Chapter 3 - Registration
After arriving at the inn, Lizel went straight to Gil’s room without resting his body. He thought it would be easier for the other to do his job if he explained the situation beforehand.
When he knocked and was invited inside, he was greeted by a room far cleaner than he had expected. Gil had apparently been using it as a base for about a month, but perhaps because adventurers carried little luggage, there was hardly any trace of everyday life.
“It’s quite neat and tidy here.”
“Yeah, coming back tired only to be welcomed by a filthy room would be the worst.”
It seemed Gil made a conscious effort to keep it clean. Lizel, who had never really cleaned for himself because of his station, was honestly impressed.
When he sat in the chair offered to him, Gil lowered himself into the seat opposite.
“So, I’ll be getting that explanation now, right?”
“No need to rush. ...But first, one thing.”
Gil frowned as he glanced between Lizel’s raised index finger and his calm face.
His expression, the kind that would surely make a child cry if they saw it, amused Lizel.
“Everything I’m about to say contains not a single lie.”
“Of course. You’ve got nothing to gain from lying at this point.”
“This afternoon, I transferred from another world into this one.”
He spoke almost over Gil’s words, and sure enough, Gil’s eyes shot him a glare that said, Don’t mess with me. But soon after, Gil fell into thought, as if replaying everything that had happened since they met earlier that day, his gaze resting back on Lizel.
Lizel tilted his head slightly, waiting patiently, urging him to think it through.
“This is the premise I’ll be speaking from. If you can’t believe me, then we’ll end it here. And if at any point during the quest I find this problematic, I’ll say so directly.”
“...No, go on.”
No one in their right mind could believe a claim like ‘I came from another world.’ True, his behavior had oddities, and it seemed true that he had no recognized status, but it still sounded more plausible that he was just some estranged noble brat, ignorant of the world.
What made Gil willing to hear him out was the certainty that Lizel wasn’t stupid enough to tell a lie that worked against him. They hadn’t known each other long, but that much he could already see.
What would Lizel gain by lying about coming from another world? If he only wanted to catch Gil’s interest and secure a skilled guard, Gil wouldn’t have listened to a single word from the start.
The only thing Lizel radiated was a cold, calculated thought—that saying it upfront would simply be more efficient.
“So if you’re telling me, then your world isn’t all that different in terms of level, huh?”
“From what I saw of the city, they’re almost the same. If anything, the sorcery here—what you call magic—is further developed. At the very least, spatial magic doesn’t exist over there.”
If Lizel had truly possessed some advanced technology or knowledge, he certainly wouldn’t have told Gil. The moment such things reached the ears of someone who craved them, he’d be exploited.
Gil understood without needing it spelled out, and that left Lizel satisfied.
“You’re surprisingly composed. Over there, you were a noble, weren’t you?”
“Yes, you can tell?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He did carry the relaxed air of someone highborn, but more than that, anyone could see he was either noble or something very close. It wasn’t just the quality of his clothes—no matter how he dressed, his noble bearing would give him away.
To Lizel, he was merely acting as he always did, but to Gil, that unconscious demeanor was almost exasperating. He sighed.
“Still, there are all kinds of nobles. Which one were you?”
“Shall I give you the title? I had only just inherited it, but I was a duke. My office was that of chancellor, and I served at the royal castle.”
“Hold on.”
Gil felt a headache coming on. A duke was the highest rank of nobility, and a chancellor meant the king’s top advisor, the very heart of the kingdom’s government.
Why would a man who looked only in his late twenties hold such positions? His face made him appear even younger, but Gil was fairly certain he wasn’t wrong about his age.
The age didn’t matter so much—titles were usually inherited by birth—but why in the world was he the chancellor? Gil’s expression showed his doubt, and Lizel answered with a wry smile.
“I was the king’s tutor since he was a child. That’s the only reason I ended up in his favor.”
“...”
Here in Parteda, under a monarchy as well, Gil understood all too well what that meant.
Being a duke alone was enough to make anyone kneel without question. Add the title of chancellor, and one ought to bow flat to the ground. And to have been the king’s tutor on top of that... the very thought was staggering.
He had thought that learning Lizel’s circumstances would make him easier to grasp. Instead, the more he listened, the harder Lizel became to pin down.
