My Alter Ego’s Path to Greatness

A border region where the Azerion Empire in the central Ion Continent, the Zepia Republic in the east, and the southern desert region meet.

Contrary to its barren landscape, unsuitable even for farming, a large and prosperous city thrived there.

The Free City of Dracal.

A city-state belonging to no nation, Dracal served as a buffer zone and a trading hub between the two superpowers—.

And most importantly, it was the headquarters of the Mercenary Guild, which had branches throughout the continent.

To establish oneself in this city, one needed the Guild’s approval. It was practically a nation of mercenaries.

And in that nation, Patrick, the current Secretary General, held a position equivalent to a prime minister… or rather, he had held such a position.

‘This is troublesome.’

Patrick, a man in his late thirties with neatly combed brown hair and a formal attire, struggled to maintain his composure.

He looked more like a civil servant than a mercenary, his lips twitching nervously as he pressed them together with his fingers.

‘I worked so hard to get here… I can’t give up now.’

He was an Earthling, originally from Ireland.

He had been summoned to this world in his late thirties, in the midst of a busy and successful career.

He had struggled to survive after arriving in this unfamiliar land.

The information he had diligently gathered before his transfer was useless in this new dimension, and his abilities were support-oriented, unsuitable for combat.

‘Even if I return to Earth now, I can’t go back to my old life. I have to gain as much as I can here before I leave.’

It had been over ten years since he joined the Mercenary Guild, working his way up from the bottom.

And now, he was about to lose everything?

‘No way. I won’t let that happen.’

He gritted his teeth, recalling his new lifeline.

After losing his connection to the former Mercenary King, Kanble, he had finally found a new backer.

Harley, the hero’s companion and a prominent member of the expedition.

Thanks to their connection, he had been able to maintain his position as Secretary General…

“Are you listening, Secretary General?”

…But it seemed his rivals weren’t going to tolerate it.

“Of course, Sir Clayven.”

Patrick replied politely to the middle-aged man standing before him, his eyes scanning the group that had barged into his office.

‘They came prepared. Are they planning to finalize this today?’

Guild executives, leaders of large mercenary groups…

Among the dozen or so people, four had particularly powerful auras.

‘Four master-level experts… This is insane. How did they gather so many?’

Their combined presence was suffocating.

An ordinary person would have fainted, but he was also an awakened individual, capable of using Karma points and his unique skill.

He suppressed a sigh and forced a smile.

“But as I said before, Harley is currently busy with the expedition, accompanying the Saint. We can’t just ignore that and proceed with…”

Even though he was the Secretary General, his authority was limited without the backing of a powerful Mercenary King.

The mercenary kings were the Guild’s muscle and its face. He had to be careful not to offend them.

“Do you really think we’re fools?”

“…Pardon?”

His cautious excuse was immediately shot down.

As he faltered, a middle-aged woman, the Archmage representing the mage faction, spoke casually.

“It’s been a while since he left the north. Something about… becoming the Fighting King of Calcos?”

“…But that’s just an honorary title in the Tribal Federation…”

Patrick hurriedly replied.

It was absurd for the Mercenary Guild, which was supposed to maintain strict neutrality, to serve a ‘king’ of another nation, let alone one who wasn’t even a mercenary king.

Once you became the ruler of another country, you were no longer a mercenary, so you naturally lost your qualifications as a mercenary king… That was their logic.

“Let’s stop wasting time and get this over with. I’m getting bored. Just chop off his head…”

“Taroom.”

“…Tsk, fine. Do whatever you want.”

A burly warrior with a bushy beard and bulging muscles, who had been threatening him aggressively, clicked his tongue at the middle-aged man who had stopped him.

He was also a master-level expert, but he seemed to be complying with the other man’s wishes, crossing his arms and stepping back.

‘Clayven…’

Patrick’s gaze shifted back to the middle-aged man standing before him.

A master-level knight, originally a wandering knight, who had joined the mercenary world over twenty years ago and was now vying for the position of Mercenary King, having gathered the support of other faction leaders.

He had lost to Kanble, the previous Mercenary King, who had a stronger claim to legitimacy as a pure mercenary…

‘This is bad.’

He had faced similar pressure before.

But he had always been able to deflect it by using Harley’s name as a shield. Now that they had a valid reason to remove him, it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Even Clayven seemed to be respecting the process because of Harley’s reputation… but there was a limit to how long he could hold on with just a name.

“You’re not planning to hand over Dracal to those southern barbarians, are you?”

“…Of course not.”

“Hmm, then you still believe in that Fighting King?”

As Patrick faltered, Clayven pressed his advantage, his voice sharp.

He was one of the strongest in the Guild, so he was confident in his abilities. He didn’t explicitly say it, but his tone was condescending.

Of course, he had heard of Harley, the renowned great warrior, and his reputation was… concerning.

‘What? The legendary Dragonborn? A giant over ten meters tall? …Ha! Nonsense.’

Rumors were often exaggerated, so he dismissed them as fabrications.

It was so absurd that he couldn’t help but scoff.

Patrick must have spread those rumors to use Harley as a shield.

‘I should have joined the expedition. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with this.’

He had been worried about being summoned to replace Kanble after his death, but now, seeing the expedition’s success, he was filled with a newfound confidence.

