Chapter 9 - Utterly Embarrassing
By midday, word had already spread among the adventurers that Ain and his party had finally conquered the dungeon.
They had accomplished something impossible with sheer adventuring skill alone, and so countless speculations swirled around them.
For a while, they would likely be hounded, flattered, and fussed over, but Ain and his team ignored it all, basking in their triumph.
After all, they had come away with the treasure discovered in the deepest chamber of the dungeon: one thousand gold coins. Who wouldn’t be overjoyed?
Granted, the coins hadn’t been neatly stored in a chest but instead scattered across the floor of a small room like loose change, which apparently dampened their excitement somewhat.
Incidentally, the night before, they had already paid a visit to Lizel and handed over the promised five hundred coins.
Lizel, though a little rude in his own mind, couldn’t help being surprised that they delivered the full half without trying to cut corners.
Still, from Ain’s party's perspective, there was no way they could cheat Lizel and Gil and expect to walk away unscathed—so it was only natural.
They had showered Lizel with almost embarrassingly exaggerated words of gratitude and then left in high spirits to celebrate their conquest.
“Each of them got a hundred and twenty-five coins? Is that considered a lot?”
“If they’re planning to gear up properly, half of it will vanish in no time. And if they’re aiming for a higher rank? Obviously, it won’t be nearly enough.”
Later that evening, Lizel and Gil found themselves at the very same bar they had first visited together.
Gil leaned against the counter and ordered a drink. Lizel hesitated for a moment, but before he could decide, the bartender placed the same fruit water as before in front of him.
Sipping while eyeing the rows of bottles behind the counter with mild curiosity, Lizel noticed the flavor was less sweet than last time—more to his liking.
“It’s delicious.”
“...”
Lizel smiled, and the bartender gave him a brief glance and a silent nod.
The man was never talkative. He wasn’t friendly, but his skill kept customers coming without fail.
Lizel set down his glass quietly and reached into the pouch at his back.
He placed a jet-black cloth bag embroidered with gold thread onto the counter, the coins within clinking softly.
It landed between him and Gil, but Gil didn’t spare it a glance. Elbow propped against the counter, he looked only at Lizel.
The gentle face that so often wore a faint smile was now devoid of it.
Those honey-sweet eyes—radiant with purity, radiating kindness regardless of his mood—fixed unwaveringly on Gil.
Looking at him like this, Gil suddenly understood why the younger ones were so drawn to him. Who wouldn’t cling to someone who looked at them with that kind of warmth?
“Thank you for this past month.”
Yes—today marked exactly one month since Lizel and Gil had met.
Which meant that the contract Lizel had first suggested was now coming to an end.
“You didn’t manage to spend all your money, did you?”
“You went and raked in a ridiculous amount right at the last moment...”
Lizel teased him with a smile, while Gil clicked his tongue and scowled.
He hadn’t really been frustrated—it had been a bluff in the first place, since he never knew how much Lizel truly had.
This was merely his protest against Lizel’s lighthearted teasing.
There was no mistaking the bag was full of gold.
It was clearly far too much for a month’s worth of “care.”
Lizel, who had spent the month learning the going rates, couldn’t possibly have been mistaken.
And yet Gil left it sitting on the counter, untouched, as he knocked back his drink.
“That’s quite a sum.”
“It’s my way of saying thanks. And also... a reservation.”
“Reservation?”
The phrasing—so final, as if Lizel intended to walk away now that their business was done—made Gil’s expression openly sour.
Gil already knew that Lizel wanted to keep him close.
And Gil himself had thought—no, assumed—that as long as Lizel remained in this world, they would stay together.
“If something comes up again... will you lend me your hand?”
A sharp crack split the silence. The glass in Gil’s hand had fractured.
The following day, a startling piece of news raced through the adventuring community.
Hot on the heels of the previous day’s headlines, the guild was abuzz, adventurers crowding together in restless conversation.
Gil the Lone Blade had finally joined a party. The notion that a single adventurer forming a party could stir up such a commotion was unprecedented.
