The Gold-Swallowing Snake (2)

There are lives decided from the moment of birth.

Born the child of a traitor, one must live forever branded a rebel. Born among slaves, one will almost certainly spend an entire lifetime as a slave.

Yes. Life is decided at birth.

Dieta Arvenia came to understand that truth on her seventh birthday. She was the child of a maid and the head of the Arvenia Ducal House. Naturally, the gazes that fell upon her were never kind.

There had been no shortage of bullying.

Yet she believed it was bearable.

She thought so until the day of her seventh birthday, when her mother hanged herself. Her mother's corpse was a ghastly sight, and a burn scar remained on her face. The direct cause of death was the rope around her neck, but what had driven her to that rope was none other than that scar.

The scar left on her face.

It had eroded her value.

How else could a mere maid have formed a relationship with the house head and even claimed a place as a concubine? It was thanks to her outstanding beauty alone. Unlike the duke's other wives, Dieta's mother possessed neither great wealth, nor lineage, nor powerful backers.

Her only value was her looks.

And so she had been destroyed all too easily.

A fire staged as an accident. In the blaze, her face had burned away. Priests arrived belatedly and poured blessings into her, but they could not erase every scar. A long burn mark remaining across her face. Distorted skin.

The fire had taken her beauty.

It had burned away the only value she possessed.

The head of House Arvenia was a cold, calculating man, and he no longer paid any attention to a woman who had lost her worth. He no longer summoned her to his bedchamber, and he began reclaiming, one by one, everything he had given her.

As though she had been nothing more than a fleeting amusement, the duke cast her and her daughter Dieta out into an annex.

The shoulders her mother had once carried so proudly began to hunch. She went about with a veil covering her face, and the voice that had once commanded the maids grew pitiful. The woman who had shattered the fate decided for her at birth with the radiance of her worth now plummeted to the earth after losing that worth.

And as is usually the case, the end was wretched.

Her mother's corpse hanging by the neck. Staring quietly at that body, Dieta had no choice but to realize it. The fence that had protected her was broken. All that remained for Dieta was the beautiful appearance she had inherited from her mother—and the label of abandoned child.

Value. Value. Value.

The young girl faced reality.

Was it misfortune, or fortune? The girl possessed talent. While her looks had been inherited from her mother, the eyes that appraised value had come from her father.

The girl was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a genius.

A genius—yet still only a girl.

Her mind was not yet ripe enough to accept the world, and she was too tender to endure the barbs and bullying. And so the girl donned a mask. Behind the mask, she packaged herself with her looks.

Wearing the mask, the girl fawned and flattered, played the fool, and at times lived as though dead in the midst of indifference. She knew that if she lived that way, an opportunity would eventually come.

On the day of her fifteenth birthday.

The day when no one paid her any attention any longer.

Dieta fled the house. She fled and fled toward a place where she could unfold her talent. The place she reached was none other than Cambria, the City of Opportunity—a place where anyone with talent could rise. In that city, Dieta spent five years.

"And so five years have passed."

Dieta leaned back against the chair.

Everything she had built from the bottom up over the past five years was here. One of the three great merchant groups of this city. The achievement she had accomplished.

"And now, of all times…"

Dieta looked at the letter.

Her eyes were trembling.

"Why… so suddenly?"

When she had fled. When she had founded the merchant group. When the group had found its footing. They had never once contacted her, never even shown the slightest interest. And yet, why send a letter so abruptly now?

Dieta looked into the letter.

The contents were long, but the essence was simple.

A letter scrawled by the Duke of Arvenia himself.

It was a summons. Dieta gazed at the words written on the letter and slowly exhaled. In the end, she had no justification to refuse this summons.

Refusal would mean setting herself in open opposition.

And House Arvenia was not a family the current Dieta Merchant Group could afford to provoke. Knowing that, Dieta rose from her seat with a sigh.

"Pasion. Make ready."

"…Understood."

Leaving behind Pasion as he prepared the carriage with a stiff expression, Dieta stood before the mirror. She stood before the mirror and looked at her own face. The bright, easy smile she had worn only moments ago while speaking with Najin was nowhere to be found.

Stiff corners of her mouth.

Smoothing those corners, Dieta smiled bitterly. It was the same sneer as always, the same smile laced with resignation as always.

A summons from the Central Guild.

Arriving at the guild with a light heart, what greeted Najin were the examiners waiting for him with rigid faces at the counter reserved for high-ranking adventurers. At the sight, Najin tilted his head.

"Green-rank adventurer, Ivan."

The examiners spoke.

"In recognition of your achievements, we wish to proceed with an examination for promotion to Red-rank. Do you consent?"

