Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Crisis is Opportunity is Crisis (3)
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***
“Urp, uweeeek!”
The next morning, the first thing Professor did upon waking up in bed was to vomit out all the alcohol still lingering in his stomach.
“Ughhh.... My head.
Damn mercenaries and their endless drinking.
The joy of tasting clean liquor after so long was short-lived. One by one, they came over and poured drinks nonstop, turning it into less drinking and more flooding my throat.
“Ugh.... I remember toasting, at least.....”
Damn Gedroits. Implementing hangovers, too. In reality, when your memory blacks out, you just ask someone nearby. But in GG, there’s a way to check yourself.
“Status window. Check player log.”
Ding-!
Professor scrolled down through the log recording all his actions so far, passing the last part he remembered.
+Player Professor's log:
7 PM - Entered tavern ‘Silver Roar’
7 PM - Drank one Pale Ale / Minor stamina recovery for 15 sec, mental strength 5% recovery / Intoxication 2% increase.
7 PM - Successfully persuaded Silver Roar’s master ‘Waldorf Topric’. Combat phase canceled.
7 PM - Drank one Dragon’s Blood / 15% stamina recovery, max mental strength +35 for 35 min, minor fire resistance for 35 min, skill [Courage Multiplied] applied for 15 min / Intoxication 40% increase.
7 PM - Status ailment: Slightly drunk (80 min) / 1st-degree burn (tongue, throat)
8 PM - Drank one Pale Ale +
8 PM - Drank one Pale Ale +
8 PM - Ate special pork steak +
8 PM - Drank one Pale Ale +
8 PM - Became friendly with mercenary ‘Michi Edward’’s party
8 PM - Drank one Ascent Mountain Lager +
9 PM - Drank one Pale Ale +
....Drank
....Drank
11 PM ....Drank
12 AM ....Drank
“You were trying to kill me.”
He knew he’d drunk a lot, but not this much. No wonder his stomach had been emptying endlessly this morning.
“Let’s see.... Drank, drank, drank, ate, drank, drank, collapsed, drank, drank, drank..... Anything special..... Oh!”
While digging through for anything important during his blackout, one entry caught his eye.
+Player Professor's log:
Received F-Rank Mercenary Badge from Turan branch leader Waldorf Topric of the Mercenary Guild.
[Item: F-Rank Mercenary Badge (Turan / Trapper) - A seal used to prove mercenaries’ identity and rank. The Lordric Mercenary Guild seal is engraved on the back.]
“My memory’s all jumbled, thought it was a dream, but I actually got it.”
He didn’t remember receiving the badge, but he vaguely recalled Waldorf bursting into laughter, saying, ‘A guy like you, a Trapper?!’ Good job, Professor! Even in that hellish drinking session, you kept your wits about you!
Checking the status window’s job section, it had changed from ‘Unemployed’ to ‘Trapper’. When registering as a mercenary, you pick your main position. Since he’d been unemployed, it must’ve registered as his job then.
“Not a job I’d stick with forever, but right now, nothing beats Trapper.”
Strictly speaking, Trapper was a nearly obsolete job among players. It relied heavily on materials, requiring tons of investment. Even then, you could only play defensively, and growth potential wasn’t high. Plus, since he hadn’t apprenticed under a specialist Trapper or guild for a class change, he missed out on bonuses like [30% skill proficiency boost for job-related skills].
But proficiency and growth potential were future concerns.
In the ultra-early game, using only free stuff around you without expecting damage output or anything? Different story.
“Anyway, class change gave me Trap Creation skill, right? Make traps from nearby junk—free materials, lots of crafting steps for Handicraft stat gains, and the biggest plus: I never take hits myself. I can wield stuff way stronger than my body, like ‘broken twigs,’ ‘sturdy wood,’ ‘small metal scraps’!”
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: ..... Isn’t this guy kinda pathetic?
- Take a Look: Yeah. Even ceiling farmers in Dome toss broken twigs from logging, and he’s talking like they’re treasures.....
“Don’t compare to normal characters. Compare to my body. An arm like a dry twig that snaps on one swing, versus a trap swinging a heavy, solid wooden club just by stepping on it—which is more reliable? It’s not about item value; it’s current utility.”