Those who only knew Gil scoffed and dismissed it outright. Those who knew both Gil and Lizel doubted, yet begrudgingly accepted. And those were well acquainted with the pair only tilted their heads, muttering, “Wait, weren’t they already together?”
Only one man among their close circle felt otherwise—Studd. Now, standing face-to-face with the very subject of the rumors, he made no attempt to hide his displeasure.
Gil, receiving that flat, openly displeased gaze, only gave a derisive snort and looked down at him with leisurely arrogance.
“Don’t pout like some brat just because someone stole the person you’re attached to.”
“Who exactly is attached to whom, now?”
“You seriously don’t realize...?”
Studd looked away as he completed the paperwork for a finished commission, his eyes briefly catching on Gil—who now seemed oddly unburdened.
Before meeting Lizel, Gil had been the very embodiment of his title, Lone Blade—a man like a naked blade.
He had never spoken with Studd beyond necessary formalities. Not once had he ever initiated conversation.
His expression had always been one of perpetual irritation, and he never spent time with anyone. On the rare occasions he was seen walking with another, it was usually at night, after being propositioned by some woman.
Studd had never disliked him for that—Gil wasn’t one for idle chatter, and neither was he. But he hadn’t liked him either.
And yet, look at him now.
The man who now allowed himself to wear an exasperated expression in front of Lizel—was he really the same person?
He hadn’t softened, nor grown indulgent. Anyone who picked a fight with him would still be met with the sharp killing intent of a honed blade.
Perhaps it was better described as composure, a presence that, strangely, seemed to elevate him even further as an adventurer.
But if Studd had to choose between liking or disliking it... he would say he disliked it.
“...Just because you’re not his guard anymore, don’t go letting him get hurt.”
“And who the hell do you think you’re saying that to?”
Studd had his opinions, but in the end, that was the only thing he cared about.
Whether Gil had changed or not was irrelevant. As long as Lizel stayed safe, that was enough.
For him not to realize that this was attachment—well, no wonder Gil found it exasperating.
While Lizel himself was quietly conflicted—we’re supposed to be equals in this party, aren’t we?—the paperwork was completed.
Just as Lizel reached out to take back his guild card, Studd caught him by the sleeve.
“Then what’s this bruise on his wrist, huh? You talk big for a man who’s all talk.”
With a slight tug, he pulled the fabric back. A deep purple bruise encircled Lizel’s wrist, like the imprint of a hand gripping too tightly.
The mark stood out starkly against Lizel’s pale skin—a rarity among adventurers.
When Studd released him, Lizel only laughed as though amused, smoothing his sleeve back into place.
“Gil begged me not to leave him. Said it in tears.”
“As if.”
The denial came with a sharp click of the tongue, Gil’s scowl making it abundantly clear he had indeed been the one who left the mark.
And the way he turned his eyes aside from Studd’s reproachful stare only confirmed that he felt at least a little guilty about it.
Studd wondered what had really happened, but decided against pressing further. He trusted—grudgingly—that Gil wouldn’t hurt Lizel again.
He was never one to meddle in other people’s affairs anyway.
The truth of what happened last night was known only to two men and the master of a bar.
The taciturn bartender would never breathe a word.
And Gil himself wanted nothing more than to forget it. He prayed Lizel would, too. The truth would never see the light of day.
After Lizel tucked his guild card neatly away, Studd handed him a sealed envelope.
“This was mixed in with the guildmaster’s mail this morning. I took the liberty of checking, but it seems to be addressed to you two.”
“I don’t recall expecting anything... it’s for me?”
The envelope bore no name, but it was heavy, made of fine, expensive paper.
When Lizel accepted it and flipped it over, he noticed bold letters scrawled in the lower right corner: Mr. Bear.
No need to think twice—it was from Viscount Ray.
“What did the guildmaster say about it?”
“Who knows? I didn’t ask. I just brought it along on my own. It won’t be a problem.”
Sorting through the morning letters as usual, Studd had found one that all but screamed of noble origin. Judging by the sender’s wording, it was clearly meant for Lizel, so he had opened it, confirmed the contents, and brought it here without permission.
