Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: The First User
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"Ten years? Ah, come to think of it, it's been about thirteen months since you arrived here. So roughly ten years and ten months, then."
"You mad... Ah!"
The memory of his first deal with Dercyos—the goblin extermination—suddenly flashed through Sion's mind.
Just three or four months ago, when he'd last checked, the goblin horde had numbered fewer than a hundred. How absurd had it felt to discover they now numbered in the thousands?
It had seemed a bit off somehow, but if time in the lair flowed ten times faster, it made perfect sense.
"Don't worry too much. The actual time you've spent in my lair isn't thirteen months, is it?"
"......!"
Sion froze.
Dercyos was right.
He had spent quite a lot of time outside the lair on quests.
So then?
"The actual time you've spent in the lair comes to about 240 days. In outside time, that's roughly six years and eight months."
"Six years and eight months."
Adding the time to escape the wasteland and return to the dukedom, it came to about seven years total.
"Seven years, seven years..."
He had still wasted a long time, but it was better than eleven years.
"This isn't right. I need to get out now. Send me out immediately."
Even now, time was flowing ten times faster, so Sion urged Dercyos.
Without a word, the dragon let Sion climb onto his neck and flew out of the lair.
From the sky, Sion surveyed the wasteland and sighed.
"A whole year looking like this—no wonder I didn't notice. Damn, haa..."
Of course, the temperature had dipped slightly midway, and there had been a brief rain, but even in the wasteland, a short rainy season came once a year, so he'd brushed it off.
But with the environment otherwise unchanging, he had never dreamed the year itself had changed.
After flying for about ten minutes, Dercyos slowed and landed in the middle of the wasteland, lowering his neck.
"This place..."
"It's where we first met."
The wasteland terrain all looked the same, so Sion hadn't realized, but Dercyos had brought him back to the exact spot where they had met thirteen months ago—or six years and eight months ago.
'He could have at least taken me farther.'
As Sion grumbled inwardly while dismounting, Dercyos spoke.
"This is the edge of my territory, so don't feel too slighted. Any farther, and you'd risk running into humans. Head that way. Farewell, first user."
Without waiting for Sion's reply, Dercyos spread his massive wings and soared into the sky.
Sion stared briefly at the dragon circling high above, then covered his mouth with the thin cloth draped like a scarf and set off in the indicated direction.
From the clear blue sky contrasting the yellowish wasteland, Dercyos quietly watched Sion's receding figure.
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he muttered.
"Oh, right. Should I have mentioned that too? Nah. He didn't ask, and he'll find out soon enough. Besides, this way is even more intriguing."
In the eyes of the wasteland's ruler, a translucent rectangular something hovered above Sion's head.
And written on it were a few words.
[User 01 Jang Sion: LEVEL 99]
* * *
"...Fuck."
Jenna Olott, resting her chin on clasped hands atop the desk as she glared at the documents, muttered a low curse.
She was in a foul mood.
It had been three full years since she had taken over as head of the Burgos branch of the Information Guild—the outpost closest to the Dragon Wasteland—following her late father's passing a few years prior.
Young and brimming with ambition, she had no desire to rot away in this backwater.
Burgos was a town of just over six thousand souls, but so remote that there was scarcely any valuable intelligence to gather, making her main duties a constant struggle.
Truth be told, Information Guilds rarely set up in such hinterlands.
Rumors from passing merchants or mercenaries sufficed; there was no need for an office or staff.
Yet Jenna wore the grand title of chief administrator—handed down two generations—and oversaw a handful of idle loafers and errand boys. The reason?
"That fucking Dragon Wasteland. And that even more fucking Yent bastard."
The Dragon Wasteland, where rare tales of dragon sightings occasionally surfaced, was reason one. Reason two was the guild headquarters manager pulling strings to keep her stuck here.
"You bastard..."
Thinking of the mid-level manager at the kingdom's capital branch, Jenna cracked a peanut and chewed it with vicious crunches, as if the man were in her mouth.
Yent was the culprit behind rejecting her repeated requests for transfer to the capital—or anywhere else.
And the paper on her desk confirmed her sixth request had been denied, souring her mood even further.
"Just wait till I see you. You piece of shit, I'll chew you up good."
The desk corner already piled with peanut shells, she tossed another and reached to tear the document—when,
"Branch chief! Branch chief!"
The door burst open as a guild loafer—no, errand boy—rushed in panting.
"What the hell? Don't you know how to knock?"
"A customer! An outsider customer!"
"What?"
Eyes wide, Olott shot to her feet and hurried out.
The Burgos Information Guild branch dealt only in meaningless gossip of no import, so paying outsider customers were rare.
Maybe five or six a year?
And those rare patrons were all mad knights seeking to explore the Dragon Wasteland or nobles ignorant of the world—they were the branch's main revenue source.
'Yeah. Bad comes with good.'
Grinning inwardly at how much she could fleece this one, Jenna plastered on her salesman's smile to greet the precious customer.
