Chapter 10
Osian was sincere, but Ronan didn't see it that way.
‘A knight. It's certainly not a bad concept.’
Ronan tried to understand Osian.
He couldn't help but notice that he was carrying a sword that was out of date.
Once gunpowder was developed and guns and cannons came along, there were no more swordsmen in the world.
No. They existed, but they were few and far between.
No matter how hard you trained with your sword, you could still be killed by a bullet fired by someone who had never held a gun before.
Swinging a sword was a futile endeavor in a world where aiming was effortless, and bringing down an enemy was a snap of the fingers.
Nevertheless, calling oneself a knight was an act that could not be done without romance or conviction.'I suppose it's because he's a mutant.’
Mutants with enhanced physical abilities did not need to conceal their weapons.
Their superior physical abilities were their weapons.
What would be the point if you could see a flying bullet with your own eyes and cut it with a sword?
'So your specialty is swordsmanship. This will definitely work.'
Not a bad way to make a name for yourself as a swordsman.
The fixer industry is a world of pure meritocracy, where status doesn't matter.
The golden city of Tirna is a place where even a street beggar can make a billion dollars if given the chance.
As a result, the competition for fixers was fierce.
On the contrary, Osian's concept had the advantage of scarcity.
‘There are a lot of people who did it in the first place, but if their specialty is swordsmanship, they tend to be quiet.’
The advent of guns may have eliminated knights, but that didn't mean there weren't still people who used cold weapons.
Tirna was full of humans who preferred swords because they couldn't handle guns, or who modified cold weapons and combined them with guns to create bizarre weapons.
In that sense, the sight of Osian wearing armor and wielding an ordinary sword was rare in another sense.
"I see, then I'll list your specialty as swordsmanship."
Ronan said so, but also wrote down Body Enhancement Mutant.
"So, when do I start working?"
"That's up to you, Mr. Osian. You can tell me when you'd like to start taking orders, and I'll make arrangements accordingly."
"Freedom. I'm pretty comfortable with that."
"That's one of the great things about our industry, of course, provided you're good enough, but I think you're good enough that you'll be able to pick and choose when you want."
"You're too flattering."
Osian said grimly.
He couldn't help but think that Ronan had said it on purpose, to keep him afloat.
Ronan, who was actually sincere, assumed Osian was embarrassed and continued the conversation casually.
"So, when would you like to begin? You've only been in Tirna for a short time, so I don't think it would be a bad idea to wait two or three more days before deciding."
Osian shook his head.
"No. I'll do it right now."
"Hmm. Right now?"
Ronan repeated, intrigued by the unexpected answer.
"Yep. I don't know what I'd do with a day off anyway, not having a place to live."
"Well, our office doubles as a hostel, so you'll be comfortable for a few days."
"Well, I'd rather familiarize myself with the city as soon as possible than lie around. Besides, my hands are cramping up from all the warming up."
Osian muttered, clenching and unclenching his right hand.
It might seem like a strange thing to say at first glance, but he meant it.
‘Maybe it's my nature, but I feel like I'm itching to wield a sword right now.’
Originally, as a socialite, he was not a very active person.
After work, he always returned to his house, and his hobbies were limited to gaming.
This was the first time he'd actually felt his body itching to move.
'Not bad.'
He was in a knight's body that needed to eat a lot and move a lot but Osian didn't really think it was bad.
Perhaps he had come to terms with it, or perhaps his soul was adjusting to this knightly body.
Whatever it was, his task now was set.
"So, do you have any requests for me right now?"
Ronan asked, not expecting much, but Osian stared at him wordlessly, then pulled a briefcase from his desk drawer.
"This is what Mr. Osian wants."
"You're prepared."
"Basically, when a fixer's office receives such a request, it's common for them to let it sit until a taker comes along. Mr. Osian wanted it, and it came in at the right time, so I just pulled it out."
Osian unsealed the envelope and examined its contents.
It was a vague sense of being able to communicate since coming to this world, but Osian could read unfamiliar characters with ease.
Thinking to himself that he was comfortable with this, he read on.
When he reached the end, he looked up and spoke.
“It’s about the extermination of gangs.”
The content written in the request was to suppress gangs.
Osian naturally thought back to the day he first came here.
He remembered taking down gangsters with a single sword amidst a hail of bullets.
Looking back on it, taking down gangs was a piece of cake for him now.
"It'll be a light warm-up, I suppose."
"I haven't gotten anything better yet, so this will have to do for today."
"I don't care because I'm the one who brought up the idea. I'd rather ask you about District 47 which is listed here.”
"Yes, what do you want to know?"
"I'm afraid I still don't know the geography of this city. Can you give me a brief explanation?"
“Sure.”
Ronan nodded and proceeded to explain.
"Tirna is a huge city. Not just a city, but a city-state, made up of many villages and small towns that have been joined together and merged into one."
