The Northerners
He could speak just fine, so he definitely wasn't mute.
"It's true. I can't pull the number ticket from the snail."
"Why not?"
"Why? Because it'd be a big problem for the snail."
"……."
I'd initially pegged him as just some weirdo, but watching this guy rattle on with a perfectly straight face made me think he might actually be mentally unstable. Deciding further conversation was pointless, I approached the number ticket snail by the pillar.
Thud!
Queeeak—!!
"Here you go. Hold onto this number and head to the window when they call it. You can read numbers, right? It says 39."
"……."
Of course, the black-haired man didn't respond this time either. And as always today, the placard with my number came up at window 3.
"I'm heading out. Good luck anyway."
Leaving the long-haired man behind, I trudged toward window 3—Rachel's domain—my face twisting involuntarily at the mere sight of it.
"I'm here to pay for the plaza road maintenance and repairs."
"You saw the amount on the notice, right? Just pay up."
"……."
Was it just that I hated her guts? To outsiders, it might seem like routine business talk, but even this mundane exchange grated on my nerves.
After paying the various fees from the destroyed proof flower and heading back, I skipped the dungeon zone loop carriage and walked instead.
"Haa…… fucking infuriating."
Even trudging through subzero chill, I barely felt the cold. Just a few words with Rachel had me heated enough—no hot pack needed.
Thud—thud—
"Urghhh…… so damn cold."
But nature's fury was unrelenting. After about ten minutes, I realized winter's bite outmatched my anger. I'd bundled up in my long puffer jacket, but the wind-whipped face felt numb, like local anesthesia.
Thud—thud—
"……."
The real issue was the irritating footsteps echoing right behind me, starting just moments ago.
Thud—thud—
The steps from behind soon matched pace at my side, forcing me to stop. I'd spotted the culprit.
"What do you want? You've been following me."
"You, weird clothes huh?"
"……."
Curly black long hair. Unlike my cocooned puffer setup, the guy wore adventurer gear suited for fall at best. My Rachel-fueled rage had faded into shivers, but he looked fine in that mismatched outfit.
The Beauty Tower was just ten more minutes away, so I ignored him and picked up speed.
"Who made those? Material's weird too. Never seen that leather."
"……."
"Where you headed? What do you do? Need a job? I can hook you up."
"……."
Scratch that—he wasn't just a bit off. This black-haired bastard spoke clearly enough, rough accent aside. Just nonstop his way.
'Ah, damn it. Really stepped in it this time.'
I hate pointless small talk—in taxis, salons, anywhere. It's meaningless. And this lunatic walking beside me, chattering with bright eyes? No thanks.
"I have a job. Doctor. Plastic surgeon."
"Oh? Mage? Kinda scrawny for one."
"……."
I'd glanced at the Beauty Tower's black-pearl-like solar panels glinting in the distance, planning a vague nod-along. But this long-haired freak suggesting sewing my eyes shut without anesthesia? And scrawny? To my 300-pound bench? Veins throbbed at my temples.
"Weird though? Mages all say 'mage.' Why call yourself doctor? Good at haircuts?"
Stood tall—
'This punk's crossing lines.'
I didn't know where this mangy dog came from, but he'd succeeded in pissing me off. I halted, glaring sharply.
"Look, you're ignorant, so I'll explain: plastic surgeon isn't a barber."
"Then what is it?"
The long-haired guy kept walking ahead as I stopped to talk, like I should follow. Not just rude—arrogant madman.
'This asshole asks and just leaves?'
Thus began my obsession. Swallowing my rage, I caught up.
"Plastic surgery fixes your natural flaws. Say you're unhappy with a hooked nose—we shave the hump straight. Square jaw? Slim it down."
"Hmm…… neat. That really possible?"
Finally, a proper reaction. I squared my hidden shoulders proudly.
"Of course. I'm the expert."
"……."
