Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended

CHAPTER 40: The Lone Florian

At one table, a group of particularly rowdy men huddled together, their tankards sloshing with beer. They laughed energetically, trading stories about people they had robbed or slain, or with the various women they had laid.

In the midst of their revelry, one man slapped another on the back so hard that beer splashed across the table and dripped onto the stone floor. Instead of cursing or throwing fists, the incident brought forth a bellow of laughter from both men.

Before his comrade could begin to sober up even remotely, the man waved a hand in the air to summon one of the many female Beastkin servers who skillfully navigated the room, their trays laden with delicious food and replenishing spirits.

The young woman he signaled wore a meek expression, her nervousness evident. Regardless, she quickly disposed herself to his command. The metal collar around her delicate neck chimed as she gingerly leaned in to perform her duties, unwilling to incur the wrath of the men.

As she silently refilled the tankard, the man's roving gaze shamelessly drifted lower, lingering on the soft, creamy curves of her cleavage. When she finished and bowed to move away, he couldn't resist smacking her rear, earning another round of laughter from his companions.

At the far end of the room, an immensely overweight man sat upon a lavish, throne-like chair, his flashy attire almost as extravagant as his appetite. With a flourish, he swept his hand through his permed hair.

A pair of Beastkin females sat on each one of his legs, caressing him tenderly, heated sighs escaping painted lips as he fondled them occasionally. They fed him juicy fruits and poured wine into his goblet as he observed the festivities with a greedy grin.

Beside him, a man clad in combat attire stood vigilant, his face a mask of stoicism. He exuded an air of professionalism, his attention devoted solely to his role as the man's personal guard. While debauchery reigned around him, the man remained the embodiment of seriousness, a stark contrast to the carousing that engulfed the room.

Suddenly, the front doors burst open and in sauntered a small-statured girl with a hulking bag upon her back, her face twisted into a fierce and contemptuous scowl.

"Whoa~" cries of astonishment erupted from the onlooking crowd of men. Some hooted flirtatiously.

"Damn, look at the size of that haul!"

"Looks like she hit the jackpot again!"

Reeza's knapsack was almost bursting at the seams, filled well beyond capacity with Mana Crystals.

"Did you use the monster overpass to trample more people in the dungeon?"

A «monster overpass», sometimes referred to as a «flyover», originated by chance when an individual was overwhelmed by a monster horde. In their retreat, they ran through the ranks of a small group, unintentionally passing on the aggro of the monsters to them.

Since then, the method became a common tool in MMORPGs, often used by players to indirectly kill «bots». Bots were automated characters, designed by players to tirelessly collect gold or valuable items for their main account.

The bots gained a notorious reputation for taking over prime hunting grounds and making it challenging for legitimate players to hunt and find resources.

Slaughtering them with monsters offered a way to deal with these nuisances without incurring the «murder status» and becoming an outlaw within the game.

There were some players, however, who used this method for far more nefarious reasons. Instead of bots, they would target legitimate players to seize hunting grounds or simply to pilfer valuable items that would occasionally drop when they were killed by the monsters.

Now, Reeza—an NPC—had adopted the method, utilizing it in a bitter twist of irony. And, from the unremorseful look in her eyes, it was evident she had no intentions to curb her treacherous ways.

The bodyguard looked down at her menacingly when she came to a halt a few meters away from their leader, his piercing eyes akin to an endless abyss.

"Excellent work, Reeza," the boss praised, even as he sucked down a grape without chewing. "With these two latest hauls, you're inching ever closer to your goal. Just a bit more, and we'll seal the deal."

"Tch," Reeza clicked her tongue flippantly and cocked her head to the side. "You'd better ensure you keep your end of the bargain."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," the man responded playfully. However, sensing her dissatisfaction, he continued with a more serious tone. "As an entrepreneur, I understand the importance of trust. It's the bedrock of any successful business transaction. Without it, everything crumbles to dust."

A laugh of outrage welled up within Reeza, but she stifled it, refusing to give them the satisfaction. "There's no honor or humanity left in any of you," she declared, her ruby red eyes ablaze with disdain as she gestured to the unsavory scene around her. "So, all your talk of trust means absolutely nothing to me."

With fearless determination, she flung the bulging bag at the man's feet and spun on her heels, her defiant spirit radiating from her every step. "I've already weighed that out, so don't even think about trying to make a fool out of me."

The bodyguard stared at his employer, his blade gleaming ominously in the dim lighting as he slightly flicked it out of its sheath with a thumb. He awaited the command eagerly—a mere whisper, and he would have swiftly separated her head from her shoulders.

But it never came.

"It's fine. Let her go," was the order that came instead. Then the man licked his lips perversely as he watched the girl's small form growing smaller in the distance.

Reeza was a Florian—a demihuman race known for their small statures and youthful appearances despite their actual age. Although she looked like a child, standing at no more than 128cm tall, she was already a teenager.

"Hey, Reeza," a younger boy intercepted her near the door. He didn't reek of alcohol like the others, but his ideologies stunk just the same. "I've been scouting a group of adventurers hunting on the third floor of the dungeon for a few days now. Their gear looks pretty expensive. What'd yah say? Wanna take 'em? We can split the rewards 40-50?"

Reeza frowned, her gaze darkening. The fact that he didn't distinguish between the adventurers, whether they were Locals or «The Fallen», indicated his indifference to who got hurt or killed.

The Fallen was the term NPCs used to regard the players, and Reeza had made it her point of duty to target them exclusively since they harbored strong animosity towards demihumans. Plus, they never truly died, no matter how many times they were killed. NPCs, or the «The Locals», on the other hand, had only one life to lose.

"Not interested," Reeza scoffed with derision, shoving him aside so that she could leave.

The youth watched her go, the enthusiasm in his eyes transforming into something sinister.

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