There Is No World For ■■

A player, a writer, and now, a director.

Was it because this was already the third time Yeomyeong had met someone from outside the world?

He didn’t feel particularly shocked.

He was simply curious as to why such an out-of-the-blue meeting had happened like this.

If the man had shown hostility, that would’ve made more sense. If he’d been ambushed, he would’ve gladly counterattacked.

But Sancho, who introduced himself as a director, posed no threat. On the contrary—he had sent a limousine for the group and had one of his subordinates explain the situation during the entire ride.

The boss’s declining health.

A faction beginning to split as a result.

That was far too dangerous of a secret to reveal to outsiders they’d just met for the first time.

...What the hell is he thinking?

Did he mistake Yeomyeong for a player? No—if that were the case, this kind of attitude made even less sense.

Both the writer and the player had gone around hiding their identities, always cautious of other outsiders.

I can tell there’s definitely something he’s hiding...

But now, face-to-face, it didn’t feel like malice or hostility.

Even the way he was speaking now confirmed it.

“When I was first offered the role of director, it really shocked me. I mean, being handed a franchise universe like that—how do I put it... it felt like the end of the road for my career.”

“...”

“I’m decent at directing films, but when it comes to original works? I’m a little lacking. That’s basically how they saw me. Honestly, if it weren’t for the money, I wouldn’t have taken the job.”

Small talk, trying to close the distance and loosen the tension.

With his light tone, he even added, “Still, it was way too much money to turn down,” and there was something oddly friendly in that casual honesty.

The idle chatter kept going—eventually veering into technical talk about filmmaking.

At that point, Yeomyeong cut him off with a question.

“So. What is it you want from me?”

Maybe it was too blunt. Sancho, who’d been keeping things light with empty small talk, twitched at the corners of his mouth.

He glanced back and forth between the sword on the table and Yeomyeong, then leaned into the chair and replied.

“Not long ago, I found out you raided a dragon’s lair. One with no master.”

Yeomyeong remembered. The player had raided a masterless dragon’s lair beyond the dimensional gate. He’d used the resources found there to completely fill his Inventory.

All those elixirs he drank like water—that was where they’d come from.

“That lair... I’ve been searching for it for five years.”

“...Five years.”

That was a long time. Especially for someone with as much intel on this world as he had.

Noticing Yeomyeong’s skeptical look, Sancho let out a small laugh.

“Unlike you, I don’t know much about this world’s setting. At most, I’ve pieced together bits of info while making films.”

“...”

“All I knew about the dragon’s lair was a single throwaway line from a script.”

“A line?”

“The dragon’s lair, somewhere near Crystal Lake... If we can find the elixir there, maybe we can still save him... I still remember it. The actress playing the Saint couldn’t act for shit.”

Yeomyeong barely stopped himself from frowning.

“So it’s the elixir you were after.”

Correct. Sancho didn’t deny it. He nodded.

“After I confirmed you were the one who raided the lair, I tried to find another elixir... but honestly, it was hopeless. There are, what, three of those potions in the entire world? Where the hell else am I supposed to find one?”

“...”

“This might sound unpleasant, but I dug into you out of pure desperation. And I found out you’re using some kind of ridiculously efficient pocket space—and that you gain strength by killing people.”

Inventory and level-ups.

Yeomyeong now understood how Sancho had tracked him down.

The reason he’d been able to identify Yeomyeong as a player despite his illusion-covered face.

He must’ve seen the Inventory at work when Yeomyeong cut off those beastkin thugs’ fingers.

Coincidence. Another damn coincidence.

Just like all the other bizarre "coincidences" since he fell through the dimensional gate... Too perfect. Too convenient.

...Is it really a coincidence?

While that uneasy question crawled through his mind, Sancho reached for the phone placed in the corner of the table. It was a room service phone.

“Talking without a drink’s drying out my throat. Got a favorite kind of alcohol?”

A casual tone. He clearly wanted to keep things friendly.

But Yeomyeong sighed.

And gave the one answer Sancho most didn’t want to hear.

“The elixir is not for sale.”

The hand holding the phone froze mid-air. After a moment, Sancho gently set it down and asked:

“Why? If it’s a money issue, don’t worry. That sword you see right there—I’ll give it to you as an advance payment.”

A sacred sword of the knight order, just as a down payment? Tempting offer.

But Yeomyeong shook his head.

Because you can’t sell what you don’t have.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve already used the elixir.”

“...Ah.”

A sigh of disappointment. Then a heavy silence followed.

Yeomyeong quietly drew mana up to the surface, just in case the man’s attitude changed.

But instead of turning hostile, Sancho simply sagged, shoulders drooping like the sky had collapsed on him.

The silence stretched long between them.

Then Sancho hesitantly broke it.

“Did you... drink all of it? If you have any left—just five drops. That’s all I need.”

“I’m sorry.”

“...Do you know the location of another elixir? Maybe?”

Yeomyeong shook his head. A real player might’ve known. But he wasn’t {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} one—he was a usurper who’d killed the player and stolen his power. There was no way he could know where the rest were.

“...”

Another silence.

They say despair is worst when it comes right after hope. Sancho’s face looked like the embodiment of that phrase.

Pain, disappointment, sorrow.

