Chapter 4

In order to survive in another world, you had to know your place.

Erabelle Vermilion, a mere lowborn second lieutenant, had no grand ambitions. Her only goal was to wear herself down into something useful—a tool worth keeping around.

If I do well enough... maybe I can make it back home alive.

So let’s do this right.

With that firm resolve, Erabelle changed into her issued uniform and stepped outside.

Two years passed.

And just as she had promised herself, she survived.

Somehow.

***

“...Does it hurt a lot?”

Dezeb Avganis had first found her strange when she came in for her identification implant.

Once was to be expected.

But twice...?

He had thought she might resist, stall for time, make some kind of fuss. Instead, she treated it like paying rent—regular, routine, unavoidable.

And if there was one thing Erabelle Vermilion was, it was punctual.

“Hhhnngh... ugh...”

The petite woman knelt on the floor, folded over his desk as she breathed heavily through the pain. Her short, slightly curled brown bob clung messily to the sides of her face.

Perched on the edge of the desk beside her, Dezeb gently asked if she was alright.

Of course, she wasn’t.

His long fingers slowly brushed over the back of her head—a strangely tender gesture, utterly unlike him. But Erabelle Vermilion was in no condition to notice.

The quarterly identification tag implant was excruciatingly painful.

Even high-ranking nobles thrashed and drooled through it, screaming like animals.

And yet this woman... endured it almost entirely in silence.

She knew her place. She followed orders. She was dependable. It would have been difficult to find anyone who embodied the ideal subordinate more perfectly.

Just as she had boldly declared two years ago, she had proven useful in more ways than one.

Dezeb gently stroked the area around the injection site at the back of her neck.

“I-I’m... fine...” she stammered, trembling violently.

Most people would start testing boundaries after being shown this much kindness. But not Erabelle Vermilion. She never overstepped.

“If it’s too much, you don’t have to answer.”

His voice remained soft and soothing.

It did little to help.

Her back was still stiff as a board. She hid it well, but Dezeb could always sense the fear in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

“...I-I’m f-fine... M-Miro...”

“Shall I escort you?”

He asked gently, but once again, she whispered the same broken reply.

“...M-Miro... I’m fine... Miro...”

She must have practiced it beforehand. Even as her body trembled and betrayed her, she repeated the same words like a mantra.

Miro... I’m fine. Miro...

“...Alright, then.”

Dezeb lightly tapped the back of her neck with his fingers.

“You can go now.”

With his permission, Erabelle shakily activated the transport slot.

In an instant, her pale elemental spirit opened its mouth wide and swallowed her whole.

“...Home... home...”

Her voice, barely more than a murmur, cut off halfway as she vanished.

She sometimes used her great spirit for transportation—today was one of those days.

***

Not even a drop of saliva remained on the desk where she had collapsed.

That was because she had stuffed a handkerchief into her own mouth to muffle her screams. She had even brought it herself.

Dezeb lightly tapped the spot where her warmth still lingered.

***

“...Ugh.”

Three days after the tag update, Erabelle sat at the barracks dining table, muttering every curse word she knew.

Damn it.

She could never stop herself from swearing after a tag insertion.

Looking thoroughly sleep-deprived, she slumped in her chair and grumbled under her breath.

No matter how many times I go through it, I never get used to it.

And I never will.

If it happened more often than once every three months, she might genuinely have deserted.

For real.

Death would be cleaner than this.

Suppressing a sigh, she jabbed a cocktail of painkillers and muscle relaxants into the vein at the crook of her elbow.

For the past two years, she had made liberal use of this world’s advanced biotechnology—even though most of it technically consisted of banned substances.

Without it, she would never have lasted this long.

The one good thing about this bizarre patchwork world—a jjamppong of mythology and planetary science fiction—was its almost surreal medical technology.

...On the 24th, a 17-square-kilometer dimensional rift was detected near Colony 80 in the 2155 planetary system. Authorities have officially stated that there is no significant danger, but several civic groups have raised concerns...

Erabelle gently rubbed the crook of her arm, where a tiny bead of blood had surfaced, her eyes fixed on the television.

This world was like a black hole.

From time to time, it absorbed information and intelligent life from other dimensions through rifts, but what came through was not always something good.

Sometimes, something truly terrible emerged.

Whenever a monster-class rift opened, the whole area descended into a full-blown hellscape. Thankfully, most such incidents were concentrated around the 2155 planetary system.

The news eventually moved on from reports about ongoing conflict zones to the weather forecast.

