The Foreigner on the Periphery

Solada, an elite warrior of the stanians, rarely looked in a mirror by choice after coming of age. He found his own reflection disgusting.

As a child, he consoled himself with the thought that his features were still settling. He believed his disproportionately large head, crushed nose, uneven scales, and severely misaligned jaw would improve as he grew older.

But upon completing his third maturation phase and entering young adulthood, Solada was left in despair. The reason was simple: the face he would carry into old age had finished forming, and unfortunately, it looked no different than before.

Solada was ugly.

Yet, he did not lose hope. Resolving to work hard instead of despairing, Solada faithfully adhered to the virtues expected of stanian men. He wandered through alien worlds, working as a mercenary. No dimension accepted stanian immigrants, but there was high demand for cheap alien labor on short-term work visas.

Furthermore, stanian men were incredibly cheap for their level of skill. In plain terms, they were highly cost-effective.

'Oh? You have the abilities of a Weapon Master. Good. An offer just came in from Dimension #41-545. It's a five-year contract, and the pay is this much. The only condition is that you cannot return to your home dimension until the contract ends. What do you say?'

'I accept.'

The average member of the Stan people possessed stamina surpassing a troll's and strength renowned for tearing steel barehanded. Coupled with a tenacity that would chase prey to the ends of hell, they were highly sought after as mercenaries, hunters, and fixers.

Solada worked ceaselessly after stepping into the mercenary world. Whenever the opportunity arose, he submitted marriage applications, hoping a woman who had earned the marriage right would choose him.

He considered being a Weapon Master an advantage, as it made amassing wealth relatively easy.

'Wealth is the measure of a stanian man's worth. What do women want once they are freed from the duty of laying unfertilized eggs and can finally spend the rest of their lives in comfort? They want to be compensated for their past suffering. With a life of luxury.'

The shells of the unfertilized eggs laid by stanians were used as raw material for synthetic gold. The produced gold was a major export, accounting for a significant portion of the Gelanco dimension's GDP. He needed to prepare a dowry substantial enough to satisfy these mature women—industrial warriors who had gloriously retired from their task.

'I have to earn money. More money!'

Yet year after year, he tasted failure.

Rejected, rejected, rejected.

The women did not choose him easily, and Solada had to keep waiting for his next opportunity.

Still, he did not lose hope. The wealth listed on his application forms grew each year, reaching a sum more than sufficient to provide any woman with a comfortable life.

However, the outcome never changed. A continuous string of rejections.

Decades slipped by, and he began to feel anxious.

'Could it be...? Could it be?'

It couldn't be. That was impossible.

I couldn't fail.

There was no way I would be left behind.

'Why? I am a Weapon Master. Plus, I've amassed a large fortune!'

He soothed his rising anxiety with self-destructive labor.

Solada worked harder than anyone else.

The days of grueling toil dragged on.

   *

In stanian society, only a small minority of women who satisfied incredibly strict conditions were granted the marriage right by the royal coalition—namely, the right to produce fertilized eggs.

It was famously a blood-spattered competition. These women had to prove they had produced high-quality unfertilized eggs while enduring flesh-tearing agony every day for years, and they had to remain physically and mentally healthy despite surviving that hellish period. Furthermore, while laying unfertilized eggs daily in locations isolated from men, excelling in activities outside of their reproductive duties was a bonus.

A woman who wished to bear a child had to be perfect.

Like a superhuman.

In truth, merely surviving and retaining one's sanity long enough to reach the eligible age to apply for the marriage right was a monumental achievement. Though it was never mentioned in the local media, the suicide rate among stanian women was incomparably higher than that of any other race, class, or gender in the world.

The women who broke through this grueling gauntlet to claim their rights transitioned from being the chosen to being the choosers. Their average age upon success was around 150 years old. Consequently, stanian marriage customs naturally featured extreme age gaps between genders, as these women generally preferred much younger husbands.

That was precisely why Solada finally gave up on submitting applications on his 100th birthday.

No man of that age would ever be selected as a husband.

No matter his wealth or skills, it was simply impossible.

'Why! Why, damn it?! I saved the money! Over the last few decades, the days I could relax and stretch my legs wouldn't even add up to a month. I scraped it all together so ruthlessly. So why won't anyone choose me?!'

That day, he bought a bottle of hard liquor—something he usually never touched because he considered it a waste of money—and emptied it completely.

Sitting before the dining table that doubled as a washbasin in his shabby single room, huffing in a drunken haze, he suddenly raised his head. An object he intentionally avoided looking at was right there.

For the first time in a very long while, he looked in the mirror.

The answer was there.

