I Never Asked to Be an Enchanter

"You fucking Enchanter bastard——!!!"

"Wh-whaaa! The gear blowing up isn't my fault!!!!"

Fuck. It blew again. I'd lost count of the failures, and I'd lost count of the times I'd run.

In this world, my name is Liamin. I became an Enchanter without ever being given a choice of class.

"You think I became an Enchanter because I wanted to?!"

I used to be an ordinary office worker in an ordinary world. I collapsed under too much overtime, and when I opened my eyes again, everything was a new world. A scent brushed the tip of my nose. Exotic timber houses filled my sight, and even the feeling of moving my fingertips was there. All of it was unfamiliar.

Still, I'd run into this sort of thing countless times in web novels and webtoons. I took the measure of the situation fast and clenched my fist tight. This is a chance. A chance, through reincarnation, to turn my life around. After an experience like this, you were usually granted what people called a Reincarnation Perk. Receive that properly, and the road ahead of my life would roll out smooth.

"So what am I getting?"

Overwhelming strength? Mana overflowing? Or—

Some cheat-tier ability dumped on me all at once!!

Couldn't I be one of those people too? I was clutching a heart about to burst when, right then, the notification window I'd been waiting for rose before my eyes.

A chime.

"Oho!"

Been waiting for you, you bastard. Certain that something good was in there, just as I'd hoped, I read down the window.

I skimmed a message that opened on nothing but personal details. Skimmed it, and yet…….

"There's nothing?"

No account of overwhelming might. Nothing about mana boiling over. Not a word about handing out cheat-tier abilities by the armful. Only—

Enchanter……?

A familiar class had caught my eye. It fell far short of what I'd pictured, but if it was this, it seemed as though it would at least help me get by.

Five years had slipped past since I'd been living in a strange world with a new face and a new class. In that time, I had nearly been murdered more times than I could count.

This was a medieval-flavored fantasy world, where monsters appeared and Adventurers lived by putting them down. Magic existed, of course, and all sorts of races lived tangled together. That kind of place.

At first, settling in was hard. I'll say it again: my class had been fixed as Enchanter, the job fate assigned me after reincarnation. Thanks to this shitty profession, nearly dying had stopped being a once-in-a-while affair a long time ago. That was the biggest reason I couldn't adapt.

If an Adventurer wanted to grow stronger, training on their own ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was part of it, but the fastest road was putting an enchant on their gear. The problem was that Enchanters weren't merely uncommon. They'd been ripped out by the roots. Ask why, and the answer was plain enough: every Enchanter who failed an enchant had been murdered. And what that meant was…….

You're telling me it makes sense for the gear to blow up when you fail.

In a game, sure — fail a high-tier enchant and the item pops. In real life, I figured the worst of it would be covering a repair bill. My first enchant was the lowest of the Low-Grade Enchants. As a level-1 Enchanter, the success rate was 75 percent. Isn't that a high chance? That's what I thought when I took the job, and it landed square on the 25 percent and shattered. The weapon evaporated in front of my eyes. And the client—

"You piece-of-shit Enchanter!! You blew up the sword I bought with every coin I owned?!"

He'd commissioned the work with a smile on his face, and in a blink he turned into a vengeful ghost, snatched up a brick, and tried to kill me. Not a joke. For real. The bastard staked the place out so hard I couldn't go home for about a week.

Hiding in a back alley, I did a lot of thinking.

"They reincarnated me just to make me do this crap?"

Were there no Enchanters in this world, so they called me in with this shitty class? Fate or a god — if either one stood in front of me, I meant to fail an enchant on their skull right then and there. I poured out every complaint and ugly feeling I had, and a day passed. Then two. Then three.

As time went on, the thoughts began to change.

Fuck. My last life was already a disaster. I'm not letting this one be a disaster too.

I checked the status window I'd forgotten.

It had gone up. And—

A trait that hadn't shown at level 1 had appeared. I drew in a slow breath. What stood out was the second line: the extra success rate was something only I could know. Grow well enough, and—

I can bluff.

Suppose a Highest-Grade Enchant listed at 5 percent. To my eyes, it might as well be 50. Still a gamble with my life on the table, sure……. But it meant I could make a fortune. On top of that, I was an Enchanter all on my own: a monopoly inside a monopoly, the whole market mine.

I drew myself a bright future, and from then on I survived with my teeth in it. When an enchant blew, I cracked the skull of the client standing there dumb with shock, took the money, and ran. I flung the hot tea I'd been drinking. I threw flour I'd prepared ahead of time and bolted.

The house I'd been living in after I arrived here, I'd sold a long time back. I drifted, but I kept my clothes neat. Customers stuck better that way. And like that, I survived five miserable, fucked-up years.

