Chapter 5 - No Escape
Before dawn, in the dim half-light of his room, Gil sat on the bed without lighting a lamp.
What replayed in his mind was yesterday—those moments at the guild. Lizel had been talking with Studd when a man barged in and picked a fight. The usual nuisance.
Lizel hadn’t even spared the man a glance, while the insults kept flying. Insults, and more insults. The voices and the jeers blended together just behind his back.
“However...”
The atmosphere shifted. From that instant on, Lizel ceased being the man Gil thought he knew and became something of another realm altogether.
He had always come across as a nobleman, yet Gil realized that Lizel had never truly been one until that moment.
“Placing you on the same level as what is mine... is utterly revolting.”
For the first time since appearing in this world, Lizel had revealed himself as a noble.
Faced with the enraged man, Gil found himself pulled forward by a quiet, instinct-like fury—an urge to protect Lizel. At first, he had thought to simply knock the fellow unconscious by flicking aside his weapon. But he couldn’t stop there.
Instead, he cleaved through a massive broadsword at the hilt, kicked with such force that it threatened to crush the man’s insides, and even smashed a door he had never meant to break.
He, who had refused to serve under anyone and walked alone all this time, had been subdued in a single moment. Stifling the laughter rising in his chest, he felt certain—being hired by Lizel had been the right choice.
This time he had been swept away by that overwhelming presence. Next time, he told himself, he would move according to his own reason. And yet... he knew he would still act the same way as before.
Only, it would be by his own decision.
“What am I, a knight?”
He muttered the words and laughed again. The fact that such a word had slipped from his own lips was unbearably funny.
“It felt like a rough start, but the weather’s fine. Perfect day for adventuring.”
“Eight out of ten of those ‘rough starts’ were your fault.”
Their boots crunched over the open grasslands as they walked. Monsters rarely showed themselves this close to the city walls, which were still well within sight. The pleasant air left Lizel unusually at ease.
Not that the chance of monsters appearing was zero—but Lizel hardly cared.
“The constables here are diligent folk. Personally, I found it entertaining, so no complaints.”
They were recalling that morning’s incident. Breakfast together wasn’t a rule, but since they were leaving on the same outing today, there had been no reason to avoid it.
It had happened while they were leisurely enjoying the innkeeper’s husband’s cooking.
“Pardon the intrusion! We’ve received word that a man posing as a noble is lodging here!”
The shout rang out at an hour when most people were only just stirring. Gil grimaced at Lizel.
When Lizel had first arrived at the inn, people had made a fuss about a noble’s visit, but he had denied it outright and, by now, everyone accepted that. Still, the neighborhood children loved to greet him with cries of “Lord Noble!”—a rumor that clearly had spread the wrong way.
“None of this country’s nobles are currently secretly mingling among the city folk! Come out quietly!”
“What nonsense are you spouting about my guest? Don’t go making baseless accusations here!”
It nearly turned into a clash between the innkeeper and the constables. Gil glanced at Lizel, but Lizel only looked amused. When he could stay an observer, he stayed quietly on the sidelines—even when he was the center of the uproar.
Of course, that ended the moment the constable captain shouldered past the innkeeper and strode into the dining hall.
“Gasp...”
“Hey, he’s frozen stiff.”
“More importantly, that’s no way to treat a lady.”
Lizel sat there, sipping his post-meal coffee with elegance. The captain stiffened. A constable wasn’t quite as close to nobility as a knight, but at his rank he had still brushed shoulders with them before.
And even for someone who had actually met nobles, one look at Lizel simply being himself left no doubt. He bowed his head at once.
“My deepest apologies! When I confirmed with the higher-ups, I was told no nobles were in town...”
At those words Lizel smiled with amusement, Gil turned his face away as if uninterested, and the innkeeper smacked the back of the captain’s head with a sharp slap for barging in uninvited.
The shaken constables listened as Lizel confirmed he was not a noble, heard the explanation that the neighbors had only mistaken him at first, and finally learned that the children’s “Lord Noble” was nothing more than an affectionate nickname. Their shoulders slumped in relief.
Lizel had never once acted as though his supposed status gave him license to throw weight around. The dangerous misunderstanding ended peacefully, though the constables left still looking dissatisfied.
“Come to think of it, even the gate guards gave us a double take, didn’t they? I thought I was finally starting to blend in.”
“...If all you got was a double take, then I’d say you’re doing fine.”
Had Lizel carried himself like a full-fledged noble the way he had the other day, the guards would no doubt have stopped him at the gate, reported to the castle, and Gil would have been hauled off as a kidnapper. The fact it ended with just a stunned look when Lizel introduced himself as an adventurer was more than acceptable.
