There Is No World For ■■

The 33rd floor of the towering building more commonly referred to as the Pantoriano Building, rather than its official name, the Western Court.

In the expansive lounge overlooking the entirety of Drayterial, two men were quietly dining together.

The menu consisted of delicacies made from the finest ingredients and imported premium wine from Earth.

It was an extravagant meal even magicians could rarely afford, yet there was no trace of enjoyment in the expressions of the two diners.

A quiet and solemn meal.

The only sound breaking the silence was the occasional clinking of dishes, until the golden-haired man, whose slicked-back hairstyle exuded sophistication, spoke.

"Not feeling well today, I see."

He sipped his wine as he spoke. Even in the subtle tilt of his glass, an air of nobility lingered, impossible to conceal.

"Or perhaps the meal isn't to your liking?"

"...Not at all. The food is excellent. It's just... I have a few things on my mind."

The man sitting across the table responded politely.

He was an East Asian man with black hair—rare to encounter in this city—whose every movement exuded discipline.

Like that of a well-trained beast.

"What could there possibly be to worry about, especially here? Everything is proceeding as planned, isn't it?"

"...Nothing in this world ever goes exactly as planned."

"A proverb for young dragons? It has an exotic ring coming from an Earthling's mouth."

The golden-haired man chuckled as he set his glass down on the table and stabbed his fork into a still-bloody steak.

"Don’t tell me this is about the attack on the station this morning. If it is, you needn’t concern yourself. It’s nothing more than the last desperate throes of the old men."

"...This is not a matter to be taken so lightly. According to what we’ve confirmed, this attack... was at least the work of a dragon or a mage of comparable power."

The East Asian man's tone was serious, but the golden-haired man seemed unbothered as he chewed on his steak.

"A mage comparable to a dragon? The old man from the South has finally lost his mind. Is he so eager to grovel at the emperor’s birthday celebration a month from now?"

"...."

The East Asian man watched his companion eat in silence. As the man swallowed the meat, he finally spoke again.

"...It’s still a month before we can reach the underground bunker."

"To be precise, it’s only a month."

"...A month is a long time, my lord. The more outsiders like elves roam freely, the more variables there will be."

The golden-haired man, addressed as 'my lord,' did not answer immediately.

He took another sip of wine, bit into a soft piece of bread, and only then, in a leisurely tone, responded.

"Living as a court lord in this city, I’ve come to realize one thing. Do you know what that is?"

"...I am all ears."

"The old man from the East is insane, and the old man from the South is a fool."

"...."

"No matter how much they flail about now, remember that the odds are already in our favor. The old men don’t even know we’ve been digging through the sewers, do they?"

"That’s..."

"The fact that they attacked the northern station proves it best. Not knowing what’s what, they cut off supply lines... Such a primitive, foolish tactic befitting relics of a bygone era."

The Western Court Lord, Jo Pantoriano, declared confidently.

The East Asian man didn’t agree with his statement but wasn’t foolish enough to ruin the atmosphere by pointing it out.

Just as silence threatened to return, the court lord shifted the topic.

"Let’s leave business matters here. I’ve already handed over full authority to you. As always, you’re free to drain my wealth to your heart’s content. That was the contract, after all."

"...I am grateful for your generosity."

"Spare me the hollow pleasantries. What I’m interested in right now... is my reward."

Reward.

At the utterance of that word, the East Asian man stood up as though waiting for this moment. He retrieved a bag placed beneath the table.

The bag contained more than a dozen documents, all forged to prove Korean nationality.

No, since they were created officially by the Korean government, they were likely the most legitimate papers possible.

"These are..."

"Birth certificates, graduation records, and resident registration forms. As soon as this is over, you will officially become a Korean... in other words, an Earthling."

The court lord’s eyes lit up with desire as he reviewed the documents.

"This isn’t all, is it?"

"Of course not. His Excellency has instructed us to provide anything you desire."

"Anything I desire?" The mood became noticeably relaxed, and wine refilled the court lord’s glass.

"His Excellency knows how to handle people. Of course, I’m not an unreasonable man. I won’t demand anything too extravagant."

"...Yes?"

