There Is No World For ■■

Right after the man—clearly the mercenary leader—collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, [N O V E L I G H T] the Saint raised her revolver and blew on the barrel with a soft breath.

“Came here to shop, and look what kind of circus I walked into.”

Yeomyeong nodded in agreement. At the same time, he swept his gaze over the camp perimeter and clenched his fist.

His spell activated, and the dozens of mercenaries still trapped in telekinetic suspension all began to thrash and gasp in unison.

“K-Kgh...” “P-Please spare...” “Ghhkk...”

He hadn’t intended to kill them, so Yeomyeong focused his grip just enough to apply pressure to their carotid arteries.

After about ten seconds...

He released the spell, and the mercenaries dropped to the ground like ragdolls. Not a single one remained conscious.

“What should we do about the ones who ran?”

The Saint asked while staring out past the campfire into the darkness. Just like she said, faint rustling could be heard in the distance—survivors, the superhuman mercenaries, fleeing through the forest.

Focusing mana into his ears, Yeomyeong refined his perception.

They weren’t fast, but they were running for their lives in different directions. Around four or five, by his estimate.

Tch. What a pain.

Just as Yeomyeong gathered mana into his calves to pursue them—

Flutter. The sound of wings beating.

He turned his head at the familiar noise and spotted a large raven taking flight in pursuit of the escapees.

Corvus.

She hadn’t been given any order, but she was moving on her own.

Yeomyeong turned in the opposite direction of where Corvus had gone and chased another fleeing mercenary.

“I’ll clean things up here!”

The Saint’s voice rang out behind him as Yeomyeong and Corvus bolted into the night.

BOOM!!

A massive explosion rocked the dark forest, the echo booming through the trees.

Another corpse explosion?

The Saint glanced in Yeomyeong’s direction for a moment, then shook her head.

He’d been hit with so many of those by now—no point in worrying.

With that thought, she dusted herself off and got to work tidying up the camp.

She dragged corpses around with effort, tied up unconscious mercenaries, went tent to tent healing the fainted merchants, and added firewood to the dying flames.

By the time the cleanup was nearly done—

Yeomyeong returned from the shadows, his clothes soaked in blood—probably from the mercenaries who’d blown themselves up.

“Get anything useful?”

She asked on the off chance, and instead of replying, Yeomyeong pulled something from inside his coat and tossed it to the Saint.

Caught off guard, she barely managed to catch it, and her eyepatch twitched slightly.

“...A smartphone?”

“Technically, a rugged phone.”

A rugged phone—a military-grade smartphone designed for durability and security.

The fact that a mercenary from beyond the dimensional gate was even using a smartphone was weird enough. But a rugged phone?

“Why bring this out here? There’s not even a signal.”

“Look at the back.”

The Saint turned the phone over as instructed.

Engraved on the back was...

“...What is this?”

A round emblem with seven stems blooming like petals from the center—almost like a flower.

It felt familiar, like she’d seen it somewhere before, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite place it.

Then, Corvus returned, landing beside her and opening her beak.

“It’s the insignia of the French Foreign Legion.”

“...The Foreign Legion?”

The Saint looked back at the emblem and, now that it was mentioned, the seven lines did vaguely resemble irises, the national flower of France.

So one of those mercenaries was ex-Foreign Legion?

No—more importantly, how did Yeomyeong recognize it immediately? He didn’t have battlefield experience like Corvus.

He was a civilian. A conscript at best. Wasn’t he?

While the Saint’s questions spiraled in her head, Yeomyeong added,

“The symbol’s proper name is The Flaming Grenade of the Seven Flames. It’s not something usually engraved on military goods.”

So why would a twisted-mana-using mercenary in a place like this be carrying one?

Sure, it could’ve just been a black market item. Or maybe one of them was ex-Legion.

But just maybe—what if these guys were actual Foreign Legion troops planted here by France, operating beyond the gate?

“...Should we kill all of them to shut them up?”