   *

From that day on, Solada never once took another dispatch to an alien dimension. Instead, he dedicated himself to squandering all his amassed wealth on debauchery.

'Hey! Solada! Are you really going to keep this up? It's been over a year since you last worked! Letting a brilliant talent like yourself rot is a loss for our entire race...'

Heavily intoxicated, he shouted back at the employment agency director who had tracked him down at his home.

'Damn it, stop spouting nonsense and get the hell out!'

'Wh-what?! What did you just say?'

'A loss for our race? Hmph, they can eat it. I'm done working. Why should I keep working like a slave? Who exactly is it good for?'

He swallowed his next words. He would never get married or have children anyway.

'From now on, I'm just going to spend my money! I'm going to live for myself!'

That declaration was considered shocking. It was not something that should come from the mouth of an exemplary stanian man.

Men had to be frugal. They had to be diligent. They had to be persistent. They had to endlessly rake in foreign currency from other worlds and tie it up in savings. And not in Talents, which boasted atrocious exchange rates, but in the currencies of their trading partners. Since a man never knew when he might finally marry, it was best to keep saving and avoid frivolous spending until that day arrived.

To summarize that lengthy sentence in stanian terms: a man had to be manly.

'Don't tell me you're planning to touch your fixed deposits? But those are tied up as your marriage funds...'

'Damn it! I went to the bank today and broke them all! Forget the interest, I even paid the penalties! Crazy bastards. Scammers. Do you know how many men grow old and die without even using that money properly, and with no children to inherit it?! I won't live like that. I'll spend it all before I die! Squander every bit of it!'

And Solada wasn't alone.

He started associating with other old men who had made the same choice. To fill the void, he threw himself into booze and drugs. Once he gave up on marriage and childbirth, there were so many things in the world to enjoy.

Solada hadn't 'given up' on romance—simply because the concept didn't even exist among stanians. Not in this society, where unmarried women and unmarried men lived in places completely segregated from one another.

He grew older still as he cycled in and out of prison for causing petty disturbances, making a scene, and insulting the royal family. Yet despite it all, he did not stop his degenerate behavior.

Everyone desires recognition and attention. When that desire is unmet, they feel deep frustration, and this despair often leads to actions that disregard social norms. They regress and become numb to shame. They justify their actions by telling themselves that since they cannot meet society's 'standards', they are entitled to commit all kinds of despicable acts.

For Solada, that standard—the metric for success—was marriage. It no longer mattered how much money he had hoarded. He knew it instinctively. He was no longer an elite.

So he made his choice. In a society that condemned extravagance and debauchery as the height of immorality, and viewed those who didn't work as less than human, he would live solely for visceral pleasure. He had nothing left to lose anyway, did he? With that mindset, the criticism from those around him was no longer frightening. He had already given up on people's recognition and attention.

He truly feared nothing.

   *

'Solada, this is your final chance. If you cause a scene in the capital one more time, the royal family won't leave you alone. Loudly insulting the princesses in a public place... that was a huge mistake. The only reason they're letting it go at this is out of respect for your past contributions.'

The employment agency director, an old acquaintance, had come to visit Solada right after he was released from his umpteenth stint in prison.

'Leave the capital for a while. I've prepared a hideout for you. It's a villa out on the rural coast. Keep away from the booze and drugs, and go cool your head there.'

Solada boarded a train bound for the fringes of the Shutan Kingdom. The house the director had secured for him there was on grounds that had been considered mysterious ruins even during the race wars eight centuries ago. However, after enduring the ravages of war and changing owners several times, most of the components making up the colossal ruins had been sold off on the black market, and now only pathetic fragments remained.

Thanks to previous owners and grave robbers stripping away and selling off everything of value from the start—not just the interior furnishings and ornaments, but even the pillars and bricks—all that stood there now was a single house, expanded by later generations and completely devoid of historical value.

Recalling that explanation, Solada muttered inwardly.

'Just like me. An abandoned ruin nobody visits... with nothing left but useless rags.'

While Solada stared blankly at the outside scenery, the train entered a tunnel, and it went pitch black outside the window. The blackened window reflected the lighting, vividly displaying the interior of the cabin. Like a mirror made of black glass. An old stanian man then materialized on the darkened surface. The reflection looked terribly depressed and lethargic. Leaking a curse through his teeth, Solada turned his eyes away.

   *

"Oh God... God... oh God...!"

In a forest bordering the coast.

People whose relationships would be difficult to guess without background knowledge were gathered there.

There were four in the group, and half of them were delirious or unconscious.