“Over here, none of that matters, so you don’t need to think about it.”
“...Guess I’ve gotta think that way or I won’t manage.”
Gil cut things off cleanly, and Lizel had never been so grateful for someone’s quick shift in attitude.
That was exactly why he had chosen Gil as a partner—if Gil had been overly deferential, it would have been meaningless.
“So then, I bet things are in chaos back there.”
“Most likely. I just hope the king isn’t doing anything reckless.”
“Is he the type to?”
At the word “king,” Gil caught the faintest change in Lizel’s expression. He was always smiling—that faint, unreadable smile that seemed to be the only one he had.
But now, for the briefest moment, a genuine warmth colored it.
“Considering your age, the king must be pretty young. That means he’s actually competent, huh?”
“When he was younger, before he took the throne, he was quite the handful. Even now, the people fondly call him the ‘Ex-Delinquent King.’”
“That’s... affection?”
“It brings back memories. I remember the time he went out on his own and came back after burning down two houses—I was shocked.”
“That’s straight-up trouble.”
Those houses, of course, had belonged to some slippery corrupt nobles who were nearly impossible to pin down—but Lizel left that part unsaid. Regardless, it was true that the king was admired by his people and respected by the nobility.
Lizel had never deliberately shaped him to be favorable to himself, but with all the years they had spent together, closeness had been inevitable. And when Lizel had risen to the post of chancellor, the fact that there had been little backlash spoke volumes of the people’s trust: their king wasn’t the sort who’d put someone useless in such a critical position out of mere favoritism.
“But still, he was a man born to be king.”
In politics, he was exceptionally capable. And yet, every so often, he did something outrageous. Those “outrageous” acts never harmed the country—sometimes they even brought unexpected benefits—so his reputation remained overwhelmingly high.
Few, however, knew the truth: those outrageous acts didn’t cause damage precisely because Lizel had been there to cover for him. Right now, those same few were struggling desperately to restrain a king who wanted to storm out of the castle in search of Lizel himself. Lizel, of course, had no idea.
“Well, if my absence really becomes a problem, I’m sure they’ll find a way to bring me back. Until then, I’ll treat this like a vacation and enjoy myself here.”
“Find a way? You popped over here without warning—there’s no trail to follow.”
“It wasn’t exactly the same, but it felt similar to teleportation sorcery. I thought maybe with some adaptation... Hm? That doesn’t exist here?”
Gil had never heard of teleportation sorcery. He wasn’t particularly well-versed in magic, but something so powerful surely would have been common knowledge if it existed.
Lizel had half-wondered if interference between teleportation spells might have been involved, but apparently not.
If teleportation sorcery didn’t exist in this world, then returning home from here was unlikely. If he was ever to go back, it would be up to the people of his own world to make it possible.
“Anyway, now you understand my situation. If I act strangely, point it out.”
“As far as nobles go, you don’t seem out of place. But I’ve got a feeling you’ll end up doing things that are.”
“It’s a vacation—I plan to do different things. You’re the one who said you could tag along with my adventurering, remember?”
He had said that, but it was hardly something he’d expected to happen.
If Lizel really became an adventurer, it wouldn’t just be a matter of seeming a little out of place—he would be nothing but out of place.
“For now, I need something that works as proof of identity. Adventurer registration should cover that, right?”
“Yeah... though nobody in their right mind would think someone like you’s signing up at the guild just for the ID.”
When Lizel stepped into the guild, the adventurers who had been browsing job postings or waiting in line at the counter all turned to look at him with a spark of expectation. His refined gestures, his well-tailored clothes, his calm, composed face—everything about him screamed nobility.
The way his eyes drifted over the room looked casual at first, but there was a sharpness to it, as though he were appraising those around him. Perhaps he was here to greet the guildmaster. Or perhaps, dressed more casually, he was here for a request.
Officially or in secret, a commission from someone of high status was still a commission from the powerful. Each adventurer present quietly began posturing, trying to stake their claim—after all, anyone would want a connection to someone like that.
“So this is the guild, huh? Quite a lively place.”
“Yeah.”
But those hopeful gazes quickly turned to disappointment. The moment they saw the man’s companion, they knew: there was no chance any request from him would trickle down to them.
