Because of Those Pretty Scales
Swallow House was practically a gathering of elite bureaucrats, all thanks to those pretty scales. Young talents who had aced their way into royal service, or top graduates from the officer academy—those with enough patriotism and no disqualifying marks received a discreet offer. After passing rounds of tests and interviews, they earned the right to join. Even so, the Director trusted few of his subordinates. To him, they all looked like greenhorns full of hot air.
It was harsh, sure, but no one dared call out the Director—one of the kingdom's Eight Heroes himself.
Ashton was one of the rare few who had earned that trust. He'd even contributed to naming the Black Death King. His specialty was inference based on astonishing observation skills. But his mind spun so fast that he sometimes jumped to absurd conclusions on his own.
Truth be told, his boss the Director loved those slip-ups. Win or lose, he found them hilarious. Like mistaking Royle and Amaen for mages from the Magic Tower. The Director would've roared with laughter.
"Haha, what a blunder. How embarrassing."
Luckily, the misunderstanding cleared up quickly. Ashton gave an awkward smile.
"What made you think that? Haha."
Royle chuckled back and offered some tea.
"Those suits you're wearing—they're custom from Tailorville on Purewell Avenue, right?"
"...How did you know?"
"Sounds silly now, but I've got a good eye. And Tailorville has a contract with the Magic Tower. Mages visiting the capital all get new outfits there."
Ashton had his excuses too. It wasn't baseless speculation. "Above all, your son's magic talent seems extraordinary. I figured he was from the Tower."
Royle's face lit up with a beaming grin. No parent hates praise for their kid—especially from an intelligence agent.
Ashton held back some thoughts. Amaen moved like a commoner no matter how you sliced it. He didn't mention how the Tower often snatched up young talents and worked them like slaves.
Things just got more interesting. Ashton smirked inwardly. Then he dropped a bombshell that shattered the warm vibe.
"How'd you acquire the gold and those relics?"
"Pardon?"
"Ancient artifacts were mixed in. By kingdom law, their trade requires proper procedures. That's under our jurisdiction." Ashton kept smiling. "How exactly did you get them?"
"Well..."
"Tell me."
Ashton cut him off. "I have a special ability." He straightened up, tapping his glasses. "I can see through lies and truth. Sounds impressive, but it's simple. Liars show tells—their bodies betray them. Fidgety legs, averted eyes, fiddling fingers, cold sweat. That scent. No one hides them all, based on my experience. There are signs I won't even mention. So, once more."
Courteous, but unmistakably an agent. "How did you get these items?"
Royle played the wealthy merchant, but at heart, he was just a peddler. Facing an agent? Terrifying. Amaen sensed the tension and gripped his father's arm tight.
"Do I have to tell you?"
"Yes. For your sake and your son's."
In the chill air, Royle sighed. "Fine. The honest truth—these treasures weren't originally mine."
"Then?"
"I'm just a peddler by trade. Heading to Kalea City to sell beer."
Amaen whipped around in shock. Ashton caught it.
"That's when I found them." Royle looked sheepish. "Dead bandits."
"...Bandits?"
"Yes. I'd heard rumors of bandits near Kalea Mountain, but..."
Bandits around Kalea? Yeah, that checked out. Pass.
"They had the treasures. Looked like they'd killed each other..."
"Bandits with treasures like these..."
Plausible? Not really, though not impossible. Fail.
"The one clutching them was odd. Long scar across his head, built like a mountain, iron shackles on his wrists..."
"What was his skin color?"
Ashton frowned. A suspect came to mind. Royle answered, "Probably... dark brown."
Fugitive Yatus. Wild Dog Yatus. Escaped prison with fellow inmates—could he have been there? Plausible. If Royle was fabricating, he wouldn't pick such a flashy detail. Truth? Hold.
"Hmm..."
Overall on Royle: hold.
"I see. We'll verify." Ashton smiled again. Time to check if Yatus hit Kalea. As an ex-adventurer, relics fit. "Sure, go ahead."
Royle smiled dazedly. He looked dopey. Ashton had no lie-detection power anyway.
Ashton stood. "S-So, we're good?" Royle asked nervously.
"What, stumbling on a dead criminal's loot? Luck from the gods."
"Ah..."
"Enjoy the capital. Here's my card."
Unlike the veiled threat, he bowed lightly. Pausing at the door, he turned. "Oh, your son's talent is real. Planning on the academy or the Tower?"
"Academy seems best. But where..."
"Kingdom's top academy is one: Emerald School. I graduated from there." Ashton eyed Amaen. "I recommend it."
With that, he left. Only then did Royle slump into the sofa.
"Phew."
Thought he'd die of nerves. Amaen gripped his father's hand sympathetically.
"...Wonder how he's doing."
The snake in the mine. Probably struggling. Dwarves wouldn't take kindly to a sudden monster snake.
"Shall we go, Amaen?"
"Yeah."
Contract was a contract. They'd return to Kalea to meet the snake again.
Sprout Snake's healing differed from potions. Potions maximized the target's natural healing. High-grade or low, the principle was the same—just efficiency varied. That's why some wounds resisted potions. The youngest dwarf with gut damage was a prime case. Potions lost effect fast after a point.
But Sprout Snake used the mother snake's life force. The kid survived.