He clenched and unclenched his trembling hands, then suddenly asked:

“You... your level—or no, how strong are you, exactly? Can you use sword aura?”

He wasn’t asking to pick a fight. His voice held nothing but quiet desperation.

Yeomyeong took a pause, then shrugged.

“I’m strong enough to fight a dragon.”

“...A dragon, huh.”

Sancho pressed his lips shut with a clenched fist, lost in thought. Like he was weighing something.

And then—after a long moment—he made a proposal Yeomyeong hadn’t expected.

“Would you... help me kill someone?”

****

At the same time, Seti and the others were unpacking in the hotel suite.

Though honestly, there wasn’t much to unpack.

All the heavy stuff was stored in Yeomyeong’s Inventory, and the bags the others carried only held emergency wallets and underwear they couldn’t exactly show to Yeomyeong.

Anyway.

Neti, having finished unpacking in a flash, went straight to the window and took in the city’s night view.

Maybe it was the LED overload that had become trendy beyond the dimensional gate—Gemini City was glittering just as much as Earth.

The area around the L.A. Dimensional Gate in particular was a masterpiece. The swirling LED lights mixed with the gate that absorbed all surrounding light, making the whole thing look like a massive, sparkling diamond.

Compared to the half-military Gaeseong Gate, this was art.

As she lost herself in the beauty of the nightscape, her sister’s voice reached her ears.

“Neti, we’re splitting up rooms. What do you want to do?”

When she turned her head, she saw her sister sorting through Yeomyeong’s bag.

The Saint and Corvus were nowhere to be seen—they must’ve gone into the bathroom.

“...Splitting up rooms? Why? This suite’s big enough for all of us to sleep in.”

“We’ve rented three entire suites like this. No reason to cram together. Yeomyeong’s a guy, after all. And also...”

Seti trailed off, her eyes shifting toward the corner of the room.

There, the necromancer they’d taken hostage was sitting. Her hair had been illusion-dyed blonde by Yeomyeong. She looked incredibly anxious, her eyes darting around in circles.

Seti stared at her for a moment, then turned back to Yeomyeong’s bag and said:

“I’ll take the necromancer to another room and keep watch. You stay here with the Saint and Corvus.”

“Uh... What about Yeomyeong?”

“He gets his own room.”

Was that really necessary? Yeomyeong had shared a room with the Saint before and hadn’t so much as lifted a finger. He was a gentleman, wasn’t he?

Even if they stayed in the same room, it’s not like anything would happen...

Neti narrowed her eyes, sensing something strange, just as Seti pulled a small bag out of Yeomyeong’s luggage.

It was the bag containing magical tools—Uragan’s hilt, the golden seal, and the rest.

Normally, he kept that tucked inside his inner jacket. Had he taken it off temporarily?

That was about where Neti’s thoughts were when she saw her sister opening the bag—and flinched.

“Wait, sis, don’t—”

But the thing she was worried about didn’t happen.

Seti wasn’t attacked by Uragan’s hilt. She picked it up and started inspecting it casually!

“...”

Neti was too shocked to speak.

She only snapped out of it after Seti had finished sorting through the entire bag.

“Uh, sis...”

“What now?”

“Don’t tell me... you’ve already done it?”

Seti furrowed her brows, confused. But when she saw her sister’s eyes locked on the bag, she realized what Neti meant.

“...Are you insane?”

“I’m not the crazy one here—you are! What the hell were you thinking...?”

Neti didn’t get to finish that sentence. Seti had finally had enough—and brought her palm down on Neti’s forehead.

****

At that same moment, on the sixth floor of the same hotel—

CIA agent Scarlett O’Hara, who had rented out the entire floor with her mercenaries, was chewing her fingernails.

Everything had gone completely to shit.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to take care of Dreiterial personally, wrap up the Gemini City mess cleanly, and finally earn her superiors’ approval—

But the Dreiterial problem had been resolved before she even arrived. And Gemini City? The situation was far worse than she’d imagined.

As a bonus, she’d been ambushed by a psycho necromancer halfway through.

FUCK.

She had planned to ask those weirdos she met on the train for help, but they’d vanished the moment they reached the city.

She asked the mercenaries to track them, but they flat-out refused—said they were only contracted for escort duty, not search missions.

Goddamn mercenaries.

The fact that they turned down such a simple request made it obvious they were hiding something. But she had no idea what.

She even found herself thinking this:

“That guy with the golden eyes... Don’t tell me he came here to meet the knight order?”

Her rational mind whispered, That’s absurd,

But her gut screamed, That’s exactly it.

CHOMP, CHOMP.

Her carefully manicured thumbnail was in tatters now, and her thoughts were rotting from overthinking.

Scarlett O’Hara—no, Dina—suddenly stood up, as if something had clicked.

She walked straight to the window and looked up at the night sky.

Or more precisely, the moonlight barely visible behind the LED glare.

Then her eyes began to glow with a soft white, just like the moon.

A miracle where the moon becomes the eye, and the eye becomes the moon.

Her body couldn’t withstand the strain of that miracle. Blood began to drip. But Dina didn’t care—she kept pushing.

Then the moon peeked out over the city, and under the will of the Fallen One, its light illuminated the earth.

To find not just anyone—

But the old man who would destroy the dimensional gate.