He could have achieved the same results, if he had been there.

That was why he had been actively expanding his influence within the Guild.

He couldn’t afford to lose the Mercenary King position again.

His conflict with Patrick, Harley’s supporter, was inevitable.

“…Secretary General, there’s… something I need to tell you…”

But as fate would have it,

Things didn’t go as Clayven had planned.

“There’s… someone in the lobby…”

His secretary entered the room, her voice trembling slightly as she struggled against the oppressive presence of the gathered executives.

“…Harley is here.”

__________________

‘Let’s see what he’s like.’

Clayven, the Mercenary King candidate, confidently strode towards the lobby.

He was accompanied by Patrick and the Guild executives.

To meet Harley, the man whose name had been on everyone's lips.

‘Even if the rumors are exaggerated, he’s still a formidable opponent.’

He might even be stronger than Clayven in terms of pure combat power.

Harley’s reputation as a member of the hero’s expedition couldn't be entirely baseless.

‘But being a Mercenary King isn’t just about strength.’

Unlike Harley, a newcomer, he had been a mercenary for over twenty years, and he had been one of the Guild’s leading figures for over a decade.

His intangible assets couldn’t be ignored.

And he wasn’t alone.

‘I don’t care about the concessions I made to the others. Once I become the Mercenary King…’

Confident in his strength and the support of the powerful figures he had gathered, he headed towards the lobby—.

…And as soon as he arrived, he frowned, sensing the strange atmosphere that permeated the space.

“Hmm?”

The lobby of the Mercenary Guild headquarters, the de facto rulers of Dracal, was massive.

Countless counters, desks, and various facilities.

It was usually bustling with activity…

“······.”

“…Ahem.”

…But now, an eerie silence filled the air.

Despite the presence of numerous people.

And those who had just arrived could instantly tell why.

‘So that’s…’

A man was lounging on a sofa near a pillar, his legs practically sprawled out, his arms resting on the backrest.

And then, his gaze shifted towards them—.

‘Ah.’

…And just like that, the confident group that had marched into the lobby froze in place, like statues.

“Oh! It’s been a while, Patrick! How have you been? Hahaha!”

But the man on the sofa, seemingly oblivious to their reactions, spotted Patrick among them and let out a hearty laugh, slowly sitting up.

Creak—

The sofa, already sagging under his weight, groaned in protest.

He had used his Ki to minimize his weight, but even then, it was too much for a piece of furniture designed for ordinary humans.

“Oops! Sorry about that! It seems I broke the sofa.”

“…Ah, it must have been a defective product. Don’t worry about it, Harley. We were planning to replace it soon anyway.”

“Tsk tsk, this is the Guild headquarters, can’t you get some decent furniture?”

“Hahaha, my apologies. I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

The muscular giant casually approached them, and Patrick, having stepped forward, bowed and scraped, trying to appease him.

But Clayven and the others remained silent, their bodies stiff.

‘He’s… huge.’

That was the first thought that crossed their minds.

Even the burliest among them, the bearded warrior, was over two meters tall… but he was dwarfed by the giant before them.

…And it wasn’t just his size.

His presence, his aura, the sheer density of his being…

It felt like the very space around him was being crushed by his weight.

‘What… What is he?!’

Clayven gulped, his breath catching in his throat.

He hadn't even done anything yet, but he was already feeling short of breath.

As the giant approached, his body began to tremble uncontrollably.

‘Don’t tell me…’

He had never experienced this before, even after reaching the master level, so it took him a while to realize what was happening.

‘…He’s… that strong?’

It was a primal instinct, a warning signal from his body.

His life was in danger.

And yet, the giant was just casually chatting with Patrick, as if he wasn’t even aware of their presence.

“Oh! Who are these guys? They seem pretty strong.”

And then, the giant’s gaze finally shifted towards them.

Clayven met those eyes, and he knew.

‘…I’m going to die.’

There was no way he could fight him.

Exaggerated rumors? Patrick’s fabrication? He’s not qualified to be a Mercenary King?

It was all meaningless.

None of it mattered in front of this monster.

His carefully laid plans, the factions he had rallied, the powerful warriors he had gathered…

What good were they against a being who could tear them all apart single-handedly?

“Ah, these are some of our Guild’s executives. We were just discussing the Guild’s future direction.”

“Oh! I see! Why are they so stiff? Relax, I’m not going to eat you! Hahaha!”

Harley laughed heartily, and Clayven, finally regaining some control over his body, realized he wasn’t the only one who had reacted that way.

No wonder it had been so quiet.

Everyone who had come with him, regardless of their level, was sweating profusely, their faces pale and tense.

He quickly made a decision.

“…My apologies for the disrespect. I’ve heard much about you, Harley-nim. It’s an honor to meet you. I am Clayven, leader of the Golden Crow Mercenary Group.”

He bowed deeply, his words respectful, a clear sign of submission.

“Oh! Nice to meet you too!”

Harley, who had somehow appeared right next to him, clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh.

It was supposed to be a friendly gesture… but Clayven stumbled, his body swaying, and he forced a smile.

A subservient grin, driven purely by his survival instincts.

“It seems we can be friends! Hahaha!”

“Ha… Haha… That’s good to hear…”

And it was the best decision he could have made.

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