5. Fate's Scale

"Ha..."

The translucent window I'd desperately awaited for nearly a year since possessing this body in Rondia finally appeared, drawing an incredulous sigh from my lips. I dragged a hand down my face and murmured a word I'd long since given up on.

"Status window."

Encountering this long-forgotten existence in such an unexpected way stirred a tangle of emotions, my head heating up for a moment. But as calm returned, my reason pieced together past knowledge and current info into one conclusion.

"So, after eight fucking years, I finally cleared the tutorial."

Dark fantasy game Fate of Rondia—a GOTY-sweeping masterpiece blending grim despair with a hymn to humanity. I'd bought it late, drawn to that very appeal, but... for reasons still unknown, a white flash from the monitor hit me at startup, and I woke up isekai'd inside the game world of Rondia.

Not as my chosen character, the duke's youngest son mage, but as the disposable runt of a mercenary band. Thrust into an unfamiliar hell, I clawed for survival like a dog while desperately trying everything to return home.

One of those efforts: blindly hunting a tutorial whose content I couldn't even see. No guides, no info in this void of a situation... but clearing it felt like the key to progress. Except there were zero hints on what to do—or if it even existed.

Searching for and completing something like that was damn near impossible, and a year in this death-game world was enough to crush my will. So I abandoned the dream of going home, scraping by as a merc for eight years, aiming to save enough for a quiet retirement.

Along the way, banditry for side cash—and incidentally saving a girl named Lucia—somehow cleared the tutorial.

"Lucky or unlucky? Fuck it, it's good either way. Tutorial's done."

Embracing a 'good is good' mindset, I dredged up fragmented memories of Fate of Rondia and jotted them on parchment from my pack.

-Main story exists, but vast sub-stories with high freedom degree dominate.

-Choices align you good/evil, or join factions.

-Fate's Scale system yields 'blessings' as key spec-ups.

-Ends in good/evil factions clashing; war outcome decides the ending.

"Ah... there was more, I swear."

Staring at the notes from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that old forum post I'd skimmed while waiting for the install eight years ago, it felt like I'd forgotten more than I'd written. Wrinkling my brow didn't help; nothing else surfaced.

"Eh, now that tutorial's cleared, quests or guides should pop soon enough."

No point brooding. I pocketed some silver for a bath and left the room. I had no clue then what 'high freedom degree' really meant.

Two days after clearing the tutorial and reclaiming some hope, I was reminded that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Rondia never rolled my way—and grasped what 'high freedom degree' entailed.

Also recalled that forum line: 'High freedom = brutally unforgiving.'

So main ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠or sub-stories, I gotta hunt them down myself—like the tutorial?

My neck prickled at the lack of guides post-tutorial, but bitching in the inn changed nothing. I fed Kell and headed out, hoping to stumble on another Fate's Scale trigger like with Lucia.

Screw the system; I could still save for retirement like always. But passing up a chance to get stronger? Nah. Strength's the surest survival here.

Plus, now system's active—no guarantee I dodge the grand war.

Half a day circling the guild and market in Arke Village yielded zilch.

"Fuckin' hell... no decent gigs at all."

"Tell me about it. Some merc band swept through last week—snagged all the paying jobs. Left with just odd chores."

The guild was weirdly barren of work, and the market...

"Sturdy dwarf-forged weapons, 10% off!"

"Heard James's youngest died in the eastern expedition."

...spilled nothing but mundane chatter, like the usual rumors had dried up. Drifting through the crowds empty-handed, sunset bells tolled—clang... clang...—signaling night's approach.

Another bust. My steps grew heavier, mind steeling: Took eight years for tutorial; what's a few days? Scout the village a bit more, then next town if nada...

Huh?

A spot I hadn't checked—one that could lift my mood—caught my eye. Unlike the rest of Arke Village, the red-light district glowed with hanging lanterns, a sultry haze in the air.

I patted my pouch, felt the silver, and veered toward the entrance.

Didn't strike gold today, but earned a reward. And hey, it's a spot worth scouting anyway...

Prostitution—sex trade by another name—is as old as humanity. Hookers and hunters as the first jobs, they say.

Even in my old world, from ancient to modern ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠times, it was baked into society. But as things modernized, views soured—STDs, trafficking, women's rights, crackdowns. I avoided it myself, wary of disease and busts.

Thought buying pussy for cash was immoral, dirty... naive as fuck, looking back.

Eight years grinding Rondia flipped that 180. Combat stress and horniness? Booze and medieval games couldn't touch it—sex was the fix.

As a nomadic merc, settling for love or marriage was a pipe dream. Fuckbuddies like Maria back in the last village if lucky, or the red-light districts every town had. That was it.

Since that near-death second scrap, I'd hit them whenever tension built. Slowed my retirement savings with the fees, but kept me sane.

Without it, I'd have cracked long ago. And now plans shifted again...

Stepping into the district revived old habits amid the musky scent and lascivious vibe unfolding before me.