Three days later, I headed to the Drexier Mercenaries.

Like Cromwell’s broker office, the Drexier Mercenaries were located on 5th Avenue in District 3.

Inside felt less like an office and more like a messy bachelor’s pad.

Waver was sprawled on the sofa like a bum, while trash of uncertain origin littered the floor.

“A little dirty, huh? Everyone here’s like this.”

Hella sheepishly kicked some of the trash into a corner with her boot.

Waver, stirring awake, chuckled and teased her.

“Come on, rookie—why are you acting like you’re any different?”

“I never said I wasn’t. I’m one of them too.”

“Then nothing more to say.”

As Waver flopped back down and crossed his legs again, Hella sighed.

“You’re just going to keep lying there? Wouldn’t it be better to clean up and at least look respectable in front of someone who might become a teammate?”

“If he’s a guest, sure. But if he’s going to be a recruit, better to show him how things really are. If he finds out later, he’ll just feel betrayed.”

“Not one word can I win with you. Maybe I should sew that mouth shut.”

“Yikes.”

Waver ducked with mock alarm, staggering dramatically as if to flaunt his injuries.

Hella explained with exasperation.

“He does that just to avoid work. Claims after one job, he needs a whole month of rest. Calls it his ‘masterpiece strategy.’”

I ignored the nonsense and pointed out the obvious.

“And where does the money for loafing come from?”

“Don’t know. Judging by his little outings, maybe he’s some sugar baby on the side.”

Hella waved the matter away, clearly unwilling to gossip further, and led me deeper inside.

“You’ve come.”

The mercenary captain’s office.

Firearms and blades adorned the walls in place of paintings and vases, and unlike the clutter outside, here everything was spotless.

Drexier, wearing a monocle, was bent over documents.

The scholarly look didn’t match his massive frame, which seemed too large for the chair.

“I recall saying I wanted to see your skills…”

Light reflected off his lens, sharp as a sword’s gleam.

Even behind the glass, his eyes fixed on me with unwavering sharpness.

“Those fools claim they owe you instead.”

“Mm.”

Hella, caught by his disapproving glance, scratched her cheek and looked away.

“It happened in the course of the job.”

“It was Keljid’s revenge. You had no obligation to step in.”

“If you’d like to see it that way.”

“A mercenary is not like a contractor. We forget neither debts nor grudges. If there’s something you want, say it.”

There was no reason to turn down a gift offered so openly.

Drexier suggested in a low voice,

“I could adjust the terms of a contract to favor you.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Trying to slip a leash around my neck, were you?

I refused firmly and asked what I had come for.

“Will Keljid’s remains be retrieved by the Tower?”

“A designated recovery team will come.”

“So, not another mage.”

The Tower always conducted the funerals for its own. Even their corpses were considered Tower property, warranting a dedicated recovery unit.

Usually, they handled it, though occasionally a mage with personal ties would come instead.

That was what I had hoped for—but no such luck.

“You wish to meet with a Tower mage?”

“It’s fine. Just curiosity.”

Contact with the Tower could wait. If needed, I could always track down the hermit mage I knew.

No, my real reason for being here had been decided from the start.

“Arrange a meeting with the client of this last job.”

“…Now that’s an unusual request.”

Drexier rubbed his chin, unreadable.

“Wait—seriously, that’s all you want?”

Hella tapped my shoulder.

“Even without Drexier’s offer, I’d have asked the same.”

“Wow, you really are a strange one.”

Frustrated, Hella thumped her chest.

“Are you sure? Our old man here may be a toothless tiger now, but he was big in his day. If you pass up something more valuable just for—”

“Hella, stop chattering.”

“Stop chattering? Please. You’re only pushing this because you think you won’t lose out. Your intentions are obvious.”

“He’s a guest, not family yet. Show respect to your superior.”

“Ugh!”

Drexier flicked her forehead. The crack of it sounded like striking a sandbag, and Hella doubled over.

When she lifted her head again, her brow was swollen red.

Silencing his unruly subordinate with ease, Drexier turned back to me.

“It isn’t difficult, and I’d like to oblige. But the world’s a harsh place—introductions can’t be made so lightly. I trust you understand.”

“Of course.”

“Do you have a grudge with them?”

“Neither grudge nor connection.”

“Then some lost blood relative, perhaps…?”

“I confirmed the client’s name with the broker—Greenwood. I wish to speak with them personally about certain matters.”

“Greenwood…”

“…?”

Drexier reacted to the name.

He rolled it on his tongue, as though recalling something that troubled him.

“…So, not an ordinary background, then.”

“What do you mean?”

Drexier exhaled deeply, his voice heavy.

“What comes to mind when you hear Greenwood?”

“To my knowledge, it’s an environmental organization.”

“An environmental group, yes—that fits. Not entirely unconnected, either.”

Each word only deepened my suspicion.

The Tower’s database, the World Tree information, the commission involving the Spirit Cocoon—this Greenwood had been too deeply entangled.

Though I couldn’t press further, Hella spoke up in my stead.

“Old man, if you know something, spit it out already. Why drag it out?”

“Then you can leave.”

“I’ve been patient enough. Some so-called lady from a noble house insists on wandering the slums of District 7 every day, and I’ve held my tongue about it till now.”

“District 7?”

My first commission.

It was there I’d dealt with the goblin horde and completed a Spirit Cocoon.

‘So a Greenwood representative had been frequenting that place all along?’