Dwarves who'd fled returned with a stretcher and more hands. The youngest was carted out safely. The rest trudged out exhausted. Fighting monsters beat mining by miles. All blood-soaked.
That's why I missed Dungkel's injury.
Saaak!
Hey, man! Blood poured from his side. Even with bloodied clothes, how'd I miss that? Thought he was posing cool, but no.
"Aaaagh!"
Screaming like a kid once he noticed. Lucky the wound was shallow. Dwarves' potions went to the kid. I shared some of mine.
Looked like a blood mole bite. A splash healed it quick.
"You were so into it, you didn't notice you were bleeding."
Tsk tsk, what a dope. Glanced around, expecting mockery.
No laughs. They averted eyes or wore complex looks meeting Dungkel's gaze.
Sudden attitude shift?
"Um..."
A young dwarf who'd trashed him that morning approached. "Let me help you walk."
"Huh? No need."
Dungkel waved him off, but the dwarf insisted. Dungkel looked embarrassed; the helper more so.
What're they doing? Then Manjin approached me, offering ham suddenly.
"Good work."
Snapped it up. "Drinks later."
Sounds good! Looking forward.
Exiting the tunnel didn't take long. Slow pace, under an hour maybe. The plaza outside swarmed with dwarves.
"Whoa, they're out!"
"Manjin!"
Word spread fast about blood moles from Manjin's crew. "Tough job."
"All back alive—miracle!"
"Drinks up top!"
Cheers and laughs everywhere. Manjin was well-liked. Most welcomed him genuinely.
Dungkel stood awkwardly smiling. No one greeted him. I spectated from his shoulder, tapping it.
Don't shrink.
"Dungkel?"
A sleazy-looking dwarf sidled up to Manjin's group. "He mess with a blood mole nest? Who did it?"
"Mess? They charged us."
"Huh. Thought that bald punk pulled some screw-up."
He laughed, badmouthing Dungkel. "Anyway, that shiny-head butting in must've been a pain. Kid got hurt, but he's fine..."
"Hey, asshole!"
A Manjin crew dwarf grabbed his collar. "What?!"
"Talk shit about Dungkel-hyung or act up around me again, you're done."
"Sudden... let go!"
Whoa. Better guys than I thought.
Sniffling nearby—Dungkel swallowing snot. Touched, huh? Me too, a bit.
"Crazy bastard!"
The grabbed dwarf swung. Thud—one of Manjin's went down. "He hit him!"
"Bastard!"
Manjin swung, and a brawl erupted. "Fight!"
"Wahaha!"
It ballooned fast. These savage dwarves.
Saaak!
Go join, Dungkel. Standing here's un-dwarven. "I-I hate fighting."
Lame. Someone flew into him then. "Ugh!"
I'll avenge you. I leaped into the fray.
Fun times. The brawl, I mean. After that, the kid recovered fine. Few real doctors, so Dungkel slaved again.
Maybe that's why. Manjin and crew stopped mistreating him. They called him "hyung," Manjin "hyung" again.
Didn't rocket his status overnight. Naive to expect that. Regaining ground after ostracism ain't easy. I know from experience.
But Dungkel hustled. A month in the lower levels, mining pro now. Even non-Manjin dwarves sought his help. Fewer trash-talkers.
Finally, deep level access. The mine's bottom—restricted. Meister permit needed to approach Bluebeard.
"Can't join when you see the Lord."
Handle it myself.
Dungkel handed Helmuth's intro letter to the deep gate guard. For the Meister guarding it. No letter, no entry.
"Meister Jeremiah's kind. No need to stress."
I hopped off his shoulder. Fist bump with my tail.
Thanks for the ride. You're doing great.
"Yeah, fighting!"
We parted. The guard muttered in awe. "A writing snake. Amazing."
What a fuss.
"Drinks with me later?"
Ouroboros Ale was all the rage. Dwarves craved the one I swam in. I nodded.
He beamed, leading me to a waiting room. "Wait here. Meister's coming."
This Jeremiah makes good swords?
Might forge my luck-iron blade. But the guide dwarf looked weird.
"Jeremiah's not here."
What? "Another Meister instead. Coming soon."
He hurried off, dropping ominously, "Be careful."
Huh? Before pondering, signs hit.
Thump, thump, thump. Not external—my heart pounding.
Tssst—scales bristled. Familiar, unforgettable. Survival Instinct Lv7 activating.
Didn't trigger in mole nest or gas ignition. Why now?
Bang bang bang. Footsteps. Heavy dwarf sprinting.
No time to hide—door flew open. "Snaaaake—!"
Voice like boiled train whistle. A warrior dwarf supreme. Long hair whipping sans wind. Wire-like beard evoking Xiang Yu. Short but muscles bursting.
"Th-this one!"
She gawked. —Oh no... Pellelian sighed. He knew her.
—Run! She's Red Anvil's strongest—and worst—dwarf warrior.
Wait, what? Her?
Beard fooled me. Not the point.
"Never seen such pretty scales!"
She pounced tiger-like. Caught before I blinked. Bite her arm? Rock-hard forearm'd shatter my teeth.
"Perfect scales. New necklace material!"
—Rozena...
Pellelian, dwarf-disdainer, groaned her name. —Jewelry Meister. Underground's strongest dwarf. Save the crystal snake!