Chapter 31
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Swordsman Guild
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[Swordsman Guild - Feral Dog]
That huge sign caught my eye.
Feral Dog? Wild dog? Stray? It was a savage name fitting for guys who specialized in swinging blades around. Inside, it was probably packed with burly men who looked so vicious that even serial killers wouldn't dare show their faces.
"Swordsman Guild, huh."
This world had quite a few of these specialized professions.
Roughly speaking, adventurers, warriors, knights, mages, martial artists, archers, thieves, or merchants, and so on. I wasn't sure if plain thugs counted as a proper job, but basically, it was like all those RPG classes were out there hustling for real.
Among them, these Swordsmen—professional bladesmen—were pretty reputable thugs, thanks to the systematic swordsmanship they'd mastered, a skill that'd serve them for life.
In an era overrun by monsters and murderers, swordsmanship was worth paying good money to learn.
If you've got cash, I'd recommend sword lessons over blowing it on gambling or booze. The gap between those who've trained and those who haven't goes way beyond book smarts. Street brawlers from the back alleys can't hold a candle to a real swordsman. It's a matter of survival.
That's why I never mess with anyone who looks like they know their way around a blade.
Like the saying goes, I'd end up dead meat in no time.
I'm no elite fighter who dives into dogfights. If someone looks like a top-tier criminal, you don't fuck with them, period.
Martial artists, though... those shitstains, I could mouth off to them.
I can't bow to weaklings just because they're tough posers. Groveling to inferiors comes back to bite you—cocky assholes swarm and walk all over you. You'd never survive in this world like that. If they outnumber you, just run. Lesson learned this time.
Anyway, getting sidetracked. Bottom line:
Joining the Swordsman Guild means no more getting my ass kicked like last time. Who'd pick a fight with a crew whose whole gig is swordplay? My bruises still throbbed like they were bleeding. The wounds were healed, sure, but the burning rage and shattered pride were triggering phantom pains.
Fucking martial artists. Useless alone, but they gang up and strut like kings. Society's cancer—should all be wiped out.
"How much's the joining fee?"
Intrigued, I scanned the posters on the wall. With no guaranteed way home, learning swordsmanship couldn't hurt. Money was the issue, though...
[Recruiting New Guild Members!]
[Joining Fee: Just 5 Silver!]
Sure enough, there it was.
5 silver.
"Hm."
Tough call. My pockets were heavier lately. Should I join? Learn some pro swordplay? Like I said, killing skills are prime assets here. Plus, those martial artist fuckers kept flashing in my mind.
5 silver.
A big chunk of change. But for my future? Solid investment. Assuming I learn well... I swallowed hard. My mind was made up. Maybe it was fate.
The cliquey vibe worried me a bit, but pay up fair and square, and they'd treat me like an old bro. Fine. Gotta experience it to know.
Like Icarus reaching for the sun, I extended my hand.
Creak.
And just like that, I slipped into the Swordsman Guild's gates.
Hup! Hup!
Ki-yaaap!
Tzut!
Stepping through the gate, what I saw was...
Oooaaargh!
Shuaa aaaah!
Shirtless, muscle-bound thugs with criminal faces groaning grotesquely as they trained their bodies. A madhouse dreamscape straight out of a fairy tale.
"Wrong place."
As I turned to bail from the nightmarish training yard...
A guy looking like public enemy number one eyed me and spoke.
"What're you?"
"Uh."
"New face."
I'd lived so squeaky clean, I'd never crossed paths with types like this. Reminded me I'd done right by myself. I turned to leave again. This dude's face screamed "dozens dead by my hand."
"Hey! You here to join up?!"
"Uh, yeah. Kinda."
His "joiner hopeful" line yanked a reflexive reply out of me.
"Joiner hopeful?"
"Joiner... hopeful?"
"Joiner hopeful!"
Every eye in the yard locked on me. What the...? Felt like a barracks starved for recruits suddenly getting fresh meat.
"Uh, uh... sit here first!"
"Okay."
He pointed at the bare dirt. When a killer-lookin' brute barks "sit," you sit. Midway through thinking 5 silver might buy better gear like a shield, gauntlets, or greaves...
"Joiner hopeful?"
A woman strode out from across the yard.
"..."
I froze, eyes glued to her.
