My Creations Followed Me to Another World-Chapter 22: A Ledger

KCHUNK.

A single, heavy thud echoed as a massive iron bolt slid back from inside. The sound rattled through Dante’s bones.

The black, iron-reinforced door scraped open, showing a thin line of pure darkness.

Jek, no longer pretending to be tough, shoved Dante forward.

"Go! Move! All of you!"

Dante stumbled in, eyes straining to see.

Hana gripped Shivvy’s shoulder tight and followed.

47 slipped in like a shadow melting into another.

THUD. K-CHUNK.

The door slammed shut, the bolt locking into place with final certainty.

Silence fell.

The chaos of the Undercity was gone.

It wasn’t just quiet. It was complete silence. The door blocked out every sound.

The air was different too. No sewer stench, no smoke. It smelled of parchment, beeswax, polished wood, and a hint of ink.

As Dante’s eyes adjusted, he realized this wasn’t a throne room or a training hall.

It was an office.

’No, more like a vault.’

The room was huge, round, and tall enough for two floors. Every wall was covered in shelves stacked with scrolls and thick, leather-bound books. Thousands of them, all tagged in black.

This was the Ledger. The real one.

And in the very center stood a massive dark-wood desk, dominating the silence.

A woman sat behind the desk.

She wasn’t a warrior—older, maybe fifty—but carried herself with quiet power. Her iron-grey hair was tied in a tight bun, held by a sharp black-steel stiletto.

She wore no armor, only dark silk robes that fit her perfectly, elegant and dangerous all at once. There was something magnetic about her, the kind of beauty that came from control, not youth.

She didn’t look at them.

Her long, pale fingers moved fast across a massive ebony abacus, the soft click of beads the only sound in the room.

This was Mistress Corva.

She was, in her own terrifying accountant way, the most powerful person Dante had ever met.

She didn’t look up. Her fingers froze mid-count.

Click.

The silence thickened.

"Jek," she said, her voice low, smoky, and tired.

Still staring at the abacus.

"You brought me... noise."

Jek flinched near the door. Dante hadn’t even noticed him come in.

"Mistress, I— they—" Jek stammered.

"You babbled," Corva cut in, her tone sharp enough to chill the room. "You were late. Your little tour-guide act wasted my time."

"But... the coin—"

"The coin is interesting." Corva finally lifted her head.

Her eyes weren’t furious or angry. They were worse; bored. The calm, predatory kind of bored. The kind that belonged to something that could eat you but didn’t feel like it yet.

She looked at Jek.

"Get out."

"Y-yes, Mistress!" Jek bolted, slamming the door behind him.

They passed Hana. A mother. Irrelevant.

They passed Shivvy. A child. Irrelevant.

They stopped on Subject 47.

The boredom left her face. She studied the suit like a pro.

"A Kors-pattern void suit," she said softly. "Syn-weave. Silent-step soles. Black-market Spire-tech visor. That is an expensive suit."

She looked at Dante.

"That suit is worth at least three Ancient Gold Gryphons. Which is why you are not already dead."

She leaned forward. The abacus sat forgotten.

"You paid one Ancient Gold Gryphon for an introduction. This is the priciest meeting I have taken this month. You have sixty seconds."

She tapped a tiny hourglass.

"Explain," she said, voice flat, "why I should not keep your coin, kill you and your people, and sell your asset for parts."

The pressure in the room pressed on them.

Hana cupped her mouth, eyes huge with fear.

Shivvy hid behind Hana’s robes, trembling.

47 just waited, visor fixed on Corva.

Dante’s heart pounded.

His brain, boosted by Gourmet Meal and Level 3, moved fast.

This was the Producer’s pitch.

He had five seconds, not sixty.

"You’re a guild leader," Dante said, calm.

Corva’s eyebrow twitched.

"You run the Ledger. You are an accountant."

The other eyebrow rose.

"You hate the Spire Cops," he said, borrowing Jek’s word, "because they are bad for business. They lock assets with arcane seals and magic traps."

Corva’s face did not change. "Arcane locks are the Spire’s domain. They are unbeatable. That is a fact."

"That is your fact," Dante said, voice steady. "Not mine."

He knew he had her. He had found her biggest business problem.

He placed a hand on Shivvy’s shoulder. She flinched but stayed.

"This is my asset," Dante said, guiding her forward.

Corva looked her over. A child. Her cold boredom returned. "You’re wasting my time. Ten seconds."

"My asset," Dante said sharply, "is a Rogue. Her skills come from a different system."

It was true, and a huge gamble.

"She doesn’t deal with arcane locks. She doesn’t break magic. She ignores it. To her, it’s not magic, it’s mechanics."

Five seconds left.

"You’re an accountant. You hate magic because it’s unreliable. And I’m offering a stable, non-magical solution to your biggest magical problem."

The last grain of sand fell.

Corva said nothing. She just stared at him.

Then she smiled.

Not kindly. It was the smile of a shark with perfect teeth.

"That, Producer," she said, knowing the word, "is the best pitch I’ve heard all year."

She believed him, or pretended to.

Her hand moved under the desk.

THUD.

She dropped a small, glowing purple box onto the desk.

It hummed with heavy arcane energy that made Dante’s teeth ache.

"A Spire-Adept’s personal lockbox," Corva said casually. "Picked it up yesterday. My best Spire-Blind mage tried to dispel it. It burned half the skin off his hand."

Her gaze moved to Shivvy.

"Go on, asset," she said with a widening grin. "Show me. Dispel it."

Hana gasped. "Creator, no! It’s magic! It’ll hurt her!"

"Hana. Quiet," Dante said, voice like steel.

He knelt to meet Shivvy’s eyes.

She was frozen with fear, staring at the glowing purple box.

"Shivvy," he said softly. "I know it’s scary. It’s magic. But you’re a Rogue."

"I... I can’t..." she whispered.

"You can," Dante said. "This isn’t a fight. It’s just a lock. A puzzle. You’ve done this a thousand times. You’re Aethelgard Online’s best bank alt. My Kouhai."

He tapped her forehead. "This is your skill. Just use it. Like you’re looting."

Shivvy looked at him, then at the box.

She took a shaky breath and wiped her hands on her green tunic.

Then she stepped up to the desk.

"Shivvy, no!" Hana cried.

Her small, pale fingers touched the glowing box.

Nothing happened.

No burns. No pain.

She just closed her eyes.

Her [Pickpocket] skill activated.

And for a split second, the game’s logic clashed with the world’s magic.

BZZZ... BZZT...

The purple glow flickered. It stuttered.

The magic grew confused. It tried to fight a thief, but there was no mind or magic to burn.

Slowly, the hum faded and the light went out.

The box became just a box.

Then—

Click.

The smallest sound.

Just the soft, mechanical click of a tumbler falling into place.

Then the box opened.

Shivvy gasped, her eyes flying open as she stumbled back into Dante’s legs.

The room fell silent.

Dante stared.

Corva wasn’t smiling.

She leaned forward, her eyes glowing with sharp, hungry awe. She stared at the open box like it was holy.

Then she looked up at Dante.

"Jek was wrong," she said, voice low.

"You’re not new business."

A slow smile crept across her face.

"You and your assets just became very, very valuable."

She tapped a blank ledger on her desk.

"And as of now," she purred, "you are very, very Guild-Managed."

Dante hadn’t found a safe house.

He had just sold his entire party to the Queen of the Underworld.