Chapter 2
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Welcome to the Crossroad Kingdom
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Over the past four years as an immigration officer, if I had to pick the thing I've done most...
"Alright. Next!"
-Thud.
As the stamp came down on the densely packed personal information form, the bold words [Entry Permitted] were imprinted.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"Yeah, yeah. Have a good time. Move along now."
The woman in front of me bowed deeply and scurried off to the side.
That was the 118th "thank you" I'd heard today. From 118 different people.
My ears are gonna bleed.
"How many's that in total..."
118 today alone. Multiply by 365, then by 5...
No, that's off-season pace. Factor in holidays or year-end rushes...
Anyway, a ton.
That's when my attendant spoke up from beside me.
"Next applicant entering. This one's the last."
"Finally."
I'd wondered if it'd ever end, but hey, there really was a last one.
One more and I'm off!
One more and I can crash in bed! With a hot dinner and some rest!
I was belting out an off-duty anthem in my head when the door opposite swung open. In shuffled a ragged-looking man, hesitant and dirty.
"Stand right here."
"Y-Yes!"
I watched him take position in the center of the room under the attendant's guidance, then opened my mouth.
"Welcome. I am Nathan Kell, immigration officer with the Immigration Control Office, under the Foreign Affairs Ministry."
This line was the 119th today.
"H-Hello, sir! I-I-I-I mean, officer, sir!"
"Drop the 'sir' and I'll be grateful."
"Y-Yes! Officer!"
Overly tense posture. Inappropriate formality.
First time crossing the border, maybe. Or just poorly educated.
I'll keep it in mind.
I slowly reached out, picking up the hourglass from the desk. For the 119th time, I flipped it over.
"State your name, origin, and purpose of entry. You have five minutes."
The sand began to flow.
The final five minutes.
Once these pass, I'm off. End of twelve straight hours with no break.
So hurry up and answer.
Who are you?
The man glanced nervously at the hourglass, scratched his head, and spoke.
"Uh... I'm Macturn, that's me. No family name or nothin'. From the southern Mahalan Kingdom, workin' as a farmer there."
"I see. And your purpose for visiting?"
"Came here to see my boy. He's marryin' a local lady from this kingdom..."
My attendant, seated beside me, immediately started filling out the form.
I flicked my gaze to Macturn's shoes. Nearly worn through, caked with dried mud everywhere.
Sturdy build, sun-baked dark skin, nails dirty and unkempt. Fingers thick with calluses.
Farmer... or maybe mercenary.
Suspicious. Plenty try to hide their identities. No reason this guy can't be one.
I deliberately reached for the dagger mounted opposite on the desk.
But Macturn just stared blankly, not twitching a finger.
Not a seasoned fighter, at least.
No reaction to a weapon? Either an idiot or knows nothing of combat.
Macturn's probably the latter.
Besides, Mahalan Kingdom's the continent's breadbasket. Farmers everywhere.
Purpose checks out.
Who wouldn't want to meet the new daughter-in-law when their son's tying the knot?
Doesn't seem like a lie.
"Mahalan's a long way. Any companions?"
"Travelin' with someone? Nah. Wife's gotta tend the crops... Oh! A merchant caravan gave me a lift partway."
"Remember the name?"
"Somethin' like... Kell... Merchant Group?"
I blinked involuntarily.
Didn't expect my family business to pop up.
Eye contact with the attendant. He nodded slightly.
"This afternoon, the Olfactory Officer cleared the Kell Merchant Group. Importing elf wood carvings."
"Olfactory Officer, huh."
Dad, alright.
Probably routed them through his lane on purpose. Famous for lightning-fast processing.
Four years later, still the same. I chuckled softly.
"Fine. No need to double-check the Kell Merchant Group."
Behavior matches status. Solid purpose. Family caravan as company.
Clean. Regulations-wise, zero issues.
Luggage inspection's probably done by now. No flags raised, so possessions are fine.
One last thing left.
"Finally, one more check. Your son's name?"
"D-Daniel."
"Daniel."
The attendant filling forms shot up and headed to the bookshelf behind me.
This confirms it. Weekend tomorrow—no work.
Sensing my mood, he hustled back twice as fast with two massive ledgers, plunking them before me.
-Entry Registry.
-Exit Registry.
Just find Daniel's entry record, no exit.
"Da, Da, Da, Da."
I scanned down the names slowly, hunting 'Da's. Easy enough.
And soon...
"Found—oh, for fuck's sake."
The curse slipped out.
Over 600 Daniels in entries. 400 in exits.
Attendant's face filled with despair, prescient.
"O-Officer... we have to check all these...?"
"Ugh..."
I looked up slowly at the honest farmer uncle.
"Uh... which Daniel family?"
Five minutes my ass.
Took an hour.
"Da, Da, Da, Daaa..."
Glassy-eyed, battling endless Daniels for ages, the attendant suddenly jumped up.
"F-Found it! Officer, found it!"
"What!? Where, lemme see!"
"582nd Daniel here!"
Beside the name it read:
[Mahalan Kingdom, Ihan Barony potato hill origin, 24yo young male] Daniel.
Matches origin. Entered 289 days ago. No surname. No exit.
Perfect match.
Finally.
Attendant and I, seeing Macturn's son confirmed, threw decorum out and cheered.