It meant their involvement with the cocoon wasn’t coincidence.

They had clearly known—and commissioned me with intent.

“I’ll sound them out. If they refuse, nothing can be done.”

“I understand.”

“But before that, I can share a suspicion. Likely something only someone like me would know.”

Drexier’s pupils clouded as he gazed into the air.

It was the look of someone dredging up memories of the past.

“I’m a war mercenary veteran. I served long enough to earn a medal of merit from the city government. Even shared meals with the nobles who rarely stir from District 1.”

Medals weren’t handed out lightly—especially not to mercenaries bound only by contract, unlike soldiers who were tools of the state.

It sounded like bragging, but the truth was that what he was about to say was information few could easily know.

“Greenwood is the surname passed down by royalty.”

“I thought royalty was gone.”

The nobles remained, but royalty no longer existed.

That was one way FP diverged from the standard fantasy setting.

The king’s authority had been divided between the mayor and the city council, and the nobles were simply those who held the majority in that council.

“Even among the old nobility who cling to pure-blood traditions, there’s one exception.”

“…Don’t tell me.”

“You’ve guessed it. People distinguish them by calling them ‘pointy-eared nobles.’”

Knowledge of the World Tree and spirits, pursuit of cutting-edge corporate technology, activism under the guise of an environmental group—

All the keywords connected into one answer.

“Elves. The royal line of elves.”

The moon was full and bright that night.

A cloaked figure slipped across the top of a wall.

The mansion was vast, stretching so far the end was out of sight.

Its walls were smothered with layer upon layer of protective magic, and cameras were installed in tight intervals, leaving no blind spot.

Any suspicious approach would be reported inside without fail.

Yet the figure’s movements were unhesitating.

Ssshhh!

The dry branches along the wall twitched and shifted.

Wherever her feet landed, footholds formed in advance, while a flicker of green light muddled the perception of the wards.

She reached a second-story window in no time at all.

More than just exploiting weaknesses in security, her movements were practiced—as though the mansion’s blueprint was etched into her mind.

Click.

She opened the window and slipped inside.

The landing was silent and flawless, marred only by the fact that servants were still patrolling the halls at night.

“…Out wandering again, milady?”

“…!”

At the voice behind her, her hood trembled.

She straightened at once, abandoning the guilty stoop of a thief.

“…You’re still awake?”

“I couldn’t rest until you returned.”

“It was only a private walk. Pay it no mind.”

“If it were once or twice, perhaps I’d overlook it. But how can I ignore it when you’re out nearly every night?”

The words weren’t sharp with scolding, but the quiet tone still pricked her conscience.

The cloaked girl tapped the floor lightly with her toe.

“I was curious about the outside.”

“If you truly wish for an outing, I’ll arrange a proper schedule.”

“An official appearance won’t let me go where I want.”

“And where would that be?”

“Anywhere outside Districts 1 and 2.”

“That cannot be allowed.”

The maid bowed low.

Between the strands of hair that spilled forward, the pointed tips of her ears peeked through.

“Please remember—you are the last of the royal line.”

“Don’t think of me as royalty. A troublemaker who snapped off her mother the World Tree’s branch and got sealed away…what sort of princess is that?”

Her tone was petulant, but the weight of self-mockery tinged her voice with sadness.

“They say when the World Tree withered, all the royals died with it. The royal line ended then.”

“Milady…”

The princess turned her eyes out the window.

“This view is nothing like what I remember.”

Though it was night, instead of tranquil darkness, dazzling lights flashed across the city.

The hum of insects was drowned out by the roar of engines, and the quiet bloom of nocturnal flowers had been replaced by cold, lifeless machines.

“I only wondered if the world of my memories might still remain somewhere.”

“I can say with certainty—it does not.”

“I know. The World Tree is dead.”

With the World Tree gone and the spirits vanished, elves—the supposed guardians of nature—had abandoned their duty and integrated into civilization.

The green world she remembered had long since vanished into history.

‘Still, there was hope.’

She recalled the sight she had discovered in District 7.

The withering plants had regained life, even though the World Tree was gone and the spirits were silent.

She didn’t yet understand what harmony had caused it.

But she realized her yearning for the old world wasn’t entirely in vain.

‘It’s not just childish whimsy.’

There was more than longing in her heart.

What she pursued was a greater cause.

The World Tree was more than just the symbol of nature—it had been a bulwark protecting this city-world from the deadly outer world beyond.

“This is the last time I’ll make excuses to the Elders. Please refrain from going out again for a while.”

“…Very well. Go rest.”

As the maid said, outside excursions would be impossible for some time.

Fortunately, there had been results—so she wouldn’t be tormented by restlessness.

‘I heard the mission was a success.’

Would this commission bring about a transformation like that in District 7?

The question could wait.

‘It must have been that same contractor again.’

The Drexier Mercenaries had only been the insurance.

If the same phenomenon appeared once more, he would be someone she absolutely had to meet.

‘Though meeting him won’t be easy.’

The gulf in status was too vast to bridge recklessly.

This wasn’t like dealing with the mercenaries.

Even if the Elders sometimes turned a blind eye to her excursions, they would never allow her to meet a mere contractor—and besides, she was effectively under house arrest for the time being.

‘Since he seems fixated on Greenwood, I can only hope he comes to me.’

The elven princess, Amelia Greenwood, awaited that day with quiet desperation.

(End of Chapter)