For at his side walked none other than Gil the Lone Blade—an adventurer whose name was always mentioned when speaking of the guild’s true elites. Whispers said that in sheer skill, he could rival even the S-rankers. If this stranger had somehow managed to hire Gil, then of course there would be no work left over for anyone else.
That being the case, the man was surely here to see the guildmaster. Still, to think anyone could employ someone as famously solitary as Gil was no small feat. With mixed feelings, the adventurers watched the two make their way toward the counter.
By chance, the registration desk was unoccupied, and the man stepped before the clerk stationed there. The young guild worker, head bent over paperwork, lifted his face with a flat, impassive look and said curtly:
“My apologies, but the guildmaster is out at the moment. Your business, sir?”
“What?”
「は？」
“Huh?”
The man’s puzzled murmur earned a faint frown from the clerk, who regarded him now with faint suspicion.
Needless to say, the one who had stirred up such hopes and crushed them just as swiftly was Lizel.
After a sound night’s sleep, he had set out with Gil that morning to create the adventurer’s license that would serve as his identification. Over breakfast, he had received a few pointers from Gil, but he still stood out like a sore thumb.
Gil, who understood full well the mistaken assumptions swirling through the room, whispered a silent my condolences—while secretly enjoying the situation far too much.
“Wait, does registration—Gil?”
“No need for the guildmaster.”
“I thought so.”
Lizel looked up at Gil for confirmation. Realizing what he meant, the clerk who had been giving him that quizzical stare now fixed his eyes on Lizel.
For someone who almost never betrayed an expression, the faint trace of surprise flickering across his features was unusual. Fortunately, no one but the two before him seemed to notice. Meeting his gaze, Lizel smiled politely, as if to test the waters.
“I came to register as an adventurer. Is that all right?”
“...Yes. Please wait a moment.”
His voice was flat, drained of inflection—perhaps just a habit of his. Coupled with his motionless face, it gave him an air that many mistook for coldness.
In fact, it was a running joke among adventurers that he was far too frosty for a receptionist. Not that he cared.
“First time I’ve ever seen you surprised.”
“And it’s the first time I’ve ever seen you chatter pointlessly.”
Gil narrowed his eyes, lips curling in something between amusement and menace as he looked down at the seated clerk.
Without even glancing at that faintly sadistic smile, the receptionist gave the papers at hand a sharp tap against the desk. As expected of a guild employee, his composure did not falter, not even in the face of Gil.
What’s more, the way he added that remark showed no trace of fear—if anything, it suggested he wouldn’t hesitate to strike back.
“And besides, working under someone isn’t exactly like you either.”
“You sure talk a lot...”
Contrary to first impressions, the clerk was not the silent type at all. If conversation was necessary, he could talk endlessly, and if someone threw words at him, he would throw twice as many back.
His colleagues all agreed he was, in truth, rather fond of talking.
“I never said Gil was working under me.”
“...Doesn’t suit you.”
“You were the one who suggested it, remember? At least try.”
Gil muttered the words under his breath, and Lizel answered with a wry whisper of his own. Of course it didn’t suit him—he knew that better than anyone.
Advice number one, offered over breakfast: change your manner of speaking if you don’t want to stand out. Lizel, ever dutiful, had taken it to heart. His polite speech had softened, and his first-person pronoun had shifted to a casual ore.
The irony: Gil himself still found it jarringly unnatural. Unfair. Still, even if the effect was minimal, it wasn’t nonexistent. Or so Lizel told himself.
“Before registration, I’d like to confirm.”
“Mm?”
“As a matter of policy, the guild reserves the right to reject government interference. Therefore, nobles or knights in service to the crown are not permitted to join.”
“I know. Gil explained. It’s fine.”
Fine? In what sense?
The clerk gave him a steady look that said as much without words. Gil, arms crossed, jabbed a thumb at Lizel.
“Not a noble. No ties to ‘em either. No problem.”
“Nope.”
“Huh?”
“My apologies. Let’s proceed with registration. I’m Studd, guild receptionist.”
With that, Studd laid two forms out on the desk as if nothing had happened. Gil, a faint grin tugging at his lips, swept his eyes over the hall.