He’d experimented while traveling. This body, with its ‘Glass Body’ trait, resisted tensile stress—pulling or pressing along axes—decently, but was extremely vulnerable to impacts. Without impact-absorbing armor, it was useless to him.
‘Weapons are the same. The force I swing with rebounds equally on my arm and wrist.’
That’s why he chose Trapper after much thought. For this civilian-weak body, avoiding enemies was best.
“Urgh—ow, stomach hurts. Gotta go down and eat something.”
He wanted to lie in bed, but in GG, time was the most precious resource. Slacking now meant facing exploded Mutation Blood numbers later. For someone lagging in growth like him, he couldn’t waste a single minute.
Tidying his clothes and descending the stairs, he saw a slightly emptier floor than yesterday and Waldorf wiping glasses with a furrowed brow.
Hearing him come down, Waldorf paused and waved.
“.....Good morning, Waldorf.”
“Thought I’d call the undertaker if you didn’t wake by lunch. You managed, old kid.”
“....Old kid?”
“Yeah, kid. You were spilling your guts last night drunk. Don’t mind it. Rookie mercenaries flexing ain’t new. Looked cool on you then, but now you’re all puffy. Drop the deep voice and come eat soup.”
“Yes, sir.”
Seems they grilled him while he was drunk.
‘Hmm.... So that’s why they plied me with booze.’
Of course. A branch leader wouldn’t be naive. A capable-looking guy crawls in—not a criminal—so ply him with liquor to loosen his tongue. Yesterday’s humility and rowdiness might’ve been calculated. Gave him chills thinking that.
Slurp-
“Kuwaaaah-!”
“There, feel alive?”
“Ow, stomach’s clearing up. Just now, it was flipping so bad my guts were bobbing in my throat.”
“Ha, eloquent one.”
“Slurp—where’s everyone else? Already out on jobs?”
Status clock read [10 AM]. Not early, so probably off to work.
“.....Yeah. Off to work.”
“But why the shit-eating face? No hangover cure?”
At first, he thought the master was hungover too, but his scowl deepened over time.
Whoosh-
Throb!
“Ugh!”
Alcohol clearing, Mental Fragility starting to flare.
‘Messy tables, uncleared snacks, bottles. Smudge marks and ash beyond bar counter. Something burned? Muddy footprints on floor. City center’s all flagstone, so outskirts or outsider....’
Mental Fragility fed him info too suspicious to ignore.
‘Yesterday, Turan guild seemed tight-knit. Good with master. Wouldn’t leave like this unless urgent.....’
Sorting thoughts, the master’s scowl looked different.
“....Something bad happen?”
“Old kid. Sharp instincts.”
Waldorf packed his pipe, lit it, took a deep drag, and spoke slowly.
“....Knight from the lord’s castle came this morning.”
Knight from lord’s castle, grim mood. Professor grew uneasy.
“....What for?”
“.....Huuu.”
Waldorf, chain-smoking without speaking, opened his mouth incredulously.
“War’s broken out. Mutts pushed to Turan outskirts.”
“Whaaaaat???!!!!”
For Professor, just starting small farming with twigs and scraps, it was soul-crushing.
***
“Huuu.”
Waldorf refilled his pipe multiple times, anxious.
“Bad situation. Trainees from ‘Training Street’ inside city all conscripted. Lord’s orders: all our guys, skill regardless, full mobilization.”
“W-wait. I just joined yesterday.....”
“....Sorry. Badge registers via recording magic instantly. You’re in, Professor.”
“Uwaaaah!!! Fuuuuck!!!!”
Talk about bad luck! Heavens are cruel! Mountains beyond mountains—Everest?! Too mismatched! Even lowest 9th-grade Mutt’s too much for this body!
“Don’t look so bummed. You’d be conscripted outside city anyway.”
“Ugh.... Why.”
“Young, fit guys like us get dragged first.”
Worse news. Mercenaries fight for a living, so priority, paid later via guild. But civilians too? City production drops if young men die, long-term weakening. Using vital labor as meat shields?
“That serious?”
“Turan’s inner than Molludic Castle, Pellas. Them at our doorstep—what’s that mean?”
“....Shit.”
Cities fell. Lords this era, peace-rotted or not, wouldn’t fall to 9~8th-grade resource Mutts.
