Mystery: When the Fool Meets the Masked Fool

Chapter 317 Patrolling Ranger
“Leonard.” Leonard extended his hand and shook hands with Portio. “Leonard Mitchell.”

"So you agree?" Potio grinned, revealing a set of sharp shark teeth.

"Huh?" Leonard was slightly taken aback. "No, shaking hands means you agree?"

“Of course not.” Potio withdrew his hand. “It was just a little joke.”

“But you’re not confused anymore, are you?” Portio asked, gesturing towards Leonard’s hand.

Leonard followed Portio's gaze and saw that the "weathering" on his hand had stopped. Although the cracks were still there, they were slowly healing.

The out-of-control symptoms have stabilized. Although a full recovery is still some time away, this is at least an improvement.

“Ah, yes.” Leonard looked away and turned to Portio, nodding knowingly. “I didn’t really notice it myself, but it seems you’ve left quite a impression on me.”

“The will to hunt is ingrained in one’s bones; whether the mind is aware of it or not is irrelevant.” Portio stared at Leonard with eyes that seemed to be on a crosshair.

Leonard lowered his head and took another sip of the beer in front of him.

"By the way, what's the name of this liquor?" Leonard asked. "It tastes weird, a bit smoky, but it's pretty good."

““Bart 17 Year Old, from the Kawalan Star Region, sherry cask, a true peaty beast,” Portio replied, popping a round object into his mouth. “Classic smoky, mushy flavor.”

"I don't understand it, but it sounds very expensive," Leonard said thoughtfully. "Are you very rich?"

"Is it expensive?" Portio thought for a moment. "Two hundred more per cup is indeed a bit pricey. But it doesn't matter, my net worth is over 7 million."

"I didn't realize you were such a big boss." Leonard roughly calculated the prices and realized that appearances can be deceiving.

“Boss? No,” Portio replied with a smile. “This is my bounty.”

He clicked his tongue: "I don't have much money, but I can't help it when I want to drink, some company dogs always come and give me money."

"If you like it, you can have another one. I like your looks, so I can buy you a drink." Portio tapped the table and raised his hand to call the waiter.

“Um…no.” Leonard refused, watching the scantily clad waiter approach from afar. “We don’t have such good wine where I’m from. If I get used to it, I’ll suffer when I go back.”

He wasn't a big drinker to begin with, nor did he particularly enjoy taking advantage of others.

"Hey, find a strawberry milkshake, pour it on the garden where the soil was just turned over in spring, lie down and take a bite of that milkshake grass, it tastes almost the same." Portio waved his hand without any hesitation.

The waiter swayed away, and Leonard looked away: "What kind of tests or standards are there for joining the Sea Rangers?"

“No,” Potio answered decisively. “There is never just one path to upholding justice, so there can be no standard. Look, if someone like me can become a sea patrolman, then you have even less to worry about.”

“Is that so?” Leonard nodded. “Then, if I join, but one day I want to quit…”

“Anytime is fine,” Portio replied. “We don’t sign indentures.”

Leonard paused for a few seconds, as if listening to someone analyze the pros and cons for him.

"Then I'm relieved." He smoothed his hair back.

“It seems I don’t need to ask again,” Portio said. “Of course.” Leonard held out his hand. “Is there any token or anything that can prove your identity?”

"Ah, right. I almost forgot if you hadn't mentioned it." Potio spread his hands, scattering a handful of bullets on the table. "I should give you a bullet; you can choose one yourself."

“How about this one?” Potio pointed to one of the bullets. “Silhog, nine millimeters, a timeless classic. Add some old-fashioned phosphorescent tracer, and it’ll taste more like popping candy, but with a bigger bang.”

"Huh?" Leonard gave Potio a strange look.

Shouldn't the focus when introducing bullets be on their penetrating power?
Dude, your comment is really weird, you know?
Seeing Leonard's confusion, Portio picked up the stone, tossed it casually, and popped it into his mouth.

"Yes, that's it."

Leonard was deeply shocked.

That's a very good appetite.

Looking down again, Leonard selected a sphere with several cracks in the middle, from which blue light shone through.

“This one looks a bit different from a regular bullet.” Leonard picked it up. “At least I won’t fire it like a normal bullet.”

"Oh, these things are quite common. The company dogs often find these iron pellets in the fossilized remains of monsters. It's said that they've confirmed that these things were launched from an era before humans existed, and those they shot were all the last offspring of a certain monster race."

"Common? Then how do you make a token?" Leonard didn't understand.

"Aura, feeling, that's about it," Potio replied.

“I understand.” Leonard flicked his wrist and put away the bullet.

A sentence inexplicably popped into my head:

"There is no difference between dying of old age and dying from a bullet. The hunter's path leads neither to a sacred nor a sinful end."

“Then, from this moment forward, you are a seafaring knight-errant,” Potio affirmed. “May you become a sword hanging in the center of the galaxy, piercing the arrogant and wicked.”

“Thank you,” Leonard said.

"By the way, do you have any grudges you still harbor? Long ago, or even small ones, it doesn't matter," Potio suddenly asked.

“Hmm…” Leonard thought for a moment, “When I was a kid, I couldn’t beat chickens. Back when I was in the church orphanage, every time I encountered a chicken, I would crouch down and beg them not to peck me, but they would just stand on my back and peck at me. Does that count?”

“That… counts.” Potio nodded. “This galaxy is like a lazy man’s kitchen. Open any cupboard and you’ll find swarms of pests in the corners. If you ever encounter these pests again, you can treat them like the chickens that bullied you, pluck their feathers in your anger, and throw them into a pot to stew until they’re seven-tenths cooked. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—that’s the most basic logic of how the world works.”

“Oh, right. One last thing. We usually operate independently, with little to no contact between us. There's only one way we can assemble, but it's not mandatory. If you see it, come if you want; there's no pressure.” Portio pulled out a photograph; it looked like a shooting star.

"That line is so cringeworthy, but I really like it. What was it again? Oh, right."

"The hunting star will only fall in the longest night. And after it, dawn will break."

(End of this chapter)