In the border region where the Azerion Empire in the center of the Ion Continent meets the Zephia Republic in the east and the southern desert area.
There was a thriving metropolis that stood out starkly against the harsh lands where farming was impossible.
The Free City Dracal.
Dracal, existing as a city-state that belonged nowhere, served as a buffer between two great powers and was also a hub for trade.
Most importantly, it was the headquarters of the mercenary guild with branches across the continent.
To become the city’s mayor, one had to receive the guild’s endorsement, so calling it the land of mercenaries wouldn’t be an overstatement.
And the person who occupied a position akin to a prime minister in this land… no, someone who was “once” in such a position was the current Secretary-General, Patrick.
“This is troublesome.”
In his neatly groomed brown hair slicked back with oil and his well-fitted attire, Patrick struggled to maintain his expression.
He seemed more like a bureaucrat than a mercenary, as he gently pressed down on the corners of his trembling lips with his hand, stressed.
“How did I rise to this position…? I can’t give up now.”
He was an Earthling from Ireland.
He had been pulled into another world while he was busy living the elite life in his job at a rather late age.
After he landed in this realm, he fought tooth and nail to survive.
It was especially difficult for him since this was a new dimension, rendering the materials he studied before the transfer useless, and his abilities were more suited for support than combat.
“At this point, even if I were to go back to Earth, I can’t live a normal life. So, I should seize as much as I can while I’m here.”
It had been over ten years since he climbed the ranks by not shying away from any dirty job within the mercenary guild.
And now? He had to resign so apathetically without even tasting the fruits of his labor?
“No way. Ugh! That can’t happen.”
He gritted his teeth as he recalled the large warrior, his lifeline.
After losing the connection that had brought him to his current position, the former Mercenary King Kanble, he had barely managed to find backing in Harley, who was actively engaged in the Special Task Force as a hero’s companion.
Thanks to their bond, he was able to retain his position safely for quite some time, but…
“Are you listening, Secretary-General?”
It seemed the competitors from opposing factions couldn’t tolerate it any longer.
“Yes, of course. Lord Clayven.”
Patrick replied courteously to the middle-aged man standing before him.
He took in the group that had barged into his office, seeming to have planned this carefully.
“They came prepared. Are they trying to finalize something today?”
From high-ranking guild officials to the heads of large guilds.
Among the ten or so people, four particularly stood out with a unique presence.
“Four ultimate powerhouses… This is insane. How did they gather so many?”
His throat felt parched from the overwhelming aura they exuded.
Any ordinary person might have fainted from just this, but with his Karma Points and unique skills, he wasn’t without his own strength.
He forced himself to swallow a sigh that was about to escape and once again composed his expression.
“However, as I mentioned last time, Mr. Harley is busy accompanying the saint as a member of the Special Task Force. Not to mention, we can’t rush this process…”
Even though he was the Secretary-General overseeing the guild’s operations, that authority only held genuine weight when backed by a living Mercenary King.
For now, those standing here were akin to his superiors, and he had to be cautious with his words.
“Ha, do you think we know nothing?”
“…Yes?”
But his careful excuses were soon cut off.
As he appeared flustered for a moment, the middle-aged woman who had been observing from the back, representing a faction composed primarily of mercenary wizards, casually spoke.
“It seems he’s been wandering around the southern region for quite some time now. What was it called again? The Duel King of Calcoss?”
“…But that’s more of an honorary title in the Calcoss tribal alliance…”
Patrick hurriedly replied to that.
It was absurd for the mercenary guild, which was supposed to maintain strict neutrality, to fall under the authority of someone claiming to be a “king” of another country rather than a Mercenary King.
Once someone becomes the ruler of another state, they could no longer be called a mercenary, thus they would naturally forfeit their qualification as a Mercenary King… that was their logic.
“Let’s wrap this up. It’s starting to become tedious. Let’s just take his head off…”
“Taloom.”
“…Tsk, even if you’re helping, that’s just great. Then handle it yourself.”
