That's Just How That Country Is
US Army 72nd Ranger Regiment.
The squad dispatched to explore the other world couldn't help whistling at the sight of the elves walking ahead of them.
The squad leader up front scowled and glared at the soldier catcalling, but it was unavoidable.
Look at those elves now surrounding them, their asses swaying and jiggling left and right.
Their skimpy outfits barely covered their underwear, exposing the undersides of their cheeks completely.
If not for those impossibly long ears, you'd swear they were strippers from some club out on a group gig.
"...Hey, Luke."
"Yes? Oh, sorry, Sarge. I'll be careful."
"No, not that. Don't you think something's off?"
And right then.
Squad Leader Bruce, who'd been following at the rear of the elves, cautiously turned back and approached Luke—the one who'd been catcalling.
Luke nodded vigorously, as if he'd been thinking the same thing.
"Yeah, totally. No matter how you slice it..."
"Right? Those five all look identical."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Hearing that, Luke stared at the elves like it was nonsense.
But then he realized: aside from tiny differences in height and hair length, they were 99% the same. Not even twins matched this closely.
And every single one ahead was an elf.
What were the odds the first intelligent beings they'd meet in another world were quintuplets? Luke sucked at math, but even he knew this was a one-in-a-lifetime fluke.
"Holy shit, you're right."
"What? You didn't notice? Then why'd you agree with me earlier?"
"Well, yeah... these elves can talk to us."
"What's that got to—wait."
"Figured it out?"
Bruce finally caught on to the weirdness Luke had spotted. They could communicate. With otherworld heteromorphs?
Languages changed even within countries due to ethnic differences, and cross-border talk was impossible without translators. Yet these elves conversed naturally.
How had they missed it until now? Battling monsters for their lives, escorted by doll-like beauties—it was all beyond expectation, scrambling their judgment.
Chastened, Bruce pushed forward again. The lead elf spoke lightly.
"It's thanks to the Cradle of Wisdom."
"...Pardon?"
"A magic created and installed by the Great One. Every intelligent being in its range can instantly convey their intentions to each other. And vice versa, of course."
"...You heard that?"
"Elves have good ears. Note that."
Seeing her flick her untouched ear, Bruce stared intently, then zeroed in on the grating part.
"The Great One... you mean a god?"
"A god? What's that?"
"...Then who is this Great One?"
"The creator of all things, mother of the world, existent since the dawn of time—an entity too sublime even to behold. The Great One, literally."
"What's their name?"
It was a very Earthling question, naming even gods. But the moment he voiced it, the leading elves halted in unison and turned.
Their mechanical precision startled even the trained Rangers. The once-friendly elf's voice turned ice-cold.
"—We cannot know. Nor do we."
"Pardon? You revere someone whose name you don't—"
"Do not seek to know."
She imparted the common sense of the other world.
"For names are such things."
While the elves lectured on otherworld norms.
The Great One, whose name must not be uttered.
Unknown entity infiltrating the facility!
All security personnel, assemble at Sector A-01!
'Huh.'
She'd crossed the gate.
'How'd they spot me?'
And was exploring Earth.
Future Strategic Technology Research Institute.
A top-secret lab so classified few in the US even knew it existed. Recently, it'd achieved something to stun the world.
They'd developed a gate to another world. Luck played a part—replication failed.
But monopolizing another world's resources thrilled the US government. Already Earth's hegemon on homegrown supplies.
Otherworld resources? They'd rename the planet America. Like StarCraft, but digging your own room and piping resources cross-map!
Naturally, they eyed the tech hard, deploying Army Rangers for scouting. But one big issue lingered.
What lurked beyond? Something might cross over. No guarantee on reopening a closed gate, so it stayed open 24/7.
Fear lost to greed, as always. They stationed round-the-clock guards. Motion sensors and hundreds of cameras watched the gate nonstop.
Infrared, UV, X-ray, radiation—every spectrum, catching even dust motes.
And today.
That'd caught her, despite her concealment magic, the instant she crossed.
'Ah... so that's how.'
Of course.
Such toys were useless against a dragon who wielded teleportation at will.
She gently set down the fainted researcher—whose memories she'd plucked—then glanced at the ceiling.
She blinked. Her form vanished, reappearing outside.
The lab was 50 floors down, 200 meters underground. But for her—who could zip Earth to Moon—that was nothing.
Surfacing, the first thing she sensed was.
"—Smells."
Manhattan, New York.
Dozens, hundreds in suits scurrying about.
Incredibly, the US had built its secret lab smack in downtown.
But thinking it over, America was always like that. Millennia-old memories might be fuzzy, but:human experiments on citizens, decades of surveillance on one guy, tapping every call and text nationwide...
Yeah, it's always been nuts. Realizing that made a downtown bunker less weird. Gate might spawn horrors? Risk killing thousands? 'We know.'
"Still... this really Earth?"
From the researcher's memories, yes. Time had passed a bit, but after her thousands of years there, it was trivial.
Even a dragon like her had to blink at that.
Dying on Earth, reborn millennia back into a world linked to it now? She'd long proved no gods existed, yet this screamed transcendent will.
Of course.
"Coming to America as a dragon, when I never did as a human."
Arrogant dragon that she was, she shrugged off divine meddling. No point pondering unsolvables.
Better to chow down and enjoy. Scanning for food, she realized belatedly.
"...No money."
Modern Earth ran on capitalism.
And naturally.
A dragon who'd seized all desires via force and magic for millennia had zero cash or equivalents.
"Hmm... stealing wounds my pride."
Filching was trivial, but Dragon King shoplifting? Ego bruise.
Stuck dithering, fireworks cracked somewhere.
Recalling this was America, she grinned.
"Luck rolls in."
She teleported toward the noise.
"Gaaah...!"
"Fuck! I told you to hand over your wallet nice!"
A terrified Black guy yelled, bolting from the alley. Smoke wisped from his pistol. At the alley's end lay a shot man.
The victim felt death closing in. Damn, shouldn't have tried that YouTube self-defense crap. Now I'm heaven-bound...
Regrets were pointless. The bullet had gutted him; ruptured organs dragged him down. Survive? Astronomical bills.
Might as well die. Eyes closing, his family flickered in darkening vision.
"—Wanna live?"
Then.
A honeyed voice tickled his ear—one rarer than TV.
Angel's here already? Hell yeah I wanna live, bitch. What kinda question is that now...
"I'll save you. Contract?"
"...Ugh—."
"Payment? Hmm... cheeseburger set'll do."
The sudden angel said so.
"—By this body, Astria."
"By this body, Astria."