Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: The Best Commission (1)
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Another world, possession, adventure.
Such a combination of words brings to mind a conventional scene.
- Hero, saintess, mage, porter, let's go.
Something like the protagonist and companions grandly departing the village.
Not quite that romantic, but still expecting a lively otherworldly vibe, I headed to the job referral office,
"Why aren't the wagons coming today?"
"Lizardmen and orc brats are snatching all the work. They do it for cheap, so day labor rates have gone to shit."
"People really need to learn skills..."
I was met with a cozy, almost hometown-like scene.
Coughs and phlegm-hacking.
Cigarette smoke scattering into the air.
Even holding disposable cups, sipping and chatting idly.
'It's a total day labor market.'
The gender ratio was even, and aside from tea instead of coffee, the atmosphere was eerily similar.
'If a van showed up, it'd be perfect.'
Then,
-Rumble.
"World Tree Guild! Exactly two spots! Humans and elves only! Preference for fire users and lockpickers!"
Not a van, but a wagon arrived, spouting a familiar line,
-Rustle.
The laborers buzzed, and two dashed out, boarding the wagon and vanishing.
"...Perfect."
It was a detail that made it very clear where the developers sourced their funding.
Watching those who might become my future self,
-Tap tap.
"Will, head to the director's side."
A lizardman clerk handling registrations called me over.
"Name's Will, no certifications to speak of. First time?"
The labor office director eyed me indifferently.
He hadn't even glanced at the application I'd slaved over all night.
'High fidelity.'
An attitude detailed enough to match the developers' own job struggles.
"Well, as you might know these days... day labor pay's basically shit. Those orc bastards living in shanties under the dungeon got their homes taken by some explorer party and came up top."
Foreign labor issues burn hot everywhere.
"No issues with your status, so I'll stamp it, but don't get your hopes up."
"Yes, sir!"
"Don't just take any crap job out of desperation."
"Of course not!"
"Good, then wait over there. It'll be last call around cock's crow, so just head back."
"Got it. Thank you!"
"Young folks these days lack manners, but you've got a bright one. Go on in."
Even this was enjoyable to me.
'Being able to walk around on my own two feet for work— that's something.'
Three years.
Three years I'd been half-paralyzed, holed up at home, unable to move.
'Compared to that, this is a blessing.'
Even rolling in dog shit, the mortal world feels good when your feet touch ground. Achilles' words captured my mood perfectly.
Anyway, even with scarce jobs, something menial should turn up.
What can't a healthy-limbed young man do?
With that mindset, I joined the ashen-faced laborers, waiting for work.
However,
Thirty minutes.
"..."
One hour.
"..."
Two hours.
"......"
I was struck anew by how brutal job hunting is, even in another world.
Can't use magic, so pass.
No skills, so no vanguard, pathfinder, or logger.
For grunt work, it's swarming with strong orcs and lizardmen.
The director's words about tough times weren't empty.
'Empty-handed today, huh.'
Sighing as I surveyed the brightening surroundings,
"Hey, you."
A sketchy-looking guy approached me.
"Yes?"
"Day laborer?"
Not bothering with formalities from the start—quite the affable type.
"Yes, but why the casual talk with a stranger?"
"Ah, our hometown dialect has no honorifics."
"I see."
Ah, American style.
"Even if it did, no point wasting 'em on trash like you."
"Oh dear."
Turned out it wasn't honorifics he lacked, but manners.
"Got a job? Three days, one gold."
The casual-talker suddenly pitched work.
One hundred silver per gold, apprentice commissions pay ten silver daily—quite lucrative.
"What kind?"
"Picking herbs in the Black Forest, light guarding. Our guys bailed, so we're hiring urgently."
"Hm."
"Quit pretending to think, punk. Obvious you're leftover 'cause you suck at everything. Wait around, you'll just strike out."
The casual-talker sneered mockingly.
'Nice bald spot.'
Stuck anyway.
Tempted to rifle-butt him and bolt, but then—
"Huff! Heave! Gasp!"
A familiar conical hat raced toward us from the horizon.
"Gasp, huff... Ah! Found you! Mr. Will!"
It was Fey, who'd gone radio silent after saying she'd come.
"Ah, Ms. Fey. You're here."
We'd agreed to meet here, but she was MIA all morning.
Her frantic sprint suggested she'd overslept.
"Sorry! I swear I set the alarm?! But it glitched... You didn't miss work waiting for me, did you?!"
"No, no jobs, so I was just waiting."
"Heave, good... I was worried you'd ditch me, heave..."
"Nah, no way. We've got that bond from arriving together."
I'd have ditched if something came up, but since nothing did, time for nice words.
"But no work here today? Weird..."
Fey tilted her head.
