Chapter 93
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 93
Chapter Title: 22. The Greedy Princess. (2)
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Allen Mercenary Corps' reputation was skyrocketing.
Of course, they were still nowhere near the top-tier mercenary groups, or even the mid-tier ones, but the fact that they were steadily getting mentioned among mercenaries was undeniably positive.
Mercenaries typically started in the lowliest outfits, proving themselves bit by bit before climbing the ranks. From that perspective, Allen Mercenary Corps had already poached a few notable hires from more established groups. For no-name hopefuls, it was now a solid option.
Especially since Allen was known far and wide as a handsome captain, drawing in more than a few female mercenaries with ulterior motives. Even if they couldn't bed him, they figured they could at least gawk to their heart's content. In the cutthroat underbelly of the mercenary world, a pretty face was rarer than a mythical beast. After all, unless they were tied to some noble house, no beauty or hunk would willingly dive into this grueling life. They could just sell their looks for a cushy, stable gig instead.
In that regard, Allen scored extra points. Whores and pretty boys might live easy, but they sure as hell didn't get much respect.
Anyway.
Thanks to Allen throwing himself into every job that came their way without holding back, good fortune finally shone on Allen Mercenary Corps.
Their street-level office in the guild house might have been humble, but unlike the flyblown flops nearby, they had a steady stream of visitors. Half of them were probably just passersby drawn in by Allen's face, but hey, free advertising wasn't something to complain about.
The crowds were nice, but the problem was that most were bottom-feeders barely scraping by in the lowest squads—barely employable riffraff.
So Allen focused on raw talent he could train and flip for profit, rather than half-baked mediocrities. Those types were a pain to offload later and still demanded top dollar. Better to nurture cheap seedlings and sell them high.
The ranks were already shaping up decently anyway. Adding one or two to any unit wouldn't hurt.
Thus, Allen weeded out the middling applicants and zeroed in on total greenhorns—fresh-faced kids who barely knew the ropes.
...Perfect for fleecing clean.
The moment money entered the equation, Allen turned into a ruthless boss. Even rookies got no mercy in negotiations. That was the cold, hard world.
Of course, even among newbies, quality varied.
He prioritized traits over raw stats. If they had [Genius], he'd snap them up unless they were bogged down by a string of nasty debuffs. Fat chance of that, though.
After sending a dozen or so away empty-handed, a bumpkin youth slunk in.
The young man's status window—barely out of boyhood—fit Allen's criteria to a tee. Trainable stats and traits. Allen kept a poker face, but inside, he ramped up the tension.
That was negotiation step one: keep them dangling on that knife-edge between yes and no, and they'd hand over their guts on a platter.
"Hmm... What's your name?"
"Cory Max, sir!"
"Right, Cory... How much do you know about Allen Mercenary Corps?"
"I heard you made a name in the west, and you just took down a demon."
To be precise, it wasn't a demon, but Allen let it slide. To greenhorns like this, demon or minion—same difference.
"Let's see, Cory. Your experience... Karun Mercenary Corps? Where's that?"
"...Uh, it's, um... a group in Almer, down south."
Allen figured any outfit with a vague name like that was small potatoes. Made sense—a punk like this wouldn't hail from anywhere prestigious.
"I see..."
After the curt reply came a heavy silence. Rookie Cory's eyes darted nervously side to side. Unable to stand it, he blurted out in a shrill voice.
"M-my specialty's bludgeoning! I'm great with clubs! Give me anything—just point me at it! I'll work my ass off!"
But Allen didn't let a single word slide, like a drill sergeant.
"'Work hard' doesn't cut it. You gotta excel."
"I'll excel, sir!"
"...Doubt it. My crew are all battle-hardened vets. You think you can keep up without dragging them down?"
"I can! I'll die trying if I have to. Or scrub toilets!"
Sheer determination to make it work. Solid attitude.
"Hmm... Alright then. How much do I gotta invest in you to break even? What's your take?"
Even a rookie knew this was salary talk. Cory threw out his previous rate.
"Ten gold coins? That's what I got last time."
"...Ten?"
Allen's reaction was ice-cold. A scrub like Cory might pass muster in talent-starved southern backwaters, but not here.
"Gotta train you from scratch, and you want ten gold? You joking?"
"N-no joke, sir!"
"Pulling jokes in a serious interview? Huh?"
"N-no, sir!"
"Then think straight and name a price."
Cory was sweating bullets. What number would satisfy this guy?
"Uh... I don't know much yet... Could you just set it, Captain?"
"Me? You sure? Handing over your rights like that?"
"It's fine! I trust the great Captain Allen's judgment completely!"
"Reaally... Is that so..."
Allen stroked his chin, then slapped his knee with a decisive smack.
"Fine, out of kindness—five gold. Deal? We don't take just anyone. You'll learn from the best. Who knows, train hard and you might hit the Top 10 someday."
"Top 10?!"
"Me and Captain Viola go way back. Haven't heard?"
"I-I have! You're amazing, sir. Heh."
Rookie Cory grinned dopily, scratching his half-bald pate.
"Pass if you don't like it. Not forcing you. ...I'm a busy man—decide quick."
Five gold was peanuts, but Cory had already been rejected half a dozen times elsewhere. No room left for pride. Cling on, learn what he could— that Allen Mercenary Corps notch on his resume would open doors later!
"...I'll do it!"
"Good."
And so, fledgling Cory signed a two-year deal at five gold per month.
...Kuhuhu. Nice. Time to squeeze you dry.
Still just raw potential, but investments like this were due. Five gold was basically free.
Allen savored his cheap score and called the next applicant... but something felt off.
..........What the hell...?
Expecting another nobody, Allen froze in shock.
Jaw-dropping stats and traits hit him like a truck.
Coming right after that scrub's window made it even more surreal.
Right then, the applicant flipped back her leather hood, revealing lustrous platinum hair and stunning beauty.
Allen recognized her instantly.
Elizabeth Velver, vice-captain of one of the East's Top 10 corps. The princess herself.
He'd heard she'd arrived in Vermandua yesterday. And yeah, he knew exactly why.
But he'd never dreamed she'd come to him. No way she'd chase petty rumors about his group's hot streak.
Probably heard through Captain Viola. Those shady rumors about him and her? Spend one day in this merc city, and everyone knew.
Getting face-time with a Top 10 was pure upside, especially Velver Princess. Hell, he'd beg for it.
...But one thing jarred Allen's eye. What the fuck was this doing here?
[Appraising Eye].
Captain Viola and Blind Saint Oddnun had it as a fixed trait, but Elizabeth? No way. Which meant she'd randomly rolled the ultimate talent-scouting perk.
Talk about giving wings to a tiger. She was already a monster—now with the best hiring trait on top?
Fuck this luck-based shitshow...!
She'd snatch up even more talent. Straight difficulty spike for Allen.
......Not that Allen was the only one stunned speechless.
Elizabeth gaped at the absurd number over Allen's head: 138.
......What...?
Normal humans hovered at 2 or 3, tops 4 or 5.
Top mercs: 8-10.
Legends: low teens.
Top 10 level: 20-ish.
This guy? 138.
Utter nonsense. She'd never seen three digits, let alone that high. Hell, nothing over 50. Her personal best was 31.
(She's shocked by your 138. Wonders if she's been deluded all this time. Gets curious about you...)
Reading Velver Princess's thoughts, it clicked for Allen.
...Fuck, got it.
138 was all too familiar to him.
It was his lifetime [Guild Master] achievements—the total in-game count.
......She had [Appraising Eye] for achievements.