That Day When Suzuki-kun Wasn't the Mob-B!

”From the Blumund Kingdom?”

”Yes.”

”...And how, exactly, did you travel all the way to Dwargon without passing through the Kingdom of Falmuth?”

Upon arriving at the towering gates of Dwargon, Suzuki was immediately intercepted by the border guards and immigration administrators. They bombarded him with questions. It was incredibly rare to see a lone traveler from Blumund—one of the weakest nations in the Western Countries—arrive at their doorstep.

The only human merchants Dwargon usually received came via heavily guarded caravans from the Kingdom of Falmuth or the Eastern Empire. For a single man to make the trek from Blumund was surprising enough.

But the real question was: how did he survive?

”I am reasonably strong,” Suzuki answered calmly.

He didn’t pay the flustered guards much mind, his eyes wandering over the breathtaking scenery of Dwargon. The sheer scale of it made him feel incredibly small. It didn’t look like a mere city; it looked as if the mountain itself had been conquered by divine geometry.

The ”outside” of Dwargon was essentially a sheer, vertical cliffside in the Great Canaat Mountain Range, transformed into a massive, fortified border. The entrance was a colossal archway carved directly into the dark, jagged bedrock, framed by intricate Dwarven runes and massive relief carvings of legendary warriors. At night, geometric patterns etched into the stone glowed with a faint, pulsing blue magic.

Outside the gates, a permanent ”tent city” of trade caravans stretched as far as the eye could see. Suzuki observed a chaotic, vibrant mix: wealthy human merchants draped in silk, rugged adventurers in worn leather, and heavily loaded pack animals from every corner of the globe, all being funneled into a single, highly disciplined queue.

If one looked up, the sky was equally guarded. The silhouettes of elite Pegasus Knights patrolled the jagged mountain peaks, their white wings catching the sunlight like brilliant sparks against the harsh grey stone.

Yet, when Suzuki arrived, everything else was eclipsed. Wearing a flawless, minimalist high-end suit and casually riding atop a vicious, wildly overpowered monster, he completely stunned the crowd and effortlessly hijacked everyone’s attention.

Normally, a merchant of his unknown standing would be forced to wait in the tent city for days, if not weeks, just to secure an entry permit. Instead, a group of high-ranking administrators rushed directly to him, thoroughly baffled by his presence and desperately trying to determine his intentions.

”Like I said. I am strong,” Suzuki repeated.

”...”

The Dwarven officials wanted to argue. By all conventional metrics, Suzuki didn’t look like a powerhouse. He had a lean, aristocratic build. Yet, they knew better than to judge a book by its cover. The undeniable fact that he had forced a massive, highly territorial Lesser Dragon into submission, using it as a casual riding mount, proved his strength was absolutely monstrous.

Yep. On his way up the Canaat Mountains, he had simply bumped into a dragon, activated [Improvised Armament] to assert absolute dominance over it, and ridden it straight to Dwargon’s front door like a boss.

He knew it was a flashy, arrogant entrance, but that was exactly the kind of attention he needed for his business to thrive.

”If you don’t mind,” Suzuki smoothly transitioned, adopting his best corporate negotiation tone, ”could you arrange a meeting with someone holding significant authority in your administration? I bring a highly lucrative proposition for your nation—a mutually beneficial venture that will ensure massive profits for both of our parties.”

The group of Dwarves exchanged hesitant glances. Suzuki’s sheer presence was already overwhelming, but he subtly layered his words with [Nudge]—a psychological sub-skill derived from the Arifureta Merchant job that slightly manipulated a target’s subconscious during moments of hesitation.

”There is absolutely no harm in simply hearing my proposal,” Suzuki pressed gently. ”However, if you let this opportunity slip away, you will likely regret it for the rest of your careers. The economic benefits for your nation are simply too vast to ignore.”

Suzuki knew he might sound like he was bragging, but it wasn’t arrogance if he could back it up. In business, absolute confidence was the ultimate currency. How could he convince an entire superpower to trust him if he didn’t project total certainty?