Ever since that incident, Gil’s standards for how the average person should react to Lizel had dropped considerably. He even found himself thinking, ‘Huh. He’s trying, in his own way.’
“Well, at least we’ve got you kitted out like a proper adventurer now.”
“I’m really glad about that.”
The change of clothes Gil had insisted on had made a huge difference. Lizel had already bought some local attire the day after they first met, but adventurer gear was another matter entirely.
No armor, no breastplate—by all appearances, it was far too unprotected for an adventurer. But Gil’s recommendation had been a custom piece where defense was never an issue.
“Still, it feels strange. A beginner like me wearing the best gear available—it almost feels wrong.”
“The basic rule is to take every precaution you can. Holding back and ending up hurt is the dumbest thing you can do.”
“You’ve got a point.”
The outfit had been woven from the pelts of high-ranking magical beasts, strong enough to block various attacks and absorb even the shock of blows—more protective than iron armor. Woven into the fabric were strands of mithril thread, giving it a fortress-like defense that absorbed and even reflected magical attacks.
Gil wore gear made from the same materials, so the two of them looked like lightly armored wanderers. ‘Good for mobility,’ Gil had remarked.
Mithril was almost always hard to acquire, but Gil had some in his possession, so they used that. Being custom-made, the process had cost both money and time, but Lizel had no concerns about funds. As for time, he had filled the wait with an indulgent reading spree, so it had hardly been an inconvenience.
As for the design, both Gil and Lizel had completely left it to the craftsman, which caused no end of grief on the artisan’s part. In the end, the results reflected the image the craftsman and his circle had of the two.
“So my image is that of a mage, huh.”
“I’ve got it worse—dressed head to toe in black.”
As he said it, Gil shot Lizel a glance. The way Lizel had spoken earlier made it sound like magic wasn’t even his main strength. And yet, as always, no weapon was visible on his body, and he certainly didn’t look built for hand-to-hand combat.
Maybe it was time to clear up the mystery. Gil stopped in his tracks. Lizel, who had walked a few steps ahead, turned around at the sudden halt.
“Hey, look over there. That’s a field mouse.”
“Hm? ...Oh, good eye.”
“You just have to know where to look. Comes with practice.”
About a hundred meters away, a half-meter-long mouse scurried about. Their current job was to eliminate ten of these field mice.
Requests like that were always posted on the lower board. The mice dug burrows sized to their bodies, and if a carriage happened to pass over one of those holes, the horses could stumble and overturn.
They were said to grow as large as two meters, but thanks to regular hunts, the ones near the kingdom rarely reached that size.
“Studd also said there wasn’t much danger from them.”
“They run the moment they’re spooked. Problem is, they’re fast little bastards.”
Still, their troublesome habits couldn’t be ignored, hence the job. Lizel nodded once at the thought.
By the way, it had been Studd manning the counter when they accepted the request. Strange, since rookie reception was usually the slowest, yet his booth had been conveniently open.
“For now, you try it solo.”
Taaan—!
“Did I hit it? Oh, looks like I did.”
Lizel shaded his eyes with a hand and peered off into the distance, checking the target that had been darting about moments ago. A vein pulsed on Gil’s forehead, but he let out a long sigh, giving up.
“Why is it you can never stop surprising people…?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
Lizel asked it so innocently—Did I surprise you?—with not a hint of guilt in his expression. He turned back, and alongside him, the object floating by his side shifted to face Gil as well.
Gil recognized it. It was a weapon sometimes found in dungeon treasure chests—a so-called gun. Its long barrel was heavy, and the bullets it came with were all it could fire.
Even if another chest yielded bullets, they somehow never fit, and once removed, they couldn’t be loaded again. So far, the highest count found in a gun was six rounds, though there were cases where none had been included at all.
All things considered, the weapon was useless. Those who had tried it said the same: while a single shot could be devastating in an emergency, when that emergency arrived, it usually failed them.
No one knew how many rounds were loaded until they tested it, so they couldn’t rely on it in a crisis. And if they did fire, the recoil was enough to shatter a shoulder. Hardly a practical weapon.
Nowadays, it was nothing more than a collector’s curiosity.
“So you’re telling me that thing floats at your side, blasts a field mouse’s head clean off, and I’m not supposed to be the least bit surprised?”
“I didn’t think you were the type to be surprised by anything.”
“I’m not that detached yet.”
Lizel’s flippant tone was enough to smother Gil’s irritation completely. He chalked it up to practice.
“So?”
“Hm?”
“Explain.”
