Sargadis (2)
In this world, creatures known as monsters exist. While there are precise academic classifications, people tend to lump anything that harms humans under the broad label of “monster,” much like how spiders get called insects. These monsters are also the main reason the profession of adventurer even exists. Every time you step into a dungeon or ruin, they come as a default package—like licorice at the pharmacy, triangle kimbap at the convenience store, or dark circles on a grad student’s face. That’s why adventurers casually slaughter monsters, dissect them, and sell their fangs or other parts. It’s just everyday business here.
Even the sight of a sweet, delicate-looking girl with an innocent face plunging a knife into a kobold’s eyeball, then happily yanking out its teeth and tucking them into her pouch, is nothing more than a peaceful slice of daily life in this other world.
“Hrrryaaaaahhh!!!”
Living in a world like this, it was inevitable that these people would be ridiculously barbaric and primitive. Watching my companions swing their blades in full arcs at kobold heads like they were competing to see who could chop the hardest, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of admiration.
“What a shitshow.”
Semmus, who had charged out first, was already at the front of the formation, harvesting kobold heads. Every time his blunt double-edged sword swung, a furry head that looked like a half-rat, half-dog hybrid went flying through the air.
“You planning to join in?”
Someone spoke to me from above my head. The skinny old man had already grabbed the bow he’d left in the luggage compartment and climbed onto the roof of the carriage. The tall carriage made for an excellent sniping position, and several adventurers from the merchant caravan stood beside him with bows drawn. They must have already reached an agreement, because none of them tried to stop the passengers from fighting.
“Yeah. Seems like good practice material.”
“Practice? Looks like you don’t have much fighting experience, kid.”
“That’s right. I don’t exactly look like a master of combat, do I?”
“With that build, I figured you might.”
As he answered, the old man loosed an arrow that pierced a kobold through the shoulder. The creature that had been aiming for Semmus’s flank collapsed, looking like it had just been on the receiving end of some one-sided SM play.
“Tsk.”
The skinny old man clicked his tongue briefly. It seemed he’d been aiming for the head and missed. So even he wasn’t skilled enough to criticize others.
“Uryaaahhh!!”
On the other hand, Semmus at the very front was incredible. His ridiculous performance earned him ace treatment instead of just passenger status, and the surrounding adventurers switched to support roles. The rumors about Ulster warriors’ combat prowess hadn’t been exaggerated at all. At that level, he could probably hold his own against the Silver Class adventurers I’d seen before.
The people Yerna hired for ruin exploration were mostly Silver to Bronze Class adventurers. In my personal ranking system, they felt roughly like YouTubers with 100,000 to 1,000,000 subscribers. In other words, Semmus was a rookie streamer showing the potential of a 1-million-subscriber channel right from debut. Maybe I shouldn’t dismiss him as a damn commie foreign worker and at least get on friendly terms with him. Couldn’t hurt to ask him to carry me on the bus at least up to Bronze, right?
“You’re not going? Didn’t you come here to fight?”
“Whoops. Right, I did.”
At the skinny old man’s reminder, I drew my sword and stepped forward. Low-tier monsters like kobolds had simple behavioral patterns. One: It’s hard to beat an opponent bigger than you. Two: A larger number of enemies is scary. Normally they lived with just those two rules in their heads, hunting bugs and small animals. Then, once they bred and multiplied enough to delude themselves into thinking they were strong, they’d attack passing humans.
“Kerrk?!”
And most of the time, they got counterattacked and died.
I swung my sword at a kobold that had charged toward the carriage. Thanks to Professor Brammaton’s basic physical training—which included swinging rebar—my sword’s trajectory was fairly clean.
“Kyaaarghhh!!”
But damn it, I hadn’t trained on actually hitting the target. I’d aimed for the neck, but the blade only sliced halfway through the kobold’s jaw. A horrific scream and grotesque visuals burned themselves into my eyes.
“Get lost, you bastard!”
“Gyak!”