The long-haired guy fell silent, enlightened by my greatness. The Beauty Tower loomed minutes away.
"So, your surgeries fix people's inferiority complexes?"
Dopey-looking, but he nailed the core.
"You could say that. Humans hide flaws by instinct. But ignoring inferiority doesn't erase it."
"……."
"I help patients conquer it surgically, so they live confidently, boldly. Love yourself to beat inferiority—live brighter, happier."
Chatting with him, we'd nearly reached the Beauty Tower.
"Then for me—"
"Hey, heh. Who's this? That black-hair from earlier?"
Should've checked tarot before leaving the Beauty Tower this morning. Lunatics popping up everywhere. Thought we'd arrived safely—guess today's events weren't done.
The potbellied thugs from the admin office approached the black-haired guy, bottles and snack baskets in hand.
'Not my problem anyway.'
A few more meters, and Walter—my guard knight—waited on floor 1. I sidestepped, ignoring their stares.
"Huh? Another black-hair."
"Pffft, birds of a feather. This one's even girlier than the long-hair."
"I'm not with him. If you'll excuse—"
Thump—
"……?"
Thug 1's hand blocked my shoulder.
"Hey now, where to? You're that guy from the office, right? Remember how your buddy hurt our feelings? Time for medical fees."
"Kuhuhu! Easy, boss. Kids might cry."
Bandits at the hospital door. Beyond bad luck. Long-hair watched casually, like it was someone else's mess.
'Damn, out of all days.'
I hit the emergency dial on my crystal orb in my puffer pocket. Walter should arrive in minutes if no issues. Just stall.
"What the hell? You reek of commoner—how dare you! I'm Baron Minor Gold of Gold Territory! Any more insolence, and I won't forgive it!"
"……Oh, sorry, Baron. Didn't recognize you."
"S-sorry, Baron. Our mistake."
Should've led with the title. So simple. Time to add "Certified Baron Magic Tower" under the hospital sign and designate the grounds Gold Territory, like Cache suggested.
"Ah! Our Gold Territory's Walter! Over here—"
The auto-door slid open. Walter burst out.
Booming roar: "Director! Get back!"
Split-second. I'd expected quick response to my call, but Walter blurred like an afterimage upon spotting—not me, but beside me—and bellowed.
Kwaaaaang!
Kwajik!Kwaaaang!
Kwang!
Pants soaked, thugs sprawled backward. I couldn't process either.
'What the hell……?'
Kwang!Kwagang!Crack!Kwagak!
Unreal. Walter's form flickered like swatting flies—visible, gone, repeat.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
His hazy blade targeted the long-haired man I'd walked and bantered with like an idiot.
Squeak—Grind!
Bam! Bam! Kwang!
Ears ringing from whooshes, their blades clashed viciously, sparks flying. Azure streaks erupted like fireworks, weaving chaotic lines in the air.
Before lines connected into planes, flames burst. Their clash left me breathless, retreating—nothing else possible.
Vibrations shook the ground with every tangled curve and line. Jostles rattled my body. No human feat—this was disaster, calamity.
"Over here! He's here!"
From behind, dozens thundered in at breakneck speed, bellowing.
"Tch…… spoils the fun."
The man clashing with Walter murmured regret at the hulking newcomers closing in.
Their fight halted. Walter dashed protectively to me.
"Are you alright, Director? Hurt anywhere?"
"Uh…… fine, seems fine."
Movie-scene battle over, but blade clashes echoed like tinnitus. Regaining senses, I exhaled ragged breaths explosively.
"Inside first, Director. They're Northerners."
"……."
No explanation needed—they screamed Northerner. Every hulking brute save the one shaking the plaza with Walter had blood-soaked crimson-black hair, just as Cache described this morning.
"Brutes. Talking's pointless. Let's move."
As Walter half-shoved me toward the Beauty Tower,
"Halt! Dare insult Northerners?!"
The most massive, fiercest crimson-black-haired man halted us.