I Became the Black Knight

After the demons appeared, the place that thrived the most was undoubtedly the Mercenary Guild.

The world was overflowing with tasks that required force, but the elite troops of the nations were barely managing to hold the frontlines.

In the end, everything—from trivial errands to high-stakes missions—fell into the hands of mercenaries.

Naturally, the social status of mercenaries also rose.

In the past, they were wretched souls wandering the battlefield, just waiting for death. But now, if they played their cards right, even a noble title wasn't out of reach.

The danger remained the same, but the potential rewards had grown tremendously.

Today, too, people of all walks of life, with dreams swelling in their chests, were knocking on the doors of the Mercenary Guild.

Dale was one of them.

The Mercenary Guild office was located in District 7, and it was quite a large facility.

Dale looked up at the six-story stone building that spread wide to either side, then opened the door.

The interior was quiet.

Most mercenaries were already out on assignments by this time, and those without work were likely off drinking.

On the first floor of the guild office, only a handful of mercenaries were idly loitering about.

Dale walked past them in silence.

Then, he accidentally bumped into a mercenary who had been walking backward.

"Hey, what the f*ck—who the hell do you think—wanna get your ass kicked or something…?"

The mercenary cursed and turned around—only for his face to freeze in place.

Staring down at him was Dale, clad in full black armor from head to toe, exuding an oppressive aura.

The mercenary instinctively muttered under his breath,

"W-why is a Dark Knight here…?"

Dale stared down coldly.

"Go on, keep talking."

"…What?"

"The part after 'wanna get your ass kicked.' Keep going."

The mercenary's face turned ghostly pale. After a brief moment of hesitation, he raised his right hand and slapped himself hard across the cheek.

Smack!

"Y-you dumb f*ck! How dare you bump into a knight? You wanna get your ass kicked? You need a beating to come to your senses, huh?!"

Smack! Smack! Smack!

He shouted at himself like he was furious, slapping his own face repeatedly.

At the absurd display, Dale simply turned his head away indifferently.

"Watch yourself."

"Y-yes, sir! I'll be careful!"

Dale continued walking, and behind him, the sound of the mercenary exhaling in relief could be heard.

Even if their social standing had improved, a mercenary was still a mercenary.

They lived with death constantly at their backs, so they were naturally rough and brutal.

And in such a world, you had to make it absolutely clear who was above whom.

By now, everyone in the room had turned their gaze toward Dale.

Wherever he went, Dale drew attention with his appearance.

The mercenaries began to whisper among themselves.

"It's a black knight. First time seeing one."

"I saw one once on the front lines… best not to get too close."

"Why's he here at the guild?"

Ignoring the murmurs and stares, Dale walked straight to the reception desk.

There were three reception counters, and all three staff members looked at him nervously.

"..."

Dale paused, wondering which counter to approach.

All three receptionists wore the same expression—Please not me, anyone but me.

He chose the one who looked the most composed, relatively speaking.

"W-welcome to the Irene Branch of the Mercenary Guild."

The receptionist stood ramrod straight, visibly tense.

As Dale silently gazed at her, she fumbled her next words.

"W-what can I help you with?"

"I want to register as a mercenary."

"Ah. Um. I see…"

A black knight showing up out of the blue, suddenly declaring he wanted to register as a mercenary—The receptionist couldn't hide her shock.

And understandably so. After all, black knights were originally knights.

And knights, by nature, were proud and arrogant to the core.

They were the sort who'd rather become rogue knights and rob travelers than stoop to the level of some lowly mercenary.

Black knights were a bit of a different case, sure—but even they weren't exactly the type to walk into a mercenary guild and sign up.

Still flustered, the receptionist did not forget her role. She asked Dale politely, trying to maintain a steady tone.

"Do you have anything to verify your identity?"

"I don't. But I do have a guarantor."

"May I have their name?"

"Estelle. She's an apprentice priestess of the Church."

The receptionist frowned. It was a name she'd never heard before, and the idea of a Church apprentice vouching for a black knight? It sounded far too implausible.

But even so, she couldn't point that out—not when the black knight standing in front of her was absolutely terrifying.

'i-if I say the wrong thing, he'll kill me and devour my soul…'

It was a rather prejudiced thought, but she couldn't help it.