The burly warrior with a rugged beard and a massive physique, who had been threatening violently, clicked his tongue as the middle-aged man in front of him interrupted.
He was also a powerhouse who had reached his peak, yet now it seemed he withdrew, crossing his arms in compliance.
“Clayven…”
Patrick’s gaze once again fell on the middle-aged man in front of him.
With over 20 years in the mercenary world, he was a master-level knight who had barged in as a wandering knight and now had ambitions to claim the next Mercenary King position by uniting the representatives of other factions against Patrick.
“Secretary-General, surely you already know? Stalling like this brings no good to you. If I were truly determined, I wouldn’t need to go through this tedious process.”
Just as he said.
His strength was significant, but he also possessed outstanding political acumen, making him a formidable contender against the faction of the former Mercenary King Kanble.
Back then, he had fallen out due to lacking the legitimacy that pure mercenary Kanble had flaunted.
“This is problematic.”
In truth, such pressures had often appeared before.
However, until now, Patrick had managed to evade them by using Harley’s name as a shield; that was becoming gradually burdensome as the other side gained standing.
It seemed Clayven wanted to follow due procedure because of the skyrocketing value of his reputation, but how long could the representative survive while peddling that name?
“Are you really considering handing Dracal over to the southern barbarian tribes?”
“…I wouldn’t do that.”
“Hmm, then do you still trust that Duel King?”
Seeing Patrick waver, Clayven pressed more forcefully.
He was confident enough as he was one of the top powerhouses within the mercenary guild, and although he didn’t openly say it, his tone showed a hint of disdain for his opponent.
Of course, he had heard of the famed warrior Harley, and he felt burdened by that reputation…
“What? A legendary warrior? Over 10 meters tall giant? Ha! Nonsense.”
It was nothing new for rumors to be exaggerated, and he thought all of that was fabrications.
Who would believe such absurd claims? It was laughable.
Perhaps Patrick had spun those exaggerated tales to use Harley as a shield.
“I’d rather join the Special Task Force. If that had happened, I wouldn’t have needed to return like this.”
The memory of holding his breath, fearing he might get called in after the former Mercenary King Kanble passed away, had long since faded.
Contrary to his earlier thoughts, as the Special Task Force had been cruising smoothly, an unfounded confidence soared within him.
He thought he could have performed just as well, even if he had gone along.
The fact that he had recently started actively moving and expanding his influence within the guild stemmed from the fear of losing his throne without taking action.
Thus, conflicts arose between Secretary-General Patrick, who supported Harley, and Clayven.
“…Secretary-General, I have something to say…”
But as if jesting with fate, the situation began to shift in a direction Clayven hadn’t anticipated.
A bit abruptly.
“Right now… in the lobby on the first floor…”
The secretary cautiously entered the office, struggling to swallow nervously under the pressure of the high-ranking officials lined up.
“…Mr. Harley has arrived.”
*
“Let’s see that face of yours.”
The candidate for Mercenary King, Clayven, boldly made his way.
He was heading towards the lobby along with Secretary-General Patrick and the high-ranking officials who had stormed into the office.
To directly meet the Harley he had heard about.
“Of course, no matter how exaggerated the rumors were, he wouldn’t be an easy opponent.”
If judged by sheer strength, he might be slightly lacking.
There was no way the reputation he earned alongside the hero’s exploits in the Special Task Force was unfounded.
“But being a Mercenary King isn’t just about having strength.”
Unlike the newly rising star Harley, he had spent over 20 years in the mercenary business and had spent over a decade as a representative powerhouse of the mercenary guild.
That intangible asset should not be underestimated.
Moreover, he wasn’t alone, was he?
“I don’t care about the rights I gave up to others. As long as I can grasp the Mercenary King title…”
With that confidence, he continued toward the lobby alongside the strong allies who promised to support him.
As soon as he arrived, however, he sensed a strange atmosphere enveloping the entire space and frowned.
“Hmm?”
Since this was essentially the headquarters of the mercenary guild, the lobby had an enormous size.