"Usually plenty?"
"Yeah, they always grabbed me right away."
'Come to think, Magic Tower grad.'
Not sure of her exact status here, but her elite talk suggested top-tier prestige, like an Ivy League.
Magic's practical too—basically engineering.
'In Korean terms—'
Like KAIST comp sci valedictorian Kim Fey.
Unlike high-school grad me, free pass to jobs.
"Maybe late? No? They gave me stuff later than this..."
Does this girl know job market woes?
"Hm, probably 'cause you're..."
About to explain to spare her obliviousness from riling folks,
"Gasp."
The casual-talker, who'd eyed me sleazily, paled and staggered back.
"Th-that... hat, hair... Are you... Lady Leblanc...?"
Sudden perfect honorifics.
Who knew he appreciated formal speech so well.
"Uh, yeah? Do I know you?"
"Yes, I mean, just a sec... Please wait a moment!"
-Scamper.
Casual-talker—no, now honorific-man—bolted off somewhere.
"What happened?"
"Ah, well..."
As I opened to explain simply,
"Huff! Lady Leblanc?! No! Say something if you're coming!"
The director, out for a smoke, spotted Fey and rushed over.
"Ah, hi Director! Any jobs today?"
"No! Plenty! A-rank from major guilds to juicy specials! Pick your fancy!"
The director groveled conspicuously.
Worlds from ignoring my app.
"Ah, thanks! Um... could this person join me?"
"Pardon?"
Suddenly Fey grabbed my hand, shoving me onto the bus.
Is that okay?
"Er... that's... tricky..."
Not okay.
"Too many incidents from nepotism hires lately... Association's cracking down."
Connections parachute—hard mode.
Local office wary means strict.
"Umm... low rank's fine?! Any job we can do together, we'll take!"
"Eh?! Even low-tier? More grunt work. For someone of your caliber, Lady Leblanc, it'd be a hassle..."
"I'm fine."
Director glanced between us, baffled.
'What the hell is that guy?' echoed through his face.
I didn't get Fey either.
That indirect party decline hit hard?
"Hmmm... Thing is, all jobs he could do are taken..."
As the director scratched his head awkwardly,
"How about joining our guild's commission instead?"
A man approached from behind.
Tall, handsome.
Neatly swept blond hair, pricey tunic.
Mild demeanor.
Squinted eyes gave a slight villain vibe, but I don't judge by looks.
"...Who're you?"
Fey eyed the intruder warily—open-minded me aside.
"Sorry for the late intro. Rack Roelmann. Master of the small Golden Duck guild."
"And?"
"Heard our guilder rude to your companion, Lady Leblanc. Here to apologize personally, humble as it is."
-Snap.
Rack beckoned aside; a pale-faced man stepped forward.
The evolved casual-to-honorific guy.
"S-sorry! Must've been possessed! Truly sorry!"
-Bow.
He flattened before me.
Honorific-man had evolved to grovel-man.
"Eh, Mr. Will? What happened?"
"Hm, well..."
"Heard this fool insulted your acquaintance. Seems a misunderstanding, but a subordinate's fault is mine. Proper to apologize myself."
Oho.
Impressed by his true leadership.
Peaceful world breeds peaceful minds.
Fitting for a healing game's guild master.
"No, people slip up living."
"Grateful you accept."
What a heartwarming sight!
"Ah, and... overheard a bit. Looking for a joint commission?"
"Ah, yes. Why?"
"Care to take ours? Assist gathering in Black Forest. Three days, one gold. As sorry, plus fifty silver."
In won, 1.5 mil for three days.
Sweet deal.
"Sounds good? What do you think, Ms. Fey?"
"Hm... if you're okay, Mr. Will..."
She nodded, but face uneasy.
"...Something wrong?"
"Um... that... face... kinda..."
"Gasp."
No way.
"Ms. Fey, judging by squinted eyes ain't right."
Dear lord.
Fey a physiognomy nut?
"Eh? N-no! Not that! Just... seen it somewhere..."
"Hahaha... I get that often. But gotta work to shed the bad image."
Rack brushed off Fey's rudeness lightly.
What magnanimity!
"Then, may I explain the commission briefly?"
I nodded.
"...Fine. But seriously, looks familiar..."
Fey had more to say, but lacking basis beyond vibes, agreed to listen.
"Great. Quick breakfast while I explain? You must be hungry after waiting since dawn."
"Ooh, we'd love that."
Even considerate of my long wait.
Prime first client.
'Healing game indeed.'
High pay, gentle guild master.
Game-like convenience, prioritizing comfy tourism over challenge.
No complaints.
Harder games spike dopamine, but reality favors easy.
'Exciting.'
The high morning sun lit our path brightly.