SSSSS-Rank: Negative Leveling

"This Old Man Moria. You said he lives in the mansion on the hill."

"That's right. And he doesn't see visitors."

"I need to talk to him."

"And I need a new spine, but we don't always get what we want, do we?" the old woman grunted, picking up a small, empty bottle from her blanket and inspecting it.

"Everything in this town is about the toll."

"Ten percent. On everything. It's the only law that matters here."

He turned and walked back to the pile of unconscious Syndicate members, he grabbed the hair of the burly man he had dealt with first and hauled him to his feet, slinging the limp body over his shoulder without any effort.

Rebecca's eyes went wide, "Whoa! What are you doing with him? Are you going to throw him in a ditch?"

Luthra started walking up the street, heading towards the large hill that overlooked the town, "We're going to pay our respects to the landlord."

"Eh? What's a landlord?" Rebecca asked, hurrying to catch up, "Is that another word for a big boss?"

"Yes."

They walked through the streets of Outpost K, Rebecca skipping alongside Luthra, who still had the unconscious man slung over his shoulder. The people in the street saw them coming, saw the Syndicate armor on the man, and quickly moved out of their way.

Soon they arrived at the base of the hill where a stone path led up to a large mansion surrounded by a wall, and two guards stood at a gate, blocking the way.

One of the guards held up a hand, "This is the private property of Lord Moria. State your purpose."

Luthra let the unconscious Syndicate member slide off his shoulder, dumping him on the ground at the guards' feet.

"I'm here to pay the toll."

The two guards looked at the unconscious man on the ground, then back at Luthra, their expressions unreadable.

One of them finally spoke, his voice a low growl, "What the hell is this supposed to be? A joke?"

The second guard took a step forward, resting his hand on the hilt of the massive sword strapped to his back, "You think you can just dump Syndicate trash on Lord Moria's doorstep and call it a toll? You've got a death wish, pal. That's the only thing you're paying for today."

'These guys are different from the idiots in the tavern,' Luthra assessed, 'I may not be able to read mana signatures but I cant tell, they're real hunters, probably high C-Rank.'

Rebecca, who was still wrapped in her blanket, popped her head out from behind his leg, "Hey! He's not trash, he's a present! A gift for your boss! Are you guys always this rude to people who bring you gifts?"

The first guard's eye twitched, 'This fucking kid is getting on my nerves. I'm about five seconds from punting her back down the hill.'

He ignored the girl, his gaze locked on Luthra, "Last chance. Pick up your garbage and get the hell out of here before we decide to add you to the pile."

The guard moved, his hand shooting out to grab Luthra's shoulder in a specialized grip designed to dislocate the joint with a single twist. It was a technique used by hunters to quickly incapacitate non-lethally.

Before his fingers could even make contact, a crackle of static came from a small speaker mounted on the gatepost next to him. A voice, old and tired, but laced with an undeniable authority, echoed through the air.

"Let them pass."

The guard's hand froze in mid-air. He and his partner both went rigid, their hostile postures vanishing instantly as they turned to look at the speaker.

'The Old Man?' the second guard thought, his mind racing, 'Why in the world would he be interested in these two? He hasn't had visitors in years.'

Without another word, the two guards stepped aside, one of them moving to unlock and swing open the heavy iron gate. They did not look at Luthra or Rebecca again, their eyes fixed on the ground in front of them as if they had received the scolding of a lifetime.

Luthra grabbed the unconscious Syndicate member by the collar and began dragging him through the gate, the man's body bumping along the stone path. Rebecca skipped along behind him, humming to herself.

As they walked up the winding path toward the mansion, Luthra's mind processed the information the old woman had given him. Old Man Moria, the 'Demon of the North', was a legendary A-Rank hunter who had retired over a decade ago.

In his prime, he was said to be one of the most powerful physical-type hunters in the world, a man who could level mountains and boil rivers with the force of his punches. After a particularly brutal campaign against a nest of dragons in the Northern Wastes, a fight that cost him his left arm and eye, he had simply walked away from the Association and built this outpost, ruling over it as his own personal kingdom.

The ten percent tax was his only law, and it was a law no one, not even the Gorgon Syndicate, dared to break.

They arrived at the mansion's massive doors, and before he could even think to knock, one of the doors swung inward with a silent, heavy motion. An old man in a pristine black butler's uniform stood in the doorway. He was thin and stooped with age, but his eyes were sharp, and Luthra could feel a strength in him that spoke of a retired, high-ranking hunter, probably a B-Rank at his peak.

The butler bowed his head slightly, his gaze taking in Luthra, the child, and the unconscious man being dragged behind them, "Lord Moria has been expecting you. Please, follow me. And do try not to get any more blood on the marble floors."

Luthra grunted, hoisting the Syndicate member over his shoulder again before stepping inside. The butler led them down a long hallway.

They came to a stop in front of a pair of large, intricately carved wooden doors. The butler pushed them open, revealing a vast study. Bookshelves filled with ancient-looking tomes lined the walls from floor to ceiling. A large fireplace crackled merrily on one side of the room. And in the center, sitting in a high-backed leather chair behind a massive mahogany desk, was a man.

He was old, his hair a shock of pure white, and a black eyepatch covered his left eye. His remaining right eye was a piercing, intelligent blue. The most striking thing about him, however, was his left arm. It was a marvel of magical engineering, a prosthetic made of gleaming silver metal and glowing blue runes that hummed with power.

He was not looking at them. His attention was focused on the object in his hand, a small piece of soft cloth with which he was meticulously polishing a collection of glass eyeballs that were arranged neatly on his desk.

He finally looked up, his single blue eye fixing on Luthra. He set down the eyeball he was cleaning and smiled, a gesture that did not reach his eye at all.

"So," his voice was surprisingly strong, a deep, resonant baritone that filled the large room, "You're the one who brought chaos to my town."