Chapter 8 Beating An Old Man Who Lies

Sylas let out a hollow laugh in disbelief.

"Are you saying my grandfather lied?"

"He must have lied if he denied the debts he owed. Tsk tsk, as if pretending they didn't exist would make them disappear."

The village chief stroked his beard with a pitying expression. To an outsider, it might have seemed like a perfect performance, enough to make someone believe Sylas's grandfather had indeed lied. However, Sylas knew it was a blatant lie. It was practically an announcement saying, 

"I'm lying, so you better accept it."

'Ah, I remember now.'

Come to think of it, the same thing had happened before his regression. The village chief had come to falsely accuse him of debts, and Sylas, unable to tolerate it, had argued with him for a long time. In the end, the chief had backed down and left the hut, but later he rallied the villagers, demanding Sylas acknowledge the debts as a group.

However, during that confrontation, the second visit from the Corleone family occurred, and the matter was left unresolved.

'So today is that day.'

That meant there was no need to endure it any longer. A sharp smile formed on Sylas's lips.

"What—what's with that smile?"

"Ah, it's nothing. So, you're saying I really do owe these debts, right?"

"That's what I said! How many times must I tell you?"

The village chief flinched momentarily but quickly put on a brazen face, standing firm. There wasn't a hint of shame in his expression.

"I see. In that case, it can't be helped. Let's step outside for a moment."

"Wait, why all of a sudden…?"

Despite the chief's confusion, Sylas got up and opened the door, stepping outside. Perplexed, the chief followed him out. Once outside, Sylas picked up a wooden stick lying on the ground nearby.

"Chief, what does this look like to you?"

"It's a wooden stick, what else would it be?"

"Well, I see it a bit differently. To me, it looks like a perfect club for beating an old man who lies about imaginary debts. Don't you think?"

"What?"

The village chief paused, unable to comprehend what Sylas had just said. After a few seconds, as he processed the words, his face turned pale. Sylas's fierce grin was far too vivid to be mistaken as a joke. Realizing the situation, the chief began to back away, waving his hands in protest.

"Wait, wait. Calm down."

"I am calm."

"Sylas, let me explain. The debts really don't matter at all."

"What do you mean they don't matter? They're quite important. Important enough that hitting someone for making up lies about them is almost forgivable."

"Just listen to me for a—ahhh!"

Thwack.

The village chief rolled on the ground, clutching his side where the stick had struck. Although it seemed like a light blow, the pain seeped deep into his bones.

Sylas adjusted his strength carefully, making sure the blows hurt immensely. It was a skill he had gained from his experience before his regression.

[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]

[Your current Blunt Weapon Skill level is 'Novice.']

"Oh, a bonus."

Sylas smiled at the message. It meant he had perfectly controlled his strength, just as he intended. Deciding to practice this technique repeatedly like before, he aimed to maximize the experience points without ending things too quickly.

"W-wait! If you do this, I'll—ugh!"

[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]

"If you stop now, I'll forg—aargh!"

[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]

"I was wrong! The truth is, there isn't really any deb—aaagh!"

[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]

Sylas continued to swing the stick as if he were dancing. Although he hadn't used blunt weapons much before, raising the skill level might come in handy someday. It wasn't because he enjoyed the satisfying sensation with each swing. Not at all.

[Your experience increases due to an accurate strike.]

[You have gained enough experience to level up.]

[Your Blunt Weapon Skill level has increased to 'Skilled.']

"Whew, that feels refreshing."

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Sylas smiled, looking content as if he had just finished a satisfying day of farming. Without the village chief writhing below him and the blood-stained stick, anyone would have thought so.

"P-please, spare me…!"

The chief, his face swollen, clasped his hands together, begging desperately. His earlier confidence and brazenness had long since vanished. His mind was now filled with the fear that he might actually die.

"Well, I don't know. Do I have any reason to spare you?"

"If I die, the villagers won't just stand by!"

"Even if I spare you, they probably won't stand by either. You'll gather them and attack as soon as you get back to the village, won't you?"

"N-no, of course not!"

The village chief flinched as Sylas hit the mark. In fact, he was already planning to rally the villagers and storm Sylas's hut as soon as he made it back alive.

Sylas chuckled, poking the chief's forehead.

"Listen, chief. The truth is, I'm planning to leave the village soon."

As the chief thought, he nodded inwardly. If Sylas intended to stay, there's no way he would dare to do this.

"You have two options."

"Two options…?"

"First, you go back to the village and stay quietly in your home, reflecting on how you tried to scam my grandfather and me."

"And, the second option?"

"Second, you do what you were planning—gather the villagers and attack me. But then, you'll pay the price for it later with tears of blood."