Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 27: Trist Rem
Name: Trist Rem.
Place of Origin: Jonin Town, Visa City, Domingo Province
Age: 48
Race: Pure Human
Faith: A casual believer in multiple deities (Goddess of the Earth, God of Messengers, God of Travelers and Roads, Patron God of Rangers)
Background: Born in the year 4209 of the Bright Era, he was conscripted into the Royal Defense Forces of Loring at 18 and trained as a scout. Four years later, he retired due to injuries and worked as an armed guard on a transoceanic superliner. When the world war broke out, he lost his job and became a wandering warrior. Three days ago, he arrived in White Sand City with his daughter, Adela Rem, only to be imprisoned shortly after for committing an open robbery.
…
“President Ivna, Mr. Sols, what do you think of this Trist Rem?”
Marlon asked as he handed two criminal registration forms—acquired through Inspector Bernard—to Ivna and Sols.
“What does the guy look like?”
Sols asked first.
“I went to see him. I almost mistook him for a destitute, aging paladin,” Marlon replied.
Of course, Marlon had already conducted a thorough investigation before presenting Trist Rem’s information. Ever since learning about him from Inspector Bernard the previous night, Marlon had been looking into the man. To appease the little fox-girl Amy and his cousin Anvi, Marlon only went to the police station to “visit” Trist Rem that morning.
“A wandering warrior with a wealth of life experience… and a divinely blessed face…” Upon hearing Marlon, Sols broke into a smile. Clean-shaven now, he fished a contract from his coat. “What are we waiting for? It’s time to bail this old man out of jail!”
Sols couldn’t help feeling anxious—every day wasted meant a significant loss to his fortune.
The panic caused by the recent robbery had continued unabated.
As for whether Trist Rem would agree to be a key figure in the “Three-Win Plan,” Sols wasn’t worried. In his eyes, someone as desperate as Trist Rem—reduced to street robbery—could be easily persuaded with a modest sum of money and a contract sealed with the Yolan Contract.
Moreover, according to Marlon’s latest intel, Trist Rem had a daughter named Adela. That alone could be used to coerce him into joining—if the old man was foolish enough to resist.
“We can take a look, but not now. We must wait patiently until nightfall,” Ivna said, raising an eyebrow. There was no way she would follow Sols’ hasty suggestion and expose their plan.
At least Ivna knew that Old Gavi Riley had always been watching her from the shadows.
For two days, she had boldly come to Sols’ place to conspire—not to reveal Marlon’s “Three-Win Plan” to Gavi Riley, but to create a smoke screen to confuse him.
Sols, a vampire with long-lived insight, immediately understood Ivna’s intention. Though still impatient, he restrained himself.
“…Then I’ll be going. Nine manuscripts are waiting for me,” Marlon said, standing to take his leave, since Ivna and Sols had given their tacit approval.
For Marlon, the “Three-Win Plan” he proposed carried minimal personal risk while promising the greatest reward. Even if the plan failed midway, he would still benefit considerably, so there was no rush.
Of course, he wouldn’t harm Ivna or Sols. His plan truly was a three-win plan—if successful, they would profit greatly too. Otherwise, why would they have agreed to participate?
“I’m leaving too. I need to coordinate with the publishing house and prepare for the next print run. If I wait until Marlon delivers the manuscripts, it’ll be too late!”
Since Marlon was leaving, Ivna would never stay behind alone, especially not with Sols—a vampire. Vampires weren’t just scholarly types; they excelled at luring young women into desires of the flesh, something Ivna knew all too well.
“Alright… I’ll handle relocating and rebuilding the bank headquarters to Banmubuk Street. By tomorrow, you’ll see the news in the White Sand Morning Gazette,” Sols said, sounding somewhat listless.
This wasn’t due to lost opportunity for seduction, but because Sols firmly believed in “seeing is believing.”
…
After leaving Sols’ mansion, Marlon did not return to White Oak Street. Gritting his teeth, he boarded the rickety steam-powered tram again, enduring nearly ninety minutes of rough travel until he reached the slum police station.
At the slum station, apart from a temporary undead auxiliary officer on night duty, only Inspector Bernard handled all other roles: chief, deputy, patrol, and registry.
It was broad daylight, and the undead officer was absent. Only Bernard remained.
“You were supposed to be at the publishing house. Why are you here?” Bernard asked, surprised.
“Uncle Bernard,” Marlon greeted, handing him one of three bread-and-sausage sandwiches he had bought from a local bakery.
Bernard glanced at the remaining two sandwiches in Marlon’s hands, then toward the detention cell, and shook his head with a wry smile. “You really know how to stir up trouble… Fine, I’m going on patrol!”
“Thanks, Uncle Bernard!”
Marlon knew Bernard was providing a convenient way for him to approach the man inside—the infamous Trist Rem.
Bernard nodded, placing his cowboy-style police hat on his head, and whispered into Marlon’s ear: “Whether you’re helping him or using him, be careful. Fallen wandering warriors like him aren’t good-hearted. The older they get, the harder they are to deal with.”
With that advice, Bernard left without obstruction.
Marlon understood—at fourteen, he was already old enough to forge his own path.
This world wasn’t like peaceful Earth.
In this world, to survive and live better than others, a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old had to strive, to hone themselves, to learn to act!
Watching Bernard depart, Marlon carried the paper bag with the remaining sandwiches to the cell barred with thirteen steel rods, each as thick as a child’s arm.
Inside the cramped cell sat an old man, hair streaked with grey, disheveled and dirty, yet with a face that at first glance radiated justice.
Just as Marlon had described, the old man looked like an aging paladin trapped in hardship, not a brazen thief. Indeed, he was Trist Rem.
“Want to eat?” Marlon asked, patting the bag.
“Why not?” came a gruff reply. A hand, calloused and rough, reached through the bars. “I’m just hungry enough right now!”
As Marlon handed the food through the narrow bars, he saw sharp intelligence in the old man’s murky eyes.
“Tell me, what exactly do you want me to do for you? I’m old and frail, but if I eat well, someone like that Fox-race Inspector outside? I can easily handle four of him at once.”
Even while wolfing down the food, Trist Rem demonstrated his remaining strength.
He understood perfectly that the half-elf boy outside had a motive—he wanted to use him for some purpose.
Being used wasn’t a bad thing—it meant he still had value.
Having value meant he could get food, rather than be forced into desperate acts or starve.
A simple survival truth Trist Rem had understood long ago.