“We got a job from the system,” he said.
Then he paused.
I chose not to break the silence. The goblins around us tried to hide their tense curiosity, pretending to be fascinated by the freshly-cleaned tabletops.
“In fact, it was a two-part job. The first part was to bring the corpses of the three murdered orcs to the nearest medblock, as fast as possible. We did it. Johnny made things a little… difficult, though.”
“He was a big one, for sure.” I nodded understandingly.
They would have had to bring the fresh bodies to the medblock fast. Their limbs were in good condition, so sure as shit they would be repurposed to serve another ‘newborn’. That guy would never know the fat paws he started his life with here once belonged to the deceased Johnny.
I wondered what would happen if I cut off someone’s arm — someone athletic, in good shape — took it to the medblock, and asked the system to replace my bad left arm. Would I instantly get torn to pieces? Or would the system just confiscate the nice arm?
But I was getting lost in thought. The halflings were waiting for my response, but I just smiled and said nothing. Yorka ran a grubby finger over the tabletop.
“Then came the second part. Mother asked us to find the murderers of these three wayward children of hers.”
“Our Mother is kind and merciful, she loves each of us. And she bestows on each of us a unique fate and unique trials. Hail to our Mother!”
“Hail to our Mother!” The halfling behind him repeated, then looked at me.
I looked at Yorka — she had opened her mouth to repeat that stupid phrase. I looked back at the trio and said with a smile:
“Don’t wait on me, guys. I won’t be a part of that bullshit — Buddha forbids it. But it’s certainly a personal choice. Anyway, how can I help you gentlemen?”
The trio leader processed my answer, wincing and chewing at his lip in displeasure. In a strange gesture he carefully wiped the corners of his mouth with his index fingers and said:
“Mother wants us to find the murderers. And we’re more than happy to oblige.”
The system was looking for the murderers. It didn’t see the crime happen, so it hired a gang of wannabe detectives! That was bullshit.
“A few trustworthy zombies and goblins named you as the suspected murderers.”
“Named us?!” I raised my voice so it could be heard at the closest dozen or so tables. “Some goblins pointed at me and Yorka? Who?”
“That doesn’t matter…”
“Yes, it does! Who pointed at us? You know, I can point at people, too! You, for example!” I pointed a literal finger at him. “I think you’re the murderer! I’m a trustworthy goblin! I mean, a trustworthy orc. It doesn’t matter! So who’s spreading lies about us? Give us names! I mean, numbers!”
“I will not.”
His voice was cold and confident, radiating fearlessness and self-confidence. However, he subtly stepped back a little and turned his hips, ready to take a wide step to the side at any moment, avoiding a potential hit and giving way to the fighter standing behind him. And he was certainly a fighter. The one in charge of tactics, who had come up with a brilliant plan to help the leader avoid an attack.
I leaned forward to rest my right elbow on the table, and shifted slightly to the side so I could see the second man. I looked him over carefully and said:
“You’re too tense, man. It’s obvious you have something dangerous up your sleeve. You have to act natural. Don’t hide behind your boss’s back so much. He’s a big man. One day, he’ll be too slow to get out of the way and end up getting stabbed. And don’t stand in such a wide stance. You should be up on your dominant foot, barely touching the floor — but you know that. Anyway, you’d be better off keeping him behind you, let him talk from there.”
A long silence fell.
“Point taken.” He nodded shortly, eyes flashing with anxiety. He slowly moved out from behind his boss and stiffened. “Who are you?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Five-Fifty-Three.”
“I’m double ones, but they call me Elb.”
“I’m Wedge.”
“Listen, Wedge. Tell your boss to take his search for the murderers elsewhere. There are no murderers here.” I looked at the leader of the trio. “Just two work-weary goblins who want to sit and chat before we take showers and hit the sack. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” the bodyguard replied.
“Yes.” The leader agreed, regret in his voice. The only thing he understood was that there was no point in pressing us — we weren’t going to crack. And if we didn’t confess, there was no way they could complete their job.
What other options did he have?