"Hooray! Long live Daniel! Long live the officer!"
"Hooray!"
"H-Hooray...?"
Macturn awkwardly joined in, reading the room. Nice guy.
No time to hesitate now.
"Entry form!"
"Here!"
I snatched the [Entry Permitted] stamp; attendant shoved the finished form over.
Lightning scan.
Name, origin, purpose, relation, rough sketch. Perfect.
Tears streaming, attendant pleaded.
"Officer, can we go home? Can I eat dinner with my wife tonight?"
"Damn right! I guarantee it!"
"Waaah."
I swallowed the surging joy, took a breath.
Save the celebration. Duty as officer remained.
Welcome the entrant as the kingdom's first face.
"Mr. Macturn."
"Y-Yes!"
"Your statements have been consistent, and you've provided matching details for identity verification."
Farmer's face lit up. I smiled back.
"Thus, I hereby confirm no grounds for denial of entry."
Raised my right hand.
And slammed the stamp down.
-Thud.
"Welcome to the Crossroad Kingdom."
Off duty.
Crossroad Kingdom.
Ridiculous name for a country, but spot-on given our geography.
Smack in the vast continent's center.
Right under the massive range splitting it into quadrants. Dead center.
The only nation in a pass linking east, west, north, south seamlessly.
That's us.
Who the hell builds a country at a crossroads everyone passes through?
No quiet decade in our history.
Hordes of races and peoples swarming, demanding passage for wars, trade routes...
Bypassing us means insane mountain treks: monsters, bandits, endless cliffs.
To cross the continent? Through us only.
Prime spot, sure. Continent's heart.
But coveted by all means no one claims it.
Thus, neutral state: open to all nations, races, peoples freely.
And that's where we shine.
Immigration officers.
First contact with outsiders.
Anyone can enter. Anything, if rules allow.
But if it breaks regs, threatens peace and order? Officers block it.
Heavy duty, royal mandate. Only elites handle it.
One such officer—me—was finally wrapping files, standing to leave, off-duty bliss in mind.
"Off duty, off duty, sweet off duty~."
"Baby-making night two, wine and eels tonight~."
Attendant nailed the backup vocals to my tune. Years together paid off.
Files in drawer, curtains drawn, hand on knob.
"Good work today. See you after the weekend."
"Nah, you worked hard, officer. Haha, won't come if called."
"Haha. Who'd call?"
Good vibes had me grinning too.
One step past this door: two days free.
Legally guaranteed. King himself couldn't stop me, let alone the Foreign Minister.
Rest today, tomorrow? Stay home mindless, or hit the capital?
Happy dilemma, turning the knob—door flew open first.
-Bang.
A young female attendant burst in, panting.
"Finally found you!"
Casual demeanor furrowed my brow, but her heaving gasps said urgent dispatch from afar. I composed myself.
"What's so urgent—"
Ominous premonition hit.
Asking spells doom.
Delayed off-duty. Nauseating hunch.
"Hah, hah... Huh? What'd you say?"
"Nothing. I'm clocking out. Good luck."
I brushed past quick. Attendant caught on, followed silent.
"W-Wait! Officer! Officer!"
"Lalala, can't hear, can't see."
No one steals my freedom. Job done.
Farewell, Immigration Control Office. See you in two days.
"Central Officer! Vital dispatch!"
"Ugh."
Her voice hooked my steps sharp.
Central Officer.
My official title as immigration officer.
Using it means official business.
Damn.
No choice. Stopped, turned.
"...State your affiliation first. Don't know who you are yet."
"S-Sorry! I'm the Gustatory Officer's direct attendant. But Central Officer, she requests backup. Demands you now..."
Another name.
Gustatory Officer.
One of my direct subordinates' official title.
Praying it's a dream, squeezed eyes shut, opened. She persisted.
Premonitions never fail.
Shit.
Off-duty an hour past, and Gustatory's still working? That woman's nuts?
Why me? Right at quittin' time? Why?
I'm her boss? Off-clock, I'm nobody.
Need an excuse. Others available.
Who? Oh yeah.
"Olfactory Officer should be free. Run now, make it in time."
Sacrifice another subordinate. Go to him.
"Olfactory clocked out two hours ago."
"What? Two hours? Early? That fuck—er, ahem."
That bastard.
Full moon today, duh.
Explains the speedy work—snuck out an hour early, the lunatic.
Next victim, next.
"Th-Then Auditory or Tactile Officer better. I'm done for today..."
"Only Central Officer's left in Immigration Control."
"Fuckin' hell."
Curse escaped.
Gustatory's attendant flinched, straightened up.
"S-Sorry! Too casual!"
That damn 500-year-old elf bitch and tentacle-head ditched Friday the second work ended, no report.
No escape. Really just me.
Ignore and risk some psycho slipping in.
Plus, Gustatory's green—less than a month in.
Leave her solo? Disaster waiting.
"Haa..."
Heavy sigh. No way out.
Sad eyes to my attendant.
He looked defeated already.
"Sorry. I guaranteed it."
"No, officer. Duty first. Sniff, had hangover cure breakfast too..."
Officer goes, attendant follows. Iron rule binds him too.
To the slaughter, I told her attendant.
"...Lead to Gustatory Officer."
Gustatory, better be huge, or I'm pissed.