Chapter 11
Rona Prianian
The Sleeping Giant Inn was located on the way to the Mercenary Guild.
It was a two-story brick building with no windows on the first floor but windows on the second. What was unusual was that the first floor was slightly taller than most buildings.
I had passed by this place countless times in the past five years, but this was my first time entering.
Ignoring the lingering thought, I pushed open the thick wooden door. A blast of warm air gently slapped my face.
Melting in that illicit warmth, I decided to allow myself a moment to indulge in a bit of romance.
“Ahh, that’s nice.”
“So, about today’s job…”
The innkeeper’s greeting cut through the murmurs of the patrons.
“Welcome.”
The innkeeper’s customary greeting was like a complimentary appetizer served after being seated. I used to do the same when I was running my business.
But every line changes depending on the atmosphere.
“You can sit anywhere, but order first.”
Like right now.
It was morning outside, but still night inside the door, as if I had entered a different world. The voice I heard in this strange atmosphere gave me a novel feeling, like I had finally arrived in a truly different world.
The fireplace in the center of the first floor, resembling a bonfire, burned quietly, radiating a sleep-inducing warmth and a thirst-inducing dryness.
It was practically a staff member, diligently fulfilling its role as a light source.
The soft, yellow light from the gently flickering flames reached the tables and the wooden floor, worn smooth by countless hands and feet, reflecting off their polished surfaces and scattering throughout the space.
But the high ceiling, barely touched by the light, remained dark, revealing the reason for the tall first floor.
And the cauldron hanging over the fireplace asserted its presence with a quiet bubbling, even amidst the murmuring conversations.
Bubbles, containing time unknown, occasionally burst, releasing an aroma of hunger and savory flavors into the air, a common trait of all stews and braises.
A gulp, an involuntary swallow of saliva, a sprinkle of imagination stirred by the warmth, and a spoonful of shimmering broth, blown on with a cheerful smile from the person beside you.
If you witnessed all this, it was already too late.
You were already caught in their sales tactic.
“Ah, I can’t resist. Miss, one bowl here!”
“Two more bowls over here!”
“Yes! Coming right up!!”
The waitress’s ladle, standing next to the cauldron, moved tirelessly, and the orders for additional bowls outnumbered the scoops.
They say a true hangover stew doesn’t cure a hangover but encourages another drink.
Seeing people drinking from early morning, their faces flushed, with the stew as their appetizer, this place must be the hangover cure hotspot of Hebrides.
I should try a bowl here later.
I stood by the door for a while, absentmindedly observing the inn.
Just as I started noticing the food scraps and grime hidden in the shadows under the chairs, the innkeeper, sporting a bushy beard, shouted again.
Hey, you there, first orders are taken over here!
I turned my head and saw a man pointing at me, his face showing signs of growing irritation.
He must have thought I was a newcomer, confused about where to order, as I stood there for a while, looking around.
“Ah.”
Even I would have been annoyed. It happens.
I made my way through the tables and people to the counter.
The innkeeper, looking weary from the never-ending customer service, asked curtly,
“Food, bath, or room?”
I heard a familiar line, something I had heard many times before, but I shook my head and said,
“I’m here to see someone.”
His expression soured slightly. I knew the reason. It was because I wasn’t a paying customer.
“Ah, you’re here to see the guest in room 201, I see.”
Squeak.
The scruffy-looking innkeeper said while wiping a wooden pint glass with a cloth.
‘Again?’
“Yes. I was wondering if she had come down or was here.”
“She hasn’t come down yet. Go up the stairs and it’s the room at the very end.”
He pointed at the stairs with his finger and went back to meticulously cleaning the glass.
“Thank you. Good business to you.”
“Thanks. And watch out for the crossbow.”
I brushed off the innkeeper’s cryptic remark and climbed the stairs.
Creak, creak.
The wood creaked, perhaps from age. But it wasn’t rotten enough for my foot to fall through.
The second-floor hallway resembled a motel corridor.
It was just wide enough for two people to pass each other, with candles on the walls serving as the only source of light.
Whether for air purification or aesthetics, large pots with plants resembling snake plants were placed along the walls, obscuring the view.
They made the already narrow hallway even more inconvenient, so perhaps Hwaruan’s warning about the flowerpots meant not to break them while passing by.
‘But why did he tell me to watch out for the crossbow?’
As I carefully navigated my way past the flowerpots, which were almost as tall as my lower body, their presence gave me an unexplainable sense of unease.
For some reason.
I finally arrived in front of room 201 at the end of the hallway, but there was no sign of anyone inside.
Knock, knock.
I knocked, but there was no answer. Was she sleeping?
“Ms. Prianian? Are you there?”
Strange. He clearly said she hadn’t come down.
As I was about to wait,
A chill ran down my neck, and a single thought flashed through my mind.
‘Shit, was this what he meant by watching out for the crossbow and the flowerpots?’
My mind went blank for a moment, like when I opened the first page of the Korean language section on the college entrance exam, but my instinctual “sense” kicked in immediately.
―The distance from here to the stairs at the end of the hallway is about 20 meters.
The floor is made of thick wood, and the door is impenetrable in this situation.
―Loaded crossbow, behind me, diagonally to the right. Between the second and third largest flowerpots from the inside.
It was an awkward distance.
Too far to roll behind the nearest flowerpot, too close to charge at the attacker.
Creak.
Someone, aiming a crossbow, stepped on the wooden floor. It was a deliberate sound.
But it was okay.
If they wanted to kill me, they would have already shot, and Hwaruan would have been informed.
