Chapter 292: Same Time, Different Place (3)

< Same Time, Different Place (3) >

The border region where the Azerion Empire in the central Ion continent, the Zepia Republic in the east, and the southern desert region met.

Unlike the surrounding barren land, unsuitable even for farming, a thriving metropolis held sway.

The Free City of Drakal.

Belonging to no nation, a city-state in its own right, Drakal served as a buffer zone and trade intermediary between the two superpowers—and, more importantly, it housed the headquarters of the mercenary guild with branches across the continent.

To become a mercenary guild master, one needed the blessing of the guild, the city's established power. Drakal was practically a nation of mercenaries.

And in this nation, holding a position akin to a prime minister… or rather, someone who had held such a position, was the current Secretary-General, Patrick.

"This is a headache."

Patrick, a man in his late thirties with neatly combed brown hair and formal attire, struggled to maintain his composure. Looking more like a civil servant than a mercenary, he pressed his trembling lips with his fingers, a sign of his stress.

'I worked so hard to get here… I can't give up now.'

He was an Earthling from Ireland. Transferred at a relatively late age, he'd been pulled into this other world in the midst of a busy career as an elite professional.

After arriving in this world, he did everything he could to survive. As this was a newly discovered dimension, the information he had diligently researched before his transfer was useless, and his abilities were support-oriented, unsuitable for combat, making things even more difficult.

'Even if I go back to Earth now, I can't live an ordinary life. I have to gain as much as I can here.'

It had been well over a decade since he'd climbed the ranks of the mercenary guild, taking on all sorts of dirty work.

And now, before he could fully enjoy the fruits of his labor, he was supposed to step down so easily?

'No way. Absolutely not.'

He gritted his teeth, thinking of his new lifeline, the hulking warrior.

After losing his connection to the former mercenary king, Kanble, who had helped him reach his current position, he had finally found a new backer.

It was Harley, a comrade of the Hero, actively contributing to the crusade.

Thanks to his connection with Harley, he had been able to maintain his position as Secretary-General, but…

"Are you listening, Secretary-General?"

It seemed the competitors from other factions wouldn't tolerate it any longer.

"Yes, of course, Sir Clayven."

Patrick politely replied to the middle-aged man standing before him, observing the group that had barged into his office while he was working.

'They came prepared. Are they planning to settle this today?'

From guild executives to leaders of large mercenary groups…

Among the dozen or so people, four stood out with a particularly powerful presence.

'Four Peak Masters… This is crazy. How did they manage to gather so many?'

His mouth went dry from the pressure emanating from them. An ordinary person might have fainted, but he, with access to Karma Points and a Unique Skill, was no pushover.

Suppressing a sigh, he managed his expression.

"But as I mentioned before, Sir Harley is busy with Saint-nim as a member of the crusade. We can't rush things and ignore that…"

Even though he was the Secretary-General, in charge of the guild's practical affairs, his authority only held weight when the mercenary king, who had the actual power to back him, was around. Currently, those who represented the guild's military might were his superiors, so he had to be careful.

"Hah, do you think we know nothing?"

"…Pardon?"

His careful excuse was quickly blocked.

As he momentarily faltered, the middle-aged woman observing the situation from behind, the Archmage representing the mage faction, spoke casually.

"It seems he's been wandering around the south for quite some time now. What was it? The War King of Kalkos?"

"…But that's an honorary position in the Kalkos tribal alliance…"

Patrick hurriedly replied.

It was absurd for the strictly neutral mercenary guild to be under someone who called himself the 'King' of another country, not the mercenary king.

Their logic was that once someone became the ruler of another nation, they couldn't be called a mercenary, and thus, they should be stripped of their mercenary king title.

"Let's stop dragging this out and get this over with. This is getting annoying. I'll just snap his neck…"

"Tallum."

"…Tsk, fine. Do as you please."

The burly warrior with a bushy beard and massive muscles, who had been making aggressive threats, clicked his tongue at the middle-aged man's intervention. He too was a Peak Master, but he crossed his arms and stepped back, seemingly complying with the other man's will.

'Clayven…'

Patrick's gaze returned to the middle-aged man in front of him. A Master-class knight who had entered the mercenary world as a wandering knight over two decades ago, and an ambitious man aiming for the next mercenary king position, having rallied the leaders of other factions.

"Secretary-General, you already know, don't you? Stalling won't do you any good. If I really wanted to, I wouldn't need these bothersome procedures."

Indeed.

He possessed not only martial prowess but also excellent political skills, rivaling the faction of the former mercenary king, Kanble. Back then, he had lost to Kanble, a renowned mercenary, due to a lack of legitimacy.

'This is troublesome.'

He had faced this kind of pressure before. He had managed to avoid it by using Harley's name as a shield, but now that they had a legitimate reason, it was becoming difficult.

Even Clayven seemed to be following procedures due to Harley's skyrocketing reputation, but there was a limit to how long a proxy could hold out using someone else's name when the person themselves wasn't present.

"You're not planning to hand over Drakal to the southern barbarians, are you?"

"…Of course not."

"Hmm, then are you still clinging to that War King?"

Seeing Patrick waver, Clayven pressed him harder. As one of the top handful of powerhouses in the entire mercenary guild, he had the confidence to do so. Although he didn't say it outright, his tone implied a sense of disdain.

He had heard of the renowned warrior Harley, and his reputation was indeed burdensome, but…

'What? A legendary dragon? A giant over 10 meters tall? …Hah! Nonsense.'

Exaggerated rumors were nothing new, so he dismissed them as mere hearsay. He almost scoffed at such absurd claims. Perhaps Patrick had fabricated them to use Harley as a shield?