"Ah…… thinking about it, I could cry."

I said it like that and still wiped at eyes that were bone dry, then opened the status window.

My level had climbed a good deal in five years. Someone might ask what was so much about a mere twenty-three levels, but that isn't the point.

The number had climbed past anything reasonable. Through the first five levels it rose by 0.5 percent each, and then, every five levels, the size of the jump went wild. A Mid-Grade Enchant sits around 50 percent. Which is to say: mine is guaranteed to land. There had been a point, after all, to growing the way I had while committing every kind of misdeed (?).

I was still afraid to lay a hand on a High-Grade Enchant, but even this much was no trouble at all when it came to eating and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠living. Not long after the money started sweeping in, I opened a shop of my own, rented though it was. I didn't go hungry anymore, and now and then I even bought myself an expensive meal.

Once life steadied, I found myself wanting the romance I'd never managed in my past life, but—

Tch. Romance, my ass.

A different life from the last one, sure, but honestly my looks didn't satisfy me. Everyone else gets reincarnated with an idol's face and a body carved out of muscle. Me, I had a face you could just about stand to look at, and the only muscle on me was everyday muscle. No woman was going to like a man with this little charm. So I decided I'd do nothing but work. If luck found me later, I'd get married and all the rest.

And in the middle of that, the shop door that had been shut swung open, and the day's first customer walked in.

"Welcome."

The line came out on reflex at the sound of the door. I turned my eyes, and a young woman was already looking over the shop as if she belonged there. I spoke to her just as easily.

"Haril, what brings you in today?"

Her name was Haril Aketis, a regular who had been leaving her enchants with me since a year ago. At my question she turned, dark green hair tossing the way grass blows in the wind.

"Isn't the reason an adventurer comes looking for an Enchanter obvious?"

A clear, bright voice. I answered while looking into eyes that glittered like obsidian.

"I know. It's just that people don't come every day the way you do, Haril."

I tossed it out, then fell into the motion worn into my body and started rummaging for the materials an enchant needed. In that gap, Haril set a pair of worn gloves on the counter, and a single scroll bound with a blue knot.

"The hunt went well."

"……A Blue Knot again?"

A Blue Knot. A high-grade scroll. I swallowed dry.

Lately the scrolls this woman brought in had gotten sharply harder. A few months back they'd been comfortable Mid-Grade to Mid-High Enchant scrolls, and for nearly a week now she only brought garbage like that.

And the odds are already sitting in an awkward place. A Blue Knot's base success rate was 15 to 25 percent. You had to unfold it and read the formula to know the exact number, but even with my ability added on, it didn't clear 80. The familiar odds dragged up a bad memory, and I gave a small shake of my head. Whatever else, safe was best.

"I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠won't. If it blows, what are you planning to do."

The gloves Haril had held out looked cheap at a glance. The truth was nothing like that. A guild master's name carries weight. In fact, Haril was the head of the Aketis Guild, a small band of elites. Gear belonging to someone like her was never going to be a pair of nylon hot pants. If it blew, I'd be murdered without a mouse or a bird the wiser. I was sure of it.

She must not have expected me to refuse on the spot. Haril caught my hand, looking flustered.

"You're the only one anyone can call an Enchanter. If you won't do it, who will!"

"H-hands off, and then talk."

I'd packed away any hunger for romance, but a woman's hand on mine left a strange feeling. My face was burning, which was why I'd told her to let go, and Haril eased her hand free and opened with an apology.

"Ah, I-I'm sorry……."

"Why won't you? If it fails, do you think I'd actually get back at you?"

"……."

Yes. I wanted to say it, but say it outright and I'd lose a customer. Hoping she'd catch on well enough, I stuck to silence.

Haril, after reading my mood for a moment, changed in the eyes.

"Even if the enchant is ruined, I won't retaliate. Absolutely not."

A look with no give in it. There was no room to doubt she meant it, and I was still uneasy. She must have seen my face. Haril set a hand on the counter and added to it.

"If it fails, then whatever. I'll buy you a drink."

"……You mean it?"

"Of course. An Enchanter is precious, you know?"

If it really came down to only that, then it was fine? Did this woman have no feel for it, because her gear had never blown? How many customer bastards had left me a High-Grade Enchant with words just like those, and then turned on a dime.

Believe her or not, the mess afterward is still mine to clean up. Absolutely not. I'd hardened my mind and was about to show her I meant to refuse, and in that instant—

"Ah— seriously……."

Had I been too slow to answer? All at once ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Haril wiped the look off her face, raked her bangs back rough, and muttered.

"Why are you this bad at taking a hint?"

"What?"

"What did you just……."