Chapter 16
Chapter 16
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Paperwork Hell
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The antique-furnished office wasn't flashy on the surface, but every little accessory was filled with items untouched by a craftsman's hand.
Just the desk piled with documents up to waist height was a top-grade piece carved from a whole block of ebony wood from the Black Forest.
And atop those papers, a fine quill pen scratched and danced like it was performing.
As soon as the properly dripped ink dried, the hand that fetched the next sheet was covered in calluses.
Lean, toned shoulders without an ounce of fat. A tightly fitted uniform.
By all appearances, the man suited an outdoor training ground far more than this office.
"Hoo... muscle loss..."
At this hour, if he'd been lifting weights, how many reps would he have done? If swinging iron, how many sets?
Halon glared at the paper with bloodshot eyes, ruffled his hair neurotically, and then slumped over the desk.
"This is ridiculous."
Right now, his comrades were probably sweating it out at the training grounds, raising swords in spars.
*They must be having a blast.*
Or maybe watching colleagues spar to near-death and get drilled by Vice Captain Mark, chatting about how much muscle had bulked up on someone's arms, or how so-and-so needed more reps. No time for chit-chat otherwise.
"My mouth's gonna grow mold."
But no one came to this office.
Except the occasional servant bringing or taking documents.
Halon's comrades complained of headaches and dizziness from the paper smell, acting like anemic ladies.
*'Why am I here, right now...?'*
The sour stink of sweat swapped for the musty paper scent.
Who'd have thought he'd miss those joint training sessions, full of whiny guys hanging around.
Halon never imagined he'd yearn so tearfully for the times he used to slack off and dodge.
"I haven't even kept a diary because they say ink smell causes muscle loss..."
Halon went that far, even believing such petty superstitions.
From his days as a knight's squire, he'd instinctively felt it.
That he hadn't been blessed with physical traits. If he had that talent, it wouldn't have been this hard.
Sure enough, the traits confirmed at the temple after adulthood were keen eyesight and dexterity.
From then on, Halon trained focusing less on orthodox swordsmanship, basing it on his dexterity with tricks and feints, using his sharp eyes to exploit openings.
What he could do best.
No, all he knew since birth was the sword.
"Funny, really. I thought if not this path, I'd die."
And the funnier part? His heart denied it, but his head knew.
"My talent is this...?"
Swinging a sword was painful yet happy and fun.
But as time passed, the know-how built faster, the instincts clearer for wielding a pen. That realization messed with Halon's mind.
"But that's that..."
Maybe wrestling alone with letters and paper in the room made him talk to himself more.
Halon widened his bloodshot eyes and opened his mouth.
"I can't live like this."
He'd clearly been tricked by the young master. He'd fallen right into a trap Adelrian had set.
Anyone overhearing might say what does that punk know, the one who just causes trouble without thinking.
They'd call it nonsense, but Halon was filled with baseless conviction, his head steaming.
Among countless knights, Adelrian had specifically picked him for the spar.
Sure, Halon used tricky, unorthodox swordplay, so he might be weaker than straight-path colleagues, but he was a full knight, not a squire.
The training ground had squires and even unknighted pages.
Purely by ranking, he wasn't at the bottom of the knight order.
Plus, that bunny girl oddly countered his style.
*'No way she just picked me. Out of all those comrades? Me? And it turns out I have paperwork slave talent?'*
Otherwise, why prepare a divine contract to enslave him, then pile on documents like she'd been waiting.
He didn't know the method, but from the moment that small, cute bunny girl appeared at the training ground, everything had gone according to Adelrian's plan.
So if Halon couldn't take it anymore and acted out, the young master who'd planned it all would know.
Halon's brain, pickled in paperwork all day, skipped reasoning steps, jumped to conclusions, and made a decision.
"Let's go... grab some pant legs."
To snag a paperwork slave to replace him... no, at least one to share the load!
With his hair a messy bird's nest, Halon shot to his feet and flung open the door.
* * *
Kids definitely lighten up when you stuff food in their mouths.
Like how after fighting with parents, ordering chicken softens them enough to emerge from their room.
The awkward vibe lasted only briefly. After gorging on food and drink, Luna's face bloomed into a grin, and Cain looked no worse for wear.
I swallowed the sorbet melting in my mouth and spoke.
"It was delicious. Right?"
"Yeees... It'd be nice to come out like this sometimes..."
Yeah. Later, camping with the main party was one thing, but hitting cities meant hitting eateries.
I finished the lime sorbet afters, pulled the black tea and cookies toward me, and met their eyes.
"These cookies are good. Should we buy some to take? Places like this usually package desserts."
"To eat... at the castle?"
I shook my head at Luna's words and glanced at Cain sipping tea.
