The number of people surrounding him wasn't massive—exactly ten men blocking the narrow, shadowed alleyway.
Four of them were clearly not frontline fighters. They were dressed in the most gaudy, excessively expensive silks, dripping with jewels as if terrified the world might forget their high social status for even a second. One was the fat Guildmaster. The other three were high-ranking nobles who had clearly colluded with the guild to monopolize the Kingdom's cash-cow industries.
But the remaining six?
They were elite combatants. Masters of their respective killing arts, hired by the aristocracy to ensure this "transaction" left no survivors.
Why is it always like this? Suzuki sighed inwardly. Even though he had operated in perfect good faith, offering them a highly lucrative supply chain, the medieval world simply refused to respect civilized corporate law.
"I don't know how you manage to slip around like a ghost," the fat Guildmaster sneered, stepping safely behind his guards. "But now that you're cornered, don't even think about escaping."
The fat man smiled, his greed making him bold. "Among my men is a rare Barrier Master who has already sealed this alley. You are sandwiched by two elite Assassins, and a master Archer is currently aiming a poisoned broadhead directly at the back of your skull. Behind us stands an Ice Mage ready to flash-freeze the blood in your veins, and the man standing closest to you is a veteran Swordmaster."
"If you so much as twitch, your limbs will be severed."
Suzuki didn't say a word. His handsome face remained an entirely unreadable, emotionless mask.
Mistaking his silence for paralyzing terror, the Guildmaster's grin widened. "I know you're scared, boy. But don't be. Tell us exactly where you source your spices, hand over your entire inventory, return my gold, and you can leave this world peacefully. I promise I will give you a swift, painless death."
Suzuki completely ignored the fat merchant's empty threats. Using his [Deep Appraisal], his eyes bypassed the hired muscle entirely and locked onto the three aristocrats pulling the strings.
"Hehehe... curious about them?" The Guildmaster noticed his gaze and proudly gestured to the men. "They are the highest nobility of the Heiligh Kingdom. A Marquis, an Earl, and a Baron. Men of such staggering status that a lowly commoner like you should weep with gratitude just to die in their presence."
"Don't bully the boy, Guildmaster," the Marquis chuckled smoothly.
"Yeah, he looks so pitiful," the Earl sneered.
"He is going to die anyway. Show a little mercy," the Baron added, his voice strangely melodic.
"Hahaha!" The fat Guildmaster laughed heartily. "Okay, okay, I won't tease him. But these esteemed guests are my primary sponsors! And do you know why they are truly special? It isn't just their noble blood—it's their Jobs!"
The Guildmaster puffed out his chest. "They possess the incredibly rare jobs of Orator, Synergist, and Muse, respectively! And I am an Appraiser! Being taken down by the greatest minds in the capital should be your absolute honor!"
Suzuki remained silent, rapidly processing the power dynamics. He had to admit, encountering so many unique, non-combatant Jobs in one place was statistically fascinating. Most natives he appraised were just "Commoners" or "Peasants." It confirmed his theory: in Tortus, possessing a rare utility Job guaranteed a life of immense wealth and privilege.
But... a Muse?
Suzuki's dark eyes narrowed slightly, focusing entirely on the Baron—the lowest-ranking noble of the group.
A Baron was the bottom tier of the aristocracy, so how did this man secure a seat at the table with a Marquis and the wealthiest Guildmaster? Hearing his Job answered the question entirely.
A Muse was an incredibly rare, charm-based class. It was phenomenally dangerous. Through the Manager's rapid analysis, Suzuki understood that a Muse didn't actually fight; they inspired others to die for them. It was the ultimate parasitic buffing class.
The Muse's core skill, Zealous Devotion, was completely broken. By showing affection, praise, or even mild interest, the Muse granted a massive, permanent multiplier boost to a target's combat stats. But the buff came with a terrifying psychological tether: the target became chemically addicted to the Muse's approval.
It was a brilliant crowd-control mechanism. It was obvious the Baron was the true puppet master keeping these elite combatants fiercely loyal.
No, there is one more.