"Haha, welcome. We at the legitimate Information Guild Burgos branch, certified by His Majesty the King of Obla Kingdom, warmly welc...ome you."
Seeing the customer, Jenna felt something odd but quickly composed herself and finished the greeting.
A muffler covered from the nose down against the wasteland's dusty winds, hiding the face, but the exposed eyes suggested a customer far too young.
'Have I seen him somewhere? Doesn't look like a knight, though.'
No knight backpacked alone like that. The attire and gear didn't scream knight either.
Nor did he seem noble.
Any noble reaching here without retainers would be some fallen house of no note.
In the end, this long-awaited customer was...
'Fuck. Just some wandering mercenary punk?'
Jenna fought to keep her face from twisting.
Still, he was a young man properly armed.
And reaching perilous Burgos alone meant his skills were beyond doubt.
Provoking such a dangerous figure gained nothing.
"Have a seat first. Hey, go fetch some water."
Wine for knights or nobles, but plain water sufficed for a mercenary.
"So, are you a mercenary by chance? If you're registered with a guild or part of a company..."
"Since when does the Information Guild pry into customers' personal details?"
"......"
Jenna, who'd tested the waters, shut her mouth.
From that one question, Olott grasped the young customer was no ordinary mark and immediately apologized.
"My apologies. Then, to the point: what information are you see—"
"New branch chief? Where's Olott? The hairy bastard with the long scar across his nose bridge."
"......!"
Mention of her father, dead years ago, startled Jenna even as she felt puzzled.
"It seems you're referring to my father, but he passed three years ago. How do you know him, sir?"
For someone who looked barely mid-twenties to know her father?
And to speak of him like a subordinate, no less?
Jenna's attitude toward the customer grew far more cautious, laced with suspicion.
"Olott's dead? And father? Ah, so you're... Never mind. Here."
Abandoning whatever he'd meant to say, the customer pulled out something and offered it.
Four gold coins and a metal plate half a palm-sized, intricately engraved with a bird.
"......!"
Ignoring the precious gold, Jenna's eyes bulged at the plate.
The gold-colored metal plate, embossed with a precise hawk, was issued only to Tier 1 clients of the Information Guild.
Not to the merely rich or highborn, but to the rare few with unwavering long-term dealings and sky-high credit.
"Might I... verify it, if you don't mind...?"
"Better do that."
It could be a fake, so Jenna asked, but the customer nodded without hesitation.
Confirming the plate, her eyes widened further, mouth agape unwittingly.
'Th-the serial number is single digit! Number 4!? How is this poss—'
"Ehk!"
The shock was brief— the plate predated her birth, her father's, even her grandfather's.
Then Jenna realized who the young customer was, and a trembling voice escaped her slack jaw.
"Si-Sion...!?"
* * *
Sion gazed steadily at the young Information Guild branch chief, standing rigid like a statue.
Last he'd seen her, a girl in her late teens; now, a full-fledged woman.
Having witnessed children grow to adults, middle age, and old folks countless times during brief absences, it held no novelty.
'She succeeded her father...'
In this world, children inheriting parents' work was commonplace—near universal.
So it was no surprise the young Olott had taken over for the dead old one. Women in intelligence work weren't rare either.
The issue lay elsewhere.
'Staying here indefinitely is odd. Normally, a new handler is assigned entirely upon death.'
Sion had become a Tier 1 client about seventy years ago. Over a dozen handlers since.
Old Olott, who died of age, had been the longest at seven or eight years.
No—with the tenfold time in Dercyos's lair, closer to fifteen.
In any case, Sion had specifically requested to keep the taciturn, meticulous old Olott as his handler.
Yet he'd died mid-Sion's dragon stay.
By convention, a fresh handler should have been dispatched, as always—yet his daughter took over the Burgos branch.
And she was someone who 'remembered' him from the past.
'I thought passing glances twice wouldn't stick, but this is a problem.'
She stood at ease, face to the front wall, eyes darting ceaselessly.
Jenna Olott not only remembered him but questioned his unchanged appearance over a decade-plus.
"Hmm..."
As Sion pondered with a stern expression, Jenna stiffened further.
Finishing his thoughts, Sion looked up at her and spoke.
"How much did your father tell you about me?"
"N-Nothing at all! Customer privacy is ironclad—never shared even with family."
Sion prided himself on reading people after long years.
He saw the lanky woman, sharing only her eye color with dead Olott, wasn't lying to his face.
A branch chief would know the consequences of bullshitting a Tier 1 client anyway.
"Good. So you only know I'm from the Sion ducal house?"
"Yes."
Jenna answered inwardly sweating bullets.
Even voicing a Tier 1 client's affiliation was taboo.
Shock had made her blunder like a novice; she had no excuse, mouths full.
"I am Duke Sion."
"......Pardon?"
Uncomprehending, Jenna stupidly parroted back.
"I am Duke Jang Sion himself. Your father was one of the few outsiders who knew."
"......Heek!?"
(To be continued)