Examining them one by one, there was first an unconscious Dragon. A dragon sprawled on the ground with its pupils unfocused. Judging by its breathing, it was still alive, but its life force was slowly fading away. It made sense; a physical shell lacking the governance of a spirit would inevitably grow cold. Right now, there was no soul holding the reins of that draconic vessel.

And there was another: an unconscious woman.

The remaining two, still conscious, were hovering around and tending to her. They were a man who appeared to be human, and a pale-skinned being with three eyes.

The black-haired man asked.

"How is she?"

The priest, who had his eyes closed in concentration while holding Dell's hand, spoke.

"I'm sorry. She may have transformed into this small size, but because her original form is large enough to cover an entire island, the sheer capacity of her life force seems to be equally immense."

It meant that this was the limit of Yumtus's power. Hearing this, Minjun looked at his ex-wife with a dark expression.

Dell was delirious, her tentacles quivering. Right now, she was neither in a perfect human form nor in her true form with a six-kilometer radius.

'She was cornered to the point that she couldn't even manage a perfect Polymorph.'

As he fell into thought, the alien cry of a beast reached his ears. The density of the atmosphere was also subtly different from where they had been yesterday. Despite it being broad daylight, two moons hung faintly in the sky, and a damp humidity that would make a human feel unpleasant clung to his skin. A small bird leapt up through the blooming floral trees, unfurling four wings.

Minjun remembered the princess who had been arrested a few months ago for orchestrating crimes on Earth. A member of the Stan people who had reportedly died while being transferred to the Committee Headquarters. Right now, Minjun was facing the exact scenery she had once described.

The dimensional leap was a success.

The group was now in another world. A neighboring dimension reachable from Earth in a single leap.

'That much was fine, but...'

During the leap, Dell's condition had rapidly deteriorated. It was something Minjun could not understand.

'Even the Ancient Dragons withstood this leap, so why an Endelion? Where did it go wrong?'

The place they first appeared after crossing dimensions was ten kilometers above sea level, and at that moment, Dell, who was losing consciousness, showed signs of slowly falling. Had she smashed straight into the ground like that, a catastrophe would have occurred.

So she desperately chanted a Polymorph spell. She originally seemed to be trying to transform into a human, but because her mind was fading in and out, it ended up somewhat incomplete. After barely finishing the incantation, she had passed out.

As a result.

"Oh God...!"

Dell repeatedly let the same words slip through her trembling lips.

Earnestly and faintly.

'Dell...'

Minjun looked at his ex-wife, who had transformed into a human upper half and a tentacled lower half, with an unreadable expression.

Yumtus carefully put down the hand he had been holding to flow Divine Power into her. He murmured in a sympathetic tone.

"She has been constantly calling for God. It seems the race known as the Endelion are truly devout beings."

"...."

Knowing that over the long passage of time, the meaning and usage of that phrase had turned into a curse, Minjun pondered ways to heal Dell rather than bothering to correct the misunderstanding. Seeing her continually spitting out curses even in a comatose state, she truly seemed to be struggling. Yumtus whispered to Dell piteously.

"I don't know what kind of god you believe in... but I hope your faith reaches them so you can find peace."

"...entwining, tentacles!"

Just then.

"Cough!"

The Dragon beside them woke up. The draconic shell, its soul returned, coughed a few more times before the ghost reported to Minjun what he had seen during his out-of-body projection.

"I found it. Going in the direction you mentioned, there's a really huge mansion-like place right where it meets the sea."

Minjun was relieved to hear that.

"Right, there's no way it could have disappeared."

But right after, he realized there was something strange in the ghost's words.

"Wait. One mansion?"

Why just one?

"Yes. The surroundings are completely empty, and there's just one house sitting out of place there."

It was incomprehensible.

But there was no time to cling to doubts. Minjun thought they needed to go to a proper place and nurse Dell instead of continuing to leave her outdoors like this.

"Let's move for now."

Swoosh!

Shadows spewed out from his body and wrapped around Dell. Minjun wove them together like several strands of rope, tied up his ex-wife, and hoisted her onto his back. Then, Yumtus also neatly stacked the several Coffin-like items he had brought and shouldered them.

'Hmm, this is a problem.'

Minjun soon realized the problem. The tentacles of Dell's lower half hung limply from his back and dragged on the ground. If they walked like this, they would scrape against the ground, and even if they flew, they would flap like a flag and make things difficult for Dell.

He quickly solved the problem.

Swish!

The shadows moved like hands, tying Dell's tentacles together in a knot. At that, her lower half was organized into a neat, round shape like a hair bun. Minjun spoke.

"Let's go."

In a delirious voice, Dell weakly muttered.

"Tentacles... that entwine... the stars...!"

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