Yeomyeong’s chilling voice made Tindamel, who was just coming to, flinch and shiver.

And who could blame him?

Yeomyeong, drenched in blood, calmly talking about exterminating everyone—it was terrifying.

Tindamel got up and slowly edged toward the Saint.

But to his disappointment, she wasn’t particularly friendly.

Spinning her revolver casually, she spoke.

“You seem to know me. Mind introducing yourself?”

Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t warm either. Tindamel swallowed hard.

“M-my name is Tindamel. I’m a merchant who operates between the Southern and Central regions, based in the small city of Bactran...”

“....”

“I-I’ve donated a lot to the Holy Kingdom! I even attended several of your rituals, Saint!”

The Saint stopped spinning her revolver and stared at him.

Because of the eyepatch, it was hard to read her expression—but Tindamel had the uncomfortable sense that she was reading his every thought, while he couldn't read a single thing about her.

He couldn’t take it. He looked away.

A short silence.

As Tindamel’s eyes darted around, looking everywhere but at her, sparks drifted from the campfire toward the moonlight—

And then Yeomyeong finally spoke.

“Where’d you get the Awakening Potion?”

“....”

At that, Tindamel understood why the Saint had been so cold to him.

Of course she wouldn’t take kindly to a merchant carrying potions that only necromancers could produce.

Half panicked, half desperate, he answered.

“I—I swear, I never dealt with necromancers! I swear to the heavens, to Ulsvati himself!”

“Then why were you carrying the potion?”

“I—I was forced to take it under threat! You must believe me, I really...!”

Before he could ramble any further, Yeomyeong cut him off.

“I don’t need excuses. Just give me the name. Who forced you to transport it?”

“Th-that would be...”

Tindamel couldn’t answer right away.

He looked back and forth between Yeomyeong, the Saint, and the pile of bound mercenaries off to the side—

Then finally inhaled deeply.

When he spoke again, it was with the voice of a man who had made up his mind.

“The ones who forced me to carry the potion... were La Cosa Nostra.”

Just saying the name made Tindamel tremble.

The Saint and Corvus, meanwhile, exchanged blank looks—Who?

Yeomyeong, however...

His brow furrowed deeply.

“The Mafia?”

"Uurgh..."

After throwing up everything in her stomach for what felt like forever, Neti finally managed to take a breath.

“Haa... I think I’m alive.”

As she straightened her back, her older sister, who had been patting her back the whole time, handed her a water bottle. Neti grabbed it like she'd been waiting all her life for it and chugged it down.

Beyond the bottle, she saw her sister’s face—half worried, half amused.

By the time Neti emptied the whole thing, Seti opened her mouth.

“So, how was it—riding on a dragon’s back?”

“...”

Neti pouted, gripping the bottle tightly.

She couldn’t very well say, “I nearly threw up like five times from motion sickness and the cold. Dragons have the worst ride quality, and I wouldn’t get back on one even if you paid me,”—not while the dragon was listening.

The only reason she hadn’t actually thrown up mid-flight was because she was a mage.

If she’d run out of mana that was keeping her nausea in check before they landed?

She would’ve gone down in history as the first human to turn a dragon’s back into a puke pancake.

...Still, that aside, the dragon had given her a ride, so Neti composed herself and bowed her head toward it.

“...Thank you for the ride.”

The resting dragon exhaled a gust of heat and flame through its nose.

You’remorepolitethantheSaint.Igladlyacceptyourgratitude.You’re more polite than the Saint. I gladly accept your gratitude.You’remorepolitethantheSaint.Igladlyacceptyourgratitude.

“...”

What the hell did the Saint do...?

Neti swallowed the question that was right on the tip of her tongue and looked off in the direction Yeomyeong and the Saint had disappeared.

“Where’s brother-in-law? He’s still not back?”

“Who knows, probably fighting more weirdos again.”

Her sister answered casually, like it was no big deal—even though there’d been gunshots and what sounded like a small explosion. Was she not worried?

