Chapter 3: Charm 180
Hans turned his head.
There, the brats he usually led were staring with wide eyes.
His mind went blank.
From the kids’ gaping mouths came attacks disguised as questions.
“…What’s wrong with you? Caught her disease?”
In their world, contact with the “btch” crazy beggar girl was the ultimate taboo.
Yesterday’s alley leader was gone.
The kids screamed with glee at finding new prey.
“Whoa! He caught the disease from the btch!”
“No, it’s not…!”
“He’s got it! Hans caught the disease!”
“I said it’s not! For real!”
Hans’s cries were futile. He was now the kid who caught the disease and confessed to the crazy beggar girl.
Sirin cackled and turned away.
Yes, this was Charm 180.
No longer did she need to spew curses driven by childish urges. This was the civilized way of preserving dignity. She was proud of herself.
Having cruelly trampled a kid’s first crush, Sirin hummed and headed into the village.
The village was far busier than usual, preparing for the festival.
The square was lined with makeshift stalls, colorful cloth scraps, and dried flower branches creating a crude festive vibe.
Kids ran around playing tag, while adults chatted with neighbors or haggled.
Faint music drifted from afar, mingled with the savory smell of roasting food and the sour tang of cheap fruit wine fermenting in the air.
Yet, amid the merriment, there was an uneasy undercurrent.
The village’s tense atmosphere had a reason.
A mercenary band, hired by the empire to hunt beasts nearby, had stayed and was causing trouble.
The world Sirin fell into was a chaotic mix of ancient, medieval, and early modern elements with no roots.
There was an empire modeled after Rome, city-states, gods, and more.
It was a mess.
Sirin’s bad luck had landed her in a nameless frontier village on the empire’s edge.
The empire’s borders were plagued by beasts, and with soldiers always in short supply, mercenaries were often hired.
The problem was that these mercenary bands were usually trash heaps relying on brute strength.
This group was no exception.
Even after finishing their beast hunt, they didn’t leave, picking fights with villagers and stealing goods.
Sirin saw trouble brewing at a fruit stall in the square.
A rough-looking mercenary was yelling at an old woman running the stall.
“Hey, granny! What’s wrong with this taste? Selling rotten stuff, huh?”
“N-No, sir! Freshly picked this morning…!”
“What? I said it tastes bad. Selling rotten apples for money? I already ate it. Feels like it’ll make me sick. How you gonna make up for this?”
“Oh, please, sir…!”
“Hey, Heres! The fruit here’s bad! This hag gave me fresh garbage!”
Sirin looked at the man called Heres.
The muscular man, Heres, snickered and kicked over the stall’s fruit basket.
Ripe apples and unknown fruits rolled uglily in the dirt—things Sirin, starving as she was, could never have.
“Tch, tch, granny. You need better sense to run a stall.”
Heres crushed a dirt-covered fruit as he spoke.
The sour-sweet scent of mashed fruit hit Sirin’s sharp senses, making her stomach churn.
“You know who we are, right? Heroes risking our lives for the empire. But we’re broke. We hunted beasts, but no reward came. So, someone ought to lend us some coin, no?”
Heres eyed the old woman’s money pouch blatantly, grinning.
The other mercenaries laughed along.
“It’s a grand festival day. Heroes can’t be without money for apples, right? What’s your take, granny?”
This was how the mercenaries acted.
The empire’s so-called peacekeeping force watched openly but did nothing.
Sirin stared blankly at the crushed fruit in the dirt, then noticed something moving quickly in the corner of her eye.
It was Mary from Wilson’s tavern.
A faint bruise seemed to mark Mary’s face.
Sirin glanced at her back, then looked away.
With the festival, more mercenaries than usual roamed the village.
Unlike Heres’s rowdy crew, another group of mercenaries sat quietly in the shade near the tavern, drinking or talking in low voices, uninterested in the commotion.
Birds of a feather, huh.
Sirin moved on.
She headed to Peter’s church.
The first person she should tell about her speech was that old man.
“Old man!”
Sirin shouted with joy upon seeing Peter.
He looked up from cleaning something in a corner.
“…You’ve learned another word. But of all things, ‘old man’?”
