#064. The Old Man and Rock Deer (2)
After changing their clothes, Ray and his companions looked at themselves in the mirror. The shopkeeper followed them around, exclaiming with all his might, "Oh my! It looks absolutely perfect on you!" As he did so, his eyes kept darting toward the inside of Philip’s jacket where the money pouch was, the golden desire within the vessel squirming in sync with the owner’s glances.
"Try this one too! Oh my, this is so pretty! Ahhh! What do I do!"
"What do you mean, ‘what do I do’?" Philip shook his head vigorously.
"Ray, do you remember how many times that’s been?"
"Twelfth time."
"Hey, guys. How about this? Does it look good?"
"Uh, yeah. It looks fine."
"Now it’s the thirteenth time."
"Huh? Your answer sounds so lifeless. Are you sure it really looks good?"
"Wow! Veronica! It suits you so well! You’re so beautiful and stunning—I can’t stop admiring you! Haha! I’d believe it if someone said you were a princess!"
After Veronica’s fashion show came to an end, the group each picked out a set of clothes: shirts, pants, jackets, dresses, and shoes. Though not as flashy as some of the other items in the store, the outfits were undoubtedly elegant and made from highly functional materials.
Philip chatted with the clerk at the counter and managed to secure a 15% discount off the marked price. As they left the store, Ray asked, "How did you lower the price?"
Philip grinned. "That’s a trade secret."
Ray marveled. So you could haggle this much without resorting to guns or knives.
The group left their original clothes at their lodgings and resumed their journey toward the hotel. True to Philip’s words, the street kids no longer picked fights—instead, they flinched and scattered whenever the group passed. Suspicion still lingered in their gazes, but the emotions within their vessels had shifted: longing, admiration, envy, jealousy. Murky mana, like muddy water, swirled inside them.
Ray tilted his head. "Are there other ways to change people’s reactions? Besides clothing?"
Philip hummed. "Well… anything related to appearance works similarly. When meeting someone new, people judge solely by outward appearances."
He listed examples like looks, attire, and tone of voice.
"But the most crucial thing is the aura someone radiates. A kind of presence. That’s why some look regal even in rags, while others seem plain despite wearing luxury."
Philip believed Ray belonged to the former. No one would ever guess the boy in crisp shirts and tailored pants was a street kid.
‘Calling him a rich young master still wouldn’t be enough.’
A grander title was needed—something akin to encountering a being from another race entirely.
Tap—tap—tap—
The group continued through the streets until they reached 22nd Street. There, towering above neighboring buildings, stood Gallot Hotel.
Veronica and Philip gaped.
"It’s massive! I’ve never seen anything this tall!"
"Five whole floors!"
Objectively unimpressive, yet the tallest structure they’d ever encountered. The hotel’s entrance was framed by an antiquated reddish-brown wall, two uniformed guards standing rigidly at attention. Occasional guests drifted past.
Philip muttered, "They don’t seem to check passes. Shouldn’t we just enter instead of waiting?"
Despite their new clothes, hesitation lingered. According to Skylee, their client remained holed up inside with bodyguards, scarcely venturing out while awaiting the mercenaries’ report.
"They’ll emerge eventually," Philip said, "but waiting blindly wastes time."
"Let’s go in."
Ray strode forward abruptly. Philip and Veronica jolted, scrambling after him.
"Ray, wait! We should coordinate first—what if we get caught—"
"We won’t."
Ray’s confidence stemmed from earlier: the guards’ vessels had shown no hostility when their eyes met.
As they neared the entrance, Philip and Veronica’s anxiety spiked. They felt the guards’ stares, half-expecting to be seized and interrogated. Instinctively, they bowed their heads—
"It’s fine."
Ray’s whisper cut through the tension. Their worries melted away like snow. Lifting their chins, they followed him through the gates with newfound poise.
No one stopped them.
When they glanced back, the guards even nodded with faint smiles.
"...It actually worked," Philip murmured.
Guests they passed in the lobby smiled or inclined their heads. Most were affluent visitors to Sector 48—business travelers, tourists—their leisurely air a stark contrast to lower-sector residents clawing through each day. Among these guests thrived an unspoken camaraderie, a shared distance from the "misfortune" of lower-sector birth.
"Is this also because of our clothes?" Ray wondered aloud.