It was pretty disgusting, but I’d long passed the stage where something like this would make me waver. The kobold that took my second strike collapsed, spewing blood, and never stood up again. Kobolds lacked the intelligence to use weapons, so they weren’t particularly difficult opponents for me. They were even smaller than dwarves.
“Rat bastard, cut.”
Thanks to my increased strength, I could bisect a small kobold without much effort. Without needing to struggle to pull my blade from the corpse, I immediately moved on to the next target.
Whoosh—thud!
“Kyaaaaahhh!!”
An arrow flying in from afar scored a clean hit on the left of two nearby kobolds. I silenced the one flailing its arms with a single sword strike. I kicked the one charging at me, knocked it down, and stabbed my blade into it.
“Heh heh.”
It wasn’t difficult. No, it was actually easy. Part of it was because the opponents were weak, but the bigger factor was the hellish experience I’d gained following that damn woman Yerna around. After watching monsters get slaughtered to the point of nausea in dungeons and ruins, I had somehow grown accustomed to blood-splattered combat.
[Is that all? You worked hard too, Yellowy.]
At that moment, Semmus, having finished the fight, approached me. He handed me the cloth he’d used to wipe his sword. Was this his version of showing affection?
“Thanks.”
I quickly took the rag and tried to clean my blade, only to frown. My sword was completely covered in kobold blood and fat.
[Your swordsmanship is a complete mess.]
“…Seems that way.”
Semmus’s blade only had blood on it, while mine looked like I’d been butchering a pig’s hind leg. The bright red fat stuck to it in clumps—I had no idea how to even begin cleaning it.
[Keep the cloth. It’s just a rag anyway. Use it to wipe.]
[To clean it properly I’d need water…]
[Just scrape off the fat and shake off the moisture. You can’t maintain your weapon perfectly every time in battle. As long as you remember to sharpen and oil it later, it’s enough.]
Semmus sheathed his bloodstained blade as he spoke.
[But Yellowy. You are not a warrior.]
“Not yet, no.”
Even though I’d just been treated like trash, which should have stung my pride, why did the “Yellowy” comment piss me off more? The fact that I wasn’t a veteran warrior was simply fact, so it dealt zero damage. But the “Yellowy” remark was racial discrimination, so it came with penetration damage. That must be why.
[A sword is a difficult weapon for someone without proper technique.]
[Yeah. I’ve heard that, but it’s worse than I thought.]
Characters in novels and movies often said swords were consumables. In reality, unless it was a lightsaber, fighting living creatures meant your blade would get covered in blood and fat. A sword that had lost its edge was nothing more than a club. You couldn’t claim a 1–2 kg iron club wasn’t a deadly weapon, but if that was the case, you might as well carry a club from the start. A baseball bat was a deadly weapon too, after all.
“Would it be better to switch weapons?”
I asked Semmus. Since he was a savage who ate, shit, fought, and fucked until he died, he was the perfect person to ask. It felt unfair that I was always the one answering questions.
[Either gain more real combat experience, or use a spear.]
[Isn’t a spear hard to use in tight spaces?]
[Every weapon has strengths and weaknesses. In the end, you just have to get used to it.]
Semmus glanced around before speaking with a profound look in his eyes.
[Training and real combat are the only answers. If you reach the realm of a true master, you can defeat a spear with your bare fists.]
Coming from a man who had slaughtered over a dozen kobolds in three minutes, the words carried real weight.
“You’re finally back! Come, come!”
When Semmus and I returned to the carriage after wiping our blades following that fierce battle, the fat old man waiting inside shouted with delight.
“We were waiting for Mr. Norde. We couldn’t continue the conversation with one person missing.”
I wondered why he was so happy, but Jorma explained it for me. They could have just continued without me. Semmus, who had returned with me, didn’t seem particularly interested in hearing stories about his homeland either.
─Hiiiing!!
Anyway, once we returned, the carriage set off again, and Jorma resumed sharing his experiences.
“Hmm. So where was I?”