An unexpected Red-rank promotion exam.

Najin blinked. Of course he did.

"…I never applied for a promotion exam."

He had never applied for one, after all.

In just two months after setting foot in the city, he had become a Green-rank adventurer—the twenty-eight-year-old adventurer named Ivan. The Central Guild of Cambria had been watching him closely. His growth rate was anything but ordinary.

He had single-handedly subjugated a Red-rank threat, a Blood Troll. He had shattered the all-time scoring record in the Dochsenberg Forest subjugation campaign.

Even looking only at the major commissions, the results were that impressive—and his performance on the smaller ones was no less extraordinary. Client satisfaction was sky-high; every one of them left reviews along the lines of, "The adventurer was fast and clean."

Satisfaction was especially high on bounty commissions. He was fast, he was thorough, and above all, he recovered every last piece of jewelry the criminals had stolen and brought it back with him, didn't he?

I had already thought he was worth keeping an eye on…

Examiner Zuberoa looked at the man seated before her. It felt like only yesterday that she had flagged him as a person of interest simply because that Roselyn Ascalo had taken notice of him…

And in the short time since, he had gone and pulled off yet another absurd feat.

The central figure in the subjugation of the Demon Knight, Bernhaigen.

Before the shock of the solo Blood Troll kill and his double promotion had even faded, the young man sitting in front of her had detonated yet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠another shockwave through the adventurers' city. At this point, the Central Guild could no longer sit still.

Anyone could see that the adventurer named Ivan was not a talent that could be confined to Green-rank.

Of course, the next rank after Green—"Red"—was no light position. In practice, Red-rank adventurers were the highest-caliber personnel the Central Guild could deploy, the city's representative faces, guaranteed by the guild itself.

That was why the promotion process was notoriously difficult and exacting…

"In light of the special nature of the commissions you have completed and the high evaluation of your performance, we wish to administer a promotion examination under special exception."

For the man before her, a special exception simply had to be applied.

"Baron Orbaiz, Viscount Traam, Viscount Toscanelli, Viscount Epister, Count Ternien…"

The Demon Knight subjugation.

The adventurer before her—the central figure in that battle—had, in effect, resolved a host of noble commissions in a single stroke. The commissions hanging around the neck of the Demon Knight Bernhaigen alone had numbered more than seven, had they not?

The Knights of Atanga said nothing about it, but…

Out of respect for the renown of the Knights of Atanga and the many nobles involved, the Central Guild had no choice but to grant the man before her a special exception.

"And above all, Marquis Edelmar of House Trevache has strongly recommended you. He sent a personal letter—you would do well to be grateful for that favor."

Najin, who had been listening quietly, nodded.

"Of course, the Red-rank promotion examination will proceed under extremely strict and exacting standards. It will take place over a total of three days, and the first examination will be conducted under my supervision—Zuberoa's."

Any objections?

At the question, Najin nodded.

"Then let us go."

Najin rose and followed Zuberoa as she stood. As they walked, she began her explanation—the details of the examination she would oversee from this point on.

"What I will be scoring is instantaneous judgment, as well as the suppression and escort of a target. From here on, you will escort me to the destination. However, we will proceed at my walking pace, and the moment you lay a hand on me, points will be deducted. Keep that firmly in mind."

She glanced at Najin as she walked.

Najin nodded silently at Zuberoa's words.

"Furthermore, if you inflict a fatal wound on any of the adventurers performing the role of 'assailants' targeting me, that too will result in a point deduction. Do not forget that this is suppression."

Having finished her explanation, Zuberoa clapped her hands once—clap. As the sound of the clap rang out, she spoke.

"Then we will begin the examination."

Zuberoa set off along the route she had announced in advance. Following behind her, Najin narrowed his eyes. He had sensed a presence.

Reflexively, he rested a hand on his sword hilt—then lowered it again a moment later. Inflicting injury was forbidden. Better not to use the sword at all. Thinking that, he followed Zuberoa for several more steps.

Thud.

With the sound of someone kicking off a wall, a figure leapt down from a rooftop. Leaping, they came crashing straight toward Zuberoa. Probably one of the hired adventurers she had mentioned a moment ago.

One, two…

Two adventurers charging at Zuberoa.

One of them was targeting Najin rather than Zuberoa. Watching the movement calmly, Najin took a single step forward.

What the adventurer swung as he leapt down was a wooden practice sword. The edge had even been dulled, so catching it bare-handed would have been no problem—but this was an examination meant to simulate real combat.

Najin read the motion with his eyes and stretched out a hand. The hand that shot forward seized the adventurer's wrist. The instant Najin's grip locked on, the wooden sword could not advance another inch. A brief flash of shock at the strength of that grip—

Whoosh!

