Volume 2 Chapter 54: I’m Just a Handyman, but Honestly, I Want to Quit Already (Part 2)

In the mining district of the commercial area, a new tavern called “The Lion’s Den” had recently opened. It was a small establishment managed by Gulf Cordius, a retired miner.

Having survived the Crystal Labyrinth, Gulf discovered an abandoned storefront that seemed forgotten by everyone. Deciding to start a tavern there, he envisioned it as a sanctuary for miners burdened by their struggles—a place where they could vent their frustrations over drinks while he offered advice from his years of experience.

Although the tavern wasn’t bustling with patrons yet, those who visited found it remarkably pleasant. Gulf, a man naturally caring when not bitter or jaded, created an atmosphere where customers felt at ease. Miners often left with lighter hearts after unloading their grievances, which in turn gave Gulf a sense of fulfillment.

For both Gulf and his patrons, The Lion’s Den was gradually becoming a place of solace.

However, at this very moment, the tavern, meant to be a peaceful haven, exuded a dark and oppressive atmosphere.

The interior, arranged meticulously with the help of Gulf’s former comrades from Fierce Lions, featured a wide counter adorned with rows of liquor bottles. Barstools lined the counter, and tasteful furnishings, indoor plants, and warm-toned lighting gave the small, stone-built space the feel of a stylish bar.

Gulf himself, a far cry from his rough and intimidating miner days, was dressed impeccably. His neatly combed hair, spotless shirt, vest, and black pants gave him a formal and refined appearance.

There wasn’t a single flaw in the tavern or its owner.

So, what was creating this unsettling atmosphere? What was the problem? If neither the establishment nor Gulf was at fault, only one possibility remained:

The customers.

“I hate candles. I hate candles. I hate candles…”

Slumped over the counter, a black-haired man murmured the same words like a mantra. His gloom emanated a nearly tangible aura of despair, leaving Gulf utterly exasperated.

“Seriously… What’s so bad about candles, huh?”

Exhaling deeply, Gulf addressed the man—Noil Arlens—but received no response. Noil just kept mumbling the same line over and over. In fact, since stumbling into the tavern earlier, he hadn’t uttered a single other word.

“I hate girls’ nights out. I hate girls’ nights out. I hate girls’ nights out…”

Next to Noil, a half-beastwoman—Mina Carat, known as Black Cat—was slumped over in a similar fashion, repeating her own mantra. Gulf was just as exasperated with her as he was with Noil.

Mina had wandered in not long after Noil and, like him, hadn’t said anything else since.

What the hell is this? Gulf thought, clutching his head.

Both were his lifesavers, people he owed too much to dismiss outright. Even if that weren’t the case, leaving individuals in such an abnormal state alone would be unthinkable. He had tried asking them what was wrong or if they were okay. But no matter what he said, their responses were the same monotonous chants.

He was completely at a loss.

With a weary sigh, Gulf placed yet another glass of whiskey in front of the two. At this point, he’d lost count of how many drinks they’d had.

He worried they were drinking too much, but if he stopped serving them, their murmuring grew louder and more intense. They’d pay for it with a hellish hangover tomorrow, but there was no other option.

Noil and Mina sluggishly lifted their heads just enough to grab their glasses. Without changing their slumped posture, they exchanged bleary looks and faint, fleeting smiles before clinking their glasses together. Then, in unison, they drained their drinks and collapsed back onto the counter.

This had been the cycle all evening.

“I hate candles. I hate candles. I hate candles…”

“I hate girls’ nights out. I hate girls’ nights out. I hate girls’ nights out…”

Someone, anyone, please help me. Gulf glanced skyward in silent prayer.

Perhaps his plea was heard, for the tavern door swung open, and a man strode in.

“Yo! Sorry I’m late!”

Entering with a burst of energy was Rett Cryaster, also known as Blazing Bullet.

Rett’s eyes widened as he noticed the two slumped figures at the counter.

“Huh? What’s Mina-nee doing here? And, uh, why do they both look like they’ve passed out?”

Hearing Rett’s comment, Gulf took another look at Noil and Mina and let out a heavy sigh. It seemed they’d finally reached their limit; both were now softly snoring.

