Chapter 3
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Little Young Master (2)
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Allen made a full circuit of the city in exactly three days and collected every last bit of payment due. Naturally, there weren't any deadbeats. It wasn't so much that they feared the collector Allen as it was that no one in town had the guts to pull a stunt like stiffing Pomwell Trading Company.
While he was out collecting, he ran into quite a few mercenaries wandering the streets. Of course, Guild Master dabbled in all sorts of ventures, but Jihoo had reached true mastery specifically in the mercenary business. A perfect 100% success rate was a bit of an exaggeration, sure, but he was confident in at least 80 or 90%. Even 50% would be impressive; 90% was straight-up monstrous.
Naturally, every mercenary who'd flocked to Verher was D-grade at best. You needed stats over 30 just to flash a business card and call yourself a proper mercenary, but this place was crawling with guys barely scraping 20. Considering normal folk hovered around 10, these were just street toughs who looked the part.
Every now and then, he'd spot one with decent traits, but sadly, none broke past [Mediocre]. Not that every [Mediocre] was worthless, but you avoided them when you could. With mercenaries overflowing the continent, why settle for [Mediocre] when you could pick [Prodigy] or [Genius]?
...This takes me back.
Of course, at the start of the game, you had to invest in those 20-stat nobodies. No money, no rep.
There was even an early recruitment strategy: pick ones with ambition, greed, and a love of coin. Made 'em easy to raise and sell off.
Too much loyalty in a scrub was a problem, though. Hard to cut bait when needed. Forcing it tanked your rep... At least in the game; Guild Master's system piled infamy on you for kicking out unwilling transfers. No clue how reputation worked here, but probably similar.
Anyway, back to the point.
Rumors around town were spot-on: the monster attacks had killed or injured miners, even slashed copper output. Word was production was down to less than half of half normal.
Because of that, Allen had to watch his father's uneasy face every morning at breakfast lately. A mining collapse hit the baron's income hard. Their rare family moments had turned into thin ice, even chatty Mom watching Dad's mood.
After one such frosty meal, Father summoned his two sons to the study.
Pomwell Baron sank into his chair, lit a cigar, and eyed his boys. Harsh, pale smoke hissed from his cracked lips.
"I figure you've heard the rumors... Trouble at the mine."
"Yes, we have."
Pomwell Baron's eldest, Borner—Allen's brother—answered for them.
"Word came from the count's estate recently. They don't think it'll sort itself out. Sending in mercenaries. Asked me to help."
"Will you?"
"No choice. I own part of the mine. This is defending family assets."
"...I see."
"So, Borner, I want you to go as my proxy. Form a mercenary corps and assist the count."
Ah—. Borner froze, eyes darting uncomfortably, no quick reply.
He'd always steered clear of trading company work. Preferred schmoozing nobles and politicking. Dirty, rough stuff like business? Hard pass.
As Father's gaze sharpened on his silent eldest, quick-witted little Allen jumped in.
"Father, could I take his place?"
Both sets of eyes snapped to the youngest. Brother relieved, Father puzzled. Timid Allen volunteering? No way.
"...You, Allen? Why?"
"This sounds risky. If something goes wrong—and it won't—but if it does, better me than Brother. He's the future heir."
Pure logic, but Father shook his head. A hint of annoyance there too.
"Not that dangerous. Appoint a proxy inside the mine."
"That won't manage well. Mercenaries are our assets too. Can't trust outsiders with family property. Plus, it'll be good experience for me. A solid corps will back Brother later, right?"
Borner looked touched. First sibling bond from a brother he'd pegged as distant. Anyone could see it: little bro sacrificing for big bro.
Pomwell Baron seemed caught off-guard too. But now he looked pleased, unlike before. Better to send a volunteer than force it.
"...Fine. If that's your thinking."
"Thank you."
"I trust you fully with this. Report back when done. Got it?"
"Yes, Father."
"Alright, both of you out."
The brothers bowed and left the study. Borner, walking beside his brother for once, voiced rare gratitude.
"Thanks, Allen... Never thought you'd go that far for me."
"No big deal. Family helps family."
Truth was, no brotherly love drove Allen—just no need to advertise it. Merchant to the bone, he wrapped self-interest in goodwill. Harmless to others, anyway.
Back in his room, Allen flopped on the bed and let out a soft sigh.
Perfect—.
Right when he'd planned to pitch the mercenary idea to Father, it fell into place. Debt of gratitude from Brother, trust from Dad. Conditional on success, sure, but his confidence overflowed.
No one on the continent topped him at mercenaries—.
Jihoo still had no idea why he'd ended up in this game world, but dwelling on unsolvable mysteries? Nah.
One thing certain: Guild Master continent faced a massive crisis someday. Surviving meant building an elite mercenary corps.
He knew better than most: money and fame crumbled before true violence. To beat that, you needed real force.
Allen sat up from bed, pondering briefly, then headed to his desk.
Alright, time to plan—.
In a simple click-fest game, he'd post ads, screen status windows, done. But reality? Feet on ground, eyes open.
Status windows ruled, but no instant accepts/rejects. Real life had talk.
Comfort: one bad pick wouldn't doom him yet. Worst case, ten gold loss. Avoidable for Dad's sake, but good as experience fee.
Shaking off distractions, Allen pondered pre-recruit steps.
Short-term gig, so numbers first: not too few, not too many—.
To gauge that, assess the mine threat. Eyewitness accounts for monster ID and level.
Allen's head brimmed with monster data. That knowledge steered corps ops; a veteran of years wouldn't slack on it. Knew it cold, like old scholars reciting Confucius.
That thought cracked him up.
...That effort on studies? Med school easy—.
Smile gone, Allen got moving.