How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly)
Chapter 70: How to Uncover a Massive Corruption Scheme by Accident (4)

Chapter 70: How to Uncover a Massive Corruption Scheme by Accident (4)

The entrance was still there. But this time, there was something more: a man. Tall enough not to look local. Broad shoulders, posture far too relaxed for someone on guard — but not entirely inattentive.

He wore a dark, hooded coat, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms covered in rune tattoos that pulsed faintly, like they were breathing under his skin. His boots, heavy and solid, were planted right at the edge of the doorway. There was no doubt: he was stationed there to keep watch. Just didn’t seem like the kind of guy paid to do much thinking.

[Combat Event: Stealth Kill – Alley Entrance]

[Target: Rune-Tattooed Guard]

→ Type: Humanoid (Augmented – Passive Runes)

→ Awareness: Low (Distracted / Routine Position)

→ Threat Level: Moderate (Physically Dangerous, Mentally Dull)

I stayed in the shadow of a cracked column, watching. His face was wide, features squared, jaw clenched, and eyes far too pale for this dim light — the kind of eyes that didn’t blink unless they had to. A scar ran through his left brow, and even from a distance it was clear: he wasn’t the kind of guy who impressed easily. No visible weapons. But with arms like that, he was probably the weapon.

I stayed there a few more seconds, calculating distance, timing, risk. Figuring out how to cross that threshold without sounding like an idiot or dying trying. The alley was empty. The windows in the surrounding buildings remained shut. And the air had that viscous cold that warned you when something was about to go wrong.

Then I saw it.

The guy looked to one side. Then the other. Like he was waiting for someone — or just tired. And then, with the kind of careless routine that comes from unsupervised duty, he reached into his coat pocket.

Maybe a cigarette. Maybe a note. Maybe a stashed spell. I didn’t wait to find out.

I crouched, took a deep breath — and lunged.

[Action Taken: Direct Head Strike]

→ Weapon: Pickaxe (Curved head, enhanced sharpness)

→ Entry Point: Cranium – Top-Right

→ Outcome: Instant Kill

→ Noise Level: Minimal (Body silenced mid-fall)

The space between us vanished in seconds. My steps were fast, silent — trained by the instincts of someone who’s broken into more places than he’d care to admit. The guard still had his hand in his pocket when the wet sound of my pickaxe cutting through air reached him.

The impact was clean.

The curved tip split his skull with a grotesque crack, blending the sounds of bone breaking and brain matter crushing. His body stiffened for a fraction of a second, like it hadn’t yet processed what was happening, and then collapsed forward — heavy as a falling tower.

But I was ready.

I stepped in, caught the body before it hit the ground, muffling the thud against my shoulder. Hot blood slid down my sleeve, soaking the side of my tunic in a dark, viscous red. The metallic scent hit me hard — familiar, unpleasant, and somehow comforting. Nothing like a bit of practical violence to remind me I was still good at what I did.

"Sleep tight, big guy," I muttered, almost respectfully, as I adjusted the corpse’s weight in my arms.

[Rewards Acquired]

→ Disguise: Heavy Guard Coat [Intimidation +1 / Recognition Delay +2 Turns]

→ Path Opened: Corridor Access – "Ritual Sector, Level 1"

→ Style Bonus: "You do this too often" +5 Stealth Confidence

I looked around. Nothing. No screams, no hurried steps, no spells crackling in the air. The street was just as silent as before, as if the neighborhood itself had looked the other way. Good. Sometimes silence was the perfect accomplice.

I dragged the body to a pile of barrels covered in a torn tarp, beside a stack of empty rune-supply crates. The smell of mold, stale herbs, and lantern oil was strong enough to mask the scent of blood. I dumped the man there like a sack of spoiled flour, arranging him among the junk with the experience of someone who’s done this more times than he’d recommend. Crossed his arms over his chest, hid his face with his own cape, and pulled a board over to block the view from the side.

All quiet.

I returned to the body and pulled off the coat. It was large, heavy, and reeked of sweat and cheap tobacco. Perfect. I slipped it on over my clothes, adjusted the hood, lowered my face. Now I was just another nameless brute with a tired expression. Just like that guard had been.

I paused for a second in front of the door. Blood still dripped from the tip of my pickaxe, tracing a thin line down to the ground. I wiped the blade quickly on the stone wall beside me, like signing my name on a canvas of violence. Then I stepped inside.