Raising a hand, Gulf greeted Rett.

“Welcome.”

“So, uh… what happened, Gulf?”

Gulf-chi? What kind of nickname is that? Gulf thought, annoyed.

Rett, unbothered, pulled up a stool a seat away from the sleeping pair and casually asked again.

“I don’t know… Black Cat keeps muttering that she hates girls’ nights, and Noil wouldn’t stop saying he hates candles. Blazing Bullet, do you know anything about this?”

“Call me Rett, will ya?” Rett grumbled before glancing at the two with a look of reluctant understanding.

“Mina-nee’s probably running away from a girls’ night out… And Noil? Well, he’s being hunted by those same girls.”

Gulf swallowed hard, recalling Noil’s earlier unnerving behavior.

“…For his life?”

Rett gave him an exasperated look.

“Why’s it always like this…? No, no—he’s being desired, not just hunted. They’re after his body.”

“Well… isn’t that just every man’s dream? So, why’s he so cornered then?”

“Because his pursuers are insane, that’s why…”

Gulf pondered Rett’s answer, recalling the woman often seen near Noil. A tinge of pity crept into his gaze as he turned to ask Rett for more details.

“Alright… spill it. What’s the full story? Want a drink?”

“Sure, something strong.”

After covering the two sleeping figures with blankets, Gulf went to prepare Rett’s drink.

◇

“Are you serious…? Even the Spirit King is in love with Noil?”

“Love doesn’t even begin to cover it. I saw her room for the first time recently… it was stuffed with Noil dolls.”

“…Wow.”

“Oh, and if I hadn’t guided how she rewarded him, she was planning to give herself to him. She was dead serious about wrapping herself up with a ribbon and all.”

“…”

“Crazy, right?”

Rett spoke matter-of-factly as he sipped his drink—an intensely potent spirit known as “Flame Liquor”—and casually nibbled on some nuts. Despite its high alcohol content, Rett showed no signs of intoxication.

Though Rett still looked somewhat youthful, his demonic blood gave him a natural resistance to alcohol. Getting drunk wasn’t something that happened easily for him.

This meant that everything Rett said was the absolute truth and not the drunken ramblings of a lightweight. Knowing this, Gulf couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

Being adored to death by multiple beautiful women wasn’t something anyone could envy—it sounded more like a waking nightmare.

“So, about the candles…?”

“Oh, those are… yeah, those candles. The kind the boss reluctantly handed over. They’re enchanted candles meant to evoke lust—used by Forestfolk, who are naturally less inclined toward such feelings. Noil probably almost got… well, let’s say ‘persuaded’ into some intimate activities.”

“And the girls’ night out…?”

“That’d be the battlefield Mina-nee barely escaped from. It’s like a war zone among women.”

“…Noil’s screwed, isn’t he?”

Gulf and Rett both turned to look at Noil, still muttering in his sleep. Judging by his troubled expression, even his dreams weren’t free of candlelit nightmares. Mina didn’t seem to be faring much better beside him.

Rett muttered under his breath, “…Women are terrifying…”

Gulf silently nodded in agreement.

“Ta-da! I’m here!”

At that moment, the door to The Lion’s Den swung open again, and a man strode in. His golden hair gleamed brilliantly, and his perfectly white teeth sparkled with a dazzling grin.

The man was none other than Kreis Tialue, also known as “Nightmare”—a flamboyant figure whose perfectly sculpted looks and bizarre behavior turned heads wherever he went.

The entire atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Gulf felt his cheek twitch in reflex.

“Y-yo, ‘Nightmare’…”

“Non, non, non! Call me Kreis.”

“Uh… right. Sit down, Kreis.”

“Ex-cel-lent!”

With exaggeratedly elegant movements, Kreis seated himself beside Rett and flashed a dazzling, overly charismatic smile.

“Thank you so much for waiting.”

Gulf thought to himself, This guy is always impossible to deal with…

“Took you long enough, Kreis-nii.”

“Hahaha! Sorry, sorry, my bad!”

“Here, take this for now.”