Osian nodded.
The impression he'd gotten of the city on the ride to this tavern was that it was endless.
"And this Tirna is still growing in real time. It's swallowing up the fishing villages and towns outside the city, clearing forests and adding new sections."
"It's like a living, breathing thing."
"Yes, it is, which is why they also call it the City of Greed."
The City of Greed.
The greed of the people within the city and the greed of the city itself is endlessly devouring the world outside.
It was a fitting name for the city, both inside and out.
"Tirna grew so large that the city was divided into districts."
"Like the 47th district here."
"Yes. The numbered districts now number up to 50 in total."
Hearing that, Osian thought to himself.
The numbered districts meant that the characteristics of the city would vary from district to district and Osian's guess was right.
"Basically, the lower the number of a district in Tirna, the better off you are, conversely a higher number means......."
"Sounds like trouble. You said there are districts up to the 50s, so District 47 must be a pretty seedy place."
"Yes. It's full of day laborers trying to make ends meet, and back alley hoodlums and gangs."
Districts 1-10 are the core of the city.
It was literally the yolk of the city.
The further away from the center you went, the higher the numbers and the worse the security.
Unsurprisingly, after the 40s, were the city's outskirts.
This meant undeveloped, off-the-beaten-path, run-down, and abandoned neighborhoods.
"And I recommend you take this with you when you go."
With that, Ronan held out a purple, hovering card.
"What is this?"
"It's a pass."
"Access pass?"
"As you've probably realized now that you're in Tirna, Mr. Osian, Tirna is a really big city. Yes, it's so big that some areas are off-limits to people."
Osian nodded.
It was not uncommon, even in the twenty-first century, to separate the well-to-do from the less fortunate.
"Of course, some areas you can't even enter without a pass."
"It's a form of identification."
"Fixers often travel to different parts of the city. Naturally, these passes are essential."
"So with this, I can get around anywhere?"
Ronan waved his hand with a smile.
"Not really. It's a simple pass, so you can only get in and out of the 30th and 40th districts. If you want to go further in, you need a more proper pass, and that pass is......."
"So either I have to prove myself worthy, or I have to spend more money."
Osian's insight was sharper than he'd expected, and Ronan nodded, slightly surprised.
"Yes, that's right."
"I see."
Osian rose to his feet.
"You're leaving right now?"
"Yep. The map is enclosed here, so I shouldn't have any trouble finding my way."
"Good luck."
“Thanks.”
Osian smirked and left the office.
*
Osian followed the map down the street.
When he reached the border of the district, he could see a huge barrier towering over him.
A brass wall, over twenty meters high, dividing the city into sections.
The entrance was guarded by guards.
‘This doesn't look like the game.’
In the game, the soldiers wore polished silver armor and carried spears and shields.
But the men in front of him were different.
Their basic outfit was a blue uniform.
Yellow masks that resembled gas masks were worn over their mouths, and large rifles were gripped in two tattered leather-gloved hands.
"Halt. Credentials?"
The officer who spotted Osian asked, blocking his way.
His voice sounded intimidating through his gas mask.
Osian casually pulled his pass out of his coat pocket and handed it to the officer.
The officer looked at the pass and then handed it back to Osian, his gaze on his waistband.
"What's that at your waist?"
"A sword."
"......."
The officer drew his eyebrows together and glared at Osian.
The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, but also the sword at his waist was not normal.
‘I knew the Fixers were a weird bunch, but...’
There wasn't really a problem because he had an entry pass, and there was nothing I couldn't find fault with but Osian's tone was enough to offend him.
"You......."
The trooper called out to Osian, intending to conduct a more detailed inspection.
He clamped his mouth shut inside his mask as Osian stared back at him with dark eyes.
A cold sweat trickled down the officer's cheeks.
He tried to say something, but his head went white as he met Osian's eyes.
"You, you......."
His voice trembled as he tried to stammer out something.
"Hey, what's going on?"
Someone approached, perhaps picking up on the strange atmosphere.
The officer's eyes widened as he saw the person coming toward him, and he saluted.
"Warden!"
At the sound of the word "Warden," Osian turned to look at him curiously.
It was a white-haired woman in a blue uniform but unlike the others, she didn't have a gas mask over her mouth, nor was she carrying a weapon.
This made him realize that she was no ordinary person.
In a place where everyone else carried weapons, a bare-handed woman couldn't be normal.
The woman who was called warden looked back and forth between Osian and the soldier, and her red lips parted.
"What is it?" she asked.
"That, that."
When the guard stopped speaking, the warden violently stepped on the guard's foot with her booted foot as the guard swallowed a desperate groan from inside his mask.
Cold red eyes stared down at the squirming trooper.
"There will be no third time."
At the same time, the warden's gaze sharply scanned Osian's body.