The Dimensional Swordmaster C7

Chapter 7 How I Ended Up in Another World (7)

Just then, the elevator came to a stop. Unsure whether to step out, Yurian glanced at Gong Siyoung, who silently took the lead.

The place was smaller than the guild building, but to Yurian, it was another world of wonders. Everything around him gleamed, sleek and immaculate, like something out of a dream.

Siyoung pressed a small panel beside the door—beep, beep—and with a soft chime, the door slid open. He gestured curtly for Yurian to follow. No words were needed; Yurian understood and stepped inside.

“Wow.”

It was pure comfort. Was this… a house? A place people actually lived in? This wasn’t heaven, wasn’t a palace—and yet somehow, it was both.

Wide-eyed, Yurian turned in slow circles, admiring every detail. His reflection in the mirror beside the shoe cabinet mirrored his awe.

“Wow, this is—”

“‘Wow’—forbidden. ‘What’s this’—forbidden. All words of amazement—forbidden.”

Siyoung’s warning came sharp and immediate, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Yurian pouted but obediently closed his mouth. Mimicking Siyoung, he slipped off his shoes at the entrance.

Siyoung, weary to the bone, pointed toward a closed door.

“That room’s empty. You can use it. We’re going to the Bureau tomorrow at seven. Don’t oversleep.”

Nodding rapidly, Yurian bowed slightly and hurried to the room. The moment he cracked the door open, a wave of warmth and comfort washed over him.

A soft, inviting bed awaited. He dashed toward it and dropped down, muffling a gasp as the mattress embraced him like a cloud.

So soft…

He’d noticed it before—everything in this world was inexplicably, impossibly soft.

Without a second thought, he sprawled flat across the bed. It was heavenly, a comfort so foreign it almost frightened him.

Rolling side to side, he let out a low hum of satisfaction. No matter how he moved, there wasn’t a single uncomfortable spot—the bed seemed to mold perfectly around him.

How long had it been since he’d last felt this way? When was the last time he’d truly rested, body and soul?

Months of fighting monsters nonstop, sleeping half-awake under tattered tents, enduring cold rain and harder ground—it all felt like another lifetime.

Now, finally, there was warmth. Shelter. Peace.

He didn’t have to lie awake listening for the sound of approaching beasts. The sturdy walls and ceiling guarded him like silent sentinels.

In that moment, Yurian made a decision.

If fate had brought him here, then so be it.

Go back home? He didn’t even want to. From now on—this was home.

Just like that, Yurian abandoned his homeland as easily as flipping a switch.

Gripping the soft blanket tight, he closed his eyes. Warmth, quiet, and comfort wrapped around him like a spell.

Sleep claimed him within seconds.

“…He’s already asleep?”

Barely three seconds after his head hit the pillow, Yurian was out cold—his breathing soft and steady. Siyoung stared in disbelief.

Was this sleep or unconsciousness?

Leaning against the doorframe, he sighed.

“Seriously, what kind of lunatic just… passes out like that.”

Did that man have no sense of caution?

They’d only met today. For all Yurian knew, Siyoung could’ve been a murderer—and yet there he was, snoozing without a care in the world. It was baffling.

Then again, everything about Yurian was baffling.

It wasn’t just his behavior—his entire existence seemed off.

Sure, his tendency to overreact stood out most, but even at a glance, nothing about him looked ordinary.

Pale skin, even paler hair, and bright blue eyes—there wasn’t a trace of Korean features in him. And yet he didn’t exactly look foreign, either.

He was similar, but not quite. Human, yes—but not of this world.

Maybe he was crazy. Maybe that was all it was.

Siyoung clicked his tongue, tearing his gaze away from the sleeping figure. Thinking about it only made his head hurt.

Besides, this sort of thing was his brother’s specialty, not his. He just had to get through the night.

He switched off the light but left the door open, just in case. Who knew what kind of tricks the strange man might pull—or if he’d even be there come morning.

All he had to do was deliver him to the Bureau tomorrow and this whole mess would be over.

Once Yurian’s rank was assessed, no matter what Gong Sijin said, Siyoung planned to cut ties completely.

