Porter: Johann 8

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"I think we should hire a porter."

With a table between them, the hero said it just like that. He'd finally made a decent haul for once and had ordered an expensive meat dish they wouldn't normally touch. But his words were like a cold draft cooling the steaming roast hind leg of the lava boar.

This hero still can't read the room.

The mage shook her head, thinking it.

It's all the priest's fault that guy's so oblivious. No matter what anyone says, she just grins like an idiot and replies, "Great idea, Hero!" And that makes the hero's ego shoot up like the Demon King's tower.

"Great idea, Hero!"

The priest gave the exact same response, utterly at odds with the mage's thoughts. Used to this atmosphere by now, the mage didn't raise her voice like usual. Instead, she spoke in a flat, dry tone.

"We killed a few slimes in the dungeon and you're already getting cocky? A porter, really."

"Come on, Mage, that's too harsh. I put a lot of thought into this."

A lot of thought probably means convenience, convenience, and more convenience.

They weren't even a party that made enough to justify hiring a porter in the first place. Why was this hero so damn reckless?

Tears welled up at her own miserable situation, stuck in this hero's party.

"We don't need a porter. Right, Priest?"

The mage raised her voice and shot the priest a glare. The pretty girl in flowing white-and-yellow priestess robes that covered her from head to toe pointed at herself with a troubled look, as if to say, "Me!?"

The innocent priest, who looked like she'd never gotten her hands dirty, was weak to pressure. That must be why she always indulged the hero's whims.

Having lived a strict monastic life since childhood, she had no real-world sense either. If left to her own devices, she'd probably run into some sleazy guy and get fleeced clean.

"Priest, speak your mind. Don't just go along with the hero's pace like always. You're too soft, and that's why the hero turns into such a jerk."

"Haha. A jerk hero? Mage, you're being too harsh."

Instead, the priest defended the hero.

Always like this.

I end up the bad guy every time.

The mage clicked her tongue with a "Tch!" The hero, grinning ear to ear for some reason, waved his hand cheerfully. From the outside, they looked like the perfect couple.

"Don't be so negative, Mage. Good is good—what's wrong with a porter? It'll lighten our load, let us focus more on dungeon crawling. The benefits will outweigh the cost."

"We've done fine without one so far. Hiring some porter would just be a nuisance."

The mage turned her head away without touching the meat on the table. This self-centered, my-way-or-the-highway hero never backed down from his opinions. Bringing it up this time was probably half an announcement.

She raised her voice in protest, but she knew full well her opinion wouldn't matter. The mage mentally tallied the costs.

Hiring someone costs a fortune. If the hero was serious, he shouldn't have splurged on this feast today.

"Come on, smile. Adventures are about the big score, right? With my skills, striking it rich is nothing!"

The hero said, rolling up his sleeve. On his forearm was a vivid stigma.

Flame Stigma

His gift as the hero.

A dark red scar ran along his forearm, looking sometimes like a blazing flame, other times like a blooming flower.

Clueless, reckless, and dumb as a rock—but what he'd just said was pretty damn true. Few in this world were as close to "striking it rich" as someone with a stigma. That practical reality was why she stuck with this empty-headed hero.

One big score, and I'm out of this party for good.

She reminded herself of the thought she'd had a thousand times.

When she left, she'd take the priest with her.

Sticking with this idiot hero too long might bring who-knows-what disaster.

The priest was a good girl aside from her naivety—she didn't deserve that fate.

"Anyway, Mage, head to the Adventurer's Guild tomorrow and find someone."

"You ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠push for it, then dump the hassle on me?"

"Haha, cut me some slack. I wanna focus on training. To strengthen the stigma's power. Lately, it's like it's just out of reach."

For a split second, the hero's eyes changed. They'd been murky as mud puddles until now, but at the word "training," they gleamed like a masterfully polished sword blade. Few people could shift like that with just a look.

The stigma's power was mighty, but blindly relying on it meant you could never challenge the hero's true feat. It took burning ambition to forge yourself, plus the drive to act on it, to truly call yourself a hero.

Slacking on training while banking on the stigma made you less than half a hero. Conversely, there were surely people walking the hero's path without stigmas.

Though those half-assed types all end up the same.

The mage gave a cynical glance at the passersby beyond the window.