Gil glanced around as he spoke. No monsters nearby. They had time to talk.
Lizel spun the floating gun with a flick of his finger, letting it orbit around them once.
“Where I come from, it’s the same deal. I call it a (magic) rifle.”
“‘Rifle,’ huh. If you’re naming it yourself, then it’s not a common weapon.”
“Correct. Counting me, there were... three people? Using them.”
Just as here, the reason was scarcity—it only appeared rarely from dungeons. But in Lizel’s world, there was a fundamental difference.
The guns themselves varied in such a way that only certain people could use them.
“Here, the guns fire iron bullets, right?”
“I saw one once. Looked like a chunk of metal with some spell etched into it.”
Gil sketched a rough teardrop shape in the air. The embedded magic determined which gun could accept which bullet.
Research into that magic had long since been abandoned. Magic born of dungeons could never be wielded by humans, nor could it be explained by human logic. That much was absolute.
“This one fires pure mana instead. Like this—”
“Hah?”
Without hesitation, Lizel aimed the barrel at his own head. Gil’s hand shot out on instinct, blocking the muzzle with his palm. The shot that struck him wasn’t the same force that had torn through the field mouse earlier—it was a burst of compressed air.
The wind flared outward, ruffling Lizel’s hair. Beneath the disarray, he was grinning.
“I see. I let it slide earlier, but it looks like you really can be surprised after all.”
“Idiot.”
With the same hand that had shielded him, Gil smacked Rizel on the head. As Lizel smoothed his hair back into place with his fingers, he met Gil’s gaze, still smiling.
He hadn’t expected to be protected so reflexively in that instant. The way Gil seemed to accept his own action so naturally told Lizel everything he needed to know about yesterday’s influence.
‘I guess interrupting paid off after all.’
It was a good sign, Lizel thought. In truth, he hadn’t needed to interfere to drive that troublesome man away.
But if he wanted to ensure Gil stayed by his side, the quickest way was to keep things interesting. To keep him from growing bored. For now, it was the most effective method.
Gil probably suspected as much, but Lizel didn’t care. Their interests aligned; that was all that mattered.
He had no intention of letting go of someone this capable. For one born to rule, that was only natural. Lizel shared that same instinct.
“You’ve got a nasty look on your face, lord noble.”
“Don’t point it out. Just pretend you didn’t see.”
Gil’s grin was feral. Lizel answered it with a placid smile of his own. He didn’t bother denying it—he wasn’t even trying to hide it. Few people ever noticed anyway.
“Alright, back to the point.”
He traced a line in the air with his finger, gathering his thoughts.
“I said it fires mana. That means I have to feed it mana first.”
The rifle swiveled, exposing the rear. Its design was identical to the ones Gil knew, complete with the revolving chamber that would normally house bullets.
Six slots. Ordinarily, iron rounds would be loaded there. In Lizel’s rifle, all six were filled—but the bullets inside were crystalline, clear as glass.
“Watch this. Once I infuse a round...”
He tapped one with his finger. The transparent shell flushed pale green.
Another tap—the next one turned red. A third, and it glowed blue.
“Elemental colors. And the effects?”
“The green one I fired earlier was wind. Boosts speed and range, lets it pierce through targets. It’s the one I find easiest to use.”
He pointed at the distant mouse corpse. Neither of them had moved closer, wary of drawing other monsters, but even from here the neat hole through its skull was plain to see.
“Fire makes the spot it hits explode. Water freezes things solid. Earth... messes with the ground somehow.”
“What?”
“That one’s the oddball. Even I can’t predict it. Sometimes it collapses into a pit, sometimes the ground swells up...”
Lizel scratched his cheek with a sheepish smile. The thing was, even in his world guns were still just dungeon byproducts. You didn’t get to choose the perfect item. Which was why he almost never bothered with earth rounds.
‘Even so,’ Gil thought, ‘there is no way this thing came without a price.’ Sure, Lizel floated it to soften the recoil, but if it were that simple the gun’s reputation wouldn’t be so low.
“So, only three people could ever use it, huh... that means the requirements are nasty.”
“Correct. Normally, these guns are just like the ones you described—they only work with whatever charge they’re found with.”
“You mean the mana inside? Then replenishing it’s the bottleneck.”
“Exactly. And unlike magic tools, you can’t recharge them. No channeling mana into it, no absorbing it from the surroundings.”
Magic tools could either be filled directly by the user or siphon ambient mana on their own. But every rifle bullet ever discovered came pre-filled, six shots at most.
Use them up and that was it—disposable. Coupled with the punishing recoil, the weapons had always been written off as impractical. Until, that is, Lizel’s former student stumbled across a loophole.
