Merchants' Street (1)
"Bleeaaargh!"
Najin, who had been patting Roselyn's back, hastily scrambled a few steps away. Dieta's expression crumpled as if she had bitten into a bug the moment she called Roselyn's name.
The pinnacle of Cambria, the City of Opportunity.
One of only five White Horn adventurers in the entire city.
A few seconds passed that could have dealt serious damage to that glittering reputation. When the sound proving last night's wild drinking finally stopped, Roselyn wiped her mouth with a handkerchief pulled from her coat and rinsed with water from a canteen.
"Haa, now I can live again."
Lifting her head, Roselyn looked utterly refreshed. She thumped her chest and kept exhaling, haa.
"Huh? What the—it's the snake bitch."
The girl who had called her name. Confirming Dieta's face, Roselyn tilted her head. These two were the sort who, even if their eyes happened to meet, never exchanged so much as a greeting—just clicked their tongues and walked past each other.
In a way, it was a kind of kin-hatred.
Their affiliations were different, too.
The place sponsoring Roselyn's mercenary company was the Garcea Trading Company, locked in a fierce contest for first and second place in Cambria with Dieta's Trading Company. Naturally, relations between the two houses were poor.
Roselyn, receiving Garcea's patronage, could hardly be expected to get along with Dieta, the master of the rival company.
"Calling someone a snake bitch to her face—what house teaches manners like that? Did you skip etiquette lessons, Red Eyes?"
"The young lady who tosses out hate speech like it's nothing seems about as bad as me."
Dieta smiled behind a hand covering her mouth; Roselyn twisted her lips as if to say, what are you glaring at? Then, suddenly, Roselyn noticed Dieta's gaze shift.
"Ahh, so that's it."
Roselyn grinned.
Dieta's eyes had landed on the youth standing a step away—Najin. The young man for whom she had stood guarantee. Of course she would find it strange that he was hanging around with Roselyn.
"Hey, Ivan."
Roselyn flung an arm out for all to see and slung it over Najin's shoulder. His face contorted at high speed, but he only sighed once and stayed silent. He still needed Roselyn if he was going to report to the Central Guild.
"Last night was fun. Another round sometime?"
"I'll pass."
Najin cut her off flat.
He had learned last night that when Roselyn said "a round," she did not mean it in the purely liquid sense.
"Let's get inside already. I want to file the report quick and get something for this hangover. There's a decent place nearby—wanna come?"
"I'll think about it."
"Their meat soup is absolute fire."
Raising her voice so Dieta would hear every word, Roselyn hurried her steps. Entering the Central Guild building with Najin, she glanced back. There stood Dieta, eyes wide open.
Bloodshot, vivid yellow pupils.
Meeting those eyes, Roselyn sneered. She said nothing, yet Dieta could almost hear the voice in her ear.
That adventurer you sponsored? Pretty damn solid.
"Ahh."
Dieta burst out laughing.
Her mouth smiled, but her eyes did not smile at all. Watching Roselyn's back recede with her arm still around Najin's shoulders, Dieta muttered,
"So that's how you want to play it…?"
2.
The moment they stepped into the guild—
"……"
A sudden hush fell over the guild hall that had been noisy with gathered adventurers and merchants, as if someone had dumped cold water over the lot of them. In that silence, Najin felt the weight of every gaze on his skin.
Countless eyes were fixed on him.
At first he thought it was because he had walked in with Roselyn, a White Horn mercenary—but he quickly realized that was not it. Their stares were aimed at him, not her.
"That adventurer…"
"Black-grade nameplate—looks like it's him."
"Highest score ever in the Dochenberg Forest purge…"
Whispers rose through the silence.
The hush shattered; the guild hall filled with the low murmur of adventurers.
"The Black who took down the Blood Troll…"
"Yeah. I saw it myself."
"That Blood Troll? Promotion's a lock."
Word of his performance in the Dochenberg Forest purge had already spread through the guild. Of course it had—some adventurers had returned early from the purge. The rumor had traveled by their mouths.
The Dochenberg Forest purge was an assignment with massive ripple effects, often called a debut stage for Blue-grade and higher adventurers aiming to leap upward.
Naturally every eye was on it.