What if you lose him to someone else while you’re like this?

Neti glanced worriedly at her sister, and Seti just shrugged.

“If you’re that concerned, why don’t you go check on him?”

Of course, she was worried about her sister, not her brother-in-law—but Neti didn’t bother clarifying. She just nodded.

As the two girls began heading back to the camp, the dragon followed behind, saying it preferred to be near the fire.

Thump. Thump.

The dragon’s footsteps echoed through the nighttime forest.

When the two girls and the dragon arrived at the camp, they were met with a sight very different from what they expected.

Corvus was sharing drinks with a bunch of grimy-looking merchants, laughing like old friends.

The Saint was showing off revolver tricks in front of a crowd of workers and basking in their applause.

And in the corner, a pile of mercenaries was still tightly bound and completely ignored.

“...What the hell?”

Neti stared in confusion, glancing around the bizarre scene.

Just then, one of the merchants spotted them—or more accurately, spotted the dragon—and rushed over.

“Ah, there you are! I was just about to send someone to find you!”

The merchant gave a quick order to one of the workers, and then led the girls over to a table near the campfire.

On the table was a spread of candied fruits, bread, and wine, a proper banquet setup. The merchant, smiling from ear to ear, filled the girls' glasses with wine.

“We owe a great debt to your companion. Everything here is a token of our gratitude—please, enjoy it without worrying about payment.”

Just as Neti eagerly reached for her wine glass, Seti smacked the back of her hand—smack!

“...No drinking.”

Regardless of how much her little sister pouted, Seti turned to the merchant and spoke.

“Excuse me, Mister Merchant?”

“My name is Tindamel, miss.”

“Right, Tindamel. That man who came with us—where is he? I don’t see him.”

“Ah, well, he’s...”

Tindamel trailed off and glanced toward a tent. Steam was rising from the entrance.

So he’s in there?

Without waiting another second, Seti stood up.

“Thanks for telling me.”

“W-wait, miss! He's currently—!”

Seti didn’t bother listening. She marched straight toward the tent and pulled open the flap.

“...”

“...”

Inside, just out of the bath, Yeomyeong was wiping himself down with a towel—naked.

A brief moment of eye contact. Then a slightly longer silence.

Before Yeomyeong could say anything, Seti silently backed out of the tent.

Oh.

Only then did she realize what she’d just done. She buried her face in her hands.

A wave of embarrassment, awkwardness, and then—pure joy crashed over her, only to wash away again.

And what remained in its place... was shamelessness.

There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve seen—

Her train of thought was cut short as Yeomyeong, now fully dressed, stepped out of the tent.

“Seti? What are you doing?”

“...”

Seeing his face completely short-circuited her thoughts. She couldn’t help it.

No matter how rough her life had been, she was still a sensitive young woman.

Should she apologize? Or compliment him?

As wildly inappropriate options spiraled through her brain, Yeomyeong took her hand.

“I have something important to talk about. Can we sit down for a bit?”

“U-uh, sure...”

He led her back to the table where Neti was sitting.

“Brother-in-law, what kind of spell did you cast?”

Neti, nibbling on a stale piece of bread, shot the question at him. Her eyes were locked on her sister’s flushed face.

“Spell?”

“I mean, her expression is—”

She stopped mid-sentence. Seti was glaring daggers at her.

“...Never mind. It’s nothing.”

Yeomyeong chuckled at the little skit between the sisters. Sitting beside Seti, he finally spoke.

“First, let me explain what happened while you were away.”

True to his usual style, Yeomyeong kept it short and to the point.

Mercenary band. Twisted mana. The merchant. Awakening elixirs. And finally—La Cosa Nostra.

“...What’s that?”

The sudden Italian phrase made Seti’s elegant brow twitch. But it wasn’t Yeomyeong who answered her.

It was Neti.

“The Mafia.”

“...Huh?”

