The Selection Dilemma (5)
When I first adventured in Prosek, I was the one being interviewed.
Now that I'm the one conducting the interviews, it feels strangely surreal.
What makes it feel the most off-kilter is this criterion.
Should I pick someone stronger than me, who could shine in battle?
Or someone weaker than me, easier to control?
As an adventurer who wields weapons myself, I can gauge the applicants' skills at a glance—whether they're stronger or weaker than I am.
The problem is, strong contenders will size me up too, judging from my stance and movements whether I'm weaker or stronger.
There's a risk they'll look down on me.
I have the blessing of Happy Moment, so conventional measures of strength don't apply to me.
Quite a few have charged in carelessly after underestimating me, only to get burned.
You could even say that's why Garlia came at me so confidently.
Of course, there'll be those who won't charge or show off—they'll just snipe from the back, mocking me to the end.
'Sure, I follow the captain, but that Kirgil guy's a pushover compared to me~.'
When I shared my dilemma, the academy president offered some advice.
"When I placed Agnes beside Parania, I wrestled with the same thoughts.
Kirgil, that mindset only diminishes you. Don't judge by your own standards—decide based on the goal.
It'll be tough, but that's what will make you greater."
Perfect advice for me right now.
Since the goal hasn't changed much, time to sort and categorize.
I prioritized those with adventuring experience and real combat under their belts. Noted any useful specialties, magic, or gear separately.
For survival skills, I referenced camping experience or battle defeats.
And... I made use of my hidden ability, the Status Window.
It pops up for some, not others—but when it does, it's invaluable. No show means I'm wary, but it's not grounds for rejection.
Most strangers won't trigger it anyway.
For reference, Ragi's did appear.
She's a liar, but I knew she'd follow orders, so she passed.
Her survival and scouting skills were already proven.
I tried to weed out anyone declaring they'd slay the dragon.
It might sound gutsy, but it's basically shouting, 'I've got no experience and no clue about reality!'
Some say it with both skills and experience, though.
Those are worth watching closely.
There's this thing called the Dunning-Kruger effect, right?
Incompetents overestimate themselves; the competent underestimate.
Even after narrowing it down, I had about ten left. More people mean better adventures, but we need stealth and agility, so elites only from here.
Like in those animal docs—predator pack hunts fail hard if even one member's green.
That's what happens with a vanguard like this.
One slip in front of a mystical beast like a dragon, and it's a wipe.
So, planning second and third rounds.
To check real skills and tech I can't see in interviews, and sync our combat rhythm.
After dozens of interviews, as sunset hit, I headed out of the palace.
I had a dinner appointment with Preji.
Considering the delicate ties with the Darania Knights, we set it at a private room in a high-end restaurant, not his mansion.
"For a hero devoted to this kingdom, this humble meal is all I can offer now."
...he says, but a feast of delicacies unfolds before me in courses. No socialite soiree, so I dug in without pretense.
"To think you'd enjoy it this much—watching you eat brings me joy. The chef deserves a bonus."
I'd figured he'd either recruit or threaten me.
Instead, it's friendly chit-chat, surprisingly cozy.
Great food sparks ratings, stories, hobbies—natural flow.
Suits a salesman better than a knight commander.
I'm enjoying this more than I should. But honoring the cooks' efforts means filling up first, right?
As I savored the fullness, digestion kicking in.
Can't stay jolly forever—I shifted the topic.
"I won't be in this city long."
My words chilled the merry vibe a touch, and Preji grinned like he'd been waiting.
"Ah, I see. I thought you'd scout more allies. Pity."
"If you'd planned introductions, you're a bit late. I've already picked my first-round picks."
"……."
Preji chewed thoughtfully, buying time.
Swallowed, sipped wine, swirled the glass lightly between fingers, then spoke.
"Folks call me rich. Mock me as 'piglet' or 'bloodsucker' with spite.
He straightened, leaning in, tone turning grave.
Finally, the real talk.
"I run a merchant house, own villas, do loansharking. Various ventures. Guess I am rich.
Ridiculous? Probably."
He pulled out a fat pouch of gold coins.
"My wealth won't fit in this pouch, but cash I can actually hold? About this much. Sometimes I forget I'm rich.
Wealth's the same. A whim from superiors, invading army, peasant revolt—poof, gone or seized.
So I doubt if I'm truly rich. If the fortune I sweated for is really mine.
Thrilled when I became 3rd Knight Commander—status and riches secured, finally.
But no. The peak I thought was just a spire's tip—precarious, lightning-struck, ready to tumble anytime."
I've heard he's a prepared scapegoat as 3rd Commander. Seems he gets it.
But his underlying worldview? Can't agree. Frankly, off-putting.
Still, earnest words—hid my disgust, listened on.
"One time I truly feel my vast wealth? Know what?"
"No idea."
"Funny, but gambling."
"Just gambling?"
"Haha, not dice or cards—though I enjoy those.
Off track. Call it investment, another word for gamble.
That's when I feel my fortune's weight."
"You see me as an investment target."
"Yes, but first, evaluation. I don't like losing bets."
He's weighing me against Inario for support. Data's obvious.
"If I slay the dragon—or die—you'll pick one side and invest fully?"
He sipped wine, pausing dramatically.
"My investments fuel the oil for Darania Castle."
"……."
Meaning, he backs existing sparks.
A blaze waiting somewhere in the castle.
Beating around the bush hard.
Boils down to: fund me to bankrupt the knights, or back Inario's rebellion.
He has that financial pull.
Asshole.
My honest gut.
So I said,
"The food was exquisite. Your words spice it perfectly. To cap this fine meal, let's raise a glass."
I'm no kid. Not dumb enough to blurt offense.
Corporate grunt life teaches this basic.
"As expected, Sir Kirgil—you're no ordinary hero. We click; great things ahead. Await your return."
One line buys time.
No need to rile him while I'm gone, accelerating revolt vibes.
Especially leaving Ashu behind.
Still, what an asshole.
Acts like his sweat alone forged it all.
Subordinates sweat too—sometimes blood. But he hogs the spotlight.
Knows the sweat of night-shift cooks for this grub? Vintners, farmers, brewers for the wine?
Haulers for his merchant goods sweat blood too.
Do all who bleed sweat live in luxury like him—mansions, finery, feasts?
His sweat must be gold-plated. Thinks it's natural.
Just privilege.
West Darania folk under his guard suffer most, I hear.
Yet he gripes seriously about rich-man woes? Nauseating.
When he eyes power to guard his pile, I couldn't help pondering gravely.
Do all fat cats think this way?
Feels like I've met plenty back home.
Anyway, facing rich jerks' archetype in Preji turned my stomach.
This guy's no ruler material—ever.
But office drone social skills held my reason, smoothed the dinner to peace.
Arrogant Inario, brutal Garlia, greedy Preji. Dead 1st Commander's vice unknown, but together? Four Heavenly Kings.
Darania Castle's got the Demon King's elite squad from some game.
Day one: swords.
Day two: coin.
Wonder what tomorrow's weapon'll be.
Am I prepping a dragon vanguard or a queen's foe squad? Getting mixed up.