Plus, he really just wanted to get inside Dwargon as fast as humanly possible so he could finally meet the elves!

As expected, his psychological pressure worked. The administrators whispered frantically among themselves before consulting their superior. Within minutes, the massive gates parted, and he was being personally escorted inside Dwargon, leaving thousands of murmuring, deeply envious merchants stuck in the queue outside.

Elves! I am coming!

Suzuki couldn’t care less about the geopolitical implications of his entrance. His sole, burning focus was on the elven hostesses. Between Treyni and her sisters constantly keeping him busy, and his grueling cross-continental travel, he was a man on a mission.

If only I had the ability to teleport...

Suzuki sighed inwardly. Among all the multiversal versions of himself, not a single one possessed true spatial teleportation. His Penthouse effectively worked like Doraemon’s ”Anywhere Door,” but it was strictly limited to anchoring in locations he had already physically visited.

What about using [Etymologist]?

By manipulating the syntactic roots of distance and location, there had to be a way to instantly travel across the map. Suzuki felt it was conceptually possible, but he decided to put that research on hold. Right now, he needed to focus on the elves.

Besides, taking the time to actually walk through the city was worth it. Dwargon was a masterpiece.

”Wow...”

”What do you think? Our nation is quite impressive, isn’t it?” the Dwarven supervisor asked proudly, leading the way.

”Yeah... I can see an unbelievable amount of money flowing through here.”

”Bwahahaha! As expected of a merchant! You have sharp eyes! There are endless opportunities here for a man who knows where to look!”

”I can’t wait,” Suzuki replied, his eyes gleaming.

Yeah, I really can’t wait for the elves!

Unlike the chaotic human kingdoms or the untamed wilderness, Dwargon was a subterranean marvel carved into the very bones of the earth. It wasn’t a dark, damp cave; it was a sprawling, multi-tiered metropolis of light and stone.

Built inside a gargantuan natural cavern, the ceiling was so impossibly high that artificial ”suns”—massive, hyper-dense magic stones—were suspended from the roof, perfectly simulating the cycle of day and night.

Every street and building was perfectly symmetrical, carved directly from the living rock with mathematical precision. Towering obsidian pillars lined smooth granite plazas, connected by intricate mechanical elevators powered by ancient magic. Everything was built with the intention of lasting for millennia.

As they passed the ”East District,” Suzuki saw a sea of glittering metals and technological marvels. Stalls displayed everything from legendary-grade mythril armor to delicate, highly advanced magitools, all under the watchful, heavily armored gaze of the Dwarven military.

Clang... Clang... Clang.

The rhythmic, unified sound of thousands of blacksmiths’ hammers echoed endlessly through the stone tunnels. It sounded exactly like the beating heart of the mountain itself.

Yet, Suzuki’s sharp eyes completely ignored the legendary smithies. His gaze locked onto a very specific, alluringly decorated storefront down a side street. The glowing sign read: Night Butterfly.

Over there!

Suzuki’s body practically moved on autopilot. He took a step toward the legendary elven hostess club, ready to throw his gold on the table, when the supervisor suddenly stepped in front of him.

”Ah, that isn’t the way, sir. Please, follow me. We are heading up here.”

Wait!

Where exactly are you taking me?!

Wait a goddamn minute!

The elves! I need to go to the elves!

Suzuki screamed internally, his heart breaking into a million pieces as the supervisor gently but firmly guided him away from the promised land.

However, his internal weeping was instantly silenced the moment he realized exactly where he was being taken. The supervisor hadn’t led him to a high-end blacksmith, nor a bureaucratic trade office.

He was standing before the towering, gilded gates of the Royal Palace of Dwargon—the architectural and political crown jewel of the Armed Nation.

Instead of being escorted to the soft, welcoming arms of the elven hostesses, Suzuki had accidentally negotiated his way into a direct, face-to-face royal audience with the ruler of the superpower.

He was about to meet the ”Hero King,” Gazel Dwargo.

---

The elves have to wait for a while~!