Every adventurer there had frozen at the same moment, the same words caught unspoken in their throats. Studd had been the only one to voice them aloud—but perhaps that was his way of forcing reality into place.
The rest had yet to catch up.
Lizel was neither a noble, nor from a family of near-noble standing. And yet, the way he carried himself—his bearing, his speech, his every gesture—made that revelation nearly unthinkable. To those watching, it was a genuine shock.
Gil’s smile faded, eyes narrowing. If trouble were to come of this, it would be now. One adventurer, caught in that sharpened gaze, twitched involuntarily, shoulders jerking. Rumors would spread regardless. They always did.
After all, Gil—the man who never fought alongside anyone—was now openly partnered with someone. For a newcomer to stand out was rarely a good thing. Lizel might have said it was no problem, but Gil cast a sidelong glance at him as the young man bent gracefully over the paperwork, posture straight and refined even while leaning slightly forward to sign his name.
“Are you truly not of noble birth? If you’re concealing it, that could come back on me.”
“It’s fine. You’re welcome to investigate if you’d like.”
“If there’s no issue, so be it. Still... where did you learn those manners?”
“Let’s just say, my upbringing was unusual.”
Was this a conversation, or an interrogation? Studd was clearly probing, but Lizel deflected every question smoothly, without a hint of strain.
If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself. And if he had the leisure to enjoy it, then it was no accident—he truly had the composure to spare.
‘No need to step in, then. Wouldn’t do to rob him of his fun. Overreaching isn’t my style anyway.’
“Gil, sign as my recommender.”
“Alright.”
Called over, Gil scrawled his name beneath Lizel’s elegant but slightly slanted signature. His hand was rough, his letters jagged—not illegible, but hardly polished.
Recommenders weren’t strictly necessary, but for someone like Lizel, whose origins were unclear, one was required. A safeguard—if the guild ever registered a criminal by mistake, the consequences would be the recommender’s to bear.
“For the guild card, please place your finger here.”
Studd slid forward a strange device: a stand topped with a glass-like needle.
Beneath the point rested a glass orb, its surface etched with intricate designs that shifted colors as light caught them.
At the base of the frame, a blank guild card lay waiting.
“A magic tool, huh? I recognize some of the spellwork, but not all.”
“That would be abnormal. The guild keeps its enchantments classified.”
Avoiding Studd’s probing look, Lizel only smiled faintly and pressed his little finger against the point. The needle sank deep, but his expression never wavered.
Of course. Gil, watching from the side, only shrugged inwardly. Even crossing worlds hadn’t shaken this man’s composure—though someday, perhaps, he’d like to see the mask slip.
Lizel’s blood ran down the needle into the sphere, slowly staining the inscribed patterns a deep crimson. The moment every spellwork had turned a brilliant red, a single silvery droplet welled up from the bottom of the sphere and fell onto the card.
At once, it glided across the card’s surface, tracing itself into letters.
“Oh... so while the formula’s a secret, the mechanism isn’t—”
“Your finger.”
“Oh. Done already?”
Prompted by Gil, Lizel finally withdrew his hand. The puncture was deep; blood ran freely. Without hesitation, he popped his finger into his mouth.
Gil grimaced, snatched the cloth Studd had handed over, and yanked Lizel’s hand away, pressing the fabric firmly against the wound.
“You’ve got refined manners, but the way you act sometimes is pure bad form.”
“And you’re surprisingly considerate.”
“‘Lick it and it’ll heal’—when someone like you does it, it’s just wrong.”
For all his polish, Lizel was oddly unbothered about lapses in propriety. In formal settings, he was impeccable, but in casual moments he could be startlingly careless.
He himself didn’t see the harm—yet he knew Gil was right. From him, such gestures looked too incongruous, too jarring. Better to avoid creating false impressions.
By contrast, Gil looked rough to the core, yet he was never actually ill-mannered. Sharp-eyed, attentive, even discreetly covering for Lizel when needed—like with that earlier glare to silence the crowd.
Gill had never really thought about it before, since he’d always done things on his own, but maybe “meticulous” wasn’t an unfair description. Still, it was an aspect he would’ve been better off not realizing. Clicking his tongue in irritation, Gill wore a bitter expression.