“You transfer mana directly into the bullets with teleportation sorcery.”
“Can’t channel it in, but you can manifest it there. Clever trick.”
“My thoughts exactly. And if it had blown up in his face, what then?”
These were dungeon treasures—tampering with them was just as likely to be fatal as rewarding.
Lizel had been furious at the time. Only luck had kept his reckless pupil alive.
“And the reason only three of us could ever use it is simple: teleportation sorcery is a royal family inheritance.”
“...Hold on. You—”
“No, I’m barely related. A few generations back, a royal daughter married into my family. That’s all.”
In Lizel’s homeland, kings and queens weren’t chosen by election or succession disputes, but by bloodline. Specifically, the bloodline that could wield teleportation sorcery. A tradition stretching back thousands of years, a source of national pride.
Which was why royal daughters were sometimes married into trusted noble houses—to preserve the line. Lizel’s ancestors had simply been one of those houses.
“The child from that marriage wasn’t anything special—there was already a crown prince, so he lived quietly as a duke. From the next generation on the blood only thinned. My parents couldn’t use teleportation at all... I suppose I got it as a throwback.”
“And you expect me to believe that didn’t drag you into politics?”
“It didn’t. My teleportation’s weak. Bare minimum. And besides—the current king is hailed as the strongest teleportation magic user in history.”
Lizel spoke with pride, declaring him to be an absolute existence.
It was likely because he had once been his student. After all, Lizel had never sought the position in the first place; he had simply been entrusted with the role of tutor by those around him. Because of that, suspicions that he might try to usurp the throne had never taken root. Lizel himself had also been careful to behave in ways that would never invite such doubts.
It was also true that Lizel’s teleportation sorcery was limited at best. All he could manage was transferring his own mana into a gun to load it. A true teleportation sorcery, in contrast, could relocate physical matter itself.
Most of the time, Lizel’s teleportation sorcery was useless, with no obvious applications. But to him, the mere fact that it allowed him to wield a rifle was more than enough—he was perfectly satisfied with that.
“Well, even so the recoil’s too much. Which is why I fire without touching it.”
“That floating trick? More teleportation?”
“No, not at all. Haven’t you seen mages who can steer fireballs mid-flight? Same principle.”
Hearing that, he found it convincing. Normally, fireballs flew straight at their target, but skilled mages could apply advanced techniques to give them tracking capabilities.
It was extremely difficult and demanded intense concentration, and even Gil knew only a handful of people capable of it. Yet Lizel seemed to be manipulating the rifle on that very principle.
Incidentally, Gil had never seen anyone pull it off while carrying on a conversation.
“The current king? He doesn’t even flinch at the recoil—he can dual-wield them with ease.”
“A monster, then.”
“That’s exactly what his enemies used to call him.”
Lizel chuckled warmly as he lowered the hand he had raised to control the gun.
The rifle, which had been floating in midair, vanished just like that. All he added was, that method’s a trade secret.
The secret was tied to his original world, so even if it spread here, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Still, Lizel thought otherwise: as long as he himself existed in this world, there was no guarantee that its inhabitants would never set foot in the other. It was unlikely—almost impossible—but as long as the chance wasn’t zero, Lizel factored it in.
“How do I look as an adventurer? Hopefully not a liability.”
“Doubt you’ll be a problem,” Gil muttered—
—then suddenly grabbed Lizel by the chest and yanked him forward. Lizel braced his legs in reflex, but resistance was useless; he stumbled straight into Gil’s grip.
Gil supported him with the same hand that had grabbed his clothes, and without hesitation Lizel clung to that steadying arm, slowly adjusting his posture. Instead of scolding Gil, Lizel simply smiled and straightened the wrinkles in his clothes.
“As you guessed, I’m poor at close combat.”
“Figured.”
When Lizel had spent that utterly sedentary week buried in books, Gil had been convinced. Someone who could remain that still for so long clearly wasn’t in the habit of moving his body much. His physical ability, Gil concluded, was likely no better than that of an average adult man.
Lizel himself had no expectations of his own physical prowess. It wasn’t that he was bad at exercise, but when it came to combat maneuvers, he had absolutely no confidence.
Contrary to popular belief, nobles were busy. There was always paperwork to be done at a desk, but hardly ever time to build muscle.
“With that weapon, you could at least handle close range. What’s the range?”
“If it’s wind-element rounds, anywhere from point-blank up to two hundred meters. If accuracy didn’t matter, I could stretch it to three hundred at the edge of my range.”
“If you’re that far out, I can’t protect you. Better to stay mid-range. What about the firing delay?”