And a rumor that the all-time high score for that purge had been broken—by a Black-grade adventurer, no less—could never have stayed quiet. The news was that shocking, that far-reaching.
The stares are pretty sharp.
—Drawing attention is like that.
Merlin spoke evenly.
—It's also the weight you'll have to bear from now on.
If he was resolved to stand at the summit, he would have to endure the weight of every gaze that fell on him. That was the burden of anyone who sought the peak.
"…No way that's true?"
Of course.
"He must've pulled some trick. Does that even make sense?"
"Dieta's company guaranteed him, right? Some talent they decided to raise. Starting line's completely different from the rest of us…"
Those voices and stares were not kind.
Those who had not seen Najin's feats with their own eyes tried to tear them down, to deny the starting point itself. The voices rang in his ears, yet Najin's expression did not shift by so much as a hair.
He had already heard such words to the point of boredom.
Back in the underground city of Atman.
"Huu…"
Najin exhaled briefly and squared his shoulders.
No reason to hunch them for nothing.
"That's right. Exactly that."
Roselyn, still arm-in-arm with him, muttered just loud enough for only Najin to hear.
"Voices you don't need to care about, don't need to let into your ears. No reason to look down, is there?"
Roselyn crooked the corner of her mouth.
Apparently pleased with Najin's unflinching attitude, she clapped his shoulder a few times and strode toward the guild's VIP counter—a window reserved solely for White Horn adventurers.
No need to take a number and wait your turn. A straight line of report to the highest levels of the Central Guild. A window for those at the very top.
"Roselyn, captain of the Red-Eyed Mercenary Company."
From the moment she entered with Najin at her side, her expression and bearing transformed. No longer the neighborhood big sister wrecked by drink… but Roselyn Ascalo, captain of the largest mercenary company in Cambria.
Najin watched that face from the closest possible distance.
The report on the commission itself finished quickly.
What took time was Najin's record in the Dochenberg Forest purge and the matter of having slain the Blood Troll. The materials from the monsters that the mercenary company's members had hauled in by cart that early morning had been enough for the guild to accept the Blood Troll's subjugation…
But the adventurer who had contributed the most to that kill—the one whose achievement was essentially a solo subjugation—was Black-grade. That was the problem. If the claim was true, then Najin, having completed a Red-risk commission, would inevitably be promoted.
"If you really can't believe it, go ask around among the adventurers who took part. You'll hear the same answer from all of them."
Yet the supervisor's hesitation did not last long.
"I'll vouch for him. I, Roselyn Ascalo, acknowledge this kid's skill. What more do you need?"
The pinnacle of the city—so they called Roselyn Ascalo—was guaranteeing Najin. More than that, Najin had demonstrated drawing sword aura right in front of the guild supervisor in charge of promotions.
What Najin produced was still only a fragment of aura.
But that alone was enough for a guild supervisor who had watched adventurers for countless years to recognize it. Najin was infinitely close to the realm of Sword Expert.
"No promotion exam will be necessary."
The supervisor spoke briefly.
Normally, promotion to Blue-grade and above was decided by the supervisor after scoring various factors—the commissions completed so far, the satisfaction and evaluations of the clients who had issued them, and so on.
Najin's case was exceptional.
A Black-grade adventurer had taken first place in the Dochenberg Forest purge and slain a Blood Troll of Red-level danger. Because it was so unprecedented, the supervisor judged that an exception was warranted.
"Your nameplate."
Najin handed his nameplate to the supervisor.
The man walked off somewhere, and when he returned he placed a green nameplate in Najin's hand.
Black, Purple, Blue, Green.
A three-rank leap from Black to Green.
The first since the three-rank promotion of Kaufman Teosis, the ranger from the Techel Mountains who was now a White Horn adventurer. In every sense, an exceptional advancement.
I never thought I'd promote this fast.
Najin stared at the nameplate in his hand with a dazed look. A Green-grade nameplate. In this city, that was a rank that could properly be called "upper-tier adventurer."
"Congrats, brat."
Roselyn hooked an arm around Najin's neck.
"Looking at this, you might hit Red before long, huh? Considering your age, that'd be youngest ever."
