When the Serial Killer Next Door Gained Harem System

Two men strode in; both tall, broad-shouldered, heavy swords slung across their backs. No city guard colors. Black leather armor, light but reinforced, padded with plates of sickly green metal that caught the morning light like tarnished bronze. The air in the room shifted instantly. Conversations faltered. People at tables shifted uncomfortably, eyes dropping to their mugs.

Kembeliona’s hand froze mid-wipe. He tapped my arm once, sharp, urgent, then pushed my plate toward me and jerked his chin toward the stairs. No words. Just the gesture.

I didn’t argue. I took the plate along with his advice, slid off the stool, and headed right, up the stairs as quietly as I could.

At the top I stopped at the railing, half-hidden in shadow, and peeked down.

The two men claimed the stools I’d just vacated. They set their swords on the counter with heavy thunks—blades long, edges notched from use.

"Give me a beer," the taller one said, voice rough. "Another one for my friend as well."

I heard Kembeliona’s reply, careful, measured. "Should I put it on your tab as well?"

The tall one leaned forward, elbows on the bar. "If you think we’ll ever pay for it... sure." He laughed loudly, grating. "Can’t fucking believe it..."

Movement behind me. I tensed, but it was just a tall gray-skinned man... same ashen skin like that woman I saw through the keyhole, same sweeping horns, same metallic sheen. Mid-forties maybe, hard to tell with those features. He stepped up beside me at the railing, arms crossed, eyes on the scene below.

"Them again, eh?" he muttered, voice low and rumbling. "Niku and his lackey, Darbi."

"Who are they?" I asked, trying to sound casual, like I hadn’t just discovered an entirely new race.

"They’re the troublemakers of The Circle." He kept his voice quiet. "Both blessed by Orenthis."

"Orenthis?"

"Yeah, God of Death. Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that?" He glanced sideways at me.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," I lied quickly. "I just thought you said something different."

He grunted, accepting it.

I remembered Kembeliona’s earlier curse, ’By the arm of Vaelor,’ Multiple gods, then. I needed to learn the pantheon fast.

The man pointed a thick finger toward the taller one at the bar. "Niku. He’s a real bastard if you ask me."

Niku had black hair, long-ish but cut short near the shoulders, streaked with silver at the temples. His beard was patchy—random cuts and gaps where it refused to grow right. Mid-thirties, maybe early forties. Broad-shouldered, strong. The kind of man who carried a sword like that because he used it often.

"And the other," the horned man continued, "Darbi. His bootlicker. I’d bet Niku’s fucking him. But can’t prove it."

Darbi was younger—late twenties at most. Short brown hair, clean-shaven face, no scars. Except his right hand: pinky finger missing, the stump clean and old. His armor was lighter than Niku’s, especially the boots—smaller, more agile. Niku’s were massive, heavy... huh. That sounded a bit awkward...

"Oi, be quick about it," Niku snapped at Kembeliona. "My throat’s all sand and gravel. I need a beer."

"I can’t sell you another drink, Niku," Kembeliona said carefully. "Boss lady won’t let me. Pay your tab, then we can—"

Niku lunged forward, fast for his size, grabbed Kembeliona by the collar and slammed his face down onto the counter. Wood cracked. Kembeliona staggered back, hands flying to his nose as blood poured between his fingers. He groaned, low and pained, eyes wide with shock and fear.

The room went dead silent.

I gripped the railing tighter, knuckles white. The horned man beside me let out a slow, angry breath.

Trouble. Right on schedule.

Breakfast suddenly tasted like ash in my mouth.

"We should go." He whispered. "Come on."

"Hmm..."

I walked back to my room in silence, the half-eaten plate in my hand feeling heavier than it should. I pushed the door open, sat on the edge of the bed with a long sigh, and stared out the grimy window. Those two downstairs... trouble. Big, armored, arrogant trouble. If I’d seen them back in my world, I’d have crossed the street. Here? In a land of magic and gods and literal fireballs? They could probably kill me without breaking a sweat.

I set the plate on the floorboards and exhaled through my nose.

"Fuck... just my luck."

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★ NEW QUEST ★

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> Title: Back up

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> Objective:

• Stop Niku and Darbi

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> Reward:

+ 25 EXP

+ 22 Silver

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> Deadline: Ten minutes

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A new quest? To stop those two? I let out a dry, disbelieving chuckle.

"This thing’s crazy," I muttered, shaking my head. "Asking me to do something like that..."

No way. They had armor, heavy swords, probably knew magic or at least how to use those blades. I had fists, a half-eaten plate of sausage, and two spells I’d never actually cast. Suicide. Hard pass.

I leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, and tried to ignore the distant voices rising from downstairs. Someone was yelling now—sharp, angry. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone set my teeth on edge.

Curiosity won.

I arched an eyebrow, pushed off the bed, and crept to the door. Cracked it open just enough to hear.

Other doors along the hallway had opened too—three, four people doing the same thing I was, heads poked out, eyes wide and curious. Whatever was happening below wasn’t good.

A loud thud echoed up the stairs—wood splintering, something heavy crashing. Then Kembeliona’s rough groan, thick with pain.

"Fuck..." I whispered.

I stepped out fully, moved to the railing, and peeked down.

Kembeliona lay sprawled across a broken table, shards of wood scattered around him. He clutched his back, blood streaming from his nose, hands sliced open by splinters. Niku, tall, silver-streaked, mean, grabbed him by the collar and hurled him against the counter. The old man’s head cracked against the wood; air punched out of him in a pained wheeze. He slumped, eyes glazing.

"He passed out?" Darbi asked, kicking Kembeliona’s leg lazily. "Oi, idiot. Get up."

Then came the footsteps behind me, quick, determined.