He found it remarkable—that humans could offer such immediate, profound kindness based solely on first impressions.
“I think it might be like that.”
While receiving greetings from the hotel guests, the group completely blended into the hotel’s atmosphere.
They passed through the entrance and headed toward the U-shaped desk at the center of the first floor.
The manager, with his dignified appearance, greeted them with a smile.
“Do you need assistance, young ladies and gentlemen?”
“We’re trying to return to our room, but we forgot the number!”
“Under whose name was the reservation made?”
“John Grid. It’s our grandfather’s name.”
Without suspicion, the manager provided the room number.
After climbing the stairs, they arrived at Room 207, located at the end of a corridor lined with red carpet.
Knock knock.
The door opened, revealing a stern-faced man in a suit.
“…What? Who are you? You must have the wrong room.”
Philip and Veronica instinctively stepped back as Ray moved forward.
“We’re here to see Mr. John Grid.”
A brief silence followed.
The man furrowed his brow.
“No one’s scheduled to meet the boss today, especially not kids like you.”
“We came through the Skyle Mercenaries. We want details about Lockdeer, the creature you’re searching for.”
The man’s frown deepened.
“Should’ve known it’s those loose-lipped mercenary brats… Blabbing client info like it’s nothing…” he muttered under his breath before addressing Ray coldly.
“The boss is busy. He doesn’t meet children on a whim.”
“We might be able to help,” Ray pressed.
“Whoever sent you, tell them to show sincerity by coming directly next time—if they want a meeting.”
The man’s tone was unyielding.
Even through his emotional “vessel,” his resolve was clear: he wouldn’t back down.
Leaving this to Philip won’t work.
It seemed certain John Grid was inside.
Judging by the aura, more bodyguards were likely stationed beyond the entrance—one room to the left, another to the right.
Ray assessed the layout behind the man, devising a plan to subdue them.
When his goal was clear, he spared no methods.
That was the boy’s way.
The clue about the rainbow was reason enough to make Lockdeer his target.
“Get lost. Before I throw you out.”
As Ray gathered mana to kick off the floor—
“Guests, I see? Let them in. I’d like to hear about the creature I seek.”
A voice echoed from within.
The man disappeared briefly, then returned with a displeased grunt, ushering them inside.
“Young visitors, you say? They claim to have come about Skyle?”
In the central living room, a gray-haired old man sat on the sofa.
His faint smile contrasted with his frail, energy-depleted appearance.
“Cheaper. What business does a dying old man have being ‘busy’? Entertaining guests while awaiting good news is harmless enough.”
“If you say so, sir…”
The man bowed and retreated behind the sofa.
Including him, there were ten bodyguards.
One stood out—dressed casually and appearing no older than his early twenties.
“Make yourselves comfortable, young ones. Introduce yourselves first. Did Skyle send you?”
The old man gestured to the sofa across the table.
Ray sat first, followed by Philip and Veronica, who exchanged uneasy glances.
He wants introductions.
What do we say?
Their group’s identity was clear: a community bound by shared goals.
But explaining this to others? They had no idea how.
Both turned to Ray, who answered without hesitation:
“We’re a mercenary group.”
The reply stunned them.
Philip, since when are we a mercenary group?
I guess we are…?
We need a name, then. What should we pick?
Anything but something lame like ‘Fran’...
…?
While Philip and Veronica conversed silently, Ray continued.
“A mercenary group? The kind that roams regions taking contracts?”
“Yes. Skyle didn’t send us. We came for details about Lockdeer.”
Silence fell.
Suddenly, the old man burst into laughter.
“Kheh-heh-heh! A mercenary group! The youngest I’ve ever seen!”
Ray studied the old man’s “vessel.”
Years of emotional imprints made his current state impossible to discern.
…Like Grandfather Graham.
Ray focused instead on his facial expressions—still a challenging task, but improving with practice.
“So the white-haired boy leads this group? If you want the story, I’ll oblige.”
“Sir, they could be spies from a rival—”
“What use is spying on a ruined company? Securing dozens of water sources to supply regions… that glory’s long past. Now, what did Skyle tell you?”
The old man seemed genuinely amused, like a grandfather sharing tales.
“We heard you were stranded in the wilderness long ago. A water-made Lockdeer saved you. And—”
Ray paused.
“—there was a gem glowing blue on its forehead.”