Sharp-featured beauty with waist-length black ponytail. Glossy hair shimmering in the sun, feral eyes screaming "I've sliced plenty." Tight black leather pants hugged long legs; frilly white blouse over a black corset cinched tight, thrusting out massive tits like a deliberate flex. Stunner.
Big and perky. Damn, teach.
She approached; I stood. Killer sword at her hip. Guild brass? Climbing ranks with those distracting rack? Real deal.
Felt a twinge of fear.
"Tall one. Fierce look—good. Eyes and hair say barbarian stock?"
Arms crossed, she sized me up from toes to scalp, then fired off.
"Yeah, sorta. You too?"
"Half-breed."
My scary mug came from scars and wounds. Her hair was black too. Figured Mirkeshan nomad like me? Half-breed. Close enough—nomad vibes. Common ground.
"Here to join?"
"That's why I'm here."
"Fine. Karin Bestart. Guildmaster here. You?"
Her aura screamed elite—yep, guildmaster. Surname meant nobility? Commoners skipped 'em.
"Katt."
"Good. Follow me."
Karin led me to the main building past the yard. I trailed her.
"First off: why join? Motive's key in swordplay. Need to know what drives you to learn slicing folks—makes training easier."
"Reason?"
"Yeah. Reason."
Reason... I paused, mouth half-open.
Say it? Real goal: half revenge on those martial artist fucks. Need real power and backup to make 'em kneel. Combat boost was bonus. That was it.
Smash those martial artist shits.
"Hm? Hard to say? Learning to rob? I don't care long as you pay, but I'd pitch mercenary over bandit."
"No, not robbery. I'll tell you."
Some dudes totally switched to pro bandit life post-sword training.
Top bandits rake more than average adventurers, trading humanity for coin. Bandit farms alone out-earn monsters; skilled robbers? Forget about it.
But priorities:
"Few days back, drinking at a tavern, martial artist guild fucks jumped me. They started shit. Challenged me to a duel—manly pride, I accepted. Then they cry 'swordsman dissing martial artists!' and swarm with their whole crew?"
I kept going.
"What could I do? Numbers beat blades. Got my ass handed to me. Frothing, twisting in agony. After that, joining a guild felt right."
I poured it out raw, no filter—pure passion. If she got the real me, she'd have to let me in.
"Yeah, that's my motive. Revenge. That's why I want sword lessons."
She listened quietly, then burst out laughing.
"Pfft... heh, haha! Fuck... heh, kyahahaha!"
Did I say something funny?
Seemed tragic as hell?
"Why laugh? Guy gets beat down—ain't funny. Despairing, lonely tale."
Guildmaster honed killer swordplay to extremes—warped senses, unlike normies. Elsewise, no way she'd laugh at a beating story.
Born violent or psycho, probably. But making a hottie laugh? Felt smug over sour.
"Nah, heard some dumbass swordsman wannabe got pulverized by martial artists days ago. That you?"
Her reply soured my mood again.
Damn, rumors spread fast. Bit embarrassed. Made sense—swordsmen hearing a blade guy lost to martial artist scrubs? Ego bruise.
"Fuck... what rumors..."
"Accepted! No question! Can't let that slide! Sign here. Gotta take you. Oh, got the 5 silver fee?"
At the main hall, Karin shoved a paper my way. "Joining Application Confirmation." Grabbed the pen to sign, asked:
"Of course. You'll teach proper sword use?"
"Duh. I'll personally train you hard."
She was in stitches, mood lifted. No clue what cracked her up, but guildmaster special training? Huge win.
"Can't have swordsmen losing to martial artist trash out there."
Pride, as expected.
"Couldn't believe it myself. Thought I'd take ten easy, but over a dozen piled in—no room to swing—lights out."
She laughed harder, wiped tears, took the signed paper.
"Good. You're a Swordsman Guild member now. Fee's 5 silver, like said. Training... month's fine."
"Month too short? Learn swordsmanship that quick?"
"Still say that after my special? Basics in a month, easy. Spar with me to hone instincts—you'll be a proper swordsman."
Her looks and charm almost swayed me, but I nodded, pulled five silver coins from my pouch, handed 'em over.
"Not full month straight, obviously. Schedule weekly."
"Got it, Guildmaster."
Like taekwondo dojos—month reg, weekdays hour each, five total. Similar deal.