Chapter 316
Chapter 316
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 316
Chapter Title: Killer Hornet Uproar
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In truth, the so-called adventurers weren't really adventurers at all. They were just armed city laborers.
They doubled as guards, laborers, and even beggars—an astonishingly multitasking bunch.
So why the hell call them adventurers?
No one knew why they were stuck with that pretentious name. Calling them mercenaries felt like a stretch, too.
This world's mercenaries were straight-up organized bands of psychopathic serial killers who waged professional wars.
Way too hardcore for that label.
No lowlife adventurer scum could strut around battle-hardened murder ghosts like that. That's why they couldn't be called mercenaries—just adventurers.
Mercenaries: war experts. Adventurers: ultimate handymen.
That was the difference.
—Adventurers.
They didn't even do much adventuring to begin with.
All they handled was shitty odd jobs and violent monster hunts. The only "adventure" was sniffing out money and hustling from place to place.
No dreams, no hopes.
Even Columbus got called an adventurer, so maybe it was just an insult for trash who pulled off despicable stunts.
Anyway, adventurers were nothing but lowly civilians who happened to pick up weapons. No production skills, no foundations, no families or homes—they were pitiful souls risking their lives for a few coppers hunting monsters.
Every country had its underclass, and in this world, that was adventurers. Today, too, they crawled out beyond the walls for a pittance.
Sure, some were diligent workers with a sense of justice, but probably four out of ten were scum who'd turn to murder and robbery at the drop of a hat. Normal people didn't make killing their trade. Just look at Columbus.
But... that didn't mean they were especially miserable.
Without gigs like that, these penniless flies would starve to death, right?
It was an era where just staying alive was something to be grateful for.
Earth or this world—same shit.
From the city's perspective, they handled all the annoying crap for cheap, so there were no heavy regulations. Always work to be had, money to make.
—How adventurers scraped by.
The Adventurer's Guild deserved a lot of credit for that.
The guild, cozy with city bigwigs, was the real culprit jacking up adventurers' value—or rather, screwing them over.
Like a middleman, the guild funneled every city job through itself, motto being fast and efficient resolution.
Of course, that drew tons of users.
Why hunt down hires individually when you could post to the guild and wait? Faster that way.
That was the guild's role.
Of course, it didn't give a damn about its underclass adventurers. Just like how adventurers were adventurers in name only, the guild was a guild in name only.
Think about it: F- to E-rankers got zero benefits.
To the guild, those street-rat nobodies were just "do the grunt work, earn your keep, and cough up commissions."
There were hordes of adventurers anyway, and desperate money-grubbers overflowing. Treat 'em like shit, and the beggar adventurers still came crawling for cheap jobs and fees.
The shittiest part? They slaved away devotedly, but got no protection in return.
All the guild offered was job postings and the party registration system.
That party system? Bare-minimum measure to stop murderers from luring and killing loners.
Just so you didn't have to worry about your party stabbing you in the back on the job. Though killers still offed folks and bolted to other cities all the time.
Ah, the adventurer life—how fucking shitty can it get?
No unions in this world. They just got exploited within the system, lives on the line.
I figured this bizarre lifestyle stemmed from the existence of monsters in this world.
—That was my rough take on adventurers. Honestly, I didn't know jack, so it was all vague generalizations.
But that described the bulk: F- to E-rank adventurers. Things changed big-time from D-rank onward, like me.
D-ranks had proven sword skills and reliability, making us guild core members. We got perks and important quests.
Like wiping out monster packs terrorizing farming villages—real deal stuff F- and E-rank posers couldn't handle. Required actual muscle.
But not insanely tough.
And not super lucrative either.
True to form for handymen, even D-ranks weren't on a grand scale.
Last time's hobgoblin mine takeover? Peak D-rank. Farmers with pitchforks? They'd just die in droves. Better pay a few coins for pros.
That was the essence of why the adventurer biz thrived.
So C-rank was basically the final boss of adventurer tech trees.
Take cockatrices.
This world spawned those brutal beasts pretty often.
Exterminating such mid-tier giant monsters didn't warrant soldiers, but F- to D-ranks couldn't cut it either.
C-ranks handled it.
They were guild elites too. True guilders with perks, knocking out real problems efficiently.
At that point, no more odd jobs—just pro monster hunting.
But here's the question.
What about B- or A-ranks?
Answer: They existed in name only. Practically mythical.