Even under the false identity of twenty-eight, reaching Red-grade would make him the youngest. That was what Roselyn was saying.
"White Horn might take a bit longer… but if you hit it inside ten years, you'd still be pretty much the youngest. I was thirty-nine when I made youngest White Horn."
Thirty-nine. That was the age at which Roselyn had reached Sword Seeker and risen to White Horn. Hearing that, Najin answered shortly.
"I don't think it'll take that long."
"Whoa, look at this cheeky little brat."
Roselyn snickered.
"Yeah, well. Do your best."
Clapping him on the back, Roselyn walked out of the counter area with him. He had entered as Black-grade; he left with a Green-grade nameplate hanging at his neck.
The moment Najin stepped outside—
And the moment the gathered adventurers confirmed the nameplate at his throat—
Their eyes went round. A Black-grade adventurer had skipped Purple and Blue and risen straight to Green. Until mere days ago, no one had paid this youth any mind… but now everyone knew his name.
Through rumors, through the newspapers, through countless channels, that name would spread through the city.
Green-grade adventurer, Ivan.
Najin's goal of making a name for himself had, for all practical purposes, been achieved.
3.
Several days had passed since he became a Green-grade adventurer, and Najin had spent them fairly busy. First he left the cost-effective inn and moved his lodging closer to the Central Guild.
The monthly rent had jumped several times over, but he could cover it with room to spare. He had money enough to overflow.
The payment from Dieta's commission still remained, plus the reward from the Dochenberg Forest purge and the bounty earned for slaying the Blood Troll. For the time being, money would not be a worry.
While I've earned this much…
After finishing his usual morning training,
Najin rinsed himself with cold water and muttered inwardly.
Should I go get some gear fitted?
—Having armor and a spare sword ready wouldn't hurt. Potions and the like wouldn't be bad either.
Merlin chimed in agreement.
He had been too busy moving around to take a leisurely shopping trip. But now he had breathing room, and he had raised his rank high enough.
Green-grade was classified as upper-tier.
That meant he could now walk openly into the Craftsmen's Street, where Black-grade adventurers were not even allowed to set foot. In light clothes, Najin set out toward the Craftsmen's Street.
Alchemists, renowned blacksmiths, shops dealing in magic tools…
He was thinking of putting together a proper set of equipment while he had the chance. Not the absolute top grade, but the minimum necessary gear. Having one or two weapons he could fall back on in an emergency would not be a bad idea, he decided.
…Come to think of it.
Najin looked down at the sword belted at his waist.
The longsword Old Hogel had forged for him. From fighting pursuers in the underground city, to the duel with Ivan, to facing the Blood Troll—
Honestly, he was well aware he had been putting the blade through rough use. He half expected it to snap at any moment, yet so far there were no obvious flaws. He oiled and inspected the sword every single day, after all.
Still, there might be some hidden defect. If there was, he could leave it for repair—or if repair proved impossible, buying a spare sword would be fine.
With that in mind, Najin first sought out a smithy. A forge run by one of Cambria's renowned blacksmiths. It was sponsored by Dieta's Trading Company, and with her introduction, gaining entry had been no trouble.
The moment he arrived and showed his sword, the blacksmith turned it this way and that, then cocked his head.
"We're gonna need to call Old Hughes for this one."
Still examining the blade, the smith rose, took the sword, and walked deeper into the forge. How many minutes passed?
"Hey, brat."
An old man arrived with the blacksmith.
The finest blacksmith in the city, the one they called Old Hughes, held Najin's longsword and asked,
"Where'd you get this sword?"
"A blacksmith I know made it for me."
"Bullshit. You picked it up somewhere or took it off someone."
Old Hughes's brow furrowed hard.
"What blacksmith would forge a sword meant for delivery to the Atanga Knights and hand it over to a brat like you?"
He ran a finger along the flat of the longsword as he continued.
"You can fool other people's eyes, but not mine. This is a master craftsman's work. The work of a blacksmith skilled enough to hold a contract with the Atanga Knights and hammer their blades. Not just anyone can make something like this."
Master Craftsman.
A title granted only to a handful of blacksmiths.
"If someone really made it for you, let's hear a name. Whose work is it—out with it."