Chapter Fifty-Two: Legend of the Savior at the End of the Century

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The manga “Fist of the Eastern Star,” created by two masters—Mrs. Ximen as the original author and Old Horse of the Familiar Path as the artist—was serialized in “Midlife Weekly! Jump!” The comic has sold over a hundred million copies and has been adapted into both anime and video games.

The story unfolds after civilization is ravaged by the “White Frost,” leaving humanity to live by the law of the jungle. In this world appears a man bearing the five-star scar of the Eastern Star on his chest, wielding the mysterious assassination martial art from the East—the “Fist of the Eastern Star.” To reunite with his beloved “Siri,” he stakes his life in battle, fighting countless fierce enemies bare-chested. Bearing the weight of “love and sorrow,” he gradually grows into the savior of mankind.

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…

Siegfried of Danso and the lady with the voluminous waves both bowed in respect. Victor leapt down from the ring and took the coarse linen shirt from Angoulême’s hands, slipping it on.

Then he stepped before Griffelin.

“Hey! Veteran of the Battle of Brenner, I may not have beaten three opponents, but tonight no one dares challenge me. I believe that fulfills your requirements as well.”

Lowering his arms, which had been crossed over his chest, the proprietor smiled and clapped three times. “Of course it does—your match exceeded all expectations. The speed you showed in that initial side blow, and the feint before your second hook, were true marks of skill. What a spectacle! Go on up to the second floor! The person you seek is in the chamber at the very end. In fact, he’s been upstairs watching your performance just now. Relax—he’s quite taken with you.”

Turning his head, Victor spotted the beautiful lady from earlier leaving through the door. “Who is she?” Victor inquired of Griffelin.

Following the youth’s gaze to her retreating figure, Griffelin replied, “The owner of ‘Longing Thighs’—Madam Carmen. Word of advice: don’t entertain unrealistic fantasies. She’s as dangerous as she is beautiful.”

“With Mr. Lance Smith?”

He shook his head. “No, you’ll understand once you’ve been around long enough.”

“All right! Let me reiterate: I’m new here, a mercenary who wants no trouble. Rest assured.”

“Go on up, I’ve already informed him. Lance Smith is waiting for you.”

The name “Lance” in Lance Smith, Victor guessed, was not his real name but a play on the word for “ram” in the Elven tongue, especially considering the Ram Gang’s name.

Contrary to his expectations, the second floor of the Hairy Bear was not dilapidated. From the stairs to the corridor, everything was tidy and well-kept. Pushing open the innermost door, Victor came face-to-face with the underground godfather of the Temple District. He was dressed as plainly as his henchmen: gray cloth trousers, a linen shirt with an open collar, and a red sash with copper buckles. But on closer inspection, distinguishing features emerged: a bald head, and a scar running from the upper left to the lower right, slashing diagonally across his entire face—the longest such mark Victor had ever seen.

The leader of the Ram Gang—Lance Smith—was devouring his meal hunched over the table. The spread was sumptuous: the main dishes included camembert cheese fish pie, confit duck, roasted beef ribs, fried pork cutlets, and stewed lamb. Sides were a large bowl of mashed potatoes, small round loaves with matching Banrudal butter, tomato soup, and baked apples for dessert.

“Sit! Join me for a meal. I imagine you’re hungry too. If you can drink, have a glass of ‘Vigemar Champion’ with me.” Like any warm host, he beckoned the youth to sit, slamming a brimming mug of beer in front of him.

Victor pulled out a chair and sat down. He raised his beer in salute to his host, then downed more than half the mug in one go. Turning aside to exhale the alcohol, he began eating heartily, starting with the roasted beef ribs.

Lance Smith took a satisfied gulp of beer. “You really worked hard just now, young man. Your fight was a thing of beauty—well done! You know, that damn ‘King of Killers’ has injured several of my men here and refuses to throw even an occasional match. The man’s a real headache.”

“Is that so? I thought someone of your stature could have dealt with him easily.”

