How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly)
Chapter 63: How to Rescue Someone Who’d Never Admit Needed Saving (3)

Chapter 63: How to Rescue Someone Who’d Never Admit Needed Saving (3)

The corridor in front of the cell was narrow, just over two meters wide, with the floor stones laid out unevenly, some slightly sunken, as if the centuries had chosen specific spots to give in first. The light came from a torch fixed to the opposite wall, the flame flickering lazily and casting dancing shadows through the bars.

The smell of burnt animal fat lingered in the air — cheap and efficient fuel, but it clung to clothing like an old regret.

The cell, on the other hand, was a vertical cage. Three steps in any direction. A straw bed that had long given up on pretending to be useful, a sanitary corner with a dark metal hole that looked more like an insult, and a bucket of stagnant water that was half water, half existential doubt.

I was leaning against the left side of the bars, my shoulder pressed to the main rod, like an animal feigning disinterest. Mordrek was further back, propped against the wall like a caricature of defeated confidence. The torchlight hit the right side of my face — enough to cast shadows under my eyes, but not enough to hide the smile beginning to grow there.

The guard had stopped about three meters from the cell. A broad-shouldered man, too wide for the dark leather uniform, short sword at the waist and a runed baton slung across his back — both visibly well-used. His face was tense, eyes narrowed, and his hand rested with a disturbingly familiar ease on the hilt of the blade.

"Deaf as you are dumb in there?" he growled. "If you want to keep yelling, I can bring company with less patience."

"Easy there, champ." My voice came out with the right mix of irony and pain. "It was just... an interpretive disagreement. He thinks my mother was a witch, I think he was raised by pigeons."

The guard didn’t move. Still firm, like someone who knows presence is half of authority.

But I wanted the other half.

[System Notification]

[Passive Skill Activated: Tongue of Silver]

Description: Your words blend irony and subtlety to manipulate hostile targets.

Effect: +15% Persuasion when feigning vulnerability.

Condition Met: Target holds Authority + Hidden Doubt.

[Target: Guard No. 391-B]

Disposition: Cautiously Dismissive

Suspicion Level: Moderate ↑

Pride Modifier: High — Vulnerable to subtle ego bait.

I stepped forward. The chains on my hands jingled softly — they weren’t bound by shackles, but carried containment runes, the kind that dull magical flow, not brute strength.

"By the way," I continued, "you seem sharper than the others I’ve seen today. You’re part of the night shift, right? The crew that holds things down while the officers pretend crime sleeps?"

Silence. But he looked at me. Briefly. Evaluating.

[Dialogue Tree Unlocked: Whisper of Leverage]

Branch: "I saw the wrong seals. Old runes... fresh cargo."

Effect: Risk-Reward Thought Pattern Triggered.

System Evaluation:

- Bluff Credibility: 81%

- Success Chance: 63%

- Required Distance: 1.2 meters

- Estimated Delay Before Action: 3.1 seconds

"I know how to spot a man who understands the value of vigilance. Only thing is..." — and here, I lowered my tone, almost whispering — "I saw something. Something that might interest you guys."

He narrowed his eyes. But his body stayed put. Still distant.

I leaned my face closer to the bars, pressing one hand against the iron. Measured tension. A half-twisted expression, like someone trying to hide more than he says.

"I’m not going to shout, if that’s what you’re worried about." I took a side step, just enough to get my profile better lit. "But if you want to know what I saw... you’ll have to come a little closer."

"You think I was born yesterday, half-orc?" he spat. "I’ve seen tricks like that."

"And I’ve seen guards get promoted for less."

He hesitated. The hesitation I was aiming for.

I kept my eyes fixed on him. No blinking. The kind of stare that neither challenges nor pleads — just states it knows more than it should.

"I saw the wrong seals. Old runes, touching fresh cargo. And nobody does that without a reason. There’s contraband coming out through the west wing. I know the symbols. But I won’t shout them down the corridor. You want that printed on someone else’s report? Or do you want your name on it first?"

He took a step. Just one.

[Minor Intuition Check: SUCCESS]

You detected the following signs:

- Elbow tension present

- Supporting foot withdrawal

- Microexpression: Hesitation

[Condition Met: Optimal Distance for Physical Engagement]

I knew it wouldn’t work on the first. Or the second. But it would on the third. Doubt drags. Pride pushes. And the system... the system rewards initiative.

"I just need to show you something," I added, lowering my chin a bit, letting my voice drop like a secret. "It’s marked right here, on my hand. The rune. Thought it was just dirt. But I think it activated when I touched the cell gate."

He came closer. A meter and a half now. Almost at the edge of the cell’s shadow line. The runed baton swayed subtly across his back, as if it could feel its owner’s unease.

"Show me," he said.

"Closer. The runes only glow at a specific angle. Cross lighting. You know how it is, right? Lazy magic..."

Another step.

Now we were there.

The exact distance.

I felt it.

