CHAPTER 59: CHAPTER 59 – NEW HOME

Chapter 59 – New Home

The moment they stepped inside, the air shifted. Gone was the vibrant atmosphere of the city outside—inside, everything felt muted. The lobby was dimly lit and sparsely decorated. A few wooden chairs lined the walls, a dusty rug stretched across the stone floor, and a narrow staircase wound its way upward. The walls were bare save for a single mounted lantern that flickered faintly. It was a far cry from the grandeur of the city streets.

Behind a counter near the back of the room sat an old man slouched lazily on a stool. His beard was a cascade of white, long enough to brush the floor, and his bald head gleamed under the dim light. He didn’t seem to notice them at first, lost in his own world.

But then, his eyes sparked to life.

"Oh my! Welcome!" he exclaimed, springing from his seat with surprising energy—only to vanish behind the counter entirely.

There was a brief silence. Then, his head popped back up... though not quite as high as expected.

The man was tiny.

Barely two feet tall, with short, stubby limbs and a round body, he looked like someone had shrunk a burly warrior down to the size of a toddler.

"Oh my god, it’s a Dwarf!"

"I’ve heard of them—they’re so adorable and chubby!"

"What did you just say, lady?!" the Dwarf barked, pointing a gnarled finger at her. His eyes flared with indignation. "The word chubby is prohibited! Absolutely forbidden in this establishment!"

"O-oh, I’m sorry!" she stammered, bowing in panic.

"Good! And don’t you ever say it again!"

"Haha, Figar here hates that word," Ian said with a grin.

"I do not hate it!" the Dwarf snapped, rounding on him. "I despise it! There’s a difference, you foul-mouthed beanpole! I’ve told you a hundred times—I ain’t round, I’m compact!"

"Hmm, I don’t know if that’s ’compact’ as you said. It could only be described as chub-"

"You shut up, or I’ll whoop your ass!" Figar shouted, pointing at Ian’s chest.

"I’m just warning them, old man."

"There are better ways to warn someone than calling me a bowling ball with legs!"

The two launched into a full-blown bickering match right there in the lobby, going back and forth like squabbling brothers. The candidates, meanwhile, stood frozen, wide-eyed and thoroughly entertained. It wasn’t every day you saw a towering knight argue with a dwarf who barely reached his kneecaps.

"Ahem!" Ian cleared his throat, finally ending the comedy show. "Anyway, Figar here is the residence supervisor. He’s in charge of this inn and all of you, so if you need help or guidance, he’s your guy."

"As this bastard said," Figar grunted, still glaring at Ian, "I’ll be around. Call for me and I’ll come. Now, let’s get you your stuff." He turned around and waddled through one of the side doors, muttering under his breath. A few seconds later, a loud bang sounded, followed by the creaking of wheels.

The dwarf reappeared, pushing a large cart filled to the brim with sealed boxes.

"Each one of you take a box. Ugh, my back..." he groaned, cracking his spine loudly as he stopped the cart. "Gods damn this cart..."

"Someone’s getting old," Ian quipped, smirking.

"That’s it! I’m ending you right here, right now!" Figar bellowed, chasing after Ian with fire in his eyes.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy... Old man!"

"Ian!!!"

And just like that, the two were off again, sprinting around the lobby. For their size difference, they moved with shocking speed and agility, zipping past candidates who jumped aside in alarm. It wasn’t even a sprint—they were just jogging. And yet, they looked faster and more dangerous than any of the rookies watching them.

Zane crossed his arms, observing quietly. ’Every Dimensional Knight is a physical monster. Even the retired ones. If this is their "slow," I can’t imagine what their real speed looks like.’ He narrowed his eyes slightly. ’Running at the speed of sound might not even be that outrageous for them...’

But he wasn’t intimidated. In fact, he felt more motivated than ever. With his system and his own unbreakable will, it was only a matter of time before he caught up—unless fate decided to cut his story short.

Eventually, Ian relented.

"Alright, alright, I’m sorry. We’ve got work to do," he said, laughing as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"You’re damn right we do," Figar growled. "You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today..."

"I owe you a drink."

"Hmph."

Turning back to the group, Ian addressed the stunned candidates. "Now, listen to Figar and don’t get on his bad side. He’s been doing this job longer than most of us have been alive."

"How long?" someone asked.

"Ninety years?" Ian guessed.

"Ninety-two, you uncultured twig," Figar corrected, proudly puffing out his chest.

"Ninety-two?!"

"You’ve been a Knight that long?!"

"Is that even possible?!"

"Dwarves live long," Zane muttered quietly. "Some races can stretch their lives for centuries..."

"Haha! Be surprised!" Figar roared. "I’m still in my prime, I’ll have you know!"

"..."

"Don’t give me those looks! You think I’m an old fossil? I’m at my peak performance, dammit!"

The silence that followed was comically deafening.

He was, without question, the quirkiest person any of them had met so far—and considering their journey, that said a lot.

"In any case, I shall take my leave now," Ian said, turning to the group with a final salute. "Good luck. You’ve got a long month ahead."

With a nod, he exited the building, leaving the candidates alone with Figar.

After the door shut, the dwarf began handing out the boxes and room keys. "Alright, everyone—upstairs. Your schedules are inside your kits. Wake up early. Be on time. I’m not your nanny. If you’re late, you fail. Got it?"

A round of nods followed, and the candidates made their way up the stairs to find their rooms.

When Zane opened the door to his, he wasn’t surprised.

The room was tiny. Sparse. A small bed, a metal desk with a chair, and a cramped bathroom tucked into the corner. A single window overlooked the city, but the rest felt more like a holding cell than a home.

"Yeah... definitely not a vacation," Zane muttered as he dropped his bag on the bed. He walked over to the window, peering out into the city. The view was beautiful—blue skies, golden sunlight, green plains in the distance.

But despite the idyllic setting, something gnawed at him.

"What an odd place," he whispered. "It feels... off. Like something’s festering under the surface."

Maybe it was the contrast. A paradise on the outside, filled with people who looked like they’d seen hell on the inside.

’They fight for a living. Bleed for a living. See death too often. Of course they’re not happy...’ he mused, turning from the window.

He walked over to the box and opened it. Inside was a sleek, metallic case stamped with the Knight insignia. It gleamed under the soft light, looking expensive and futuristic.

"What’s this?"

He picked it up and pressed a small button on the side. The case snapped open with a soft hiss.

Inside was a strange-looking watch—smooth, metallic, and clearly advanced in design.

"A translator, maybe?" Zane muttered, slipping it onto his wrist.

But before he could even fasten it, the device came to life on its own. It latched onto his wrist with a swift click, the surface lighting up as a soft hum filled the air.

"Whoa—!"

A holographic screen floated above the watch, and a robotic voice echoed from within.

"Analyzing the target’s blood..."

A loading bar appeared in the air.

"Target recognized: Host XZR147."

"Adjusting settings..."

"Booting up all systems..."

"Operation successful."

Then the screen shifted—and the voice spoke once more.

"Welcome, Zane."