Iris Tavern.
It was a building tucked away in some nameless alley in Falrim.
If you pushed open the old oak door, you'd find that this place—plain as it looked from the outside—was absolutely buzzing inside.
"Hey, waiter! Another round!"
"What do you think of this job?"
"Two silver coins? That's way too low, isn't it?"
Aside from a small handful of ordinary drinkers, most of the patrons shared one thing in common: they were adventurers.
Normally, adventurers went to the Adventurers' Guild to pick up commissions.
But since guild halls were limited, and often a fair walk from where adventurers actually lived, the guild also outsourced some of its petty, low-level jobs to approved taverns, letting them act as intermediaries.
The Iris Tavern was one of those commission pickup spots.
Most of the notices on its board paid only a few copper coins to one or two silvers, and most were local city errands—help someone find a lost pet or missing item, clear giant rats out of the sewers, appraise some odd object, that sort of thing.
Anything paying above that usually wouldn't show up in a tiny tavern like this.
For one thing, the guild generally wouldn't send the better-paying commissions here. For another, even if a clerk made a mistake and did, adventurers still wouldn't take them from a tavern.
Because the tavern took a cut.
For low pay, that was fine—sometimes the travel time and cost of going all the way to a guild branch was more expensive than the tavern's cut. But if the reward was big, losing a chunk to a middleman started to feel like a bad deal.
So the people who hung around here were, naturally, mostly bottom-tier adventurers.
Honestly, calling some of them "adventurers" was being generous. A good portion never took out-of-city jobs at all—forget dangerous combat work. They treated this kind of commission tavern like a day-labor board. After they left, they might be dockworkers hauling cargo, pickpockets prowling the streets, or thugs running errands for a gang.
In short: a mixed bag. Every kind of person you could imagine.
But the funny thing was—places like this tended to have the sharpest gossip.
"Have you heard?" a middle-aged man with a flushed face said, covering his mouth and deliberately lowering his voice. The cheap alcohol had clearly gotten into him. He looked around nervously, like he was afraid the person he was talking about might overhear.
"Yeah? Tell us," the young guy beside him leaned in, curiosity piqued by the performance.
"The Red Dragon Company's leader—Gauss." The man checked left and right again before daring to say the name.
"Psh. I thought you meant someone big and new," the younger guy said, disappointed. "Who in the South District doesn't know about him?"
Bottom-tier adventurers might not have access to high-society intel, but a few months was more than enough for everyone living in the South District to learn about that young powerhouse.
After all—what young guy hasn't daydreamed late at night about being someone like that? Young, handsome, absurdly strong—so perfect you'd wake up laughing if you dreamed it.
"Yeah. My uncle works for his Red Dragon Company as a sorter. The pay's pretty good."
"He's only in his early twenties, right?"
"I heard even the logistics workers get treated well. I'm kinda tempted to try applying."
"I saw him from a distance two days ago. Dude's crazy handsome."
"…"
The name "Gauss" opened the floodgates. The tavern erupted into chatter.
"Tch—then you definitely don't know this," the middle-aged man said, voice dropping again. "That guy's ruthless."
"He doesn't seem like it," a short-haired female adventurer pushed back—the same one who'd said she'd seen Gauss recently.
She didn't even have a strong opinion. It was an instinctive rebuttal.
Most people who'd seen that man in person found it hard to dislike him. He had a strange kind of pull—like you trusted him even if you'd only just met.
And his reputation, publicly, really wasn't bad.
His company paid well—combatants and backline workers alike, everyone made at least twenty to thirty percent more than similar jobs elsewhere.
And unlike some strong adventurers, he wasn't known for nasty habits—bullying the weak, drowning in vice, that kind of thing.
Most of what people talked about were his company, his past exploits, and the way he constantly accepted low-level commissions.
Some rumor channels even claimed that when he wasn't out working, he was usually practicing magic at home.
He had the vibe of an ascetic. A "spell addict," even.
The middle-aged man coughed and chugged a big gulp of cheap wheat beer, using the burn to steel his courage.
"I'm not making it up. You know the Fang of the Gray Wolf? Used to be a South District company too—bigger than Red Dragon Company, even."
"That Gauss—he colluded with Luna, the Fang of the Gray Wolf's Deputy Leader. They got the original leader killed, then swallowed the whole company."
"Poor widow—didn't get a single coin of inheritance. Outsiders took it all."
"Guys who look polite like that? They're the blackest-hearted when they move."
He spoke with full confidence, like he'd been standing there at the "crime scene" himself.
"Hiss…"
"No wonder," someone muttered. "I walked by the Fang of the Gray Wolf compound yesterday and saw their banner taken down."
"Yeah," the man sneered, swaying a little. "Give it a couple days. That place will be flying a red dragon flag."
He didn't notice the raven perched on a window ledge in the corner. Its head was tilted, watching him. Its round black eyes slowly rolled, almost like a person thinking.
A moment later, just as the man was still "sharing" his exclusive intel—
BANG.
The tavern door flew open.
A harsh clatter of metal rang out as a fully armed patrol squad marched in.
The captain scanned the room and quickly locked onto the middle-aged man.
A few soldiers moved in and boxed him from both sides, subtly cutting off his escape.
"Mr. Cooper," the captain said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "please come with us for questioning."
The weight on his shoulder sobered Cooper instantly.
"O-officers… w-what is this about?" he stammered, panic rising. "I'm a good man!"