[Skill Triggered: Quick Restraint Lv.1]

Description: A rapid, controlled movement to neutralize the target using calculated force.

Effect: +30% Speed | Bonus vs. Hesitant Targets

Target Zone: Wrist lock + Facial Slam

Result: SUCCESS

ImpactRegistered:

- Target Health: -42 (Head Trauma)

- Ego Stability: -70 (Dignity Damage)

The tilt of the body. The angle of the elbow. The slight unconscious withdrawal of the supporting foot — a preparation to move quickly if needed. But it was already too late.

My arm moved.

With the speed of someone who had already counted down to the last millisecond in his head, I grabbed the guard’s wrist and yanked his arm hard against the bars.

The metal vibrated. Flesh met iron with a dry thud.

And then I smiled.

"Now that’s more like it... now we can talk."

[Effect: +5 Charisma Aura (temporary)]

[Nearby Ally: Mordrek - Morale: -2 ]

[Narrative Presence: Enhanced ]

The impact was sharp.

When I yanked the guard’s arm, twisting with precise and balanced force, his body came with it like a badly-fitted door. His face slammed straight into the bars with a sound that wasn’t just bone — it was also dignity peeling off the skull.

He dropped to his knees first, eyes still trying to understand what had happened, but it was too late. One more pull, and the rest of his body hit the ground like a poorly-stitched sack, collapsing with a groan muffled by unconsciousness.

Mordrek’s eyes widened at the back of the cell.

"Whoa... that was... direct."

"I’m a direct kind of guy. Now hold this unfortunate soul before he decides to wake up and start singing the anthem of authority again."

Mordrek hesitated for half a second, then shuffled over to the guard, holding the man’s shoulders with a kind of comical caution — like someone carrying a bowl of boiling soup. I crouched down, searching along the guard’s belt until I found what I was looking for: a small key ring, dangling on a chain of runed steel. Some of the keys were marked — probably sector tags. The third one fit.

The lock turned with a click that sounded like the cell itself was sighing.

I pushed the bars open slowly, like someone unwrapping a suspicious gift, and stepped into the corridor with the kind of relief that only comes after too many days in too many wrong places.

"Hold him there," I said, pointing at the guard, "because now we’re switching roles."

Mordrek blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Like this." I grabbed the guard’s body with my free hand, lifted him with moderate effort, and shoved him back into the cell. "Go on, champ. Straw beds, aromatic bathroom, noisy neighbors... all yours."

"And what about me?"

"You..." — I looked at him — "you’re keeping him company."

That’s when Mordrek tried.

Out of nowhere, like a child desperate for approval, he pulled out an old burlap sack that probably held moldy bread a few days ago. He lifted it with the ceremony of a foolish ritual and tried to shove it over my head.

"SURPRISE!" he shouted, as if that were the magic word that would turn him into a brilliant tactician.

The sack fell on my shoulder like a timid tablecloth. It barely covered my eyes.

I grabbed his wrist. Twisted. Wrenched.

He fell to his knees, groaning more out of embarrassment than pain.

"You’re an idiot, Mordrek. An idiot with commitment."

"I was going to take you to my circus!" he squealed, still trying to resist the inevitable. "You’d be the star! The main act! The freak with fire in his eyes and sarcasm in his veins!"

"I’d rather die in a sewer."

"You’d be called The Sparked One! The Man Who Burns the Truth!"

"I’ll burn you if you keep talking."

I shoved him into the cell with ridiculous ease. He tumbled backward, tangling up in the unconscious guard’s legs. Before he could get up, I slammed the door shut and turned the key. One click. Silence.

[Cell Reassignment Complete]

Prisoner Update:

- Guard 391-B: Status — Unconscious

- Mordrek: Status — Offended Clown

- Dante: Status — Self-Appointed Warden

[EXP Gained]

+45 — Cunning

+10 — Improvisation

+5 — Patience (for not incinerating Mordrek)

"Dante, you traitor!" he shouted, gripping the bars. "This isn’t over! I’ll find you! I’ll... I’ll start a whole new circus just for you!"

"Good luck."

I took two steps back and waved my fingers. A lazy little goodbye. He answered with a middle finger and a promise of theatrical revenge.

And I walked away.

[Quest Tracker Updated: Find Thalia]

Status: Active

Clue Acquired: Subject is marked — magical trace detected

Location: Unknown — within city limits

Objective: Locate and Extract

Time Sensitivity: High

[Motivation Surge: +10]

[Clarity Modifier: +3 — Active while emotionally focused]

[Focus Anchor: THALIA]

Empty corridors. Damp walls. Echoes of the past following me like a shadow — and a certainty hammering in my chest:

They marked Thalia.

She was somewhere in that city, maybe hurt, maybe being watched, maybe... worse. And I was the only lunatic reckless enough to go after her with urgency, purpose — and a plan that didn’t exist yet.

But plans are overrated.

Sometimes, all you need is the right direction and the right name burning in your mind.

And right now, my mind held only one:

Thalia.