Najin yanked on the wrist. The man's posture collapsed in midair, and he was dragged backward and hurled away by Najin. By the time the adventurer rolled across the ground and scrambled up, the only thing that greeted him was the sight of his own comrade caught in Najin's grasp.

"Ghk—kuh! Khahk!"

The adventurer choked and coughed with his throat seized. He dropped his wooden sword and slapped twice at Najin's arm with his palm; only then did Najin ease the pressure of his grip. A little more force and he could have knocked the man out cleanly, but there was no need to go that far.

One subdued.

Najin turned his head and looked behind him. There stood the adventurer he had just thrown. The man wore a vaguely incredulous expression even as he made a light hand signal.

At the same moment, a series of thuds rang out in rapid succession.

The adventurers assigned the role of "assailants" for this examination came charging at Najin and Zuberoa from every direction at once.

The adventurers hired by the guild to play the role of assailants.

They belonged to the mid-sized mercenary company known as Pavlet. Individually their ranks were a mix of Blue and Green, but they had coordinated through countless commissions and were effectively evaluated at Red-rank as a unit.

That was why, when they accepted this commission, the members of the Pavlet Mercenary Company could not help but tilt their heads a little.

No matter how much of a rising star this adventurer is, aren't these conditions a bit excessive?

Protect the escort target. Subdue the assailants without inflicting serious wounds. And on top of that, respond instantly to ambushes. Naturally, that meant aura was off-limits. With constraints piled on like this, could anyone even put up a proper fight?

With that worry in mind, they began the mission.

And now, three minutes after the ambush had begun, the captain of the Pavlet Mercenary Company could not help but let out a hollow laugh.

"This is ridiculous."

Eight mercenaries. The time it had taken for every last one of them to be subdued was a mere three minutes. The captain replayed what had just happened.

Two sent in as a probe.

The instant one of them was subdued with almost absurd ease, he had given the order at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once: swarm from all sides, with the remaining two providing support from the rear. And so the company had charged Najin from every direction…

One had been grabbed by the arm and thrown.

One had been kicked and slammed into a wall.

One, the moment he tried to swing a club, had the swinging hand kicked, the club sent flying—and then been seized and flung backward as well.

Four subdued in an instant. He had no idea how the rest had gone down. He had been certain they had struck from the blind spots of the man's vision—yet the next thing he knew, his own world had flipped and he was face-down in the dirt.

Thud.

Watching Najin drag over the two who had been hiding in the rear for harassment—somehow found and seized by the nape—the captain raised both arms with a hollow laugh.

"I surrender, I surrender. This isn't going to work, Examiner."

Sitting on the ground, he laughed emptily.

"Forget clubs and wooden swords—I don't think we'd stand a chance even if we came at him with live steel. Is he really a Sword Expert? Not a Sword Seeker?"

"He is an Expert."

"Huh. He looks young, too. Impressive. At this level, maybe he could aim for youngest Sword Seeker?"

"I am twenty-eight."

"…"

The captain turned his head and looked at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠examiner.

Is that actually true? No matter how he looked at him, the young man in front of him did not look like someone in his late twenties.

"…According to the recorded identity, yes."

"Haaah…"

Feigning a sigh, the captain flicked his arm.

It was a throwing knife launched the instant Najin's gaze had turned. Aimed precisely at a gap. A knife that should have been impossible to catch, since he had not seen it with his eyes.

Thock.

Yet Najin casually swept out a hand and snatched the knife from the air. Of course, "knife" was generous—it was a blunt practice blade made for examinations like this.

"Come on, look at that. That reaction speed isn't normal. How the hell do you catch something like that?"

The captain spoke with open incredulity at the sight of Najin so easily snatching a knife thrown from his blind spot. Examiner Zuberoa was just as stunned. Najin's movements had been utterly without flaw.

Clean, economical motion. Performance that fulfilled the conditions with perfect precision—not a single deduction to be found. On top of that, his instantaneous judgment and reaction speed were equally beyond reproach.

Escort and suppression.

Among commissions, these ranked among the more difficult, and they were also the most heavily weighted portion of the promotion examination.

The conditions are so exacting that this test has failed any number of adventurers…

Examiner Zuberoa fell silent.

It was not that the hired mercenary company had been inadequate. The adventurer named Ivan had simply been exceptional. Before the examination began, she had been determined to evaluate him with the strictest rigor…

At this point, she had no choice but to acknowledge it.

"The Day One examination will conclude early."

There was only one evaluation she wrote on the paper.

Perfect score. No faults to find.

It had been so long since she had filled out a sheet without a single deduction that Zuberoa let out a hollow laugh of her own.