“It’s kind of amusing seeing this unexpected side of Gil the Lone Blade. Anyway, your guild card is ready.”
“Hey.”
Gill, figuring the bleeding had finally stopped, tossed the cloth onto the desk without much care. Studd gathered it up, then pulled the card out from beneath the magical device.
Lizel accepted the card and stared at it intently.
Guild：Parteda
【Lizel】
F-Rank Adventurer
The guild card was plain—nothing more than country, name, and rank. Were it not for the faint watermark of the guild crest on the back, one might call it disappointingly bare.
Since Lizel hadn’t used his full, overly long name, his card looked even emptier.
“Gil, may I see yours for a moment?”
“Huh?”
With a frown creasing his brow, Gil reluctantly pulled out his own card.
As expected—simple. Only the name “Gil” was inscribed. Whether it was a true name or, like Lizel’s, an alias, was anyone’s guess.
But unlike Lizel’s card, this one bore a proper B-Rank. Its color was different as well. According to Gil, a card’s hue shifted with rank—a built-in safeguard against forgery.
“We’ll proceed with the explanation of quests and procedures. Do you wish to hear it now?”
“Yes, please.”
Lizel glanced toward Gil, wondering if this might bore him. The man was leaning against the nearby wall, making no move to sit.
He won’t budge, Lizel thought with a faint smile, turning back to Studd. Even if told to wander off and kill time, Gil would have refused—it was simply too much hassle.
The explanation began with the basics. Studd’s voice was even, steady, almost soporific. Clear enough—but so monotonous that one guild worker nearby was dozing off. Lizel kept that little discovery to himself.
He listened attentively, nodding along, until one point caught his interest.
“The guild provides bestiaries and herbals for reference. If something is unfamiliar, you may also ask the reception desk.”
“Would it be possible to purchase a copy of those?”
The question slipped neatly into the pause in Studd’s rhythm.
At Lizel’s first interruption, Studd blinked, and Gil cracked one eye open.
“Consultation here is free, so you’re welcome to reference them as needed.”
“It’s a hobby of mine—collecting knowledge.”
“A fine hobby,” Studd agreed without irony.
It wasn’t mockery, but genuine understanding.
“However, guild books are not to be removed from the premises.”
“Not for secrecy, I assume, since anyone can read them?”
“Simply a matter of logistics. Lending and returning would be impractical, and we don't have surplus copies.”
Tearing a page from his notepad, Studd jotted something down in swift, neat strokes. Lizel waited in silence.
When handed over, the scrap bore a street name and shop.
“A bookstore. They deal in specialist texts—not only on monsters and plants, but many fields. Their bestiaries won’t be as up-to-date as ours, but they’re quite sufficient.”
“My thanks. Gil, here.”
At the call, Gil pushed off from the wall and leaned over Lizel’s chair, one hand resting on its unused backrest.
From above he glanced at the note. He recognized the street, though he’d never entered the shop. No chance of getting lost.
“This place…”
“Yeah. No problem.”
“Good. I’d like to go right away.”
It was, perhaps, the happiest Lizel had looked since they’d met.
He rose from his chair almost eagerly.
“Apologies. We don’t intend to take a quest immediately, so may we resume the explanation another time?”
“That’s fine. Or you could ask Lone Blade over here—”
“No, another time will do.”
Studd tilted his head slightly. Was Lizel truly planning to take on quests at all? Obligation or not, it was hard to imagine this man functioning as a working adventurer.
He began to rise to see them off—only to freeze as a gentle hand pressed down on his head.
“Thank you, Studd. You’re a kind child.”
The warmth of the touch, the unexpected words—it all struck too suddenly. For a moment he went utterly still, and in that instant Lizel and Gil were already striding out of the guild.
Studd sank back into his chair. His face remained as blank and steady as always, but his pen lay idle over unfinished paperwork.
‘Kind? Although I’m certainly younger than him, but what does it mean to pat the head of a man my age and call him a kind child?’
To anyone watching, it would seem he had brushed it off as usual. But within, he felt something novel—strange, not unpleasant.
“Hey. Don’t go patting men his age on the head like that.”
“He’s a cute junior, that’s all. Same age as His Majesty back home. His Majesty enjoys it when I pat him.”
“Most men would hate it.”
“Huh?”
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