Rumors of the Nameless Adventurer (1)
Morning. It was not yet noon. The guild was always bustling with people, but as lunchtime drew near, the crowd seemed to double or triple in size, as if everyone had been hiding somewhere. The expressions on the adventurers' faces were uniformly grim. It was as though they had all suffered some collective misfortune.
“No new requests today either?”
Someone asked the question even though they already knew the answer. Plenty of adventurers were ready to respond.
“Nope. Not a damn thing. Ever since Behemoth crossed over, the monster population’s dropped off a cliff. All that’s left are the really dangerous jobs.”
Low-risk requests were steadily disappearing. The dangerous ones were taken by a different breed of adventurer altogether.
“Not much worth accepting, is there?”
“Haven’t you heard? The kingdom’s cracking down hard on everything lately. They’re trying to get us all killed.”
The royal family offered no help. The capital’s restoration project had wiped out every monster in the surrounding area. Adventurers who had eagerly snatched up the flood of outsourced work at the time now realized they had slaughtered the goose that laid the golden eggs.
“Maybe we should take on some unofficial requests.”
“Just join the mercenaries instead.”
An adventurer grumbled. Unofficial requests sounded grand, but most were simply subcontracted jobs born from nobles’ personal affairs—bodyguarding, searching for missing persons, tailing targets, black-market dealings, sabotage, and even contract killings. They were the sort of tasks that left evidence at one’s peril. The danger was high, but so was the reward. Naturally, they were also illegal. Because they carried a high risk of dirtying one’s hands, most adventurers avoided them. Still, when circumstances grew dire, adventurers were the type to drink whatever was put in front of them, whether it was water or filth.
“Mercenaries only take people with real skill. What are we supposed to do—herb pickers and small-fry hunters like us?”
An adventurer sighed.
“Let’s just take a subjugation request. What happened to all those brave, fearless adventurers? Did they lose their pride?”
“Brave, fearless adventurers? We’re the ones who can’t even go on subjugation missions because we value our lives too much. We’re treated like petty thieves scrounging for scraps.”
The conversation naturally shifted to the treatment of adventurers.
“Petty thieves… There really isn’t a better description.”
An old adventurer’s remark acted as a catalyst, and soon everyone began lamenting their circumstances. Grown men—children who had eaten their age with muscle—filled the guild hall’s first floor with their whining.
“Damn it, if someone would just give us work, I wouldn’t complain. They’re openly favoring the Magic Tower while tightening dungeon regulations and restricting relic excavations, and even unofficial requests are getting stricter by the day. All we can do is scrape by hunting small fry day to day. Or go tomb raiding.”
There was plenty to say. They pounded on tables, each voicing their grievances.
“Exactly. We’re already struggling to survive, but the kingdom only thinks about squeezing us dry, and the guild leadership just sits there without protesting. I wonder how much they got paid to keep their mouths shut like that.”
“Should we just take on a really dangerous request?”
“I told you—if you don’t want to die, just stay put. Last time, some newbie-looking kid tore down a first-class wanted poster without a second thought.”
The adventurer who answered pointed toward the bulletin board where the posters were posted. A large section had been cleanly torn away, leaving an obvious gap.
“And he hasn’t shown his face at the guild in days. What a shame. He was a young one, too.”
“…What was the request?”
The answering adventurer shrugged.
“Probably the one about wiping out a group of banshees near the lakeside. Not ordinary banshees either—ones that had been around for a while. And the whole pack.”
“What? Banshees? Multiple ones, not just one? He’s completely lost it. You’d need someone at the level of a knight commander to handle that alone. How did a request like that even get posted?”
The adventurer clicked his tongue.
“The guy who actually took it is something else too. Either he had no idea what he was doing, or he really didn’t know any better.”
“Probably blinded by the reward. Must be drowning in debt or something.”
More people joined the conversation.
“Was it that hooded kid who was hanging around here last time? The young one?”