“Almost none. I can rapid-fire. Though, if my mana ran out, I’d be in trouble. Last time, I burned through about three hundred rounds before I emptied my reserves.”
Gil, needless to say, was a swordsman. By his own account he had no talent for magic, so he couldn’t use it at all. He was pure close-quarters.
As Lizel had marveled at during the recent skirmish, Gil didn’t look like a hulking brute at first glance, but his sheer strength was unmistakable. He clearly possessed mana, but couldn’t—or wouldn’t—use it. Lizel tilted his head at that but didn’t ask.
Between close range and mid-to-long range, they made for a well-balanced pair.
Gil, for his part, had no intention of getting directly involved in this request, and he knew full well that Lizel felt the same. If asked, he would answer, and if a dangerous monster appeared that couldn’t be left unchecked, he would lend a hand. But that kind of danger was unlikely to arise here.
Still, with Lizel’s weakness in close quarters, there was no advantage to him working alone. If Gil was going to be necessary as the vanguard anyway, then there was one thing he had to confirm.
“Hey, three of ’em.”
“What? Oh.”
Without even looking at the conjured gun that appeared when he raised his hand in a casual greeting-like gesture, Lizel pointed toward the field mice. Bang! A sharp report rang out, and one mouse stiffened before toppling into the grass.
Two more shots followed in quick succession, felling another pair of mice who had been locked in a territorial squabble farther out.
“...At least I don’t have to worry about you shooting me in the back.”
“How rude.”
If a bullet hit him while he was engaging a monster head-on, that would be the end of it. Lizel had said accuracy only grew shaky past two hundred meters, which meant within two hundred he could reliably land his shots.
Satisfied, Gil resumed walking. Six more to go. They would be back at the guild by noon without any trouble.
“By the way,” Lizel said idly, as his gaze wandered across the scenery—not out of caution, but as though he were sightseeing.
“Why are you still ranked B, Gil?”
“Huh?”
“You could clearly reach higher. Even that fellow the other day was B rank, wasn’t he?”
The man who had picked a fight with them yesterday belonged to a six-man party, just barely strong enough to scrape into B-rank. Lizel had remarked, “even that fellow,” but in truth, simply forming a party didn’t mean one could so easily rise to B-rank.
That comment, aimed at someone with at least a fair amount of skill, was merciless—though Rizel himself was completely unaware of it. Of course, he knew that only a handful of people present had actually been able to follow the exchange between the man and Gil. But what mattered to Lizel wasn’t where someone ranked among a group; it was whether they had reliably cleared a certain standard.
“Well, I’m solo. That’s about it.”
“What’s the real reason?”
Lizel cut off Gil’s words without hesitation. For once, it was Lizel pressing the issue, and Gil frowned in clear displeasure, his glare flicking down at the faintly amused smile below. Naturally, it had no effect.
No matter what sort of face he made, Lizel was certain. Having been someone who was constantly guarded by escorts, he had spent his days surrounded by the strong, observing them.
On top of that, his eye for people was extraordinary, even among nobles. He could gauge someone’s ability at a glance, even on a first meeting. And it was with that confidence that Lizel had judged Gil to be an overwhelming powerhouse.
“The real reason?”
Those eyes that seemed to see through everything made him avert his gaze, as if he already had been seen through. With a resigned sigh, Gil finally spoke.
“...Sometimes special requests come in for adventurers ranked A or higher.”
“They’re usually from the guild’s esteemed clients—nobles or wealthy merchants. That’s why becoming A-rank or higher requires not only ability, but also proper manners when dealing with the high and mighty.”
Recalling the guild regulations, Lizel said this. As an aside, the etiquette lessons required for promotion to A-rank or higher were actually provided through guild training.
“And then?” Lizel urged him on with a glance. Gil, whose steps had unconsciously halted, started walking again.
“Things like manners and all that are just a hassle. Not the kind of people I care to deal with anyway.”
“Hmm.”
Lizel thought he wasn’t lying. But he also wasn’t telling the whole truth.
He wasn’t so childish as to claim that someone with secrets couldn’t be trusted, but if there was a chance to know, he wanted to. Precisely because he could make some guesses, that desire only grew stronger.
He could have pried the truth out of him here and now, but Lizel didn’t. Sooner or later, the man would speak of it himself, and Lizel decided to simply wait for that moment—while following the back before him.
“Hey, one on the right, another just barely in range on the left.”
“Got it.”
That day, Lizel safely defeated ten field mice and, for some reason, once again, it was Studd who received his report for the completion of the request at the reception desk, before heading home.
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