The Guild

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Before I knew it, the sun had climbed to the center of the sky.

It must have been around lunchtime.

Heh-heh-heh—

"No, so then I told him—"

"Ah! Does that even make sense?!"

"If you don't like it, pick better next time!"

The first-floor lobby of the inn was already packed with drunk mercenaries. Boasting and tall tales rang out from every corner, and at a table in the back someone was even gambling at cards.

Clack.

"Drink."

"…Thank you."

Banderson set a glass of liquor down in front of me at the bar with a gruff, offhand shove. The old man beside him laughed his trademark laugh and spoke up.

"Banderson, I really don't mind. When else am I going to get to drink something you poured yourself?"

"…Poured, nothing. I just ladled it out of the barrel."

"Same difference."

"…."

I quietly turned the glass between my fingers.

On the way back to the inn, I had explained the whole situation to the old man. He had patted me on the back with that distinctive laugh of his and told me it was fine—but from Banderson's point of view, it was anything but.

When we finally reached the front of the inn, Banderson had come out to meet us, fretting over how long it had taken. That was when he spotted me hauling the cart, with the old man walking alongside, deep in some rambling life story.

Banderson had asked what happened, and in the end I told him everything. The truth was, the walk from the inn to the village entrance shouldn't have taken long at all. But I had gotten lost, the delay had piled up, and the old man—who had no idea what was going on—had ended up hauling the barrels himself. In a way, it was like smearing mud all over Banderson's face.

So that's what those looks of his meant.

I lifted the glass, thick with the smell of flat beer, and drank it down in one go.

Gulp—

"Khh…."

The bitter, sour liquor scraped down my throat, and my brow furrowed on its own as a rough breath tore free. The old man watched me with a small smile.

"How is it? Free booze after a hard day's work."

"…It's bitter."

"Is that so? Not sweet at all?"

"Not even a little."

"Then you haven't suffered enough yet."

Gulp—

The smile faded from the old man's face as he tipped his own glass straight down his throat.

"Old man. Tell this idiot to haul the cart next time. He already owes me, so you can just treat him like inn staff."

"Mm— well, fine by me."

"…."

He wasn't wrong. I did owe him, and beyond that he had given me a room—I was still in debt even now.

"Alright then. Time I got going."

"Leaving already? Rest a little longer."

"I'm late as it is—where's the time to sit around? Don't be late in two days."

"You heard him? Don't be late in two days. I know you were just taking your sweet time."

"…Yes."

When Banderson glared at me, I nodded.

Even if I had gotten lost, I could understand why Banderson found it hard to accept. The original owner of this body had lived in this village for quite a while. Getting lost? It didn't make sense.

But I had last played this game years ago—and not for very long at that—so of course the streets would throw me off. And unlike in the game, there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was no minimap to check in real life.

Of course, I had no intention of explaining any of that. All it would get me was treated like a lunatic.

Ding.

The moment I stood to follow the old man, a familiar chime rang through my head. A half-transparent blue window bloomed in front of my eyes.

"…."

What should have been a one-day job had turned into a repeat quest. In some ways that might have been a good thing, but looking at it from a growth perspective, it was no real gain. It meant my feet would be tied down once every two days. And affinity recovery, of all things. Today's mess must have cost me some goodwill.

"Go on, then."

"Yes."

I wanted to use Investigate on him and check his affinity and other information, but the skill's activation conditions were a little strict.

And that was with the Genius of Investigation trait already applied. I was starting to understand why it had only cost a single point.

The old man gave a light wave and left the inn. I closed the window and followed after him.

Rattle-rattle—

Pulling the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cart, I walked through the village with the old man. We went for a while in silence, and only when the entrance came into view in the distance did he speak.

"Ginyu, was it?"

"Yes."

"I've got a grandson about your age. That boy is obsessed with gambling, drinking, and women. His father risks his life working in the dungeons, and the kid just burns through every drop of that hard-earned blood money."

The old man's brow furrowed.

"So when I see kids like you, I think of him. It's not too late. Get your head on straight and find some proper work."

"…Yes."

Faced with the seriousness in his tone and expression, I carefully nodded.

"…Good."

The old man smoothed out his frown and offered a kindly smile. Then he let out that distinctive laugh of his and went on.

"That Banderson's problem is he's too soft. Always looking after the worthless ones. Gets stabbed in the back for it more times than I can count. Honestly, you won't make any money under him. There's nothing to gain working for a man with no ambition."

The words were half in jest, but there was real affection for Banderson underneath them.

Rattle— clack.

Near the entrance we returned the borrowed cart, then walked over to where his wagon waited. It looked a little shabby, but sturdy enough. There was no proper door—just a thick canvas cover. The old man untied the horse from one side and hitched it to the wagon. The horse looked its age, but the muscle in its legs was solid; it would probably last another ten years without trouble.

