanatos as well?

  “There’s a contract on Gordon. Two thousand vahn for his head.” He tossed the paper to the table and leaned back. “Send it to the scribe's old place. Tell Kathlen I’m calling in my favor.”

  As the man reached for the scroll, the boss leaned up and held the parchment with his finger. “And find Ramsey. I’ll need him to retrieve the shipment when Gordon is dead.”

  The addict nodded, grabbing the page and scurrying out of the bar at the boss’s beck and call.

  Well, how about that? Is it fortune or fate that led me here just in time to overhear that conversation?

  I had a strange feeling Weilin had a hand in my being here.

  Well, I’m afraid he won’t find Kathlen no matter how hard he tries. I drained the ale and stood, brushing my hair back. Sounds like the contract is on a guard. I can handle that. Should go and introduce myself.

  As I approached the booth, I flashed them a smile. “My apologies. Normally, I abhor the cold approach, but it’s what I’ve got to work with right now.”

  He looked up, derision on his face as he scowled. “The fuck are you?”

  “Name’s Elias. I couldn’t help but overhear that you have a problem. I’d like to help solve that problem for you.”

  “Yeah,” he motioned to the guard on my right. “And I don’t like nosy pricks I don’t know meddling in my affairs,” he snapped. “Fredrick. Get rid of him.”

  Well, I tried playing nice.

  Fredrick was a mountain of a man, which made him a heavy hitter but slow. He reached out, grabbing me roughly by the shoulder, widening his stance as he prepared to shove me to the ground.

  A grievous mistake.

  I surged toward him, bringing my elbow up as I capitalized on the momentum. I slammed it into Fredrick’s nose. Cartilage burst in a faucet as blood ran in rivulets over his lips. He howled in pain, his eyes going dark with rage. I turned, putting my back to him, and wrapped my arm around his bicep.

  My left hand went to his forearm as I bent down, lowering my center of gravity. I threw him over my shoulder and to the floorboards.

  He let out a pained groan that echoed the wood beneath him. I took hold of his arm, twisted, and applied pressure to his wrist as my foot went to his neck.

  Fredrick was mine. I’d rip his shoulder out of socket if he tried anything.

  Your Hand-to-Hand skill has increased by 1! [Hand-to-Hand: 6 (Novice)] +25 Exp!

  I stomped hard on Fredricks's temple, knocking him out. His arm went limp, and I let go of it as I turned to the unnamed boss.

  1 Knock-out (Human): +50 Exp!

  “Care to change your tune?” I drew a blade from my waist and stuck it into the table. “Or do you need another demonstration of my abilities?”

  “Fuckin’ hell!” He went wide-eyed at my overt
display. His gaze flicked from the blade to mine, several different thoughts running wild through them.

  After a second, he smiled wide and laughed.

  “I don’t know who the hell you are or where you came from, but you make one helluva entrance.” He smiled wide, showing his pearlescent teeth. “The name’s Charles.

  “And you’ve got my attention.”

  Chapter 10- A Contract

  “So, you’re looking for work?” he asked, propping his legs on the table. His boot was half an inch from the edge of the knife I’d slammed into the table.

  A statement or a challenge?

  “That I am.” I reached over and pulled my blade out, keeping my eyes on Charles. “And I couldn’t help but overhear you offering the contract to the Black Iron Gang. They won’t be able to take the contract, I’m afraid.”

  “And why’s that?” he asked.

  “Because they’re all dead,” I said as I pulled out the chair opposite Charles and sat down.

  “What? How?” His eyes went wide, and he leaned up before his eyes narrowed. “You killed them?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows, but what I do know is that you’re in the market for an assassin. And here I am. Must be fate.”

  “Fate,” he scoffed, sitting back down. “Fuck fate. But I’ll take what I can get.”

  He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a large cigar. Charles stuck it in his mouth and then patted his pockets.

  “Now who the fuck has my matches,” he muttered.

  “Here,” I said, leaning up. “Allow me.”

  I reached out a hand to the end of his cigar.

  “Ember.”

  As my fingertip burst into flame, Charles nearly dropped the cigar out of his mouth. It hung loosely from his bottom lip as he tensed up.

  “Fuckin’ hell. Magic.” He breathed out, quickly composing himself. “The balls on you, using magic out in the open.” He took a long drag on his cigar and blew the smoke towards me. “Some free advice…whatever your name was. I wouldn’t go around casting spells in this town unless you want to find your head rolling on the floor of the deepest, darkest dungeon Vohra has to offer.”

  I chuckled. “They’d have to catch me first. But I appreciate the advice regardless. Now back to the task at hand.