"Nah. Have Cain carry some to the knight order. I'll give you a box too, Luna—share with close friends."
Both looked puzzled, so I savored the tea's aroma and explained leisurely.
"When you go out on special errands and come back empty-handed, that's bad form. Social life means bringing back treats to share with friends."
"You say it like you've done it."
"Young master... only has drinking buddies for friends..."
My main party members were stabbing my chest with facts...
I was giving solid advice—honey tips, basics even—and they hit me with defamation.
"Shut it and get them packaged. Both of you. That's how you get liked and survive."
Not even knowing I was polishing their public images.
Even the most isolated, wary person. Just one person treating them kindly.
That alone starts melting their bristling spines, their walls of fear.
Just one box of cookies. "He thinks of this stuff. Guess I should return the favor next time." If even one person thinks that.
*That's a win in itself.*
I wouldn't stay here forever anyway, and it wasn't hard, so why not.
*Me... whatever...*
Adelrian's closest blood kin were...
Kaiman, Gadia.
*...Sigh.*
A whiff of saltiness hit me from somewhere; I shook my head and stood.
"All done? Let's head back. Didn't do much, but I'm beat. Right?"
My body ached oddly; I stretched my arms and rolled my head.
Luna shook her ears side to side.
Cain just stared blankly.
"Lack of exercise."
"You... lie down all day..."
Why were they echoing my mom...
Cain and Luna synced up against me; I unwittingly defended myself.
"What? You know how often I've been riding and running lately?"
"That's exercise?"
"You move... less than me..."
No way. Did I feed them well and they held hands behind my back?
Why'd they mesh so well?
"Humanely speaking, Luna, you're bunnykin. Consider species differences! And Cain, you... call what you do exercise self-abuse."
Heartless lot!
I shoved a cookie box at each, grumbling.
* * *
"Aigoo."
Bounced to some weird place, hair and eye color changed, but Korean's Korean, huh.
Tired, and out comes "aigoo."
Wasn't physically grueling, but returning left me oddly drained. Early evening, I sent Luna off and flopped on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Soaking in hot water with petals and herbs, then a massage—paradise now.
The bed's cozy embrace nearly lulled me to sleep, but I should sort thoughts first.
I propped up slightly, piled pillows like a mountain at the headboard, crossed my legs, and reclined.
"Let's see..."
Pulled a paper bundle from my small subspace, flipped through scribbles.
Sloppy handwriting like worms; I wiggled my toes reading it.
"Found it. 'The Beginner.'"
Original Cain started with [The One Who Burns Souls with Rage].
Then, burning all emotions indomitably, became [The One With Only One Thing Remaining], probably.
Early on, blindly dungeoning for cost-efficiency.
Naturally, reached it cluelessly several times.
Later, gallery search revealed I'd done everything you're not supposed to. How infuriating.
Cursed the devs for balancing max efficiency that way, pulled all-nighters.
Desperate, swapped main party for mercs and random NPCs, pushed through.
*'Not bad. Better than mediocre titles—it's a jackpot if anything.'*
Raised a sub-party knight as main DPS with this, rolled to ending satisfyingly.
*'Only issue: gotta build the board carefully?'*
Bit messy notes confirmed it.
Endless growth potential depending on direction.
"Morning Star Leading to Ruin, Sword Ruling the Ruins. The One Who Leads All Dead Things."
Hidden title.
*'Some reset early for NPCs with 'The Beginner' title.'*
This trash game—sub-party over main was 300x fun, old-timer content.
Namely, the Lord Tree.
Direction-dependent: found a cult, branded mainstream foes like evil god cults "heretics."
Wiped them in holy wars. Streamer did that.
I veered mid-way, turned country to ruins, but saw sub-party king ending.
Others mixed undead for necrolord builds.
Of course, slip mid-way and it derails to normal titles.
*'Worth trying.'*
I'd completed Lord Tree despite minor fails—old-timer cred.
Could predict branches.
Titles roughly indicate job or unit state.
So, barring major twists to Cain's state, Lord Tree safe for now.
"Stuck me with user eyes and dropped me here—they owe me this luck."
Raichel, you watching?
I twisted your fated partner's path.
Grateful? Bless me with lotto numbers on return.
*Believe it?*
I chuckled at the silly thought.
Future Raichel here probably couldn't send me back now—not omnipotent yet.
But by ending, different story.
New paper and quill out; scribbled derivative titles, expected tree, builds messily.
Dump it all, consolidate later.
*'Key thing to remember.'*
Cain follows my nudges without spotting weirdness, hitting intended title branches.
Maximize title changes benefiting him, unknown to him.
That's crucial.
"Departure's coming soon."
Once auction items arrive...
No more cozy beds then.
I filled papers till sunset deepened to night, pondering.