Gripping her trembling hands together, the receptionist opened her mouth.

"C-could I have your name, please?"

"Dale."

"Ah, Sir Dale. Let me first explain the mercenary ranking system. The guild categorizes mercenaries into five ranks based on their accomplishments: Wood, Iron, Bronze, Silver, and Gold. Do you understand so far?"

Dale nodded.

He already knew this information. Still, he listened attentively, just in case there was a discrepancy between what he knew and how the guild operated.

"You can raise your rank by completing commissions and accumulating achievements. From the Bronze tier onward, you'll be allowed entry into District 3. And if you reach the Gold tier, the royal family will bestow upon you the title of baronet."

As the receptionist continued, she seemed to grow less tense. Her explanation became smoother, without hesitation.

"Access to upper districts and a baronetcy…"

Irene was divided into seven districts, but starting from District 3, entry required official authorization. Becoming a Bronze-ranked mercenary would grant that access.

Of course, the existence of such benefits also meant that reaching that position wouldn't be easy.

"Considering the privileges available in the upper districts, I need to raise my rank quickly."

He would need to work diligently from now on.

Dale spoke to the receptionist.

"I understand. So I just need to start from the Wood tier, correct? I'll register."

"Um… there's a bit of a problem with that."

"?"

As Dale gave her a sharp look, the receptionist's speech sped up again.

"W-we have an entrance test at the guild. It's a procedure to assess whether someone is trustworthy—at least a basic credit check."

"And?"

"Usually, we assign a few simple requests. Things like gathering herbs or cleaning sewers…"

"Get to the point. What are you trying to say?"

The receptionist gulped and cautiously replied.

"We… can't just assign a request to Sir Dale. It's just… some of our clients might not be comfortable with it."

"Why not?"

"Well…"

The receptionist couldn't continue her sentence and instead glanced Dale up and down.

From that reaction, Dale understood what she was trying to say.

'Because I'm a Black Knight.'

Annoyed, Dale shot back.

"If a Black Knight picks herbs, do they lose their potency? Or is the sewer somehow filthier if I'm the one who cleans it?"

"It's just… it could break the trust between the guild and the clients..."

In short, there wasn't a single client willing to entrust a request to a half-undead.

If Dale had a verified identity or an undeniable record of achievements, things might have been different.

But Dale had only just arrived in the city.

No one would trust a shady, unfamiliar figure—especially one that looked like a heretical undead.

'Ha. This is exactly why I never picked Black Knight in the game.'

He had run into an unexpected obstacle.

After thinking for a moment, Dale decided to change tactics. He had been acting too human until now—it was time to behave like a proper Black Knight.

Dale deliberately glared at the receptionist with a menacing gaze and said,

"Then just issue me the wooden tag without the test."

Forcing his way through.

The receptionist's eyes widened in shock.

"E-Excuse me?"

"If you're unprepared to administer the entrance test, isn't that your fault? Why should I be the one to suffer for it?"

"T-That's…"

Bang!

"Kyaa!"

Dale slammed the desk hard. A jagged crack split through the wooden surface.

Startled out of her wits, the receptionist recoiled in fear.

Sometimes, a single act of intimidation was more effective than a hundred words.

The cold aura unique to a Black Knight spread ominously through the air.

Now on the verge of tears, the receptionist trembled, completely at a loss for what to do.

"Ah, uh…"

"I don't intend to harm anyone. All you have to do is carve my name into the wooden tag."

"Y-Yes, understood."

"Good. You're doing well."

The receptionist, paralyzed with fear, was unable to make a rational decision.

With trembling hands, she attempted to carve Dale's name into the wooden tag.

Dale murmured to himself with satisfaction.

'Intimidation tactic — success.'

Not something to use too often, but it worked well on the faint-hearted.

Just then, a deep, resonant voice called out from behind.

"Would you kindly stop trying to sneak your way into getting a mercenary tag by scaring my staff?"

Dale turned his head.

A large-built, middle-aged Black man with a scar across his cheek stood there with a wry smile.

It was a familiar face even in Dale's memory.

"Garand."

Garand the retired Gold Badge mercenary. A living legend who once turned down a baronial title, and the current branch manager of the Mercenary Guild's Irene chapter. A man who harbors a special secret.