“You were saying that visiting an Ulster village isn’t particularly recommended. Yes. What exactly is the reason?”
The fat old man asked while wiping sweat onto his pants.
“Right. Unfortunately, the moment the women heard rumors that I had arrived, they all vanished from the village~ That’s what happened.”
Jorma naturally scanned the expressions of everyone present, then drooped his shoulders with an expression of exaggerated sorrow, as if he wanted to beat the ground in despair. Semmus nodded with a face that said “of course.”
“Merchant. You should consider yourself lucky you weren’t killed.”
“Indeed. Especially if you stare too obviously at a woman who has a husband, you’ll be in serious trouble.”
“Wait, you idiot. Isn’t that obviously going to happen?”
NTR bastards deserve to die. Did this guy act all friendly only to reveal he had that kind of taste? Damn, now that I look at him, he really does have the face of a blond pretty-boy bastard. Maybe killing this guy here would contribute to world peace.
“Hey, don’t misunderstand! I didn’t do it on purpose!”
Jorma protested as if he had been wronged.
“They say married women are distinguished by the patterns of dye they apply to their bodies, but how is that easy for outsiders like us to recognize? Thanks to that, I suffered quite a bit too!”
“Dye? Don’t the Ulsters use tattoos?”
The skinny old man, who had been pretending not to listen while clearly paying attention, casually slipped in a question. Jorma slapped his knee.
“Tattoos! Yes. You have to be careful with those too.”
“Why the tattoos?”
“From what I heard, only outstanding warriors and druids are allowed to receive tattoos instead of just applying dye. So if you look at a tattooed woman the wrong way, you might never be allowed back into the village.”
“…Like a chieftain or a noble?”
It was Semmus who answered the skinny old man’s question.
“A tattoo drawn with mana is the greatest honor. Only great warriors and great sorcerers may bear them.”
“I see. If disrespecting someone of high status only results in exile, that’s actually quite merciful.”
The skinny old man seemed convinced, but Jorma drooped his shoulders with a sad face once more.
“You are absolutely right, but as you can see, the land of the Ulster people has quite a few things one must be cautious about. One small mistake and you’ll suffer greatly. So it’s not exactly the dreamland the rumors make it out to be.”
“Hmm. Is that so…”
The old men, whose subtle romantic fantasies had been shattered, looked dejected. Their faces were like middle school boys who had just been told that Japan wasn’t actually the world’s largest porn paradise.
“But… do you gentlemen know this?”
At that moment, Jorma smiled as if he had been waiting for exactly that reaction.
“There is a country whose women expose just as much bare skin as the Ulsters, yet instead of hating men’s gazes, they return them with smiles.”
“Really? Is that true?”
At Jorma’s words, the old men’s faces brightened like sunflowers that had finally received rainwater after a week of drought. I really wished they would show some dignity.
“Hehehe. Of course it’s true. Haven’t you heard of the desert nation called Narmer-Nile?”
“Of course we have. Isn’t it the adventurers’ golden paradise that makes Sargadis look like nothing?”
“I’ve heard of it too. The land of a sand sea where ancient ruins lie dormant. A nation of merchants and warriors gathered at the Yatrau River and its oases.”
The two old men each showed off their own knowledge. The typical otherworlder habit of showing off tiers extended even to trivial facts like this.
[Yellowy. Where is Narmer-Nile?]
At their boasting, Semmus asked me with a curious look.
“…It’s a desert nation near Britannia. It’s also a place where adventurers flock because of the many ruins of ancient civilizations.”
I answered half-heartedly. I had briefly considered getting close to this guy earlier, but seeing how he couldn’t speak without attaching “Yellowy” to everything killed any desire I had. Even if I treated him with extreme kindness, he’d probably just say something like, “Of course a Yellowy bastard should serve white people, right?”
“In the capital of Narmer-Nile, Iunu, and the temple city of Ineb, there are religious orders that worship the sun god Atum.”
While we were like this, Jorma’s story was reaching its climax. Instead of us, who showed no interest, he targeted the two old men and spoke with rising enthusiasm.
