Sewer Scouting Request (1)
Three days can feel both long and short. The final three days before military enlistment or the end of vacation vanish in an instant, while the three days right before discharge or the start of break stretch out like each day lasts twenty-four. From that perspective, the past three days had flown by remarkably fast.
After tidying up the room and throwing myself into writing the thesis topic I'd already prepared using the documents and tools I'd brought along, three days had slipped away before I knew it. I rose from bed, stretching as sunlight streamed through the window.
“Hwaaaam…”
Rubbing my eyes, I spotted the thesis papers on the table. I knew full well what level of paper a master's student could produce on their own. Even that much would have been impossible without Sargadis's library.
Well, I came here knowing there was a fairly large library, so I wasn't worried about that.
Still, if I submitted something below standard, the research grant would evaporate and, after review, I could easily get expelled from academia. It would be like a company commander whose unit suffers a desertion incident. Of course, that was only if I tried to write the entire thesis holed up in this inn room.
From today onward, I can accept adventurer commissions.
Sargadis was like the fantasy-world version of Gyeongju. Dig to build a structure and you unearth Silla-era pottery; tunnel for a subway and a Goryeo-era stone chamber pops out. While I was busy with thesis-related work, suitable material would naturally roll my way.
In archaeology, the most highly valued achievements were ruin excavation and historical interpretation. Discovering a ruin containing usable artifacts was worth more than writing an ordinary paper. If I uncovered records or relics that overturned existing theories, I'd be too busy reporting research results to the academic community for at least half a year.
The problem was that the risk of dying on the job was also high. Traps and monsters that appeared in ruins could sometimes overwhelm even regular knights. That was why scholars subcontracted to adventurers even while knowing full well they were treating them like disposable labor. Fieldwork was the perfect way to die if you got greedy.
For the next one or two years, I need to build up my specs.
The “specs” I meant weren't certificates—they were the kind gamers talked about. The kind where your combat power hits a million or whatever.
If I don't want to die while exploring, I at least need to reach Gold class.
An adventurer's class had eight total ranks. Iron–Bronze–Silver–Gold–Platinum–Mithril made up the six lower ranks, with Master and Grand Master above them. In practice, anything above Platinum Class was almost nonexistent. Just as someone with the qualifications wouldn't bury themselves in a small-to-medium company, most adventurers who reached Gold Class moved on to larger organizations.
Well, I'm already straddling both adventurer and archaeologist paths, so it doesn't matter.
Dual affiliation with academia and the adventurer guild wasn't illegal. My rough plan was to keep doing adventurer work until I got my doctorate and become the ridiculously strong Nord. My ultimate goal was to become the kind of man who could look an assassin aiming for my back and say, “Too slow.”
—Tap, tap.
That was why I wolfed down the inn's breakfast and headed for the adventurer guild at dawn. The guild was already open even though the sun had barely risen. It wasn't running on a 24-hour factory shift system; they simply opened early. After all, the city gates closed at night, so keeping the guild open wouldn't have served much purpose.
“Ah, you're here?”
The receptionist on duty happened to be the same one I'd met on my first day. She still looked tired, but that meant I could skip the tedious explanations and get straight to the point.
“Is the plate ready?”
“Of course. Here it is—Nord's plate.”
It gleamed. Even in the guild's dim interior, the iron-colored plate shone. It was about the size of two fingers pressed together, with a navy-blue gem smaller than a pinky nail embedded in one side. A cheap stone also used as dye.
“Please tie this leather cord to the plate and carry it with you at all times.”
The cord that came with it was crude, made by pounding and cutting leather. I attached it to both sides of the plate and hung it around my neck. Professor Brammaton's book had advised using a good cord. Even then, you could lose it during a commission, so wearing it around the neck rather than the wrist was safer. Re-issuing a plate always cost money.
“From today, you'll officially be able to accept commissions.”
The receptionist spoke to me as I shuddered at the dog-tag-like feeling.
“Check the bulletin board over there and let me know. Don't tear down any posters or commission sheets unless they're single-person requests, all right?”
“Understood. Is that the only bulletin board?”
“There's another on the second floor, but only Gold Class and above can take those commissions. You're free to go up, but even if you bring one down, we can't process it.”
“Ah.”
Were commissions for Gold Class and above so rare that they needed a separate board? That detail hadn't been in Professor Brammaton's book. Probably because the place he'd worked as an adventurer wasn't the Audumla Guild.
While fiddling with the plate, I headed for the bulletin board. A few adventurers had already gathered around it despite the early hour.
“Goblin extermination requests have dropped a lot lately.”
“Yeah. Maybe they're leaking to another guild?”
“Who knows. Could be some weirdo going around killing only goblins.”
“Kekeke. Where would you find a nutjob like that? They're just goblins. They're probably holed up in some cave cooking up a stupid plan.”
“Isn't that a good thing? If things escalate, we might finally get promoted this time.”
“Bullshit. You'll die faster if you act cocky.”
It was the kind of conversation only Bronze and Iron rank adventurers would have. I half-listened while scanning the board. There weren't many commissions an Iron Class adventurer could take. Herb gathering, kobold extermination, wild beast hunting… Most were time-consuming, low-paying, and offered little in the way of achievements. Many adventurer guilds treated newbies like disposable factory workers. When one quit, another would just come along. That worked in Hell Britannia. But among these low-grade commissions, I already knew which one offered the best value.
