Chapter 105: Become a Butterfly (1)

Marun, the regional director of the Lillian Kingdom Regional Mercenary Headquarters, could not believe his eyes.

“He actually deposited it.”

Keter, infamous as the delinquent of Sefira, had transferred a staggering one hundred thousand gold into his account.

Marun, an Orichalcum-class mercenary, the highest rank in the guild, would have to complete an S-rank request to earn even ten thousand gold. And even then, after deducting costs for elixirs and equipment repairs, he would be left with around eight thousand gold. One hundred thousand gold was the equivalent of surviving and completing twelve S-tier requests.

But Keter had just given that money away as a bribe without hesitation, the moment the call ended.

“Who is this guy? The intel says he’s from the Lawless City of Absinthe and just a troublemaker.”

Marun knew what Absinthe was like. That place was nothing but a city of human garbage. And yet, Keter, supposedly from Absinthe, had this kind of money?

“There’s a good chance that Absinthe is probably just a smokescreen. If he has the wealth to casually throw around one hundred thousand gold, there’s no way he wouldn’t be known in Absinthe.”

Marun pulled a whetstone from his desk drawer. Taking out his weapon, he began sharpening the blade right there.

“Requesting unlimited numbers of Platinum-class or higher mercenaries, all for training under the pretense of preparing for the Sword of the South Tournament... That feels way too suspicious. What if he’s planning to use us for something else?”

Shhhhk, shhhhk.

The sound of the blade gliding across the whetstone echoed in the silent office.

“But I don’t think Sefira has the guts. It’s probably really just to prepare for the tournament. It’s Sefira we’re talking about.”

Marun knew well that Sefira was a reserved, defensive, and unambitious noble house.

And above all...

“The money was deposited through the Infinite Bank.”

The Infinite Bank was an international bank responsible for producing and distributing all recognized currency. It was managed by a godlike figure, similar to a leader of a kingdom. However, the owner never made public appearances, and they never displayed force. All they did was manage and distribute money. Other than that, they never interfered with any affairs.

But once, the world had witnessed a display of their power. It was when a certain alchemist guild had attempted to manufacture and distribute counterfeit money.

The next morning, every single member of that guild was found dead, shredded to pieces by enormous gears. Their facilities had burned to the ground, reduced to ashes. And yet, there was no trace of a battle—no footprints, no spell residue, no signs of forced entry or escape. It was as if the culprits had simply appeared, executed their judgment, and then vanished without a trace.

The Infinite Bank had left behind only a single message:

—

Do not defile money.

Since then, no one dared attempt counterfeiting again. No one even

thought

about robbing the Infinite Bank, not that anyone had ever successfully done so before.

This was why people universally accepted that the safest place in the world was the Infinite Bank’s vault.

“It’s suspicious where the money came from, but if it went through the Infinite Bank, then there’s no issue,” Marun murmured.

The Infinite Bank never accepted problematic money, like stolen or borrowed money. They only processed money that was rightfully

earned

—though no one knew exactly how they determined that.

“Look, it’s not like I’m just saying this because I got a bribe, but if someone’s throwing money at me, why should I say no? It’s not like he pulled the high noble crap of threatening to shut down our branch or strip us of authority if we don’t comply. Actually... the more I think about it, the more annoying it is.”

Clang!

Marun tossed the whetstone aside and tapped his blade against the table.

“No matter how politically isolated Sefira is, why the hell should I have to worry about nobles when deciding to accept a job? This is mercenary work! If someone offers money, we say yes and post the request. The mercenaries either take it or they don’t. That is how this fucking works.”

Beep!

Marun pressed the intercom button on his desk.

There was no response.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Bang!

“Damn it, give me a minute, you bastard! You think I have time on my hands like you?”

A man burst into the office, picked up the whetstone from the floor, and hurled it at Marun.

Marun caught it effortlessly.

“Burgundy. We’ve got a direct request. Write up a request posting and distribute it to every branch.”

“What, is there a war? I didn’t sense anything. Have I lost my touch?” Burgundy murmured.

“Could be war, who knows? The request came from Sefira.

The

Sefira.”

“...We never gave Sefira our Archacic code. Did you?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve never even met them. Sefira barely interacts with anyone. It was Keter, the bastard son they took in a month ago. He’s the one who called.”

“There are so

many suspicious words in that sentence. How the hell does some bastard who joined Sefira a month ago know our Archacic code?”

“You think he would tell us that? Why don’t you ask him? Look, just write the damn request.”

“Are you serious? If we take a Sefira contract, the nobles will lose their minds.”

“You worried about those bastards, too?”

“I mean, we don’t have a reason not to.”

“True. But Keter’s paying five times the rate.”

“Not double, not triple... Five times more? Yeah, we’re definitely doing that. The other nobles treat us like dirt and refuse to pay properly. I kind of want in on this job myself.”

“Forget it. He only wants Platinum-class to Amantir-class swordsmen. No Orichalcum-class. He wants everyone we have, but only those who can arrive by noon tomorrow.”