On the other side, the corridor was a tunnel of shadows and flickering rune lights, pulsing like the place itself was breathing. The walls were covered in old inscriptions, as if someone had tried to enchant even the bricks. The floor was damp wood, layered with worn-out rugs and crumpled scraps of paper. And the air — oh, the air — was thick with that specific scent of wrongness: cheap incense, black candles, and burned flesh.

Far ahead, whispers echoed.

More than one.

Maybe three. Maybe five.

I walked slowly, each step measured, each breath controlled. The coat helped. It gave me presence. Made me go unnoticed. Or at least, less suspicious. But my hand stayed firm on the weapon, and my eyes swept over everything.

I was inside.

My heart pounded steadily, adrenaline starting to blend with reasoning. The system didn’t kick in this time — as if even it was holding its breath.

Thalia was probably somewhere in that labyrinth of shit.

And I wasn’t leaving without her.

The light in that damned place felt filtered through layers of sin. Everything was damp, stifling, and smelled of rune mold and rotten intentions. The walls — raw stone and darkened metal — formed narrow corridors that twisted like veins, carrying not blood, but lies, broken promises, and people who knew too much.

The lamps were floating runes trapped in jars, pulsing with a sickly green glow like diseased fireflies. Every step I took made the floor groan in quiet protest, like the place itself resented being stepped on. Shadows danced across warped walls, cut by exposed beams and magical conduits that carried energy from one room to the next, feeding who-knows-what.

There were rooms with doors slightly ajar, others with reinforced locks, some sealed with symbols I wouldn’t dare touch even if I were being paid in ancient gold. In one of them, I spotted two figures hunched over a table full of papers and scrolls — their voices were dry, hushed, like they were discussing things that shouldn’t breathe outside those walls.

I lowered my head and walked past like I belonged, arms crossed, bored-guard posture. No one stopped me.

I turned left.

A sharp smell took over. An improvised lab stretched ahead. Vials, surgical tools, jars of fluids — and something, someone, lying on a table covered by a white sheet that did nothing to hide the outline of a body.

I didn’t look long. Couldn’t afford to think about everything.

I kept going.

Passed a room where three men played cards in complete silence, using coins with faces I didn’t recognize. Smoke from their pipes hung thick, like a magical veil. One of them looked up at me. I just nodded, and he went back to the game.

I walked farther.

The corridors narrowed. The light dimmed. The air — heavier. I had to dodge a mana thread snaking along the ceiling, leaving a faint bluish trail behind it. It looked alive.

That’s when I rounded a corner that was too tight, nearly blind, and my shoulder slammed straight into another man.

The impact was solid, just enough to knock the breath out of me for half a second. The man stepped back, startled, eyes wide trying to figure out who the hell I was.

He didn’t recognize me.

But he didn’t ignore me either.

[Target: Unknown Operator]

→ Type: Human – Alert but Untrained

→ Position: Close-quarters, corridor corner

→ InitialStatus: Neutral (Surprised)

The doubt in his eyes lasted only a heartbeat — and I knew that moment was the only window I’d get.

My hand shot to his throat like lightning, fingers clamping down hard, slamming him against the nearest wall. He tried to scream, but the sound died before it was born. His hand slapped at my arm, his feet scrambled on the uneven floor, but I already had the upper hand.

He was lean, quick, but untrained. His eyes bulged, his mouth opened in a silent "what." I shoved him into the darkest corner I could find, trying to avoid any sound. His elbow knocked into a metal crate, but the noise was muffled by the dull thud of my knee hitting his gut.

[Action Taken: Neck Grip → Wall Slam → Body Suppression]

→ Secondary Attacks: Knee to Midsection / Forearm Pressure

→ Result: Silenced in 17 seconds

→ Noise Generated: Low (Object collision partially masked)

He fought back. Tried scratching, biting. Tried everything — like every coward does when they realize they’re not walking away breathing.

"Shut up," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Just shut the fuck up."

He gasped, growing weaker, legs wobbling. His eyes began to lose focus. I felt his breath faltering beneath my fingers, the heat of panic bleeding out like steam.

And then, silence.

Again — that same accomplice silence from before.

[Risk Mitigated]

→ Alert Protocol: Not Triggered

→ New ObjectivePath Cleared: Restricted Section Left Wing

I let his body slide down to the floor, knees folding grotesquely. I rifled through his pockets — nothing useful, just a runic metal key and a leather strap with an embroidered sigil. I took both and shoved them into my coat.

[Items Acquired]

→ Rusted Key (Runic Lock – Class 2)

→ Leather Sigil Band [Symbol: Unknown – Likely Factional Access]

The corridor ahead was calling.

And now, with one more problem silenced, I could keep going.