Rett passed a glass of Flame Liquor to Kreis, who accepted it with a thumbs-up, flashing his signature sparkling grin.

“Cheers, then!”

With his pinky raised, Kreis downed the drink in one go before collapsing face-first onto the counter with a loud thud. Rett, unfazed, whistled nonchalantly.

Gulf panicked and leaned over.

“H-Hey! You okay?!”

“Relax, relax. Just watch,” Rett waved dismissively, signaling there was no need to worry.

As Gulf stood there, unsure of what to do, Kreis suddenly lifted his face.

“Apologies. I seem to have startled you.”

The calm and composed Kreis was so different from his usual over-the-top antics that Gulf found himself more shocked than relieved.

Gone was the exaggerated flamboyance, the unnecessary sparkling grin. Instead, Kreis seemed almost… gentlemanly.

“Sorry for being late. I got a bit too absorbed in training.”

Who the hell are you? Gulf thought, thoroughly baffled.

Meanwhile, Rett wore the mischievous grin of a kid whose prank had worked perfectly.

“Funny, right? Kreis-nii turns serious when he’s drunk.”

“That’s unfair, Rett. I’m always serious,” Kreis replied, his expression sharp and unwavering.

In this state, Kreis was perfection incarnate. If he acted like this all the time, there was no doubt he’d have every woman in the capital at his feet.

“You should just stay drunk all the time,” Gulf muttered without thinking.

Kreis smiled with a natural charm, entirely free of arrogance.

“Hah, as if I’d indulge in something so irresponsible, Gulf.”

Effortlessly, Kreis closed one eye in a playful wink, the gesture so genuine and natural it carried not a hint of pretense. For a brief moment, Gulf thought that if he didn’t know Kreis and had been a woman, he might have fallen for him.

It made Kreis’s usual antics seem all the more tragic. To have such potential and squander it so thoroughly was almost inspiring in its own way.

What a waste of a man. Truly, a nightmare in every sense.

Just as Gulf was thinking this, the door to The Lion’s Den swung open for the third time that evening. The bell rang to announce the new arrival, causing Gulf to tilt his head in confusion.

Kreis had been the last expected guest for the night. Even the sign outside marked the tavern as reserved for a private event.

Thinking someone had wandered in by mistake, Gulf turned to the entrance—and froze at the sight of the unexpected visitor.

“Mind if I join you?”

The deep voice belonged to a male beastfolk with black cat-like features.

“Master?”

Rett and Gulf’s voices overlapped as they turned to face each other in surprise.

“Wait… Gulf-chi, you know Master?”

Rett looked startled, though Gulf felt the same.

This dignified man was the one who had helped Gulf design the interior of The Lion’s Den. He’d appeared out of nowhere, offering advice and lending a hand, turning the tavern into the stylish place it was today.

Despite his mysterious arrival, the man had refused any payment and left as suddenly as he came. Gulf had been so impressed by his refined presence and keen sense of style that he started calling him “Master” as a sign of respect.

Never had Gulf imagined that Rett knew him too—and even called him by the same title.

“Yeah, he helped me with the tavern’s design and layout…”

“That’s so like Master! He’s amazing!” Rett exclaimed, giving a big thumbs-up.

The man responded with a calm smile before turning his deep green eyes to Gulf.

“May I join you, Gulf-chi?”

Hearing the man suddenly adopt Rett’s nickname for him left Gulf slightly bewildered, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Uh… sure. I’ve got no problem with it.”

“You’re more than welcome, Master!”

“I don’t mind either. Please, have a seat,” Kreis added, his unusually normal demeanor showing no trace of the flamboyance Gulf was accustomed to. He gestured politely to the seat beside him.

The man sat down quietly, his every movement smooth and composed, and offered a serene smile.

“Thank you.”

And with that, he joined their company.

◇

“So, in the end, who’s Noil going to choose, huh…?”

“Yeah, curious, isn’t it?”

As the men gathered in The Lion’s Den, the conversation naturally turned to the pressing question of who Noil would end up with.

At Kreis’s inquiry, Gulf stroked his chin and cast a glance at Noil, still murmuring and writhing in his sleep. Based on everything he’d heard so far, Gulf couldn’t help but think that choosing any one person would inevitably lead Noil to a life of chaos and misery.