He was also someone Dale had encountered often while playing the game.

When Dale recognized him, Garand looked momentarily surprised.

"Oh? You know who I am?"

"Just happened to."

"'Just happened to', huh… Ah. You may go now."

"Y-Yes?"

At Garand's dismissal, the receptionist brightened and quickly stepped away from the counter.

Garand took her place at the desk.

"So then. From what I hear, you're here to register as a mercenary?"

"That's right."

"Hmm. Well, we're always glad to welcome talent, but..."

Garand stroked his chin thoughtfully and continued.

"The issue is, as mentioned before, the matter of trust in you, Sir Dale. It's going to be difficult to find any client willing to offer you a job right now."

Hearing the same explanation again was starting to irritate Dale.

'Should I just threaten him too?'

Garand had a secret — one that Dale knew. If he used that information as leverage, a mere mercenary badge would be handed over without issue.

However…

'It'd be a waste.'

That card was far too valuable to burn on something this trivial. Besides, starting off their first meeting with blackmail? That would sour their relationship for good.

'I should hold back and observe a bit more.'

Dale intentionally spoke in a disgruntled tone.

"So? You're saying you won't accept me?"

"Hmmm."

Even as Dale radiated a menacing aura, Garand didn't flinch in the slightest.

In fact, he looked at Dale with growing interest in his eyes.

"I heard Haken's report. He said you escorted people all the way here safely. Is that true?"

Had Haken already submitted a full report?

Caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic, Dale simply nodded.

Garand continued,

"Quill and Haken—those two were a trustworthy pair. Ah, though I suppose they're no longer a duo... In any case, if Haken gave you a good evaluation, he must have had a reason. I'll assign you a request."

"You have a request to give me?"

"It's an internal guild request."

A request issued by the guild itself? That kind of job usually spelled trouble.

Garand gave a meaningful smile.

"To be more precise, the requester isn't the guild—it's me. Will you accept it? It may be dangerous. No, it will be dangerous."

A dangerous request?

Even better.

Dale accepted without hesitation.

"I'll take it."

***

Garand immediately began explaining the details of the request.

"There's a village about two days from here that sent in a monster subjugation request. Apparently, an owlbear migrated from somewhere and settled near the village."

"Owlbears don't usually leave their territory, though."

Garand looked slightly surprised.

"You know quite a bit about monster ecology! Yes, that's true. They usually stay within their own territory. But that's not the important part right now."

The guild had sent a subjugation team in response to the request. The team was called the Miles Team—a group that included one bronze-ranked mercenary and five iron-ranks.

It was a solid force for dealing with an owlbear.

"But they were wiped out. All except for the team leader. According to the report, it was a mutated owlbear."

"So what are you trying to say?"

"We've assembled a new subjugation party, but I'm not feeling too confident about it. I'd like you to accompany them, Sir Dale."

Owlbear extermination.

Dale pondered.

An owlbear, huh? Not as tough a request as I expected.

Even if it was a mutant, as long as there were other mercenaries involved, it wasn't a monster that posed a serious threat.

"That's all?"

"Yes. Ah, and could you also retrieve the mercenary tags of the fallen? It's the guild's duty to inform their families and provide proper funerals."

"Understood. I'll bring back as many as I can."

"Good. If this request is completed without issue, I'll issue you a mercenary tag."

Garand busied himself with paperwork as he spoke. It was something he could've easily left to the receptionist, but it seemed he preferred to do it himself.

Then, with a bitter expression, he added,

"Since mercenaries were killed, the nearby villagers have likely suffered the same fate. A tragedy."

It was the kind of world where even the disappearance of an entire small village wouldn't stir anyone's concern.

Looking Dale in the eyes, Garand said,

"I hope you'll avenge them, Sir Dale."

"Leave it to me."

As Dale stood up, Garand suddenly seemed to remember something and spoke again.

"Ah, right—since you're registering as a mercenary, we need a sketch for identification. Would you mind taking off your helmet?"

Dale removed his helmet without hesitation.

Garand studied the revealed face for a moment before murmuring,

"If you'd taken off the helmet from the start, the receptionist might've fallen for you on the spot."