Chapter 20
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Merchant Escort
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I'm glaring at Jailro, ready to draw my sword if I have to.
There has to be a reason he's keepin' at me even though it's clear I don't want to talk. And it's probably not a good one. In the adventurer world, once someone sees you as a pushover, you're done for. Especially a black kid like me—my looks make me stand out, so if I get pegged as an easy mark even once, I'm fucked.
Truth is, this guy's probably approachin' me 'cause he thinks my appearance makes me an easy target.
"Piss off, you creep."
"Come on, don't be like that..."
I'd never met a religious nut who was all there in the head.
Korea was bad enough, but this other world? Forget about it. The fact that he's comin' at me out of nowhere in the middle of a job screams either fanatic missionary or some crime hidin' behind a holy mask.
Suspicion is an adventurer's virtue. This Jailro guy? Total cultist vibe.
"Have you ever faced discrimination or anything like that?"
"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"
"You're definitely from Mirkeshia, right, Katt? I can tell from your black hair and eyes."
Mirkeshia refers to the nomadic barbarians on the frontier.
Commonly called barbarians, their trademark is black hair and eyes. Lucky for me, that's exactly how I look, so I just roll with it. Not that there's no discrimination or anything.
But what the hell does that have to do with anything?
I can kinda guess where he's goin' with the discrimination talk, though.
"So what?"
"If you join our Celestial Ascension Society, even a cursed race like yours can find salvation. Our god treats all humans—and all intelligent beings—equally..."
"What? Cursed? What kinda bullshit is this?"
Jailro says this with a bright, cheerful smile. Pure as can be, like he's makin' the offer of a lifetime just for me.
To bring up curses and pick a fight like that and still smile? This guy's gotta be crazier than the worst psychos out there. Hittin' me with that outta nowhere lit my fuse in seconds.
My voice rises on its own.
"This fucker, the more I listen, the more you're nitpickin' my damn skin color."
"Our Celestial Ascension Society doesn't discriminate based on race or origin..."
"Fuck off."
"That's not what I meant."
I can't hold back anymore. I draw my sword.
Old wisdom: crazy fucks respond to the stick. No choice now but to end this. Lettin' an insult slide just paints a target on your back as a sucker. Winia excepted, of course.
Anyway, he's shorter and scrawnier than me—no way I lose. Takin' shit from a guy like that? I'd regret it forever.
"No? Bullshit."
The mood turns ugly, and Jailro flinches. Doesn't even seem to realize he started it. Good chance for him to taste the real world. Rough him up a bit, take everything he's got.
Call it tuition.
"Hey! What're you doin'!"
As I draw and take stance, a guy from the caravan yells and comes runnin'. Face all twisted—pissed as hell.
Might just be his normal face, but mockin' someone's looks is shitty. Still, if the escorts start fightin' among themselves, even I'd be mad. He bellows in rage.
"If you're gonna cause trouble, get the hell out now!"
"No, it's not like that."
"Weren't you about to fight?!"
"Huh? Fight? Fight who? I just asked him to check my stance."
"Check your stance?"
"Adventurers sharin' techniques ain't a bad thing, right? This guy's got some sword skills, so..."
I grin and play it off for the guy. He probably didn't hear our chat, just saw me draw. Smooth-talk him a bit, and he nods, turns away. Lucky for us, Jailro knows to shut up.
"Anyway, let's move! Break's over! Everyone up!"
That signals the end of rest. I glare at Jailro one last time, sheathe my sword. He mutters somethin' like he ain't givin' up and heads back to his spot.
"I'll come talk again later."
"Freak."
What the hell's wrong with him?
Why do I always end up tangled with weirdos?
After that, nothin' much happened. First day of the trip, road's well-maintained, no real fights. Feet feel fine, mind at ease.
Little wild monsters pop up sometimes, but they freak at the human crowd and bolt.
No real wild animals in this world. Cute bunnies, raccoons, boars? Good luck findin' any. Monsters fill that niche. Maybe they're just callin' animals "monsters," but I've never seen normal ones here.