‘Is that really okay?’ Lizel wondered, glancing at the guild staff sitting beside him. The man gave a nod.
It wasn’t that Studd made a habit of acting personally like this—but efficiency often won out over formality with him.
“You refused noble interference when I registered with the guild. Isn’t this crossing a line?”
“It only means we won’t accept you register as a noble. But if a noble takes on the role of a client, the guild couldn’t be happier.”
Rejecting noble interference entirely would only create enemies.
Better, then, to turn them into allies—that was the guild’s policy.
And unless the guild itself expressly forbade contact, there was no real reason to reject a noble’s letter.
‘Not that I plan to refuse anyway,’ Lizel thought as he drew the letter from the unsealed envelope.
“Would you mind reading it here?”
Studd’s words gave him pause. Lizel looked around, only to catch the sight of every curious gaze scattering at once.
He let out a wry smile.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed, but having lived his life under the eyes of nobles, he had grown indifferent to being stared at.
Even now, when such attention could easily complicate things, his habit of brushing it off often landed him in trouble.
If it were truly something he didn’t want known, he could be discreet—but this? This he let slide.
“Well, no one will know the sender or the contents anyway.”
“They don’t need to. They’ll guess...”
Already, people were talking about the fact that he and Gil had formed a party. To receive such a distinguished-looking envelope from a guild staffer on top of that—it would spark even more speculation.
For a fledgling adventurer like Lizel, it was far too conspicuous.
Rumors about his background were already running rampant, and now there would only be more.
Lizel, unconcerned, tucked his hair behind one ear and read the letter with poised elegance.
“You really are unflappable, aren’t you?”
“Mm?”
Lizel gave Gil a vague smile at his exasperated tone, then finished reading.
“He’s a noble, but surprisingly light on his feet.”
“Hah?”
“Here.”
He handed the letter over. Gil’s gaze swept the page.
The writing was as bold and straightforward as the viscount himself, spilling energetically across the page.
Though couched in the polite, roundabout phrasing typical of the nobility—much to Gil’s annoyance—the meaning was simple enough:
He wanted to show off his collection. He had a favor to ask. And he wanted them to come. That was all.
“We going?”
“Hard to say. I have the feeling he wouldn’t hold it against us if we declined.”
“You don’t wanna go, then?”
“I’m just saying it’s an option. This is our party now, so I’d like to hear your opinion, too.”
“You’re the leader, aren’t you?”
Yes, Lizel was the representative of their party.
Normally, the highest-ranked member would take on the role of leader—it was adventurer common sense.
Lizel himself had assumed Gil would be the one. But the man flatly refused.
According to Gil, his reasoning had been simple: “You, taking orders from me? Don’t make me laugh.” He’d said it with such a matter-of-fact look that Lizel hadn’t thought to press the issue.
And so it came to pass that the leader of the E-rank party was Lizel.
“If you don’t want to, we’ll decline. You’ve always looked like you couldn’t stand dealing with nobles.”
“If it’s necessary, I don’t mind.”
Lizel studied Gil closely.
Had those words been a lie, Lizel would have had no trouble refusing outright. But it didn’t seem that way.
‘So it’s not that he hates nobles altogether... it’s just that there’s a particular kind he can’t stomach.’
Lizel was convinced Gil had—or once had—ties to nobility.
Most likely knights, or nobles with ties to them. Just speculation, but he doubted he was far off.
Gil clearly had no desire to speak of it, and Lizel had no intention of forcing the matter. But if the day came when it became necessary, he wouldn’t hesitate to ask.
“Well then, since we’ve been invited, let’s accept.”
“Okay.”
“Studd, you know where the viscount’s estate is?”
Studd confirmed what Lizel expected—it was, of course, in the central district.
He had noticed on his very first day in this world: whether here or elsewhere, the most important institutions always seemed to cluster in the heart of the capital.
The nobles’ quarter lay close to the castle, the central city encircled neatly by a river.
Four great bridges spanned it at the cardinal points, each one guarded by watchful soldiers who kept an eye on all who passed, turning away those who looked suspicious.