Lunch hour meant crowds. A "hero" or two must be among them. But real heroes were a rare handful even among them.

"Hero, you've been even more motivated lately."

The priest beamed.

"Yeah, that rumor really lit a fire under ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me."

"That rumor? Oh, the stigma-less hero, right?"

"Yep. Pops up every now and then. Heroes clearing high-difficulty dungeons without stigmas. Probably got lucky, but still."

Their talk jogged the mage's memory of a recent guild rumor.

The guild receptionist's words still rang clear in her ears.

"He sounds amazing! Conquering Delusion of the Parasite Worm solo! We totally failed there last time!"

"P-Priest, it wasn't a failure. A strategic retreat for the next advance. A tactical detour?"

More like a two-steps-back for one-step-forward.

The mage started to nitpick but gave up. What was the point with this my-pace hero?

"Really!? As expected of Hero~!"

"You bet. Word is, the guy's still using his real name. No way I'd lose to some half-hearted punk like that."

The mage gave a wry smile at the hero's words.

It'd been over a year since she'd ditched her name. No idea who started the tradition, but hero parties dropped names: Hero, Mage, Priest, Thief.

You got it back on leaving, of course. But after a year as "Mage," she could barely remember her real one.

"We'll conquer it soon too. Alright, next target: Delusion of the Parasite Worm! Mage, report the expedition at the guild too."

"Yessir~ Yessir~ Got it. Feels like I'm the porter already."

"Thanks. You're reliable, Mage. Lucky to have you in the party."

The hero flashed a warm, genuine smile.

The mage whipped her head away. Not because he looked smug. She hated how his face melted away her sharp barbs.

Stubborn as a mule, selfish, no common sense—but that smile made it all seem like charm. She swore she'd bail after one big score, yet it shook her resolve every time.

"Hero. What about what I said before?"

Without turning, the mage spoke up.

"Hm? Oh, just adventure enough to get by comfortably?"

"Yeah. Me and Priest would prefer that. With your skills, we could live luxuriously without—"

"Can't do it."

The hero cut her off before she finished.

"I'm a hero. A hero's duty is slaying the Demon King."

He looked up. The mage knew where his gaze went. To the invisible, impossibly distant Demon King Castle.

That's what he saw, for sure.

The mage headed to the Adventurer's Guild. She could find it blindfolded now.

Of course, closing your eyes on the pickpocket-infested guild streets was begging to be robbed. Even the hero wasn't that stupid.

Ding-a-ling.

The door bells chimed welcomingly. The guild bustled as always—some here for quests, others to take them. Today's mage was both.

"Well, if it isn't Mage!"

"Hey, long time."

The guild receptionist waved happily. He wasn't name-less like her, yet everyone called him "Guild Receptionist."

Over ten receptionists here, but "Guild Receptionist" meant him.

"What about my offer last time?"

"Switching jobs? Nah."

"Hahat! Figured—looks like you snagged another mage already. If you'd said yes, I was gonna tease you!"

"Your tastes are still trash."

"Here for an expedition report, as usual?"

"That, plus a request. Need to hire someone."

"Oho! Hiring help? The minimalism queen who yelled, 'Hero, Priest, Mage—the perfect trio, nothing more, nothing less!'?"

"Still believe that. If not for our immature hero, we'd be three."

"Haha, figures. What'd he say? Realized he needs a thief after that last dungeon?"

"Nah. Just said lugging gear's a pain, so hire a porter."

"Hahaha! That hero always exceeds expectations! Fun guy. Tell him drinks on me sometime."

"Now I'm his errand girl and messenger pigeon? Piss off. If you wanna drink that bad, tell him yourself. Actually, don't—don't give that spendthrift any ideas."

The mage shook her head and continued.

"One porter. Cheapest reliable one you've got. Funds are tight—list by price, bottom of the barrel."

"Always the tough requests."

The receptionist grinned.

"Don't scowl, Mage. Hero's got his reasons. That rookie hero's hiring a porter too—maybe it's a hero trend."

"Following idiot trends makes you more idiotic. That rookie too?"

"Yeah, interesting guy all around. No stigma, flaunts his real name, and a foreigner to boot."

"Foreigner... What's his name again?"

"Vints. Calls himself Vints. Fun name."