'I should have joined the crusade myself. Then I wouldn't have to go through this.'

The memory of holding his breath after the former mercenary king Kanble's death, fearing he might be called to replace him, had faded. Contrary to his expectations, the crusade was progressing smoothly, giving him unfounded confidence. He believed he could have performed just as well if he had joined.

That was the main reason he had recently been actively expanding his influence within the guild. If he remained passive, he would lose the chance to become the mercenary king again.

It was only natural that he clashed with Secretary-General Patrick, who supported Harley.

"…Secretary-General, there's something I need to…"

But as fate would have it…

Things began to unfold differently than Clayven had anticipated. Quite suddenly.

"Right now… in the lobby on the first floor…"

A secretary carefully entered the office, struggling to swallow under the pressure of the assembled high-ranking figures, and forced out the words.

"…Sir Harley has arrived."

'Let's see what he looks like.'

Clayven, a candidate for mercenary king, walked confidently. He was heading to the lobby with Secretary-General Patrick and the guild executives who had barged into the office. To meet the legendary Harley.

'Of course, even if the rumors are exaggerated, he won't be an easy opponent.'

Perhaps in terms of pure strength, he might be slightly inferior. Harley's reputation as a member of the crusade, fighting alongside the Hero, couldn't be entirely baseless.

'But becoming the mercenary king requires more than just strength.'

Unlike Harley, who had only recently gained fame, he had been a mercenary for over 20 years, and for over 10 of those years, he had been one of the leading figures in the mercenary guild. That intangible asset couldn't be ignored.

Besides, he wasn't alone.

'I don't care about the concessions I made to the others. Once I become the mercenary king…'

Confidently heading to the lobby with the powerful figures who had pledged their support, he frowned as he arrived, sensing an unusual atmosphere permeating the area.

"Hmm?"

As the headquarters of the mercenary guild, practically the rulers of Drakal, the lobby was enormous. Countless counters and desks, along with various amenities. The lobby was usually bustling with people…

"…"

"…Ahem."

But now, a strange silence filled the space.

Even though it wasn't empty.

Those who had just arrived at the lobby naturally understood the reason.

'That's him…'

A man was practically lying on a sofa placed near a pillar, his hands resting on the backrest.

Then, the man's gaze, languid like a well-fed lion, shifted towards them—

'Ah.'

…and with just that, those who had descended confidently froze stiff, like everyone else present.

"Oh! Long time no see, Patrick! How have you been? Hahaha!"

Ignoring their reactions, the man spotted Patrick among the group, laughed heartily, and slowly rose from the sofa.

Creak—

The already sagging sofa groaned its last breath. He had circulated his energy to minimize his weight, which was in the tons, but even that wasn't enough for furniture designed for normal human weight.

"Oops, sorry about that! I think I broke the sofa."

"…Ah, it must have been defective. It's alright, Harley-nim. We were planning to replace it soon anyway."

"Tsk tsk, this is the guild headquarters, you should get some better furniture."

"Hahaha, I apologize. I'll be more mindful in the future."

Patrick stepped forward, bowing and scraping as the muscular giant approached, clicking his tongue. But Clayven and the other executives remained speechless.

'Big.'

That was the first thought that came to everyone's mind.

Even the burliest among them, the one with the bushy beard, was over two meters tall, but that was nothing compared to this man.

…No, it wasn't just about size.

It was his presence, his density.

He was on a different level as a living being. Like a boulder on a bed, it felt as if the surrounding space itself was being crushed by him.

'Damn, what is that!'

Clayven barely managed to swallow. He felt short of breath, even though the man hadn't done anything. As the distance between him and that approaching presence, like a satiated predator, decreased, his body began to react involuntarily.

'No way.'

It was the first time he had experienced this since reaching the Peak, so he was slow to realize what it meant.

'…Could he be this strong?'

It was a warning from his instincts. A desperate cry from his body, sensing mortal danger. The man in question was chatting and laughing with Patrick, seemingly oblivious to him.

"Oh! Who are these guys? They seem pretty skilled."

Just then, the giant turned his gaze towards them.

Meeting those incomprehensible eyes, Clayven immediately realized.

'…I'm going to die.'

Resistance was futile.

Exaggerated rumors? Fabricated by Patrick? He's not qualified to be the mercenary king?

Utter nonsense.

Those things were meaningless in front of this monster. The petty tricks he had prepared were all pointless.

Whether it was swaying public opinion, rallying factions, or gathering numerous powerful figures… what use were they against a being who could tear them all apart single-handedly?

"Ah, these are practically executives of our guild. We were discussing the future direction of the guild."

"Oh! I see! But why are they so stiff? I'm not going to eat them, relax! Kahaha!"

Harley burst into laughter again at Patrick's answer. Only then did Clayven, regaining his senses, realize he wasn't the only one reacting this way. No wonder it had been strangely quiet.

Everyone who had come with him, Peak Masters or not, were sweating profusely with tense expressions. Seeing this, he quickly made a decision.

"…I apologize for my rudeness. I've heard of your reputation, Harley-nim. It's an honor to meet you. I am Clayven, leader of the Golden Crow mercenary group."

He bowed deeply, a clear sign of submission.

"Oh! Nice to meet you too!"

Harley, who had approached him unnoticed, slapped him on the back with a hearty laugh. It was a light pat, but Clayven staggered, forcing a smile.

A servile smile born purely from his survival instinct.

"Looks like we can be friends! Hahaha!"

"Ha, haha… That's good to hear…"

And it was undoubtedly the right decision.