Peter nodded solemnly.
“It’s good your vocabulary’s growing, but it’ll take time to understand what you mean. Why not stick to curses like usual? I’m not that old.”
“You crazy old man…”
Peter’s wrinkled eyes widened at Sirin’s words.
“…What did you just say?”
“Old man, I knew you were going deaf, but now you’re completely deaf? Can’t hear me right in front of you? Got someone to look after you?”
At Sirin’s taunts, Peter’s jaw dropped.
The usually stoic old man’s eyes went wide.
He stared at Sirin for a moment, then burst into hearty laughter.
“Hah! I knew it!”
“Gah!”
Peter slapped Sirin’s back hard.
The old man’s strength nearly sent her sprawling.
Ding!
[Powerful Strike!]
[Partially met conditions for activating the Basic Practice System!]
The system spouted nonsense at Peter’s hit.
Sirin coughed and thought.
‘Damn it, this crazy old man’s gonna kill me!’
“Too good, love’s discipline!”
Damn it, Sirin had used her messed-up language wiring again.
Peter’s strong physical blow had scrambled her brain-tongue connection.
Sirin snapped.
“You lunatic old man, stop it!”
Peter finally stopped smacking her back.
But his face was still full of smiles.
Seeing it, Sirin couldn’t stay mad and grinned behind her mask.
“Is it true? You can really talk now? How’s that possible?”
Peter scanned her up and down, still in disbelief.
The past six months flashed through Sirin’s mind.
Her distorted reflection in the stream, her unmoving tongue and lips, the thousands of twisted curse fragments…
She nearly got sentimental but summed it up simply.
“Effort and grit.”
“…That’s practically a miracle. Got a god you believe in?”
Sirin smirked dryly.
“Nope, old man. All me, through sheer persistence.”
“Could be.”
Peter smiled back at Sirin’s grin.
“Anyway, it’s worth celebrating. A day like this can’t just pass. Learning to speak is like being reborn.”
Peter stood up.
“What’re you doing?”
“There’s wine for times like this.”
“Old man, you’ve got wine? Isn’t this a church? Can priests drink?”
“Who doesn’t drink? Watch out for those who don’t. They’re either not human or con artists.”
As before, Peter was a pretty wild priest. He’d even suggested prostitution.
He paused, looked around, and sighed.
“I’d get it now, but I’ve got work. Come back in the evening after the festival. We’ll talk then.”
“You’re not going to the festival?”
“I’ve got my beliefs, so I don’t join the all-gods festival. Go enjoy yourself. Wait, hold on.”
Peter looked at Sirin.
“You need to look decent for the festival. Even for a beggar, this is a bit much.”
His gaze was on her rags.
In truth, the clothes she wore were from Peter. They’d just turned to rags from her rolling around.
“I thought you liked mud baths like a stray dog, so I let it be. But seeing you clean now, I guess not. Wait here.”
Peter returned with a worn but clean, sturdy outfit and a small leather pouch.
“Here, wear this. And this… for some festival snacks.”
The pouch held a few coins.
Peter grinned at Sirin’s odd expression.
“Congrats on being reborn. Have fun.”
Sirin didn’t want to, but she felt a bit touched.
“…Damn it, I can’t stand owing anyone. I’ll pay you back in gold later.”
“By the time you’re earning gold, I’ll be long dead.”
Sirin said, overcome with emotion.
“Then I’ll gild your tombstone.”
“Still spouting nonsense, huh? Not fully healed yet.”
Peter laughed heartily and slapped her back again.
Ding!
[Powerful Strike!]
[Partially met conditions for activating the Basic Practice System!]
“Argh! Damn old man! Stop hitting me!”
Sirin screamed and bolted out of the church.
“Damn geezer.”
She grumbled but wasn’t in a bad mood.
The freedom of speaking properly.
She’d change clothes and go greet Marta.
She didn’t plan to go too hard on Marta, but she’d prepared some sharp words for that annoying kid, Vera.
Sirin cackled as she moved on.
“…”
As she neared the village, she heard someone causing a ruckus.
It seemed her “repaying kindness” might come sooner than expected.