Ch.223Outside. The Faceless Fixer’s Closing Ceremony (1)

The Ortes Order was dissolved as suddenly as it had appeared.

Of course, “Order” was not its official name. Ortes himself, the leader, never particularly cared about what his group was called.

Ortes referred to it as something like a club, a nameless gathering. But from a third-party perspective, it was unmistakably a cult.

There was no special reason for their dissolution. Ortes himself simply declared, “Let’s stop now.”

In such distorted religious groups, fanatics typically emerge who follow the doctrine even against the leader’s wishes. But Ortes’ order was different.

When Ortes announced the dissolution, they dispersed with surprising speed. It seemed they didn’t worship any clearly established doctrine, but rather revered every word Ortes spoke as gospel.

The Solver community in the Extra-dimensional Frontier Zone buzzed with this news for quite some time.

After all, the Ortes Order had been recruiting figures like Lutegan to strengthen their finances, excavating numerous extra-dimensional ruins, and gradually becoming something of a sanctuary for apocalyptists—only to vanish in an instant.

Various hypotheses circulated: that they had sensed the Ten Towers’ attention and dispersed their organization; that Ortes had achieved some hidden objective and was preparing to depart elsewhere.

Though these were all baseless rumors, the sudden disappearance of “Knemon,” who had seemed to hold a position second only to Ortes in the order, clearly had some influence.

It was only natural that Solvers flocked to Lampades, who was considered Ortes’ messenger, driven by both fear and curiosity.

Lampades himself merely threw up his hands and insisted, “I don’t know anything.”

As it became almost certain that Ortes had purged even Knemon, his most powerful ally, for some reason, Lampades, who wasn’t even a member of the order, simply wanted to keep his distance.

Ortes, the eye of the storm in the Extra-dimensional Frontier Zone’s Solver community…

Was pouring drinks at his bar.

****

“Ah, damn it.”

I could understand why Knemon had fled in the night, saying he “couldn’t take it anymore.” It was actually quite common. In the Solver business, once you’ve finished your work and secured your fortune, you fly away.

But the problem lay elsewhere.

There were no more extra-dimensional ruins to plunder.

More precisely, there were no extra-dimensional ruins that could be excavated within guaranteed safety parameters.

To outsiders, we put on airs like a proper company, but the extra-dimensional exploration team I led was basically a club. The essence of our club was finding special extra-dimensional artifacts, each for our own reasons.

The artifacts I wanted were, naturally, items that could help me return. Something with deep traces of Earth embedded in it.

Such catalytic effects were only possible with items deeply imbued with extra-dimensional essence. Inevitably, the depth of extra-dimensional dives kept increasing.

I shouldn’t say this to members of other extra-dimensional clubs, but there was no one who could follow me to the depths I could dive now.

At best, perhaps Knemon or Lampades?

The problem was that Lampades was a safety-first type who avoided the adventure of diving into deep places. Considering that, Knemon was the only Solver who could keep pace with me.

With even Knemon now gone, having chosen retirement or simply disappeared, there was no one who could follow my dives.

I could excavate ruins alone, but that wouldn’t be economically viable. To earn funds for the club, I needed to handle incoming requests by running around here and there.

I needed a business partner who could continue excavations while I was away, but that partner had vanished.

Of course, I could focus on exploring areas with lower extra-dimensional depth.

But that wouldn’t yield any clues about Earth. To escape this bizarre cyber-magic-martial arts punk world, I needed to venture deeper.

After much deliberation, I decided to disband the club. The people in our club were each dedicated to extra-dimensional excavation for their own reasons, and most of them supported my excavations as well.

But it wouldn’t be right to drain the entire club’s resources just for my own benefit.

As a disbandment gift, I sold off all the club’s assets and distributed them among everyone. This bar and the alcohol were what remained, as everyone insisted that “the boss should keep them.”

I’d heard since my Earth days that real estate was the only thing that lasts. While I was desperate to return, without a single clue emerging, if I had to continue staying in this world, real estate was all that would remain.

Rationally, that’s where the decision ended.