That didn’t mean entry was limited to nobles.
Plenty of commoners worked there, and merchants came and went daily.
The outer circles of the central district bustled with life, so Lizel and Gil would have no trouble slipping in.
“It’s a bit of a walk, but once you reach the main bridge you can hire a carriage.”
“Adventurers can rent those?”
“Well, if you tried to use one without a reason, you’d raise suspicion. But with the viscount’s letter, you’ll be fine. Especially you.”
The great bridge carriages were large, luxurious conveyances meant for the wealthy who lived in the very heart of the city.
When leaving the central district, it was common practice to transfer to a smaller coach. Large carriages were seldom seen outside the inner circle.
So if mere adventurers tried to rent one to head inward, they’d almost certainly be stopped.
Normally, only S–A rank adventurers could so much as receive letters from nobles. For an E-rank adventurer to carry a viscount’s letter would be suspicious in the extreme.
But Studd thought otherwise.
Lizel, in particular, would need neither guild card nor letter. He could present himself as naturally as any noble and no guard would question it.
At worst, they would assume he was some young lord returning from an errand outside the walls.
“I’ll send word ahead from the guild. Visiting today won’t be a problem.”
“Then there’s no need to rush. Let’s enjoy a quiet lunch first.”
Later that afternoon, after their meal, they rode in a carriage that glided silently along smooth, paved roads. Lizel gazed out at the passing scenery.
The interior was so spacious that even with Gil sprawled opposite him, long legs stretched out, there was still plenty of room.
“I didn’t actually think we’d get waved through without a single question. But... I am dressed like an adventurer, aren’t I?”
“Not like your average one. Clothes like yours are finer than most noble garb.”
“Yours too, you know.”
Both of them wore outfits tailored from scratch, not the mass-produced garb common among adventurers.
Lizel had thought of his clothes as mage-like, but perhaps the craftsman had taken his noble bearing into account. That would explain the cut.
As for Gil, he suspected the difference came not from the clothes but from the man himself. But seeing Lizel’s faint unease—wondering if he looked “too little” like an adventurer—he kept the thought to himself.
Pointing out something Lizel couldn’t change would do nothing but trouble him.
“I wonder if I should roughen myself up a little.”
“Don’t.”
Gil cut off Lizel’s absurd little musing before it could take shape. Just then, the carriage gave a small jolt and rolled to a halt.
After a short pause, the driver opened the door and set down a small set of steps.
Watching Lizel sit there, unhurried and composed as he waited, reminded Gil yet again: he truly was a noble.
Gil stepped out first. Lizel followed, passing a silver coin to the driver before they turned to watch the carriage depart.
Then, with a calm air, Lizel let his gaze wander over their surroundings.
“You must be Sir Lizel and Sir Gil.”
Standing in the center of the open gates was an elderly man, posture perfectly straight.
Judging from his attire, he could only be the butler. With an elegant bow and a mild smile, he regarded them.
“I serve as the head butler of this household. If you would, please follow me.”
They did as they were told, stepping into the grand entrance.
The vast hall that greeted them was lined with paintings of every size, an overwhelming display.
Lizel took them in one by one, tilting his head inwardly.
The subject matter wasn’t what one would expect of noble art.
Adventurers striking down monsters—or being struck down by them. Dungeon landscapes. Even simple depictions of dungeon gates.
“Gil, are these—”
“You’ve already noticed? Yes, yes! These too are part of my proud collection of dungeon treasures!”
Viscount Ray burst onto the scene with all the subtlety of a stage effect, though no crash of sound actually accompanied his arrival.
He spread his arms wide, striding forward as if he were the star of a play.
“I’m so glad you came! Welcome!”
“Thank you very much for—”
“No need for all that! I’ve already decided—I shall regard you as my dear friends! Please, the both of you, treat me as you would a companion!”
Ray’s brisk approach cut off Lizel’s formal greeting.
‘Calling adventurers his friends?’ Lizel thought, studying the man who stopped directly in front of him.
It wasn’t just his demeanor—his sense of personal space was simply nonexistent.