An aged adventurer asked those who had been talking.
“Yeah. I only caught a glimpse of his face below the eyes, but he looked really young. Didn’t have that rough adventurer look. Smooth face, no trace of a beard.”
“Hmm.”
When the old adventurer sighed, the two others tilted their heads in confusion.
“Is something wrong?”
“Have you two heard the rumor going around the guild lately?”
Adventurers were well-versed in rumors. Survival demanded sharp ears. At the mention of “rumor,” the two began flipping through their mental archives like librarians.
“A rumor? The one that’s been the hottest topic among adventurers these days…”
“…You mean the one about the Nameless Adventurer?”
The old adventurer nodded.
“That’s the one. The monster of an adventurer. Word is he’s been showing up at the guild lately wearing a pitch-black hood.”
An adventurer let out a dry laugh.
“Come on, plenty of adventurers walk around with their hoods up.”
Typical adventurer rumors were like that—vague fragments drifting through the guild and the city until they clicked together into a concrete story.
“They say he uses a sword. A two-handed one.”
“…That’s pretty rare.”
Adventurers preferred light gear, or else solid, reliable equipment. A one-handed sword with a shield, or a bow. Cumbersome weapons like spears or greatswords hindered swift movement and became obstacles in narrow dungeon passages.
“Must be doing a lot of subjugation work.”
The conclusion the listening adventurers reached was unanimous: rather than a treasure hunter, he was a hero who sought out and eliminated dangerous monsters.
“…Word is he’s handled quite a few subjugations alone. Rumor has it he wiped out an entire monster nest by himself.”
Of course, to adventurers, heroes were little more than material for jokes.
“He’ll end up just like those idiots who play hero and get themselves killed or crippled.”
“Didn’t that adventurer lose an arm or a leg?”
“It’d be weirder if he was still in one piece. Hell, his head’s probably not right either.”
They snickered among themselves.
“You people… What if he actually overhears you?”
“We’re speaking quietly enough that he won’t hear.”
Despite the bravado, the adventurer glanced around warily, checking if the mysterious figure might be listening.
“If you’re going to keep looking over your shoulder like that, you might as well stop talking altogether.”
At the old adventurer’s remark, the others who had been cracking pumpkin seeds scratched the backs of their heads sheepishly.
“Well, if he’s really that strong and promising, why would someone like us matter to him?”
“Right. Besides, taking on banshees isn’t something that ends in a day or two…”
The adventurers gestured animatedly, as if making excuses.
“Save your excuses for when he catches you, not for me.”
Creak.
Even in the noisy, lively guild, the sound of the door opening reached every adventurer’s ears clearly. In an instant, the first floor fell into silence.
“…Whoa.”
Step.
A pitch-black hood. It cast deep shadows that nearly concealed the face. At the waist hung a longsword—rare among adventurers. A large sack rested on the hooded figure’s shoulder, its end stained with a dark, viscous liquid.
Unable to even swallow, the adventurers were crushed beneath the hooded one’s presence. Dry footsteps echoed against the guild floor.
At the counter, the adventurer set the sack down and faced the staff member, who stared back with a stiff expression. The other adventurers held their breath, determined not to miss a single word.
“…I’d like to confirm the completion of a request.”
The adventurer’s voice was cracked and hoarse. Its faded tone made it impossible to guess the speaker’s age, and confusion crept into the faces of those trying to listen.
“Ah, yes!”
The counter staff responded stiffly.
“Which request…”
The man silently reached into his robes and placed a neatly folded piece of paper on the counter. The staff member frowned slightly at the man’s less-than-friendly demeanor.
“I’ll check…”
Yet, overwhelmed by the chilling aura emanating from the man, the staff member quietly accepted the folded paper without voicing any displeasure.
“Let’s see.”
The staff member spoke loudly enough for all to hear, as if daring the request to be anything ordinary.
“…Banshee subjugation.”
