Jerry felt very conflicted about his nickname, "Blood-Nose Rat."
On one hand, as the name others at the docks used to call him, it certainly wasn't imposing. Even now, thinking about its origin felt somewhat embarrassing.
Specifically, it stemmed from a street fight three years ago. He had been punched in the face by a burly half-orc, who smashed his nasal bridge in a single blow. Jerry hadn't even had time to get blood on the dagger he was clutching before he blacked out completely, only to be woken up by his companions after the dispute had ended.
Later, when his buddies hauled him to a tavern for drinks, the blood beneath his nose hadn't been wiped clean. Coupled with the fact that he had lost his parents young and grew up hungry in the alleys of the Saltwater District—rarely ever having eaten his fill—he naturally ended up a head shorter and much thinner than others by the time he reached adulthood. Standing in a crowd, he looked just like a rodent, which led an adventurer at the next table to dub him "Blood-Nose Rat."
At first, Jerry didn't take it to heart, treating it as a joke. After all, his performance in that street fight had indeed been pathetic.
To his surprise, however, not a single person remembered the imposing titles he had given himself; instead, this embarrassing nickname had stuck to this day.
On the other hand, three years later, he had to admit that it was precisely this crude appellation that had given him a modicum of notoriety among the bottom-tier thugs of the Saltwater District, even allowing him to recruit a few subordinates.
Occasionally, while drinking at the tavern, a few adventurers would even recognize him and call him "Blood-Nose Rat."
This filled Jerry with a sense of smug satisfaction. It felt as if, as long as those well-equipped big shots called him that, he could stand on equal footing with them. He felt powerful, walking with his head held higher, as if he too had become a great figure who traversed the oceans.
Of course, having grown up in the alleys of the Saltwater District, he had gradually grasped the unspoken rules of the area through trial and error
—Small fry like him had no right to a formal nickname that sounded imposing at first glance.
Most were based on terms like "Rat," "Bug," or "One-Eye," "Limp," and "Rotten-Tooth"—names with clear derogatory or discriminatory connotations.
Anything even slightly positive would easily invite trouble.
And if one lacked sufficient strength, taking such a nickname was a death sentence.
After all, if you called yourself something like the "White Shark of Saltwater" or the "Tiger of the Docks," the "One-Eyes" and "Mutes" in the tavern would likely come over to "greet" you, asking what gave you the right to feel superior based on a nickname alone.
In this regard, his moniker "Blood-Nose Rat" was just right. It wasn't too high-profile, yet it clearly distinguished him from the "Crooked-Mouths" or "Squint-Eyes" at the table.
It even contained the word "Blood," which gave it a hint of momentum at first glance.
To this day, while he still felt awkward about the origin of the name, he was completely satisfied with everything else.
Jerry was a local of Barracuda Bay.
His childhood dream was to be able to eat his fill every day, and ideally, to have a plate of fried eggs once a week—he had once seen adults eating them in front of a restaurant. The rich aroma released by the oil under high heat was enough to become a recurring dream for a starving child through countless nights.
As he grew older and spent his time roaming the streets, he hoped to become one of those imposing gang bosses, walking down the street with dozens of lackeys following behind him, so that no one would ever dare look down on him again.
Even today, his dream remained the same.
However, compared to before, years of street experience had made him much more pragmatic.
At the very least, he no longer fantasized about suddenly becoming a big shot whose name echoed throughout Barracuda Bay; instead, he planned to start from the bottom and climb up step by step.
Today, Jerry took a solid step toward the beautiful future of his dreams.
Even though he hadn't participated directly as he usually did—merely standing aside to keep watch—he had received a promise from a friend he had some dealings with, who was currently doing quite well for himself.
Once this current affair was completely settled, he would end his years of drifting on the streets and become an official member of the "Horn Shark Gang."
Jerry was incredibly excited, already beginning to imagine his upcoming gang career.
He couldn't help but want to do something for the Horn Shark Gang to increase his presence.