“La Cosa Nostra is the Sicilian Mafia, which later became the American Mafia. The organization’s been around for over a century.”

Seti turned to Yeomyeong, looking for confirmation. He nodded.

“You know a lot. How do you know all that?”

Neti couldn’t exactly say “It was in a famous romance novel,” so she played it off as common knowledge.

Seti’s face twisted ever so slightly—suddenly labeled as someone lacking “common knowledge.”

Yeomyeong continued.

“Starting in the ’90s, they’ve been hell-bent on expanding operations past the dimensional gate.”

“And?”

“Looks like they’ve secured a decent foothold in the Gemini Autonomous Region. Enough to pressure local merchants into trafficking Awakening Elixirs.”

“...”

Seti rested her chin on her hand, thinking.

Gemini Autonomous Region. New identities. Mafia. Dimensional cities...

“...You’re not thinking of going after the Mafia just to help some merchants, are you?”

“That’s one way to do it.”

“...”

“But if there's a simpler path, we’ll take it. Honestly, just handing one of those elixirs over to the U.S. would be enough to blow the Mafia apart.”

She had to admit—he was right. If word got out that a criminal syndicate was working with a necromancer, the U.S. would annihilate them.

Seti chewed on a piece of fruit as she ran the possibilities in her mind.

What their group wanted most was a fake ID and a safe way back to Earth.

Given they had monsters like Yeomyeong and Corvus on their side, using the Mafia to get what they wanted wasn’t a bad plan.

But just as she reached that conclusion—

From the seat across from her—right next to Neti—came a voice neither of them recognized.

“I wouldn’t recommend getting involved with the Mafia. They’re prideful idiots who don’t know their place, and they’ll cause more trouble than they’re worth.”

“...”

“Of course, if you’re planning to kill them all, then by all means.”

The man wore a robe, hood up.

Neither Neti, Seti, nor even Yeomyeong had sensed him arriving.

“...Who are you?”

Yeomyeong asked, drawing mana to his core.

The robed man didn’t respond right away. Instead, he poured wine into both Yeomyeong’s and his own glasses.

Trickle—wine filled both cups to the brim.

Only then did he speak.

“Caymus. Not bad for a California wine. A little too expensive for your average traveling merchant, though... Must really be grateful to you. Or maybe he just wanted to impress the Saint. Either way, there’s no reason to turn down a drink, wouldn’t you say?”

“...”

Yeomyeong debated pulling out his sword from his inventory—but when he saw how stiff the sisters were, he just picked up the wineglass.

At that moment, the mana that had been pressing down on the table vanished.

Seti and Neti gasped like they’d just been pulled out of water.

Neti’s breath came in quick, panicked huffs. Seti ground her teeth.

Meanwhile, the man calmly sipped from his wine.

Yeomyeong kept glaring at him, and when the man finished his glass, he asked again.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Who are you?”

“The one who slipped past the dragon’s sight... tricked the senses of the Crossroads Seeker... and made it right to you.”

“Ah—though maybe I’m not technically human?”

He rambled on like he was playing 20 Questions, pouring himself another glass.

“Let’s see... I’ve been called all kinds of names: America’s Calamity. The Destroyer of Chile. The Avenger of the World Tree. The Last Commie. The Butcher of the Forest People. The Red Cloud. The Furious Horse. The Crouching Bull...”

“And many, many more.”

“...”

It finally clicked.

Yeomyeong and Seti realized who this man was.

“You’re... no way...”

At last, the man pulled back his hood.

Seeing the face beneath it, Neti couldn’t hide her shock. Seti pressed her lips tightly together, staring.

Bleached white hair. Skin the color of autumn leaves. A face crisscrossed with countless scars.

But more than anything—those ears.

Massive ears, far larger than any human’s.

“Demelond Ib Marx...”

The leader of the World Tree Revolutionary Front.

The terrorist who had once driven Earth to the brink of chaos.

And in front of them now... stood Meridis’s father.