Again, an empty reply came. The staff member looked up at the man with an incredulous expression. Instead of answering, the man placed the sack on the table.
Thud!
The sack landed on the counter with a heavy presence. The staff member steadied their trembling lips and repeatedly extended then withdrew their left hand. The sack, clearly soaked in some kind of blood, bulged in places that sent the imagination spiraling in the worst direction.
“This is…”
The staff member touched the string binding the sack. Deciding to confirm quickly, they steeled their expression and yanked the string open.
“Ah.”
Thud.
Heads were heavier than expected. The staff member thought this as they stumbled backward.
There was no stench. The distinctive dark gray skin of a banshee was visible. The staff member stared at the head that had rolled behind the counter with eyes devoid of reality.
“…Crazy bastard.”
One of the watching adventurers muttered.
The staff member picked up the fallen head and placed it back on the sack.
“Five in total.”
The staff member’s voice trembled with fear. The hooded adventurer stared at the heads without moving or offering any words of comfort.
“Confirmed.”
The man nodded, casually stuffed the banshee heads back into the sack, and tied the opening shut.
“You can take the spoils to the settlement office outside the guild.”
The sack was slung over the shoulder once more. The man left the guild, footsteps echoing just as they had upon entering.
After he departed, the guild remained as quiet and unsettled as a harbor after a storm had passed. An adventurer who had been complaining about their treatment cautiously spoke up.
“Did you see that?”
Those who had been conversing beside him nodded.
“So someone like that really exists.”
And when silence reclaimed the guild once more, someone loudly urged the adventurers to move.
“Alright, alright! How long are you going to sit around slacking off? Let’s get to work! Go grab some requests!”
“Damn it, that guy’s always like that even when no one tells him to.”
The adventurers grumbled but began moving busily to find work.
“Hey, what are you spacing out for?”
Thud. An adventurer who had stood up poked the arm of another who had been staring blankly at the guild entrance.
“Ah, uh.”
The adventurer gave a dazed reply and rose with the others, moving busily. Yet their gaze remained fixed on the guild entrance.
“…He seemed shorter than I expected.”
“What does height matter? If he’s that strong, it doesn’t mean anything.”
Another adventurer grabbed the one still lingering by the nape and began dragging him away.
“…Strange…”
==
“Good work.”
After receiving a heavy pouch of gold coins, the adventurer shrugged once and turned to walk away. To the settlement office staff, it must have looked as though the adventurer had suddenly vanished.
Emerging in an instant at the sparsely populated outskirts of the city, the adventurer clicked their tongue and grumbled.
“Damn it.”
Whatever displeased them, they kept sighing while staring at the ground. The road narrowed, splitting into a main stream and a tributary. The adventurer turned onto a narrow path that served as the tributary.
Crunch, crunch.
The sound of soil and leaves being crushed broke the harmony of the shaded path. Even that path disappeared as the adventurer slipped between the shadows of the trees.
The adventurer walked endlessly through the trackless forest. The woods grew deeper, as if intent on trapping visitors forever, yet the adventurer strode forward without a care. After walking for some time, the adventurer finally pushed through the undergrowth and emerged into a clearing where a spring bubbled up. Their eyes settled on a small cabin standing in the middle of the clearing.
“Haa.”
The adventurer carefully slipped their fingers through the gap in the hood, removed it, and shook their head. Long, light-greenish gold hair spilled out, scattering in the light. Between the strands that flowed like a translucent veil, pointed ears—unlike those of a human—perked up.
“That damned disciple of mine.”
Her beautiful brow creased with wrinkles. The elf’s silken voice, briefly altered at the adventurer’s guild, was now crumpled with irritation.
“Just wait until this matter is over.”
Crack. The joints in her tightly clenched fist popped.
“I’ll make you serve this master for the rest of your life like a slave.”
Maxim’s master, the elf Naira, walked steadily toward the cabin.