‘Early Black Mages era. No mass high-risk 5th-grade+. Impossible. Who touched the hive? Threat enough for Queen to gene-collect furiously?’
‘Calm. Day 2 playtime. Beyond my level, can’t intervene. Normal storyline for this seed. Won’t progress to unsolvable.’
Solo game, but unique worlds.
Inherit someone’s clear seed? Effect only; worlds diverge unpredictably. One predictable thing.
It’s clearable. Means natural event in this world.
‘Starts yielding two cities. Enabling normally impossible fights means heavy Black Mage/Queen investment. Not just high-risk.’
Info lacking. Knows it’s pivotal, nothing else.
“War for real, getting scared?”
“....Can’t say no.”
Waldorf watched him think eyes closed, smoked bitterly.
“Makes sense. Barely nineteen. Tried pulling you out, but conscriptor saw your name on roster—said age irrelevant, take all. Sorry. Best I could: bump you to second wave.”
“....Assignment?”
On list, no backing out. Good: Trapper in specialty.....
“....Shield soldier.”
“Whyyyyy!!!’
“Damn! Think I wanna send green rook to frontline meat grinder?! Brass say no scouts—whaddya want!”
“Then regular infantry, archers, logistics!”
“City civilians all conscripted! Logistics filled ages ago, skilled spots packed with vets! F-Ranks all shields!”
Shield soldier. In Mutt fights, just meat shields to blunt charges.
Mutts hard due to numbers, ferocity, but worst: blood, saliva infects instantly.
Mutation Blood essence: not normal lifeforms, slime-like cell clusters under Queen’s commands.
124th year, Queen immature, simple orders: one or two max.
‘More meat, more genes.’
Thus, weak combat but hyper-infectious. Bite: saliva. Blood splash: pores to capillaries, cells multiply, seize brain, zombify. Enough infected? Mutt returns to Queen’s northern permafrost, offers body.
“Any survivors from front cities?”
“Duh. Plenty refugees, lord and knights escaped.”
“None missing?”
“None.”
“....Bastards.”
Ordered no retreat, saved own skins.
‘Half-assed forces worsened it. Pellas, Molludic soldiers famed elites. City fell, but thinned infected numbers—not enough.
Now Mutts in trained soldier bodies, heading here to replenish. Dumb lord! Could’ve held with knights, heavy losses but stoppable!
Obvious. Panicked by endless Mutt wave, had strongest knights escort, fled.
Now I face buffed infected.
Bang!
Despairing, yanking hair, swing door flew open. Leather-armored soldier entered, scanned, inhaled, unfurled fancy parchment, bellowed.
“Mercenaries of Turan! Eyes open, ears perked! Heed Romilio de Valkados, conqueror of Lordric North, knight of knights, Turan’s lord, beloved by all!”
“He’s here.”
“Already?”
“Lord’s desperate. Scraping first-wave deferrals for illness, age.”
Soldier ranted, summary: ‘Don’t wanna deserter brand forever? Crawl in!’
‘Fuck, game for fun—mandatory service! Draft notice!’
Sulking, Waldorf leaned over bar, whispered.
“Hey, old kid.”
“Yeah.”
“No helping it. Merc life has unlucky days.”
“Day one as merc, this?!”
“.....Anyway, got most of ours to left flank.
Mutts no tactics, just charge. Battle starts, lines chaos. We clump left, near walls.”
“Meaning.....”
“You tank one charge—pre-melee rush. We clear space behind.
Hold somehow. No fleeing battlefield—executioners kill. Tank once, then bolt back no-look. Chaos hides it.”
....Nod.
Professor nodded silently. Waldorf’s plan: ignore command, form own phalanx post-start. Leaks to officers? Instant beheading—treasonous.
“Hah, no need explaining secrecy.”
“Next! Called, step up! F-Rank Merc Nil Casey, F-Rank Merc Savi Mozo, F-Rank Merc Professor, D-Rank Merc.....”
“Time. Don’t forget—one day, but since yesterday, you’re Silver Roar brother. Don’t meet as roadside corpse.”
“Quit jinxing.”
“Heh, war god’s liar? Say it to survive.”
Like mercs, they knocked backhands.
“Good, all here! March to front!”
At escort’s order, Professor moved with conscripts to gate barracks.
***
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