“And the important part! The priestesses of this order don’t wear clothes even in their daily lives!”
“Ooh!”
Jorma, who had completely captured the old men’s attention, clenched his fist and shouted.
“The people of Narmer are a mix of those with brown skin and those with white skin! But what impressed me most were the brown-skinned priestesses!”
“Brown skin? Like dark elves?”
“Similar. Instead of clothing that covers their bodies, those priestesses wear jewelry and sheer fabrics as they walk around inside the temple. The sight of their brown skin, glistening with fragrant oil, peeking through those fluttering cloths is truly… Hnnngh!”
Crude sexual talk between men was just as explicit in this world. When Jorma blatantly mimed the curves of a woman’s chest with his hands, the fat old man stomped his feet as if he could no longer endure it.
“My god, to think there was such a wonderful country! Why did I only learn of Narmer-Nile’s greatness at this age! If I had known when I was a sailor, I would have taken a ship there!”
“Hehe. You’re still quite vigorous. Life doesn’t end while you’re still breathing. Who knows? Maybe Mr. Aaron will one day visit the land of those Ulster people or that golden paradise.”
“Hnnng…. Yes. Taking one more journey before I die doesn’t sound so bad.”
It sounded way too worldly for a “journey before death.” But Jorma spread both arms wide at the fat old man’s words.
“Exactly! Opportunity comes to those who challenge themselves! In the spirit of supporting Mr. Aaron’s travels, let me recommend a fine product!”
“A product?”
“Yes! It’s the accessory most favored by the young ladies of Narmer! Even though it’s very affordable, it’s extremely popular in that country because it’s hard to obtain there.”
“Ohh!”
The two old men stared, mesmerized, at the commercial product Jorma pulled from his pouch. It was a decorative piece made by twisting copper wire. Was this whole storytelling session just buildup to sell goods? This guy’s mouth really was something. I inwardly admired how smoothly he had transitioned into a product advertisement.
“Hehehe. Since we’ve met like this, it must be fate. I’ll offer it to you below market price. Just 20 coppers.”
“20 coppers? Isn’t that a bit expensive?”
The fat old man’s face stiffened slightly. Twenty coppers was about 200,000 won. For commoners like us, that was enough to live on for a month.
“Now now. You absolutely cannot get this item at this price anywhere else.”
Jorma spoke with an attitude that said he would not yield even an inch on the price.
“This accessory has a design popular not only with the women of Narmer-Nile but with the women of this country as well. If you keep it on your person, it will become your secret weapon for when you encounter a good meeting someday.”
“But still, 20 coppers is a bit…”
“By the way, I once spent a hot night with a priestess of Atum using this very accessory.”
“Give me two.”
“Oh my, thank you. I’ll take them out of my luggage during the break.”
In the end, the two old men couldn’t hold back and bought the accessories. Men truly were pitiful creatures ruled by their dicks.
“Mr. Norde, do you not need one?”
“Me? I’m good.”
I firmly refused the accessory. Have you ever seen a young person from the 21st century, flooded with advertisements, buy something from a subway vendor? There was no way I would buy an item whose effectiveness wasn’t even guaranteed.
“Merchant. I’ll buy one too.”
But it seemed the commie bastard wasn’t the same. Semmus pulled a pouch from inside his robe. The skinny old man, who had been counting coins in his wallet, let out a dumbfounded chuckle at the sight.
“Your tribe must have plenty of beautiful women. Why are you interested in women from such a distant land?”
At that question, Semmus answered with a completely serious face.
“I came here to find a wife. The women of my tribe won’t marry me.”
“…Ahem. I understand. Everyone has their circumstances.”
Having caught a glimpse of a foreign worker’s sorrow, the old men fell into a solemn silence. In any era, in any world, foreign workers were people who left their countries because they couldn’t display their abilities at home.
Passing the time like that, we traveled by carriage for roughly one night. The next day, we arrived at our destination—Sargadis.