Enaxen: The Free Port of the East
Enaxen City-State Union. This peculiar human alliance existed at the southeastern tip of the land known to the Central Continent and East Continent as the West Continent.
Its origins lay in gatherings of merchants who flocked competitively to trade East Continent goods arriving via the Carun Archipelago. But four hundred years ago, everything changed when Adventure King Balkan of the maritime kingdom Carun developed safe sea routes for large-scale fleets. As trade volumes swelled, so did the profits—one month's tax revenue alone surpassed the annual budget of an average kingdom.
Nations and races from across the continent soon vied for a slice, sparking wars. In the end, negotiations between the kingdom alliance above the Carun Archipelago and the Aslan Empire dominating the continent's center declared it a neutral zone. Trade boomed even more after that.
With no overlord, the merchants' land split into seven cities divided by race and faction. At the heart lay the continent's largest market, trading goods from both continents. Among them, Enaxen was the nearest port city to the maritime kingdom Carun, which reaped the greatest benefits from direct East Continent imports.
Proximity meant strong Carun influence, and it was one of the seven cities dominated by humans. Yet as a port city, it drew every race from the continent, making identity checks lax.
However, even in Enaxen...
"H-Halt right there!!"
No guard could ignore a kid casually riding a massive wolf into the city, one hand clutching two troll heads the size of his body, the other gripping a 3-meter axe.
"...Any problem?"
The guards who urgently called him out hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances—this was uncharted territory.
"...Ugh! Why? Why me?"
In the end, Yan from Enaxen's guard squad was shoved forward by his comrades. He clasped his hands politely before the boy staring blankly down from the giant wolf.
"Ahem, well... Y-You see... You can't bring such ferocious items inside..."
"No bounty on these?"
"...Pardon?"
"Figured there'd be one since it's a Twin Head Troll armed to the teeth, so I brought 'em."
"Tw-Twin... What?"
Yan fumbled through his memory in confusion when a voice called from behind.
"Ah, the Caravan Butcher!"
Yan turned to see spectators gathered—not entering the gate, just gawking at the bizarre kid—another voice piped up.
"Famous monster from the southern kingdom alliance! Raids small-to-mid caravans at night, wipes 'em out...!"
"Continent Merchant Guild slapped a huge bounty on it, I hear. Why's that guy got it...?"
The kid smirked faintly at Yan amid the crowd's explanations.
"Merchant Guild branch should be here, right?"
"...Y-Yes."
"So, can I pass?"
"Of course! Sorry for the trouble!"
Yan saluted as if to a superior and stepped aside. Onlookers shared a single thought:
That kid's no ordinary brat.
"...No normal human, that's for sure."
"Dwarf blood?"
"Too cute for that, though."
"Elf side, maybe...?"
Tiny chuckled inwardly as the murmurs reached him while entering the gate. This place hasn't changed a bit.
Here, it was his small stature drawing stares, not his black hair and eyes. Even in his past life, folks fixated on his size—it amused him. Things got worse in nearby lawless Taran.
If the Sword Emperor's right about East Continent mixes in Carun, it'll be even more chill there.
New cities often meant hassle over looks, but this time felt promising.
Except...
"Kyaa! Wh-What's that!?"
"Troll heads...?"
"Weapon's monstrous too... Monster gear?"
"Riding a wolf that big?"
Some attention was unavoidable.
You really think your hair color's why you get discriminated and stared at? Pfft, where's your shame...?
Recalling an old comrade's voice, Tiny smirked and rode Wolrang straight to the Merchant Guild.
* * *
Thud.
The money pouch hit the table with a satisfying heft. Gold glinted through the slit, more than enough to please Tiny.
The balding middle-aged guildmaster grinned, rubbing his hands.
"300 gold... Best bounty this year, sir! Bringing its weapon was smart—might've only gotten troll pair price otherwise."
"Can I go now?"
"Yes, of course. Come back anytime. A quarter-elf spirit user taking down 4.5-rank beasts? You could handle our exclusive quests."
"...I'll think about it."