Lizel had to take a step back from that beaming golden hair and dazzling smile, only to have Ray close the gap again.
When someone of higher standing told you to “relax,” the words carried two possible meanings.
Either they truly wished it... or they were testing how far you would go, measuring the respect you showed.
If one grew overly casual too quickly, it meant they had never seen the noble as their better in the first place.
For a moment, Lizel wondered if Ray’s words carried such intent—but no, that didn’t seem to be the case.
He glanced sidelong at the silent Gil, then returned his eyes to Ray.
“Then, as you wish.”
“Too stiff!”
“All right, I’ll take you at your word.”
“And you as well!”
“...Tch. Noisy bastard.”
The demand for closeness, rather than a test, made Ray’s intentions clear.
Satisfied, he nodded, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Lizel could only smile wryly.
“Come, allow me to show you around.”
“Oh—before that.”
Ray had just turned on his heel when Lizel stopped him, rummaging through his pouch.
Finding what he sought, he offered it out. He had half a mind to pass it through the butler, but the man had vanished at some point.
What Lizel handed over was a striped package of white and orange, its mouth tied with a lavish ribbon. Attached to it was, as before, an equally ornate envelope.
One glance was enough to tell it was a gift. Ray’s eyes lit up as he accepted it.
“A small token.”
“～～～Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous! You are magnificent!”
Ray carefully undid the wrapping, and when the gift inside revealed itself, his excitement shot through the roof.
Already radiant, his presence seemed to blaze even brighter as he threw his arms wide and surged toward Lizel.
It looked for all the world as though Lizel was about to be swept into a crushing embrace—until Gil yanked him back by the arm, sparing him from the suffocating fate.
Ray, oblivious to his failed hug, eagerly turned his attention back to the gift.
A teddy bear with gleaming yellow gemstones for eyes. The prize from Lizel’s second-ever treasure chest.
He’d thought to hand it over if he ever met Ray again, and today provided the perfect opportunity, so he’d wrapped it with care and brought it along.
When he’d first opened that chest, Gil had, for once, laid a consoling hand on his shoulder.
“Act your age, old man...”
“Now, now. Isn’t it nice seeing someone so happy?”
“Magnificent! This is the greatest joy of my life! Ah, what miracle have my eyes beheld?!”
‘When, exactly, would he calm down?’ Lizel wondered—only to see the butler reappear from nowhere, handling Ray’s outburst with a practiced ease that spoke of long, weary experience.
The teddy bear was passed into the butler’s care, destined no doubt to join its fellows in display.
Soon after, the two were shown into a reception room.
Not quite as grand as the entrance hall, but still adorned with paintings and filled with display cases of dungeon curiosities.
The paintings, Lizel noted, were once again dungeon scenes. And the figures depicted—unmistakably real adventurers.
“Are these... actual people?” Lizel asked.
“Exactly so!” Ray declared with relish.
Paintings could be found in any dungeon, though not commonly.
It was bulky, cumbersome, and not worth much, making it hardly a welcome prize for adventurers.
Gizel and Gil carried bags enchanted with spatial magic, but those were costly luxuries, and only a handful of adventurers could afford them.
Those without a means of carrying such things usually just left them behind in the dungeon.
The only time such a painting gained value was when the scene it depicted was something truly rare.
In fact, the subject of the paintings were almost always landscapes that had once actually existed within that dungeon.
Most were nothing but dreary corridors. But occasionally these paintings captured a dungeon boss, a mystical vista... or, most prized of all, the likeness of a famous adventurer.
And when an S-rank party or renowned figure was caught on canvas, the price skyrocketed.
“Then if there’s one of Gil, wouldn’t that fetch a high price?” Lizel asked.
“Dunno. Wouldn’t want to look at it anyway—”
“There is indeed one! Care to see it?”
“Don’t.”
Gil’s scowl deepened, but Lizel, intrigued, nodded.
With a gleeful grin, Ray snapped his fingers.
A servant soon arrived, carrying a cloth-draped frame. With a practiced flourish, the cloth was whisked away.