“…He’s probably not going to choose anyone. How could he? It’d start a war. Does Noil even realize what’s happening around him?”

“Yeah, that’s fair… So, who do you think will win him over?”

“Mar-chan, I’ve already told ya!”

“Rett, we’re having a serious discussion here,” Kreis interjected, surprisingly stern.

Rett’s face was noticeably red, evidence that even the alcohol-resistant demonic race wasn’t immune to the Flame Liquor he’d been guzzling. His speech was starting to slur, too.

Meanwhile, Kreis, sipping Gulf’s carefully crafted cocktails, only grew more serious as he got drunk. Master, seated nearby, quietly enjoyed his whiskey and pipe, his expression suggesting he was having the time of his life.

“Alright, fine… in that case, it’s gotta be that monster woman. Nobody can beat her, no way,” Rett slurred, gulping down his drink. Gulf promptly refilled his empty glass, the motion almost automatic by now.

When Rett mentioned the “monster woman,” Gulf’s mind drifted to a memory of her wearing unfashionable clothes while roasting cheese. That was the only impression she left on him.

“Personally, I’d bet on the Spirit King,” Kreis said with a shrug.

“Ah… yeah, the boss is crazy too… Honestly, every woman around Noil is nuts,” Rett replied, slurring further.

“There’s Fiona too—she was intense,” Gulf muttered, his hand trembling slightly as he poured another drink.

Fiona… that woman treated everyone besides Noil like specks of dirt. To her, Noil was practically a god.

“And then there’s Noel,” Rett added. “If you’re not careful, she’ll sweep him away.”

He carefully sipped his overflowing glass to avoid spilling it. Gulf didn’t know much about Noel, but the things he’d heard tonight painted a picture far removed from the girl he saw sleeping soundly back at the Charcoal Hearth Inn.

Apparently, she’d created a custom Magis Gear solely for Noil’s sake. Gulf shivered at the thought—women could be terrifying.

“Honestly, I’m rooting for Mina,” Kreis said with a smile, swirling his cocktail.

“‘Black Cat’? Really?” Gulf asked, raising an eyebrow.

Based on the conversation so far, Mina seemed completely out of the running. Sure, the two had a strange camaraderie, but Gulf hadn’t picked up on any romantic tension between them.

“Yeah, I think they’re the best match. Sorry to Elshan, but I just see them as a perfect pair,” Kreis said with a casual grin.

“Hah! That’s ridiculous!” Rett burst into laughter.

“Mina-nee and Noil? Come on, they’re just pals, that’s it!”

“A romantic relationship built on a friendship can be a beautiful thing, Rett,” Kreis countered calmly.

“Agreed,” Master added, his deep voice resonating as he finally joined the conversation. “Those tend to be the ones that work out best. They’ll likely lead a happy life together.”

Kreis beamed and slid a fresh cocktail toward Master.

“You’re a man of culture, Master.”

“Hmph…” Master gave a cool chuckle, and the two clinked glasses.

Rett turned toward them, his whole body moving as he pouted.

“Aww, come on, Master. You’re betting on Mina-nee too? No way it’s happening!”

But Master said nothing more, simply smiling serenely.

When did this turn into gambling? Gulf wondered, sighing as he observed the trio. Master maintained his mysterious air, while Rett and Kreis were fully inebriated and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Might as well have a drink myself, Gulf thought, preparing his own glass. Staying sober didn’t seem like an option if he wanted to endure the rest of the night.

“…I… don’t… wanna…”

“Hm?”

As Gulf poured himself a drink, a faint, strained voice caught his attention. He turned to see Noil, still writhing in his sleep, muttering something repeatedly.

Is it about the candles again? Gulf leaned in closer to catch the words.

“…handyman… job… don’t… want to… anymore…”

The desperate tone of Noil’s murmurs left no room for doubt—it was something he felt strongly about, even in his dreams.

Gulf straightened up, scratching his head.

“Well… good luck, buddy.”

He offered a quiet word of encouragement before taking a long swig of his drink.