So I maintained my friendly smile towards the door and relaxed.
“Ms. Prianian, nice to meet you. I’m from the Hwaruan mercenary group.”
There was no answer. No bolt flew towards me either.
“If you don’t enjoy conversing while staring at my back, I’ll turn around. I don’t have the hobby of talking to doors.”
A moment later, I heard the sound of a crossbow being unloaded. I was right.
I slowly turned around.
“Priani-“
I gasped.
Literally.
Should I call her Ms. Prianian or Miss Prianian?
Anyway, the lovely girl, who was playing pranks from behind people, stood before me with a smile. I couldn’t tell if she was a young lady or a goddess.
Her height, reaching my chest, and her barely noticeable breasts, combined with her youthful face, which made her look barely twenty years old, created a criminally adorable combination.
Her pale, almost translucent skin highlighted her red lips and eyes that looked like a piece of the blue sky had been embedded in them.
Even I, who had met all sorts of people in my life, wouldn’t dare touch her. Miss Prianian’s beauty was artistic.
Her long, straight hair, a shade of red that contrasted with her eyes, reached her waist and shimmered in the candlelight. Was this what they called ginger hair?
This doll-like girl, who looked like she came straight from Ireland, an island north of Britannian, was holding an unloaded crossbow and a bolt in her hands, clasped behind her back.
Miss Prianian opened her mouth as if to speak. Her white teeth peeked out.
And as her red lips moved, a faint fragrance wafted towards me.
How could a person not even have bad breath?
And the words that came out of her dainty mouth were enough to summon the inner Jihouse.
“Sorry about that. Even though I’ve already joined a mercenary group, there are a lot of people who try to recruit me.”
Miss Prianian smiled a little wider after finishing her sentence. She meant for me to let it slide.
Of course, I wasn’t the type to say, “Yes, I understand. It must have been tough for you.”
No, if they were really here to recruit her, she would have shot them in the head with a crossbow?
Is that the Irish way of dealing with door-to-door salespeople?
So, with gratitude for her deadly charm, I responded to her kindness with kindness.
“I see that it’s customary in Ireland to engage in heartfelt conversations while aiming a crossbow at someone’s back. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The smile on her face faltered slightly.
“You’re quite sarcastic.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but I’m still far from being as good as someone who loads a crossbow and aims it at a person.”
“……”
Miss Prianian looked speechless. Well, who told her to play with a crossbow?
I wanted to tease her further, but I was a mature member of society in my 30s, so I decided to stop there.
“I have to go back to the mercenary group quickly, so a formal introduction is out of the question. Let’s keep it brief.”
I put on a professional smile and extended my hand for a conciliatory handshake.
“I’m Golpion Jihouse, a mercenary who became F-rank a week ago.”
Her expression froze again for a moment. It couldn’t be because I was F-rank, could it?
Then, she smiled softly, unclasped her hands from behind her back, and shook my hand. Her delicate hand, uncharacteristic of a mercenary, was incredibly soft and warm.
“Then let me introduce myself properly, since I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m Rona Prianian, a C-rank Double Mercenary.”
“…Excuse me?”
Our expressions reversed.
And the first thing that came to mind was a chorus of question marks echoing in my head.
‘What the hell, C-rank and a Double Mercenary?’
Of course, rank wasn’t a measure of strength.
I was just average for my rank, but the world was vast and full of crazy people.
Having encountered countless opponents who defied their ranks in the past five years, I never let my guard down based on rank alone and didn’t get easily intimidated unless the opponent was truly formidable.
But becoming a Double Mercenary was by no means, by no means an easy feat.
Even Hwaruan was surprised when he said I had the potential to become a Double Mercenary within three years.
Of course, he was probably just bluffing.
To become a Double Mercenary in the Mercenary Guild, the first, most orthodox method was to steadily prove your skills through consistent mission success.
Most Double Mercenaries earned their title this way.
Therefore, it was safe to assume that most Double Mercenaries were A or B-rank veterans who had been in the business for a long time, building up their reputation and becoming masters of combat.
And the second method was to achieve overwhelming, unparalleled feats in a short period, establishing your fame and proving your skills.
Of course, even in the deceitful Mercenary Guild, this method of awarding the title was only granted after careful consideration.
They were the ones who didn’t care about maintaining the wooden floor of the largest Mercenary Guild branch in northern Britannian, but meticulously guarded their brand value.
And since Miss Prianian’s mercenary rank was C, the reason she became a Double Mercenary wasn’t the former but the latter.
This was absurd because there were only two Double Mercenaries in our entire mercenary group.
One was Hwaruan, the captain of our group and my master, and the other was Guildford, who, in a drunken stupor, had once sliced through five mercenaries with a single swing of his halberd in the middle of a battlefield.
‘And their mercenary ranks were A for Hwaruan and B for Guildford.’
Of course, Guildford had his own story, but that was irrelevant here.
Moreover, because of the feats of those two, which I had witnessed both directly and indirectly over the past five years, the title of Double Mercenary in my mind was a glorious one reserved for true human weapons of B-rank or higher.
But now someone had appeared who defied that common sense.
Right here in front of me.
“What are you doing, Mr. Jihouse, who became an F-rank mercenary a week ago? Didn’t you say Mr. Gruncian was waiting?”
She asked with a smile. An incredibly charming smile.
So I turned my head and pointed at the inn door.
“…Why don’t you pack your things, C-rank Double Mercenary? And change your clothes.”
Even if Double Mercenaries were human weapons, they were still human. They wouldn’t go out to shoot people in pink pajamas, would they?