"Five billion won should suffice. Oh, and in dollars, of course. Aside from that... tell His Excellency I want the rights of a ruler. Those two things should be enough."

"...The rights of a ruler?"

"A seat in the National Assembly, city council, or governorship... Somewhere like Hamgyeong Province would be fine. Grant me land and power legally. That way, my magicians will follow me to Korea without complaint."

The classic remarks of a nobleman from beyond the dimensional gates, unable to distinguish between aristocrats and politicians.

The East Asian man did not bother to correct him. He merely bowed quietly, suppressing a sneer.

"Yes, I will convey your message to His Excellency."

*****

The night in Drayterial.

Several massive carts drawn by equally enormous draft horses emerged from the damp, foul-smelling sewers and began to traverse the city.

The carts were laden with tightly sealed wooden crates, each labeled with words like “Magic Wand,” “Chainsaw,” or “Pine Cone.”

To anyone who looked, the crates clearly appeared to be contraband.

Yet, under the cover of night, no one dared target the cargo as it made its way to its destination.

For some reason, even the thugs swaggering through the back alleys and the overzealous guards wielding their authority fled at the mere sight of the procession.

Of course, it wasn’t hard to understand why.

No one in the South had the audacity to challenge ten heavily armed men guarding the contraband with guns.

Eventually, the carts arrived at a massive three-story inn, large enough to store all the crates and still have room to spare.

“...An inn?”

But the building looked nothing like a typical inn.

What kind of inn in the world had concrete walls wrapped in barbed wire like fortress battlements and even a guard post on the roof?

And atop the guard post? A mount specifically designed to hold a machine gun. It was almost as if...

“...It’s not an inn. It’s a military base.”

A blue-eyed girl muttered her brief observation as she carried one of the crates toward the "inn."

Hearing her, a man standing behind her let out a chuckle.

“You have a sharp eye. This place used to be part of a Soviet military garrison. It was repurposed into an inn after the troops left.”

“....”

“I bought it to use as my business headquarters, then restored it to its former state as a stronghold. Isn’t it fascinating?”

“...Not particularly.”

Despite the man’s friendly tone, the girl’s response was icy.

Without even glancing back at him, she carried her load into the inn.

The burly guards looked like they wanted to say something, but the man who had been ignored waved them off.

“Mr. Josef, but...!”

“She’s a customer.”

“....”

“And a superhuman customer at that—one who carries around crates of gold. Don’t forget that your bonuses came straight from her pocket.”

Josef hefted a crate from the cart as he added,

“And besides, women who belong to someone else are always like that. You wouldn’t know since you’ve only ever been with the easy ones.”

The burly men grumbled about Josef’s harsh words, mumbling that he wasn’t any better, as they resumed unloading the crates.

They had been at it for a while, long enough for the draft horses to stamp their hooves impatiently and for the guards to be drenched in sweat, when two familiar silhouettes emerged from the alley beyond.

Josef adopted a welcoming expression—the kind meant for business—and approached the newcomers.

“Oh, you’ve finally arrived, my esteemed custo—”

But his smile quickly faded. The appearance of his guests under the moonlight was far from ordinary.

Their clothes were in tatters, as though they’d been caught in an explosion, and their bodies were covered in bloodstains.

They looked more like war refugees than customers, yet their expressions were as composed as ever.

The man with the distinctive golden eyes spoke with a glimmer in his gaze,

“Am I too late?”

Josef couldn’t bring himself to respond honestly with, Yes, you’re quite late.

Instead, he awkwardly muttered that they were just about to prepare dinner.

*****

"You looted the Western back-alley gangs?"

Seti, pulling a grenade out of a wooden box labeled "Pine Cone," asked with an incredulous expression.

"Not me. It was my brother-in-law who did it all."

Neti replied, dipping rye bread into warm soup and taking a bite.

"...Why?"

"How should I know?"

"Why don't you know? You were with him all day, weren’t you?"

"Uh... I was just watching?"

"And why were you just watching?"

"...."

Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Neti stopped eating and stared intently at her older sister.

As expected, there was no trace of humor on her sister’s face as she held the grenade.

Swallowing the bread she had been chewing, Neti cautiously replied,

"Well, he seemed to dislike the idea of me getting involved in the fight... So I just caught the ones trying to run away."