He chuckled. “Don’t joke. Temeria is a land of laws. Our great King Foltest always keeps a watchful eye over us—protecting us.”

The beef ribs were perfectly roasted; biting in, the juices splattered.

“I thought even a king’s eyes couldn’t see into the darkest corners.”

“No, no! With the King’s Eye Thaler, the King’s Hand Vernon Roche, our handsome Captain Vincent, and the mighty, benevolent Jacques of Ardberg watching over us, how could a small gang like ours have any reason not to obey the law?”

“The King’s Eye Thaler? The King’s Hand Vernon Roche?” Victor felt certain he’d heard those names before.

“Ah, I must have drunk too much, bringing up such fearsome names. Let’s forget about them and get down to business.

Since you’ve come to me, I assume you know who I am, so I’ll skip the introductions. Now, ‘honestly’ tell me, young mercenary who claims to shun trouble—who are you, and where do you come from? To be frank, your first dodge was too precise, your speed astonishing. That’s not something an ordinary mercenary can do.”

Lance Smith never stopped chewing as he spoke, and when he finished, he forked an entire fried cutlet into his mouth.

Victor, meanwhile, heaped several spoonfuls of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“…I am Victor Corleone, from Bell Town east of Zerrikania. I don’t want trouble, but since you ask, I’ll admit I have another identity: I’m an apprentice Witcher.”

For a few seconds, the sound of Smith’s chewing paused, then resumed.

“Aha! An apprentice Witcher—no wonder you’re so formidable. That explains everything. Oh, the Fist of the Eastern Star, the Dragon of Bell Town—well deserved. Aren’t you worried I’ll look at you differently now?”

“The Ram of the Ram Gang—someone bearing that name, I believe, would understand the importance of Witchers.”

“Heh! Victor from Bell Town, east of Zerrikania—normally, I would tie up anyone who insulted the Ram Gang and give him a lesson he’d never forget. But you truly impressed me. Never mind the second punch—even that first dodge, that precise counterattack… To humiliate someone like you and not kill you would be irresponsible on my part, and might even be a crime against myself.

So, why not be generous? Seven of my men, hired by another, foolishly came after you. Now they’ve vanished, while you sit here at my table. So, shall we call it even?”

Victor grabbed another piece of the fish pie and took a hearty bite. In truth, the fare at the Hairy Bear Tavern was quite good; every dish was above average.

He narrowed his eyes in thought, then nodded in agreement. “Thank you for your magnanimity. We’re square.”

“Then, once you’ve eaten, get lost. There’s no need for someone like you to get mixed up with us.”

“But there are matters I need your help with. Of course, I’m prepared to pay.”

“Let’s hear it!” When it came to business, the Ram Gang boss’s eyes sharpened instantly.

“I want to know who hired the Ram Gang to come after me. I know the source of the threat, but can’t find the actual perpetrators.”

Lance Smith burst out laughing. “Plague take it! Under the sun, everyone’s got their troubles. I have the Salamandra to worry about; you have assassination attempts to deal with.

Tsk, tsk! As I suspected, you’re not someone who takes an attack lying down. Fine—they tried to use my men for murder. That makes us share a common enemy, so you don’t owe me anything.

Tomorrow morning, when you leave, someone will be waiting at the door. He’ll take you to see who bribed my men. After that, whatever happens has nothing to do with the Ram Gang, understood?”

“Of course. I just want to know who the despicable assassins are. That way, even if I fall to misfortune, I can rest easy.”

“Hahaha! Good. Listen, as a mercenary, I like you. In my view, you haven’t done anything to harm yourself or others.

You say and do what’s proper, so next time you need me, you won’t have to take to the ring. Just find one of my men, and they’ll bring you to me.

Now off you go. Tonight’s ‘Iron Fist’—all expenses at the Hairy Bear Tavern are on the house. And I’m sure one of the girls from ‘Longing Thighs’ would be happy to spend a pleasant night with you. Don’t let such a fine evening go to waste.”

As Victor left the room, Mr. Lance Smith was still eating heartily, his appetite unflagging.