Only then did Erabelle snap out of her daze.

7:10.

She hurriedly swept the scattered injectors aside and rushed to get ready for work.

It had already been two years since she enlisted.

Erabelle had grown accustomed to this life.

She had thought leaving the Countdom would be lonely—but, surprisingly enough, she had even made drinking buddies.

There was no time to feel lonely when you were drinking yourself senseless every night.

Erabelle Vermilion had somehow managed to out-adapt even cockroaches.

After ten years in this other world, adaptability seemed to be the only thing she had truly developed. Even so, there were some things no one could ever fully get used to.

“Just what the hell do you call this?”

Like a superior officer picking a fight first thing in the morning.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t adapt to Virgo Hag—she simply had no desire to.

“What seems to be the problem, Captain Hag?”

Erabelle gave a curt nod in the hallway to the red-haired officer who had decided to pick a fight with her on her way to work.

“What’s the problem? Why is our squad the only one that didn’t get summer uniforms? Why didn’t Operations receive the additional allocation?”

“They were distributed at 11:38 AM on the 28th.”

Even after that precise answer, Virgo’s expression remained fierce.

“You saying I’m lying?”

Yes, Erabelle replied silently, her thoughts drifting to Sanché back in the Countdom.

That degree of denial was pure Sanché. If she had been here, this would already have turned into a hair-pulling fight. She would have ripped Virgo’s hair out by the roots.

There was plenty Erabelle wanted to say—but none of it was worth dying over.

“There’s a confirmation of receipt in the logs.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that? You sure it’s there?”

Virgo smiled ominously.

Erabelle smiled back. After two years, she had become quite skilled at this sort of fake workplace-smile tango.

When predators filled your surroundings, fake smiles were a survival skill.

“Yes. One of the ledgers is backed up on Commander Dezeb’s private server, so the record is definitely there.”

“...Why is it on Dezeb’s server?”

“Probably because this sort of thing happens often.”

“Then what about my buttons? I lost two!”

“You can leave it at the repair office.”

“But I hate strangers touching my clothes.”

Really? When your entire body is practically public property? What kind of backwards logic was that?

Erabelle wanted to say, Then go make friends with the guy at the repair desk, but once again, self-preservation kept her mouth shut.

“Why don’t you sew them back on yourself?”

“Can’t. So you do it.”

Virgo stepped closer with a sly grin. Erabelle nodded as though she had been expecting exactly that.

“That’ll be 12 credit points.”

“...What’s with the extra 2 points?”

“I’m not feeling well today.”

With murderers like these, flat-out refusal was never a good idea. It was far safer to wriggle around the problem like a slippery eel and protect yourself.

Even the pettiest rejection could be interpreted as insubordination.

And the worst offender in that regard was Dezeb Avganis.

The bottom line was simple—never say no outright.

Reasonable counteroffers fell within the acceptable range. They considered that “flexible communication.”

And because they liked to think of themselves as civilized beings, they often accepted such offers.

They were dead wrong on both counts.

It wasn’t communication.

And they definitely weren’t civilized.

Still, it was better than letting their thoughts drift toward something like, “Guess I’ll have to kill her,” or “Time to hack off a few limbs.”

“That’s no fun. How about we settle it in kind, hmm? I’ll pay with my body.”

“Then could I ask you to handle inventory today...?”

“Ugh, fine. 12 credits it is.”

Erabelle silently stared at the paper money Virgo had shoved into her hands.

Tch. Figures.

As she slipped it into her pocket, Virgo leaned down and breathed teasingly beside her ear.

“Hey, Erabelle... what’s your going rate these days?”

“I only accept material exchanges. In Signum.”

After two years around these bastards, this kind of trashy flirting barely even registered anymore.

Those two years felt more like two thousand.

“You’re so consistent, it’s almost impressive.”

Virgo sighed.

“If you just flat-out rejected me, I could use that as an excuse to punish you. Come on, Erabelle. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to get pinned down, just once?”

Of course, these monsters were devastatingly beautiful.

Even when they said such deranged things out loud, their looks made them difficult to ridicule.

Erabelle did still harbor a little resentment over the fact that their appearances were what had gotten her caught at the banquet two years ago.

But she couldn’t deny it.

They were stunning.

Still.

“I see Commander Dezeb every day, so...”

“...Could you not bring up Dezeb? Seriously? What if just hearing that name breaks something inside me?!”

I’d celebrate.

In fact, Erabelle felt like applauding.

At last, a little hope in this world.