The source was, of course, Professor Brammaton's book (title omitted).
“…Found it.”
I pulled one of the commission sheets off the board. It was a fresh “Sewer Scouting” request that had only just been posted. Our advisor's book had stated:
[The fastest way for a newly debuted Iron Class adventurer to reach Bronze Class is through sewer scouting commissions.]
“Ugh, shit.”
I returned to the reception desk after confirming—whether by luck or misfortune—that the exact commission I'd been aiming for was available. Several more adventurers had arrived in the meantime, so I had to wait in line briefly. Once my turn came, I stepped forward.
“Excuse me. I'd like to take the sewer scouting commission on the board.”
“The sewer one? Just a moment. Sewer… sewer…”
The receptionist ran her finger down the commission ledger on the table.
“Ah, here it is. A four-person party, three-copper reward. Is that the one?”
“Yes, that's correct.”
Three million won per person? Is this for real? The cost of living in this world was truly legendary. I'd hoped there was a typo on the commission sheet.
“That's fortunate. Sewer scouting commissions aren't popular, so if no applicants had shown up by lunch today, it would've been canceled.”
“I see.”
Sewer scouting meant exactly what it sounded like: scouting the sewers. It was a common commission in most cities, issued by the lord's domain for security maintenance and repairs. The content wasn't difficult. You simply entered the sewers, located sections damaged enough to require maintenance, and reported back. The commission was mainly recommended to Iron Class adventurers because it was unpopular. Sewers smelled, were dark, and easy to get sick in. Those three hardships meant there were always few applicants.
But there was an advantage. Monsters tended to gather in sewers. Why was that an advantage? Because Iron Class adventurers had trouble building up monster-slaying achievements—clients didn't ask low-level nobodies to hunt monsters. The commission sheet didn't mention it, but if monsters appeared in the sewers, dealing with them was your own responsibility. You just had to take them down, collect proof, and report it to the guild.
Slaying achievements are the most heavily weighted factor for promotion.
That was why Professor Brammaton maintained that sewer scouting commissions were one option for rapid promotion.
“With you accepting the commission, that makes exactly four people.”
After reading the detailed commission record, the receptionist continued.
“The other three are a warrior, a rogue, and a mage. The others should arrive before the scheduled time to confirm the party formation and gather on schedule.”
“A mage?”
Our party had an unexpected class. Mages weren't that rare in this world. There were simply too many kinds of mages and magic here. With enough money, even ordinary people could learn cheap spells. However, the kind of personnel the adventurer guild recognized as mages were at least talented enough to hold simultaneous membership in the Mage Guild. In other words, roughly equivalent to someone with a master's in business administration. That meant they were on the same level as me—either a young genius or someone with considerable experience.
“Why would a mage take a commission like sewer scouting…?”
That was the question. Low-rank adventurers were basically no different from factory part-timers at small companies. People who graduated from a top university's business department didn't usually take factory jobs. Even if they did, it was usually just to earn pocket money while job hunting. Short-term part-time work might not be bad as an adventurer gig, but why specifically choose sewer scouting? It was stranger than a business master's student skipping job applications to do loading and unloading work. Someone of mage caliber should have access to higher-paying, cleaner jobs.
The receptionist added a few words, as if my question was understandable.
“That mage is Bronze rank. They'll be serving as party leader for this commission.”
“Party leader? Why?”
“It's custom. Many adventurer guilds assign a higher-rank adventurer as leader when Iron Class members take on combat-related commissions.”
“Ah. To lower the mortality rate.”
When I said it outright, the receptionist nodded.
“That's right. It's hard to say, but… in unexpected situations, Iron Class adventurers alone would have difficulty responding.”
Whether they were Iron or Bronze, the depths they wallowed in seemed the same. I couldn't tell who was supposedly carrying whom.
“But what's in it for the Bronze Class members? It can't be volunteer work.”
“It mainly adds to their record. It's an opportunity to prove they have the ability to lead a party.”
Ah. Like being the group project leader. That was something worth counting as an achievement, since herding newbies and hard-carrying them wasn't easy. But I was starting to feel a bit uneasy. Looking at the party members' classes—tank, DPS, and support—meant the last member should be a healer for balance. Otherwise we'd be running a melee-ranged-support composition and would need to recruit a jungler.
But the last party member is me.
I was neither a priest nor Tarzan. I was pure physical DPS with nothing but sword swings honed through weight training and sturdy equipment. The party had ended up as the kind of disastrous combination only the worst Iron and Bronze rankers would pick, each choosing whatever role they personally wanted. The lack of a healer was quite painful. It was hard not to worry when there was no one to treat injuries. The fact that sewer scouting was considered a low-difficulty job wasn't much comfort. In fantasy games like this, the sewers beneath the starting city were usually hotbeds of subversive forces. Whether it was deranged cultists scheming, black mages conducting human experiments, or thieves using it as a hideout, I'd never seen a case where entering the sewers led to absolutely nothing happening.
“…The deadline is lunch today, right?”
“Yes. Please be careful—if you miss it, there'll be a penalty.”
Though slightly anxious, I ultimately accepted the commission. After all, with a Bronze Class mage in the party, what could possibly go wrong?