"Looks like I'll be seeing you around. Don't go getting into trouble, and take care of that body of yours. Your body is your fortune!"

He held up one skinny arm and flexed a faintly raised bicep. I couldn't help a short laugh.

"I'll keep that in mind. See you next time."

Heh-heh-heh—

He gave me a light wave, still chuckling, and drove the wagon out of the village.

"…."

NPCs from a game. In the original, they would have repeated the same lines every time you pressed a button. Even if this game had been a little different, the broad frame was still a game. They were tools needed to move an episode forward—nothing more. But not anymore.

Every one of them breathed. They laughed, cracked jokes, and lived their lives in their own ways. For them, this place was reality. That fact settled over me all over again.

"…."

And I was no different. For me, this was no longer a game either. I had to accept that this place was my reality now.

For some people that might have been thrilling. For me, worry came first. That was why I had been running from it. But not anymore.

I watched the old man's back grow smaller in the distance, then turned on my heel.

"…I need to start earning real money."

Total assets: four Copper Coins. Debt: thirty silver and ten Copper Coins. On top of that, the daily cost of eating and staying alive. In a medieval world like this, there was only one way for someone with nothing to make money.

"Guess I'll start with the guild."

Mercenary work. Anyone could become one, and you earned as much as you put in. And being a mercenary didn't automatically mean fighting Magic Beasts or demonkin. In practice there was plenty of grunt work. If I had to compare it to something from my old world, it was closer to a temp agency.

I groped through my memories of the beginner village and set off at a steady pace.

An alley on the outskirts of the village.

The scene that unfolded was a far cry from the lively heart of town. The air reeked of liquor, blood, and rotting corpses. People sodden with drink—and actual bodies—lay sprawled across the street. Most of the storefronts were taverns and inns, with the occasional brothel mixed in. Nearly everyone passing by was a mercenary armed from head to toe, and most of them were hauling the carcasses of various Magic Beasts.

"…What are you looking at."

"…."

The roadside was nothing but mercenaries peddling Magic Stones and Magic Beast corpses. Maybe that was why the moment I stepped into the alley, I shrank in on myself without meaning to.

If I hadn't had this skill—gained through the Genius of Insight trait—I probably would have bolted straight out of the alley right then and there.

"…."

No. Without it, I might never have left the inn room at all. I would have starved to death in bed.

I kept walking deeper into the alley in search of the guild, and eventually fell in behind a line of mercenaries carrying Magic Beast carcasses. At last I found myself standing in front of the building they were all filing into.

"This is it."

At the far end of the outer alley, a building far too large for its surroundings came into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠view. Even at a glance it looked like three or four ordinary buildings fused together—long and sprawling, more than five stories high. A weathered iron sign bearing a sword-and-shield emblem hung precariously over the center of the facade.

Seeing it in person brought back the image from the game. Once the tutorial ended, registering as a mercenary at the guild was the first thing you were supposed to do. A strangely nostalgic memory. Back then I had just scratched my stomach and clicked the mouse.

"…."

I set the nostalgia aside and pushed open the wooden door in front of me.

Creeeak—

The moment I stepped inside, a wall of noise slammed into my ears.

"Hey! Give me my money back!"

"It was five goblins!"

"I'm telling you, this job is dangerous!"

The smell of liquor and sweat. And underneath it all, the nauseating stench of blood.

…I miss the days when I couldn't smell anything.

I could remember times, playing the game, when I had wished I could actually experience that world. Swinging a sword, breathing in the scent of the battlefield, gathering at the guild to drink from wooden cups and eat hunks of meat. Why had I ever wanted that? A place packed with mercenaries who killed Magic Beasts, hauled the corpses around, and never properly washed themselves was never going to be pleasant.

The interior was as spacious as the exterior suggested. At a rough count there were thirty or forty tables scattered around. One wall held a massive bulletin board. On another side stood a bar, and in a corner there was a counter for selling carcasses and Magic Stones.

Just then, a woman carrying empty plates came toward me, still in the middle of clearing drinks.

"Hello. Is this your first time at the guild?"

She smiled lightly, her short pink hair swaying. Fair skin with a faint flush. A nose that was neither low nor high. The soft curve of her smiling eyes gave her whole face a friendly cast. Overall, she was a warm, pleasant-looking woman.

I had been standing still, staring around at everything, so she must have clocked me as a first-timer right away.

"…Yes. I'm here to register as a mercenary."

I had been staring at her blankly for a moment before I finally found my voice.

And then—

Ding.

For the first time, the Investigate skill had triggered on its own.