"Ah, so that’s why he came back covered head to toe in blood, huh?"

Realizing she was in trouble, Neti glanced around for help, but Josef and the guards were casually sipping their beers, not paying her any attention.

Not an ally in sight.

Avoiding her sister's gaze, Neti mumbled,

"But he said it was fine because of his regeneration..."

"Even with strong regeneration, the pain remains the same."

"...."

It was only then that Neti realized her sister’s relationship wasn’t all sunshine and roses.

They say raising daughters is pointless, and here was proof—her sister prioritized her man over her family.

Though, to be fair, her brother-in-law was a decent guy. Still, seeing her once-cold and rational sister like this was surprising.

Turning away to suppress a laugh, Neti caught Seti’s sharp eyes narrowing in her direction.

"Neti, I’m talking to you. Where are you looking? Is something funny? Am I a joke to you?"

"Ah, sorry, but honestly, it is a little funny..."

Before Neti could finish, Seti's eyes flared, and she shot to her feet. But just then, a savior descended from the second floor.

"What’s this? Still not eating dinner? Don’t wait for me, just start eating."

It was Yeomyeong, fresh from the shower, his golden eyes gleaming as he descended the stairs, still drying his damp hair with a towel.

As soon as he appeared, Seti's angry expression melted into a smile, as if her fiery outburst had never happened.

"Wow... Love really does change people," Neti muttered in amusement, watching her sister’s transformation.

Seti, ignoring her sister’s comment, sat across from Yeomyeong at the table.

One of the perceptive guards quickly brought over soup, bread, boiled spam, and potatoes, placing them on the table.

Yeomyeong nodded slightly in gratitude and took a spoonful of soup.

The pale, watery soup was bland, but hunger made it tolerable.

As he ate, Yeomyeong broke the silence.

"...I found the shepherds."

Josef and the guards, unfamiliar with the term, looked puzzled.

Seti and Neti, however, understood immediately and frowned.

"...Already?"

"The shepherd Daegal mentioned wasn’t the first. They’ve been active in the western part of this city for at least six months, maybe a year."

"What could they possibly be after here? Are they looking for the World Tree Crystal too?"

"Their exact goal is unclear, but they’re definitely plotting something in the sewers."

Though they had suspected as much, confirming it made the situation heavier.

While Neti’s gaze wandered, struggling to keep up, Seti leaned closer to Yeomyeong and whispered,

"...The sewers again?"

"Yeah, a massive one directly under the Western Court Lord’s residence."

"...."

"I’d like to investigate tomorrow to see what they’re doing, but the real problem is Kahal Magdu. As long as that bastard is hiding somewhere in the city, going after the shepherds first would be too dangerous."

Seti nodded in agreement.

"...Then we should gather as much information as possible about other areas."

"Tomorrow, we’ll hit the Southern gangs. If we piece together their intel, we might get a clearer picture..."

Just as Yeomyeong finished speaking, the inn door burst open, and in walked an orc—no, an orc carrying a human on his back.

"...Balagu?"

Seti tilted her head at the sight of him. Without a word, Balagu casually threw the human onto a chair in the inn.

Everyone turned to look at the man Balagu had dumped, discovering a drunken superhuman—or rather, a knight.

The mana radiating from him and his thick knight’s armor confirmed his identity.

Though clearly intoxicated, he didn’t seem particularly skilled. Why had Balagu brought him here?

Before anyone could ask, Balagu shrugged and said,

"That guy’s a knight for the Southern Court Lord."

"...Don’t tell me you kidnapped him?"

A question that implied frustration at an unrequested action. Balagu shook his head.

"No, we were just out drinking for a third round."

"...."

What kind of nonsense was this? Yeomyeong frowned, but Balagu remained unapologetic.

"Once he’s drunk, he’ll spill anything you ask. His nickname’s Leaky Mouth, after all."

"...."

"He’s pretty far gone now, so why not take this chance to ask about the Southern Court’s affairs?"

Without a word, Yeomyeong pulled a gold coin from his pocket and flicked it toward Balagu.

Catching it mid-air, Balagu responded with a wink.