Now, having just finished the operation, although he didn't know what the big shots in the gang had actually done, he took it upon himself to handle the collection of this month's "protection money" after separating from the main group.
"Damn it, opening a shop in a corner like this, what kind of customers could they possibly have?"
"If I hadn't spent my whole life in these alleys, most people would only find this godforsaken place if they were lost!"
Turning to spit into a puddle of sewage on the ground, Jerry wore a look of disdain, complaining in a forced, gruff manner.
Seeing the two subordinates behind him—both much taller than himself—smiling obsequiously in agreement, a satisfied smile unconsciously appeared on his face.
He swung his arms wide back and forth, deliberately adopting a slouching, swaying, and arrogant gait as he walked.
When he arrived in front of the "Salmon Roe" grocery store, he slowed his pace, thinking of giving the shopkeeper a show of force.
Jerry furrowed his brows deeply, stiffened his expression, brewed his emotions in his heart, and then...
He lifted his foot and slammed it hard against the shop door!
*Bang!*
*Ding-ling-ling—*
The closed wooden door was kicked open violently. The loud crash of the boot hitting the door's surface, mixed with the sharp ringing of the violently shaking door bell, suddenly exploded in the air.
"Where are you!? Give me—"
Halfway through his sentence, for some reason, like a cold wind blowing from behind during a midnight trip to the restroom, Jerry suddenly shuddered. The script he had prepared in his head froze in his throat before he could utter it.
His body, which had just kicked its way in, stumbled twice, nearly causing him to fall.
"Cough, cough..."
He coughed deliberately to mask the embarrassment.
Jerry gripped the doorframe, his peripheral vision instinctively glancing at the faces of the two subordinates half a step behind him. Seeing that they didn't seem to have any particular reaction, he felt slightly relieved.
He then shifted his attention to the grocery store before him.
There were three people in total.
Two stood inside the counter, one old and one young, with similar facial features; they were likely the shop owner and his junior.
And the one standing outside the counter...
"Yo, someone actually had the nerve to come buy things in this ghost of a place. Hey! You, you there, kid, if you're smart, hurry up and—"
The forcedly fierce shouting grew quieter, and by the end, he was stuttering and stalling.
Jerry's pupils trembled slightly, revealing the violent fluctuation of his inner emotions, and the muscles on his face twitched, giving him a stiff, stunned appearance.
Not good!
Jerry was an orphan. Although his path had been rocky, growing up alone in a place like Barracuda Bay meant that, if nothing else, his eye for detail far exceeded that of most ordinary residents.
The black-haired youth standing outside the counter was most likely an adventurer, and the condensed aura emanating from him... Jerry had only seen it a few times in the tavern.
At those times, even the familiar adventurers he usually considered big shots—those who could crush him with a casual move—would unconsciously fall silent and dare not speak much when facing someone with a similarly condensed aura.
This black-haired youth... was likely a veteran among adventurers, perhaps having already attained a professional class level.
What caused the belatedly realizing Jerry to feel even more panic was the other's appearance.
The exceptionally young face, black hair, twin swords, arm shield, and leg armor...
Vaguely, it overlapped with the core figure of a certain incident he had heard about in the tavern a while ago.
"It couldn't be such a coincidence..."
"..."
Xia Nan frowned slightly, his pitch-black eyes gazing calmly and coldly at the three men who had suddenly burst through the door.
His keen perception had allowed him to detect their hostile intent through their hurried and heavy footsteps before they had even kicked the door open.
He had secretly prepared himself to respond.
He had initially thought it was some adventurer coming for revenge, but looking at it now, these aggressive men seemed to be nothing more than small-time thugs?
Whether it was the leader—the thin one with the slightly crooked bridge of his nose—or the two men behind him with fierce expressions and flashy tattoos on their arms, based solely on the strength of their life aura, they were merely at the level of ordinary people, not the professional class users Xia Nan had imagined.
"The three of you must be gentlemen from the Horn Shark Gang, right?" Paddy, the grocery store owner, reacted very quickly.