Gil turned his head in open disgust, refusing to look. Lizel and Ray, of course, examined it without hesitation.
Inside the meter-wide frame, Gil was captured mid-strike, eyes cold, blade carving through something colossal.
What, exactly, was lost to scale—but surely a dungeon boss.
“Ah, yes. That one soared in price—‘The Lone Blade’ and a boss together, quite the rarity. It even came from the lower levels, so the dungeon knew its value well.”
“How much did it fetch?”
“Eighty gold coins. I managed to acquire it through connections, thankfully. At auction, it might have gone for two hundred.”
“Popular, aren’t you, Gil?”
Lizel teased, shaking his companion lightly by the shoulder. Gil caught his hand, tossed it aside with irritation, and glared.
“So strong adventurers really are popular, then?”
“Strength matters, of course—but more than that, it’s about appearance. A painting must flatter its subject, after all. At auction, noble ladies would gladly drive the price to two hundred coins competing over such a face.”
“Appearance, huh...”
Lizel looked once more at the painting, then turned to study Gil’s face directly.
He had always thought it handsome enough, but now he understood. Without the perpetual furrow between his brows, Gil’s features were strikingly beautiful.
The painting captured that very expressionless face—long, sharp eyes, a straight nose, thin lips perfectly set in place. That languid, cutting gaze held a masculine allure.
Until now, Lizel had thought Gil’s rough air was all there was to him. But no doubt, many women would find that dangerous edge irresistible.
Perhaps sensing the weight of his stare, Gil—who had been steadfastly avoiding the painting—glanced at him.
He still wore that same scowl, but with a sigh of defeat, he lifted a hand and clamped it down over Lizel’s head, covering his eyes.
“Your staring’s annoying.”
“My apologies.”
“Enough of this. Put it away.”
Gil’s voice cut sharp, his eyes narrowing at Ray, who was clearly enjoying himself. The noble only laughed aloud, motioning for the painting to be removed.
Once the servants carried it off, Gil finally released Lizel.
Straightening his hair, Lizel cast a sidelong glance at the empty spot on the wall.
“I wonder if one day a painting of me will surface. I wouldn’t hate it as much as Gil, but... it would still be embarrassing.”
“If that happens, no matter the cost, I shall make it mine! You may rest easy!”
Rest easy? Hardly. Knowing Ray, the painting would be displayed for all to see.
If anything, Lizel wondered if it might be safer to stop delving into dungeons altogether.
For now, he could only pray no dungeon ever turned its gaze his way.
“By the way, what was the favor you wanted to ask?”
“Oh, yes—thank you for reminding me.”
Ray produced a letter, sealed with wax, and handed it over.
It was formally written, thin and unassuming, and gave Lizel no hint of its contents. He looked to Ray, searching.
“You’ll surely find yourself in Marcade sooner or later. If the need arises, use that.”
Ray’s lips curled into a smile.
Lizel remembered the innkeeper’s words after their first meeting—a handsome middle-aged man.
No doubt he had been very popular in his youth, Lizel thought, seeing that smile.
He glanced at the letter again, turning Ray’s words over in his mind.
‘If the need arises, use it.’ Which meant—
“…I doubt an adventurer like me will ever have such an opportunity.”
“I think otherwise.”
So that was what it meant after all. Lizel nodded faintly. Beside him, Gil’s eyes were narrowed, wary and suspicious.
And rightly so. This was only their second meeting. Such generosity had no clear reason behind it.
Gil, Lizel knew, had likely already read the man’s intentions. That was why he kept his guard up.
And yet Ray maintained his disarming warmth without falter. That, Lizel thought, was nobility in practice.
Pocketing the letter instead of returning it, he earned a satisfied smile from Ray, who rose to his feet.
“Now then—let us move on to the true purpose of today! Indulge yourselves, and enjoy my collection to your heart’s content!”
Clearly, this was the matter most dear to him. With shining enthusiasm, Ray strode ahead.
And so Lizel and Gil were shown the collection—thoroughly, exhaustively, and far more to Ray’s satisfaction than their own.
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