"Oh? Did you notice him?" The fat Guildmaster laughed, seeing Suzuki glance upward. "Come down!"
Suddenly, a lithe figure dropped from the rooftops, landing gracefully behind Suzuki without making a single sound.
"This is our trump card," the Guildmaster smirked. "He possesses the rare job of Acrobat."
"So, what do you think?" The Guildmaster asked, spreading his arms.
"They are all quite impressive," Suzuki finally spoke, his voice a smooth, chilled baritone.
"Right? Don't worry. They're all professionals. You will die peacefully. But before that, hurry up and tell me where you got everything—"
"But..." Suzuki interrupted, his dark eyes curving into a terrifyingly cold, predatory crescent. "Under what absurd assumption did you conclude that I am weaker than all of you?"
"..."
The alleyway was dead silent for a split second before the nobles erupted into uproarious laughter.
"Hahahahaha!"
"Do you honestly think you can win against all of us?!"
"You are so funny, Merchant!"
"Let me cut your tongue out first," the Swordmaster sneered, stepping forward.
Snap.
Suzuki didn't draw a weapon. He didn't cast an attack spell. He simply willed his [Absolute Contract] to execute its penalty clause.
Instantly, a crushing, suffocating pressure slammed down on the alleyway. The air grew impossibly heavy, gravity seeming to multiply tenfold.
"W-What's happening?!"
"My mana! What did you do?!"
"ARGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Suzuki stood perfectly still, his hands tucked neatly in his coat pockets, as the invisible, inescapable legal weight of the broken contract violently liquidated their assets. He absorbed absolutely everything. Their superhuman stats, their rare Jobs, their mastery skills—all of it was aggressively drained from their souls.
Simultaneously, inside his [Absolute Storage], a mountain of legal paperwork materialized. Like a flawless act of land consolidation, every single property deed, slave contract, and hidden vault key owned by the nobles was forcefully transferred into Suzuki's name. Thousands of gold coins vanished from their pockets and entered his vault as if sucked through a corporate vacuum.
"Stop! Stop! Please stop!"
The men begged desperately, falling to their knees as their life's work and identities evaporated into thin air.
"Don't worry," Suzuki smiled softly, looking down at the groveling, pathetic men. "I will make this entirely painless, and I promise I will take exceptionally good care of your wealth. You don't have to worry about a thing anymore. Just be my good dogs, okay?"
Unlike his subtle, manipulative approach with the Minister of Finance, Suzuki showed absolutely zero mercy here.
I wonder why you were all so greedy... Suzuki thought, shaking his head.
Wasn't it better to just engage in a normal, mutually beneficial business transaction? If they had operated in good faith, they would have all been fabulously wealthy. But since they chose violence, he was foreclosing on their very lives.
The seven elite combatants collapsed onto the cobblestones, their minds wiped completely blank. Reduced to drooling infants, they stared vacantly at the sky.
Suzuki slowly approached the four shivering, terrified aristocrats. Stripped of their wealth, their charm, and their pride, they felt an intense, suffocating terror—as if an endless, pitch-black abyss was swallowing them whole.
"Go ahead and woof for me, dogs."
"....."
The Marquis, the Earl, the Baron, and the Guildmaster trembled violently. The command was magically binding.
"W-Woof..." they whimpered in unison, tears streaming down their faces.
"Good. Now, return to your estates. Fetch all of your subordinates and guild handlers, and inform them that from this moment forward, every single one of your assets belongs exclusively to me."
With everything perfectly secured, Suzuki dusted off his coat. His grand, hostile takeover of the capital's commercial and aristocratic sectors was complete.
But there was no time to celebrate his newly acquired wealth just yet. He turned his gaze toward the ominous silhouette of the Orcus Dungeon looming in the distance.
In a week, the class would be thrust into that meat grinder. Because Kouki was entirely unreliable and the Kingdom secretly wanted them to suffer, Suzuki knew he had to intervene personally. He needed to return to his penthouse. It was time to pull Shizuku aside and teach his beautiful girlfriend exactly how to survive the impending slaughter.