But emotionally, it was different.

I gathered people and created a fairly structured club just to make excavation easier, and this is how it ends?

Converting to a one-person company because I’m the only one capable of deep excavation. Huh.

I wouldn’t have made this choice if I could have recruited other talent, but my image wasn’t exactly positive, so headhunting was out of the question.

“Damn it. Everyone thinks I’m some kind of monster disguised as a human.”

They won’t listen even when I explain that’s not the case. I almost wish I really were such a monster or a behind-the-scenes villain.

Such evil organization bosses usually have competent henchmen.

The kind of perfect all-around worker who could easily copy 1,000 notebook pages perfectly in a day if asked.

If I had just one such assistant, my work would be incredibly easier.

I swirl the drink in my hand. Drinking this amber liquid doesn’t really make me feel drunk. One proper look at that bizarre sight, and any intoxication would vanish instantly.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Someone at the door.

Strange. I’m sure I posted a notice on the door saying this club was closed.

“Are you a client? I’m sorry, but we’re currently not taking on extra-dimensional exploration jobs. The bar is currently preparing to reopen—”

“I’m not here for them. I’m here for you.”

The low, heavy voice had a mechanical tone mixed in. Not even trying to hide the voice modulation.

An attitude of complete indifference to being considered suspicious. This was the posture of someone powerful.

This was unusual. In this extra-dimensional frontier, I was fairly well-acquainted with the notable powers. Yet the voice of the man outside the door was completely unfamiliar.

I open my eyes.

Following old Hector’s teachings, I typically avoided reading people’s “minds,” though their “information” was another matter.

That stubborn old man said the gap between thought and action is wider than the distance between heaven and earth. Just as people often think about grabbing their boss by the collar during work but rarely act on it.

If I were to act preemptively based on someone’s hostility toward me, I might turn what would have remained a “thought” into “action.”

So his advice was to limit reading others’ minds, rather than their information, only to “enemies.”

But whoever was behind the door now clearly seemed closer to an enemy than an ally.

Easily transcending the limitations of physical eyes, my “sight” reports the appearance of the being beyond the door.

I still can’t get used to these eyes. Just organizing the information is overwhelming for my brain.

‘…Not human?’

The information entering my mind was quite perplexing even to me. The outward appearance was unmistakably human, but the interior was a machine made of intricate magical circuits.

It gave the impression of an avatar being remotely controlled by someone. My eyes weren’t skilled enough yet to read the controller’s intentions.

What was certain was that this wasn’t a combat android. Perhaps they had invested so much in disguising it as human that they had no resources left for combat capabilities?

Curious, I opened the door.

***

“You came looking for me.”

The Blasphemia agent looked at the monitor connected to the diplomatic android’s vision. Ortes’ figure appeared on the screen beyond. Though “appeared” only meant his silhouette.

His clear facial features didn’t show. Was he constantly wearing some artifact-grade item, or was it some kind of magic?

At least he showed the extraordinary quality befitting the “number one in extra-dimensional exploration.”

“That’s right. There’s a mage stranded in the deepest part of the erosion zone, far beyond the extra-dimensional border area.”

“In such a place?”

“Let’s just say they were researching dimensional travel. This is highly classified.”

“Dimensional travel, you say? Research toward extra dimensions should only be open to a limited number of people.”

“We are precisely that limited number.”

The “limited number” mentioned here was synonymous with the magical society’s establishment, including the Ten Towers. If Ortes were truly an apocalyptist as rumored, he would show some reaction here.

“Impressive. But if you’re that impressive, wouldn’t it be better for you to attempt the rescue directly?”

Though it was difficult to guess Ortes’ psychology since his expression wasn’t clearly visible, at least his tone and gestures were neutral.

If he truly wasn’t an apocalyptist, that was reassuring; if he was a dangerous element skilled at controlling his emotions, that was also good.

This request was a wheel of fire anyway. A battle to consume the monster that escaped from the White Light.

Whether he died as a loyal bullet shield for the Ten Towers, or two reactionaries mutually destroyed each other—either outcome would benefit Blasphemia.