Bigger monsters than cockatrices? Sure, toss high-rankers at 'em—but anyone with that power wouldn't slum it as adventurers. Why bother when better, cushier, richer gigs awaited?
Disasters needing that caliber? City lords handled with soldiers or knights.
No lead role for adventurers.
That ogre extermination? Just cheap cannon fodder to cut losses for Lady Isvant and her guards.
Math was off a bit, but no need to pay dead lowlifes. Guild probably pocketed support funds, fattening up thanks to the adventurer body count.
In these events, guilds profited even from dead adventurers.
And yeah, that orc horde in Baron Doden's lands? Army handled it, but cleanup grunt work went to adventurers.
That's how it was.
"What."
Staring at the guild board, those thoughts flooded in outta nowhere.
F-rank herb-gathering requests cluttered with E-rank goblin sweeps for spring frenzy. D-rank stuff I could handle mixed in the mess.
One caught my eye—hilariously absurd.
"Killer hornets?"
Winia, popping in and out of the Magic Tower, said the nearby jungle had stopped exploding in growth and fused into the terrain.
Others might not get it, but we figured the alraune boss going down halted it.
Now the permanent jungle spawned jobs, boosting local economy—but accidents spiked too.
The request: Giant hornets from the jungle snatching and shredding people, kidnapping kids. Fucking nightmare. Fine print: Endless interference crippling caravan ops, massive losses.
Content: Exterminate killer hornets, 1 silver per three heads. D-rank due to high casualties bumping the rating.
Red ink note: Many adventurers and civilians mangled, dragged to unknown nests. Situation escalating.
"Fucking terrifying shit."
Were these the abyss bugs from last time?
But those weren't big enough to butcher people. Unless they grew fast...
Too bad Kobson's MIA.
I imagined nightmare swarms of massive killer hornets mercilessly slaughtering kids in fields, grinding 'em into meat dumplings for larvae. Chilling.
Fur standing on end.
Honey from hornets that huge... what insane effects? Too scary—teeth chattering.
Back at the inn, I told Winia.
Claudy's out briefly.
"I know. Heard at the Tower."
"1 silver for three heads? Decent payout, right?"
"Yeah. Wanna check it out?"
We'd go as a trio once Claudy returned.
While there, I watered the alraune flower—short for Raune. Red petals bloomed wide; tilted away when I poured. Eerily cute.
"Alraune, huh..."
Made me think the hornet plague might stem from this. Queen gone, bugs expanding? Pure speculation. Gruesome fantasy.
Shook it off.
First, scout those hornet heads. Decide after seeing 'em.
"Oh yeah, Blacky. Checked on the flower."
"Ooh. What gives?"
Winia approached while I watered.
"Not much in texts, no solid data. But lore says top-tier alchemy or magic ingredient. Vague tales of special elixirs."
Impressive, but unsolved.
Keep growing it, then.
"Dug legends and folktales too. Got experiments I wanna try."
"Experiments? Like what?"
"Blacky, whip out your dick first."
"What! Why?!"
So out of left field, I yelped. As I freaked, she persuaded.
"Stuff like blood from executed criminals, spinal fluid from famine-starved corpses. Or semen from virile men to boost growth. Can't get the first two, right?"
She grinned, lightly tapping my crotch.
Executions and corpses... ingredients as brutal as the alraune itself.
"But the last one... we got you, Blacky?"
—Tap tap tap.
Hmm.
"C'mon, Blacky! Dick out quick! I'll handjob you today!"
"This is some maniac shit... Fine."
Her beaming smile? Just wanted to indulge. Experiment? Go for it.
—Whoosh.
Pants down pronto.
"It's dead?"
"Get it up, then."
"Heehee. How?"
"Tits!"
Winia stripped, baring her huge breasts.
"Heeheehee. You cute little perv. Love my tits that much?"
"Way too much."
She pinched my cheeks, cooed cutely, then knelt for instant paizuri. Natural hard-on.
"Like it, Blacky?"
"So... fucking... good...!"
Buried in her cleavage, rubbing bliss. Ejaculation built fast. She stopped, aimed at the pot, rapid handjob.
—Slap slap slap slap.
No resisting paizuri into handjob.
—Spurt! Spurt!
Bukkake on the flower—utter absurdity. Semen soaked petals, dripped down stem, pooled.
Unbelievable.
Never dreamed I'd bukkake a flower in my life.