"Merc Guild bumped you to B-rank too. A-rank strength easy, but record's a tad short... Haha."
Tiny tuned out the chatty branch chief he'd already forgotten. Merchant and Merc Guilds coexisted, both talent-starved. But one word nagged him.
Quarter-elf, huh...
Valentia's forged ID added seven years and fake lineage, but kept his real name—for ties to Carun's royals if things went well. No disguise for the same reason.
And if they went south...
Don't even think like that. Failure means humanity's doomed! We succeed. No. We WILL succeed. No failure!
...Right. No failure. Absolutely.
Clenching his fist at the Sword Emperor's words, Tiny stepped out. He had intel from that bounty battle to relay to allies.
Creeeak.
The rickety pub door swung open with a faint groan, hushing the rowdy din as eyes locked on the entrant—a boy barely past ten, black-haired and black-eyed, rare even in Carun.
Brief silence shattered into jeers.
"What're those creepy eyes?"
"Beat it, kid! No brats here!"
"Master, milk for one! Puhaha!"
"Some punk kid...!"
The boy ignored the barrage, heading straight for the counter. Then:
"Hey, brat. Didn't hear the grown-ups?"
A burly, grinning bearded slob blocked him, reeking of booze—chronic drunk, probably.
Tiny saw no value in responding, sidestepping.
"Hey, you little shit! When a man's—"
Snap.
"Grrrrrr..."
The thug's bark died at the house-sized wolf spirit materializing before him.
"Eek!"
He crumpled, yellow pooling between his legs. Tiny grimaced, turned away, and continued.
The pub fell deathly quiet, a far cry from before. Eyes tracked him as he tossed a silver to the barkeep.
Ting.
"Bourbon, strong. Mix in whiskey."
The nonsensical order twisted the master's face.
"Sir, wrong spirits? Bourbon is whis—"
"That's how I drink it."
Drunkards snickered, but met Tiny's sharp gaze and coughed, looking away.
"...Even so, we don't serve kids booze."
Laughter erupted—not at Tiny.
"Pfft!"
"Kek, what the...?"
"Hey, old fart! Free city here!"
"Master! Since when we follow empire laws!?"
"Drank at twelve!"
"Ten for me!"
Whistles mixed in, pelting the master. Amid the noise, Tiny added with flushed cheeks:
"Elf mix. Twenty. No milk crap."
The dubious "code phrase" felt mortifying post-utterance.
Whoever made this password... Wanna smash their skull.
Blond, blue-eyed, smirking middle-aged superhuman—teeth grinding at the image.
The master blinked. "...Mix?"
Tiny flashed his black eagle badge discreetly. Not the fake from the guild—the real deal.
Master's face lit up.
"Ah, that wolf was a spirit! Makes sense for elf mix. Recommend what elves like?"
Eyes turned again.
"Elves like booze?"
"Heard that."
"Me too. Monkey-brewed or something?"
"Really?"
Tiny seethed inwardly. Password's too flashy, you old coot!!
But the reaction was hot.
"Master, spill for us too!"
"Yeah! Elf booze!"
"Us too! Woo!"
Drunkards clamored—until:
"One gold per bottle."
...Coughs and averts.
"Man's drink is whiskey."
"Nah, beer, crisp!"
"Gin or rum for me. No skull buzz, no booze..."
"Figures elf stuff's bland."
Not that we can't afford it. Just taste preference.
...Self-consoling, they nursed their glasses. Master smirked at Tiny.
"...All good, sir?"
"Too pricey. And who knows if real."
Master leaned in, whispering after glancing around.
"Sample for one silver. Just a sip?"
"Hmm... Fine."
Loud enough for mana users to hear. End of code.
"Let's taste."
"This way."
Master grinned, leading to the back. Their safehouse chat stunned both.
"Husel? Doesn't sound human. Orc or beastkin maybe..."
"Info spat as head exploded. He believes it's real."
"...We'll check. But bigger issue now."
"What?"
"Gale Anderson, Tide Mage we need to endorse you—missing."
Tiny's face hardened.