From numerous counters and desks to various facilities.
It was always bustling with people utilizing those services.
“………”
“…Cough.”
However, an unusual silence was swirling around the space now.
It wasn’t that there were no people present.
And those who had just arrived at the lobby quickly understood the cause.
“That person is…”
A man almost sprawled on the sofa leaning against a pillar, his two hands draped over the backrest.
At that moment, the gaze of the man, who had been comfortably lounging like a well-fed lion, turned towards them—
“Ah.”
Just like that, the confidently arriving group stiffened stiffly, just like everyone else in the room.
“Wow! Patrick! Long time no see! How have you been? Hahaha!”
Ignoring their reactions, the man chuckled brightly as he noticed Patrick, finally rising from the sofa slowly.
Creaaak—
The sofa, which had already sunk deeply, released its final protest at that movement.
Even though he used his energy to lighten his tone, it wasn’t enough to support a weight created for a normal human.
“Oops, sorry! It seems I broke the sofa.”
“…Ah, it must have been defective. It’s alright, Mr. Harley. We were planning to replace it soon anyway.”
“Tsk tsk. A guild headquarters like this should have some decent furniture.”
“Hahaha, I apologize. I’ll be sure to pay better attention in the future.”
Patrick approached, bowing his head in greeting to the hulking figure sauntering towards him, clicking his tongue.
Yet amidst this situation, high-ranking officials including Clayven found themselves unable to utter a single word.
“He’s huge.”
That was the first thought to pop into everyone’s mind.
Among them, the burly man with a rugged beard who stood over 2 meters tall was massive himself, but he couldn’t even compare to that man.
…No, it wasn’t just about size.
It was the density of his presence.
The caliber as a living being was different.
They felt as if the very surroundings were crushed beneath the weight of a boulder placed atop a bed.
“Damn, what the hell is that!”
Clayven barely swallowed.
He hadn’t actively done anything, but his breaths began to grow shallow.
As that languid beast approached leisurely, the closer he got, his body felt like it was reacting against its will.
“No way.”
This was the first time he was feeling such pressure since reaching his peak, so it took him a moment to realize what the sensation meant.
“…Could it be that it was this intense?”
It was a warning instinct.
His body, aware that its life was in jeopardy, emitted a desperate scream.
Yet, the man in front was oblivious to this, engaging in cheerful conversation with Patrick.
“Who are these friends? They seem quite capable!”
Just then, the being turned its gaze toward where they were standing.
And the moment Clayven’s eyes met that unfathomable entity—
“…I’m dead.”
Facing him was impossible.
Were the rumors exaggerated? Was Patrick peddling false gossip? Was that man unworthy of the title of Mercenary King?
All of that was but the ramblings of fools.
None of it held any meaning in front of that monster.
Even the shallow plans he had prepared turned futile.
Concentrating public opinion, banding factions, gathering multiple powerhouses together?
What use was that against an entity that could tear apart all of them right now by itself?
“Ah, these are like the high-ranking officials from our guild. We were just having a meeting about the guild’s direction.”
“Aaaah! I see! But why are these friends so stiff? Relax, I’m not going to eat you! Hahaha!”
As Patrick replied, Harley burst into another hearty laugh.
Only then did Clayven realize he wasn’t the only one exhibiting strange behavior, as sweat trickled down the foreheads of everyone who had come together.
For a moment, he made a quick decision on how to respond.
“…It appears I’ve been rude. I’ve heard much about your reputation, Mr. Harley. It’s an honor to meet you. I am Clayven, the leader of the Golden Crow Mercenary Group.”
With respectful words, he slowly bent his back.
It was a clear expression of submission.
“Wow! Looks like we can be friends from now on!”
Suddenly, Harley, who had approached casually, patted his back cheerfully.
…Although it was definitely a light touch, Clayven struggled to keep his balance, putting on a forced smile.
Only a cowardly laugh born from survival instincts escaped him.
“Good to hear we can be friends!”
“Y-yeah… that’s a relief…”
And that turned out to be the right call.