Although he had been startled by Jerry's kick, he recovered in the next second. A flattering smile squeezed onto his face as he hurried out from behind the counter, conveniently grabbing a pre-prepared money bag from beneath the table.
"I've already prepared the protection money; I was just waiting for you all to collect it!"
Having spent many years in Barracuda Bay, starting from nothing and fighting to build this small shop, Paddy had extensive experience dealing with all walks of life in town. He knew exactly which powers' territories his "Salmon Roe" grocery store fell under and had already prepared corresponding plans.
In truth, in this situation, any other random merchant might have taken the opportunity of Xia Nan's presence to "borrow the tiger's prestige," using the professional's identity to create some profit for themselves.
As for Xia Nan, given his good impression of Colin and Paddy, he wouldn't have minded them using his name a bit to gain some benefit.
But Paddy didn't do that.
Perhaps it was to maintain his relationship with this young yet powerful adventurer for longer-term gains; or perhaps it was simply his nature, feeling that Xia Nan had already helped them so much that borrowing his identity would be immoral.
At this moment, the middle-aged man didn't even look at Xia Nan, fearing he would drag him into this entanglement.
He stepped forward quickly, intending to stuff the money bag into the hands of the men at the door.
Such a decisive action caused "Blood-Nose Rat" Jerry to instinctively reach out his right hand to take the bag.
But in the very next instant.
The palm that had been facing upward with fingers spread... suddenly closed!
With a flick of the wrist, the "receiving" motion turned into a "push."
His palm stood vertical, facing Paddy.
Applying a gentle force, the money bag that had almost landed in his hand was pushed back into Paddy's arms.
"Eh, sir! You've completely misunderstood us!"
Withdrawing his gaze from the two long swords behind Xia Nan, Jerry's expression suddenly straightened, and his tone even carried a hint of benevolent reproach.
"Our Horn Shark Gang isn't like the other gangs in the Saltwater District; we don't randomly collect 'protection money'!"
"Since your shop is open within our sphere of influence, ensuring your stable operation is simply our duty."
Jerry's tone was sincere, but his small eyes flickered toward Xia Nan every now and then as he spoke, fearing the other might make a move.
"I just came by today to see how things are going and ask if there are any difficulties that need solving."
At this point, as if suddenly remembering something, a slightly awkward smile appeared on his face.
"My apologies, I tripped a bit when opening the door, and my movement was a bit excessive."
"If anything is damaged, I will absolutely pay for it at full price!"
Jerry guaranteed, patting his chest.
The two tall men behind him, seeing their boss behave this way, didn't react for a moment.
The flesh on their faces remained in the fierce state they had when entering, but their eyes looked bewildered and blank, their bodies standing stiffly in place, not knowing what to do.
With his vast experience in dealing with people, Paddy naturally saw the reason for their behavior.
He wasn't foolish enough to point it out on the spot. Instead, he simply followed the other's lead, taking back the money bag while simultaneously pulling out a few silver coins and handing them to the three men.
Given a sufficient way to save face, the four people at the door acted as if they were visiting relatives during a holiday, smiling and exchanging pleasantries.
In just a few minutes, they spoke as if they had become kindred spirits, and Jerry took his leave amidst requests to stay.
However, it was obvious that the moment Jerry and his two men left the shop and turned into the alley, their pace suddenly quickened.
Standing at the door and watching their backs disappear at the end of the alley, the warm smile on Paddy's face instantly cooled.
He turned around, an apologetic look appearing on his face.
"I am truly sorry, Mr. Xia Nan, it's not that I only did that because you were present..."
Xia Nan waved his hand, indicating it was no matter.
He had experienced something similar once back in Newm, so he was somewhat used to it.
He just hadn't expected that these gang thugs, who looked so slouchy at first glance, actually had decent intuition. They never required him to step in, performing far better than some of his foolish adventurer colleagues.
But...
The movements and expressions of the three as they kicked the door open flashed through his mind, especially the thin leader.
The state he was in felt like many adventurers who had just finished a mission and returned to town—an excitement laced with a very obvious sense of venting.
It was a bit strange.
(End of Chapter)