Even the horses pullin' the wagons look off from Earth's—like tamed monsters. We call 'em horses for convenience. Livestock counts as monsters too, basically.
Anyway, today's job was just walkin'. Escort duty my ass—mornin' walk, afternoon hike, done. Pay: 10 coppers. Cheap rations run about 1 copper a day, so 9 coppers for strollin'.
Too much walkin' wrecks your knees, but beggars can't be choosers. Gotta eat somehow.
I chew rations while walkin'. Hard, salty mystery meat—fills ya up okay, but your gut's gonna hate you. Staple for broke folk alongside inn soup.
Taste that shaves years off your life. Poor guys gotta choke it down to survive. Seems nutritionally balanced, at least.
"We'll camp here."
Sun settin', can't go farther. The green-hatted middle-aged guy from before says it.
Wagons stop, drivers and caravan staff hustle to set camp. Firepits, tents—total chaos.
Adventurers? Just huddle up, one fire, group sleep.
"Need to set watches, adventurers over here."
Ah, shit, right—night watch.
Adventurers groan and shuffle to the wagons.
Night raids possible, so watches are life-or-death. They bitch about lost sleep but get the importance—no complaints voiced.
It's in the contract anyway. Refuse, no pay. Woulda been decent gig otherwise, damn it.
"Watches... five teams should do. Each with a caravan staff leader, two adventurers per. Pick five out of ten."
Five outta ten? 50% shot at full sleep. Everyone thinks it, faces twisted like gamblers before a big bet, eyein' each other.
"Tomorrow, the ones off tonight."
"Tch."
Yeah, figures.
But it's the evening chestnut trick—better three in the mornin', four at night. Same with shitty watch duty: skip tonight, do tomorrow. Human nature.
No way I'm on tonight. Push it to tomorrow no matter what. Delays like this always pay off.
"Anyone wanna volunteer first?"
I growl low, projectin' menace.
Please, someone bite. Exhausted—wanna crash, watch tomorrow. Scan the crowd tense... two hands shoot up. Brown-haired martial artist in robes, bearded guy with dual-headed axe on back.
"Might as well get it over with."
"Agreed."
I nearly snort.
Suckers. If someone drops tomorrow—straggler, missing—they'll regret volunteerin' first. Fewer people means redoin' watch.
Shit happens anytime—always postpone. Two more idiots inspired, now pick one outta six.
Life-or-death rock-paper-scissors.
Perfect for this, but nah—these guys cheat with weird handsigns. Can't trust it.
We know rock fist, scissors poke, paper flat. Theirs? Freak shapes. "Three-finger fist" for rock nearly killed me. Rules vary by home—even four different "rocks" once.
"How we decidin'? No draws handy."
"Guy who spoke up does it."
"Good idea."
"Who said that bullshit?"
"Me."
"No fightin'."
"Calm down."
"You do it then."
"Why not you?"
"Quiet, all."
Adventurers, high asshole ratio as expected—tension risin' fast.
Grown men ready to throw down over first watch. Welcome to purgatory. Education's key. Jailro's there too, standin' silent like a statue.
This fucker—perfect.
Messed with me earlier and stays quiet?
"You. Do it."
I call him out straight.
"..."
He stares at my face. Preachin' god this, god that, but dodges duty? Shameless much?
"Understood."
Surprisin'ly, Jailro accepts easy, joins the four volunteers. Other adventurers gawk like I pulled off a miracle. Barbarian swagger, ooh.
"But tomorrow, hear me out."
"Fuck."
Five watches set—now just flop and sleep. Grab a spot, roll out mat, grass pillow, lie down.
That's adventurer sleep. Got my cozy Quilted Armor and new cloak—luxury.
Compared to early days sleepin' in alleys? This is a bed. Back then was pure survival; now's paradise.
Lyin' back, stars blazin'. No pollution—sparklin' like crazy. Three moons dazzlin': big one, green and purple minisats.
That's this world's alien vibe—hate it. Roll over, sleep.
This otherworld life sucks.
Hate campin'...