Which meant after tonight, he’d never have to see this weirdo again. No more childish exclamations, no more chaotic energy—peace at last.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips.

“Yeah. Just until tomorrow…”

Then, unbidden, the words came back to him:

‘It’s something an old friend left me before he died.’

The smile faded.

That look on Yurian’s face when he’d talked about the sword—carefree on the surface, but something about it had stuck with him.

‘Don’t worry about it.’

It might’ve been his imagination, but for a split second, Yurian had seemed… subdued.

Was he pretending to be fine, or was he truly that indifferent? No one could say.

But still—after hearing the words friend’s keepsake, how could anyone not care?

“…No. Forget it.”

It wasn’t his problem.

If the sword mattered that much, he could just buy the guy another one. Or pay him off—clean, simple, done.

Besides, wasn’t he already doing the man a favor? Letting him eat, sleep, and rest for free? Anyone else would’ve tossed him onto the street.

Mulling over how petty that sounded even in his own head, Siyoung sank into the couch and crossed his legs.

Was it exhaustion, or the mental toll of dealing with that lunatic? Either way, he felt completely drained.

His foot bounced restlessly, the soft tap-tap echoing through the quiet apartment.

A glance at the clock—barely ten minutes had passed. Siyoung rubbed at his lips, restless.

With too much time on his hands, useless thoughts piled up.

Why should he feel guilty? He had no reason to. Yurian hadn’t taken care of his own belongings—why should he care?

He leaned back into the sofa, trying to shove thoughts of keepsakes out of his mind. There were more important things to worry about.

Lately, the Hunter Bureau’s control had become increasingly suffocating.

Their reasoning wasn’t entirely unfounded, of course—the sudden surge in spontaneous dungeons had thrown everything into chaos.

“Spontaneous dungeons,” as the name implied, were those that appeared out of nowhere.

Dozens of gates opened every day, though not all posed a threat. Some blinked out as quickly as they appeared, and most spontaneous dungeons were ranked D or below—easily managed.

But lately, that had changed.

In the past few months, A- and even S-rank dungeons had begun appearing without warning.

As a result, all A-rank and higher hunters, including Siyoung himself, were on constant standby.

And as if that weren’t enough, the Bureau had begun enforcing mandatory team registrations.

Every hunter was now required to join a registered party of five to twelve members—including at least one healer and one B-rank or higher with communication skills.

Rumor had it those who refused would face penalties.

They called it “voluntary registration,” but everyone knew what it really was—military control in disguise.

It was only a matter of time before the whispers turned real—before unregistered hunters lost their licenses altogether.

Sijin advocated for cooperation, but Siyoung refused to play along with the Bureau’s dictatorship.

There were already too few hunters to begin with. The number of awakeners was low, and their survival rate was worse.

Within three years of awakening, nearly half of all hunters died. One in two didn’t make it.

Even gathering three B-rank hunters was difficult, let alone forming a full five-person team. And for what? More bureaucracy?

What was the point of guilds if not to organize dungeon runs as needed?

They called it “voluntary,” but everyone could see the noose tightening.

The Bureau had always viewed guilds as a thorn in their side—and now, they’d found the perfect excuse to pull the leash tighter.

Siyoung’s head throbbed.

He trusted his brother, the guild master, to handle things—but worry gnawed at him all the same.

On impulse, he grabbed his phone and dialed Gong Sijin.

After a few rings, his brother’s calm voice answered.

— Hey, Siyoung. Home safe?

“Yeah. Listen, about tomorrow at the Bureau—”

— No.

The rejection came before he’d even finished the sentence. Siyoung’s eyes narrowed.

“What the hell? I didn’t even say anything yet.”

— Please. You were going to corner the branch chief and rant about abolishing the voluntary registration policy, weren’t you?

“I’m not a kid, you know. I wasn’t going to make a scene.”

— You’re not a kid—you’re a brat. And no, you’re not going. Just drop Yurian off at the Bureau entrance and leave. Do not go inside.

Sijin’s voice was smooth, teasing, infuriatingly calm. Siyoung grit his teeth.

Before he could protest, his brother added lightly—

— You’ve got a dungeon to run right after anyway. The A-rank one where you found Yurian. Something about it seems… off.