“I see what he’s up to. He’s preparing for the Sword of the South Tournament.”

Marun tossed an Amantir-class recognition tag with the name “Garen” engraved to Burgundy.

“If he’s not taking any Orichalcums, go as an Amantir. Take a look around. It’s a good opportunity to scout out Sefira, especially Keter. Find out who the hell he really is,” said Marun.

“Seriously, not only am I stuck doing all the grunt work as the deputy director, now I have to go undercover? God damn it. Just because you’re the boss...”

“I’ll give you a month of paid leave.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Burgundy bolted out before Marun could change his mind.

* * *

Three days had passed since the duel between Gyro and Jordic.

During that time, Jordic had been safely released after Bydent paid the ransom, and Luke had managed to defeat Gyro. Yet, Luke felt neither entirely happy nor satisfied. The gap in skill was still immense; after all, Gyro was training, too.

It was impossible for Gyro, someone hailed as a genius from childhood, to fight against Luke, Anis, and Taragon, without learning anything. In fact, Gyro’s understanding of archery had deepened even more than theirs.

And yet, Luke had only been able to defeat Gyro not because he was superior in skill, but because of the circumstances and environment.

Gyro had not changed from the way he had initially presented himself, meaning he was still deliberately holding himself back. If he had not, no matter what they tried, the trio would never have been able to catch up.

Moreover, Gyro had refrained from attacking with lethal force, whereas the trio had fought as if they intended to kill him.

If they had reached a point where they could have killed each other, in real combat, the trio would have died first. But because Gyro couldn't do that, he had to either evade or block at that crucial moment.

Thus, the trio’s objective had been clear: to create a situation where their lives were truly on the line. If they could break through Gyro’s defenses at that moment and land a decisive blow, they would win.

It was, in truth, a highly dangerous form of sparring. Unlike Gyro, the trio had no room to rationally stop their attacks at the critical moment. Every ounce of their stamina and focus had been poured into forcing that scenario.

But it hadn’t been an issue. If Gyro had been serious, escaping from that situation would have been easier than flipping his hand.

As Keter had assumed from the beginning, Gyro had merely been fighting at the level of a three-star knight. The moment he displayed the skill of a four-star knight, no matter how precisely the trio aimed for his vital points, he could block them effortlessly.

“You did well, kid.”

Gyro deflected Luke’s arrow, which was one aimed at his throat, using his Aura Armor, then congratulated him on his victory.

Luke felt empty. He had attacked with the intent to kill, but the moment Gyro got serious, that attack had failed in vain.

And yet, he was being told that he had won. The joy of victory didn’t quite reach him.

“I'm not a kid...”

Luke trailed off before he could finish his sentence and collapsed.

Seventeen days—he had spent seventeen days in the mountains without food, without water, without a proper place to rest at night.

He had barely survived on rainwater and fruit, all while exhausting his body and mind to the limit every single day. It was a miracle he had remained standing at all, and now that miracle had finally come undone.

Keter gestured to the servants he had prepared in advance.

“Take him to the mansion. Give him the full treatment.”

Luke was carried away by the servants.

Anis and Taragon should have felt envious, but their expressions remained blank, not because they weren’t envious, but because they no longer had the mental energy to process emotions. Their minds were consumed by one thought—fighting Gyro. If they didn’t win, they would starve to death. They would disgrace the name of Sefira.

Taragon had been the first to land a blow on Gyro, but there had been no surprises in the order of victories. The good news was that all three of them had managed to defeat Gyro on the same day. Gyro had never gone easy on them—it was proof that their skills had improved drastically.

Night had fallen, and the trio was resting after taking an elixir bath at the mansion, drinking potions instead of water.

Meanwhile, Keter and Gyro sat in the half-destroyed Fourth Training Ground, chatting.

“Watching them fight today, I could feel your impatience. You didn’t just let them pass because it was getting tedious, did you?”

“Exploiting emotional weaknesses is part of battle. And honestly, I was starting to hold back so much that it was getting obvious. I figured this was a good place to wrap things up. If you weren’t satisfied, you would’ve made me fight them again, wouldn’t you?”

“You sure know how to read people’s minds, you drunkard. That’s the limit of training, I guess. No matter how extreme the environment, no matter how much motivation they have, it still doesn’t compare to real combat.”

“Even so, they won’t go down easily against a three-star knight anymore. They’ll even hold their own against a two-star knight. Their growth is remarkable—beyond what talent and effort alone could achieve. If it weren’t for you, no one else could have raised them like this.”

“Hah! Don’t expect a bonus for that.”

“Didn’t think it would work.”

Gyro took a deep drink from his cup. It was the poison-like liquor Keter had prepared for him. He drained it to the last drop.

“

Kyah!

This will be the last time I drink this poison.”

“You’re leaving already?”

“I believe I’m ready to hear it now.”

The reason Gyro had joined the Sefira family. It was because of his promise to Keter.

Though his face flushed from the poisoned liquor, his eyes remained sharp— no, they burned even brighter as he looked at Keter.

“Tell me how to kill a god.”