"We received a report that you accepted bribes and maliciously slandered another adventurer."
"I didn't! I just heard it from someone else—officer, don't tell me you're in bed with Gauss too?!"
The captain sighed. Stubborn to the end.
"Mage, please."
A robed mage stepped out from behind the soldiers.
Normally, spellcasters weren't allowed to cast freely on ordinary civilians inside the city. But there were always exceptions—like an official staff mage attached to the city guard.
With a warrant, they could legally use nonlethal spells during investigations. And if the target resisted, they even had authority to escalate to harmful magic.
Most civilians feared professional mages, so having one present helped keep order.
Seeing the mage step forward, Cooper immediately squatted and covered his head, terrified he'd be "lit up" if he moved too slowly.
"Don't—don't kill me!"
The staff mage ignored him, calmly raised his wand, and cast.
The crowd instinctively backed away several steps, some already looking at Cooper with sympathy.
A faint spell-glow struck Cooper.
"Truth Spell."
There was no dramatic explosion, no lightning, no fire.
Cooper's eyes dulled. His expression went slack.
There were other spells that could achieve similar effects, but a force like Falrim's city guard naturally had a reliable all-purpose tool for interrogation.
If they just dragged Cooper away without proof, rumors would spread about abuse of power. This was cleaner.
"I ask, you answer. No lies."
"…Okay."
"Why did you spread false rumors about Mr. Gauss?"
"Someone paid me two silver coins to go to commission taverns around here and smear Gauss."
Even among bottom-tier adventurers, some knew enough to recognize the spell.
Hearing that Cooper had been paid to slander, several people curled their lips in disgust—so it really was made up.
"I didn't believe it."
"Me neither. I was just watching him perform, honestly."
Under the Truth Spell, the tavern's mood flipped instantly.
At this point, it didn't even matter how much Cooper had fabricated. One thing was clear: Gauss's position was… special.
Cooper had only started spreading the rumors, and the patrol was already here—specifically, with a staff mage.
Nobody remembered patrol squads having the time to haul in every person who badmouthed an adventurer. If that were the standard, they'd be doing nothing but stuffing the holding cells all day.
So why this speed? Why this level of response?
Cooper was quickly dragged out.
After the patrol left, the previously lively tavern fell into an awkward hush.
"Cooper was always gonna die by his mouth."
"Two silver coins to smear someone like that… insane."
The raven watched a moment longer, then slipped through a cracked window and flew off.
Back at the Red Dragon Company compound, Gauss gave a small, satisfied nod.
So that was it.
He'd been noticing occasional negative comments when he strolled around—at first he didn't care. He wasn't a gold coin. Not everyone had to like him.
Even someone as straightforward as him would naturally pick up a few bad reviews.
But when the same talking points kept appearing—"he stole Fang of the Gray Wolf," "he hogs low-level commissions so bottom-tier adventurers can't find work," and so on—he recognized the pattern. It sounded exactly like paid smear crews from his old world: same script, repeated across high-traffic venues.
He'd mentioned it to Ivan. Ivan had taken it extremely seriously, even raising it to top priority.
The city administration had responded quickly too—passing orders down and having patrol units cooperate in finding the rumor sources.
An hour later, the patrol delivered the result.
"It was the Snowblade Company."
"And do you have any idea who they are?" Gauss asked Luna.
He'd honestly never heard the name before.
Luna's brow tightened immediately. "Snowblade… they used to clash with our Fang of the Gray Wolf all the time out in the field. They were a constant nuisance."
"And before we got back to Falrim, they even sent people to the old Fang of the Gray Wolf compound to steal things while we were short-handed. They got caught," Ivan added.
"Now that they've realized Red Dragon Company absorbed Fang of the Gray Wolf, they're panicking. So they're trying to ruin your reputation."
Gauss's expression turned thoughtful.
Reputation in this world was more useful than it looked. It could lift someone up—and it could bury them under contempt.
It wasn't just "face." It was tied to real influence, to invisible forces that shaped what people believed and what doors opened.
He didn't know whether fame accelerated strength, or strength produced fame. Chicken and egg.
But what mattered was: Snowblade was afraid enough to play dirty.
Gauss's eyes cooled.
"I'll remember them."
Then he shook his head slightly.
Good people were supposed to be the ones with guns pointed at them?
He looked at Ivan. "Ivan—reach out to a couple of the gossip-heavy papers. Or see if we can buy a small one. I want to submit some material."
He planned to pay them back in kind.
But he wouldn't need to invent lies. People like that rarely stayed clean if anyone bothered to look.
Between Shadow's stealth, his own mental sense, and his clay constructs, investigation was easy.
Normally, he wouldn't bother provoking fellow adventurers.
But they'd come at him first.
Over the next few days, Snowblade's upper ranks realized Falrim had started circulating "stories" about them.
No names were printed, but Falrim's adventuring scene wasn't so big that you couldn't guess who it was about.
Worse—every story was true.
Middle managers skimming widow compensation. The internal "paid canteen" buying cheap, rotten supplies while charging full price. A shield-using senior member sleeping around with ordinary members' spouses…
Snowblade erupted into chaos. Members turned on each other. People blocked doors and screamed in confrontations. Within days, resignations poured in, and prospective recruits backed away fast.
Maybe that rapidly expanding Red Dragon Company was the better choice…
And that was that.
~~~
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