Chapter 257
Chapter 257
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 257
Chapter Title: Otherworld TRPG -3
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Clink. Beer mugs collided, sending golden foam rippling like waves.
"This place is nothing like those dives selling piss-water to bums. Even the bards drop by often, and if you're lucky, you get a free show. Let's drink!"
"...Hmph, not bad..."
The axe warrior Gormon and the thief Rust downed their beers in unison. The chilled brew washed away the lingering fatigue in their throats, warming their stomachs as the alcohol buzz spread through them.
It had been a full eight hours since they'd gone goblin hunting with the Game Master. They'd wrapped up the quest and parted ways, leaving just the warrior and thief behind to share a drink and reminisce.
The Master had looked eager to join the afterparty, but he'd been dragged off by that terrifying flame mage, missing out regrettably.
"I still had so many questions. Like, what was that scar on Goblin Min's left eye? Who the hell took that sly bastard's eye?"
"...Hmph, I reckon it's tied to the Goblin Dynasty."
The swaggering warrior and the smirking thief—an odd pair that seemed like total opposites—had somehow become thick as thieves.
Their friendship had sparked the moment the thief had taunted a foe, and the warrior had leaped in with a cover action, taking the arrow meant for him. It was a hit that could've shredded his character sheet.
Then there was the time the warrior got framed as a goblin killer by Goblin Min's wicked scheme, and the thief had forged evidence to craft an alibi and bail him out.
They'd helped each other through life-and-death struggles—how could they not be friends?
Even if it had all played out in their imaginations, it had been one hell of a journey.
It started awkward, but the deeper they dove into the story, the more petty thoughts faded, leaving only the clear goal of capturing Goblin Min in the name of justice.
Was this why people sought out street performers, tale-spinners, or books? For these two, whose hobbies had been limited to sharpening axes and whetstones on daggers, the cultural shock hit even harder.
As they relived the memories, empty mugs piled up one by one. Pretty tipsy now, they chatted about the adventure that had unfolded in their minds.
"We all met at the inn at first. I was a total noob to Lukern, clueless about the Goblin Emperor's decree."
"...Hmph, looking back, it's a miracle we didn't end up in a cell. I clocked that serving goblin right off the bat..."
Their banter flowed endlessly.
The first incident and their meeting with the master detective; the detective's death at the shadowy villain's hands, tumbling off a waterfall-cliff, and the Miranda rights he'd left behind.
Helping a merchant on the brink of bankruptcy from a stammering orc's self-harm scam, rewarded with a girl's innocent smile.
Finally, Goblin Min emerging from the veil of darkness, slipping through the law with his cunning!
As the tale progressed, the tavern patrons quieted one by one, huddling in to catch the adventurers' story. Where the hell was Lukern? What was this Goblin Emperor?
The tavern fell as silent as a temple, save for the duo's voices. Everyone strained to absorb every detail spilling from that table.
It wasn't like the stale tales from the bards.
But... it left you hanging.
Reminiscing skips around—no structure since they both knew it all. They breezed past bits, assuming shared knowledge.
"That final trick was straight-up chilling."
"...Heh, you mean 'Wisdom Tooth'?"
"Yeah, Wisdom Tooth..."
Shorthand only they got, leaving listeners frustrated and blue-balled. Still, the Detective Mercenary Corps' saga tickled everyone's dopamine just right.
And Hans, the bard quietly eavesdropping from a nearby table, couldn't hold back anymore. He approached the warrior and thief.
Bards spun tales into songs to spread far and wide. But how many heart-pounding adventures were really out there? The bard biz suffered chronic material shortages.
But this story! Singing it would rake in sweet sponsorships. Time to invest. Hans opened his wallet.
"Pardon me, adventurers. I'm just a passing bard. Let me buy you snacks and beer. In exchange, could you tell me the whole tale from the start, in detail?"
Gormon and Rust exchanged glances at the unheard-of offer, then burst out laughing. A bard hooked on their adventure tale!
"Pull up a chair. We'll spill it all! Three folks met at the inn..."
"...Hmph, first off, we've gotta explain the nation of Lukern..."
Thoroughly sloshed, they dove in methodically, detailing the three mysteries and arch-nemesis the Detective Mercenary Corps had faced.
But in spilling the beans, they slipped up once.
"Hahaha! If I hadn't blocked that arrow, who knows where it'd have stuck. Hit you down there, you'd have died a eunuch. Right?"
"...Hmph, forget how I cleared your name? And dying a eunuch beats the execution block—getting your head chopped off..."
With the bard declaring unlimited beer, they were hammered and forgot to mention it was just a game.
It was all TRPG, so they recounted life-or-death scraps casually, like old hat. Of course—they were gaming.
But to the audience...
Even if they dismissed the Lukern saga under Goblin Emperor rule as tall tale,
Recounting hair-raising crises without a hint of tension made them look like grizzled vet mercs who'd seen it all.
"Mind elaborating on that decree?"
"Ah, I jotted it down... Nah, not on me. You got it?"
"...Hmph, I noted every clue the Master provided. Here."
And the crazy mage's obsessively detailed notes lent mad credibility.
Plus, the pair were fresh off outlander life, newly arrived in the city of Elpiris—no one knew their past!
The result?
"We heard your tale, you two. Back from adventuring the New World with some 'Master,' huh? Should've said so sooner—I'd have recommended a gold badge upgrade..."
"...?"
After sleeping off the hangover, lounging in the inn all next day, they staggered to the adventurers' guild only to hear this from the receptionist.
"Those are the famous Detective Mercenary Corps..."
"They say you can even tell their age just by looking? Real deal?"
"......"
"...Hmph..."
The warrior and thief locked eyes.
Then bolted to find the Master without a word.
No clue where or how the snowball started rolling, but tales of the fictional nation of Lukern spread like Eastern travelogues from the West.
"Goblin Min's wicked fang gleamed with the light of intellect!"
"The great mage Servion unfurled his spell—!"
Strolling the streets, every bard belted out their own twisted variant.
Selvia wore a complicated expression. Hearing her character name everywhere felt weird—half embarrassed, half proud, maybe.
"...Ugh, what the hell? Did Gormon and Rust peddle the story or something?"
"Dunno. Seems like it leaked from them."
"What do we do? Shouldn't we clean this up?"
"Clean up why? Human fads are fickle—hoist the sails if the southeast wind blows!"
This wasn't a mess; it was opportunity. A chance to spread TRPG everywhere!
Our private session gone viral—if we hype it now... maybe plant TRPG seeds in this boring world. Spark a global craze.
Heart racing. If TRPG ballooned into fantasy's national pastime...
Neighbor Hans and Jenna play cyberpunk over pretend tea parties; taverns swap dice bets for rom-com sessions.
Olympics-like events feature TRPG official; crowds cheer replays, pro Game Master titles emerge.
Official GM academies pop up, killer scenarios flood out, more Masters run sessions—not just me...
New rulebook drops, funded in hours. No more withering for official releases...
If that world came, I'd be truly happy. Blissfully half-dead!
"...Oppa? Your eyes are spinning again. Snap out of it. Hear me?"
Now's the time!
Not my plan, but now's the time!
This is the goddess's holy mission: spread TRPG to this world. If no revelation, I'd hack her for one. I feel destiny calling.
Game rules, play methods, basic oaths and etiquette—there's a smart way to spread it all.
A rulebook. Flood 'em with rulebooks.
No copyright here—rip off Earth's best outright. But that's disrespectful. No need; I'll make my own.
Rulebook's quick work. I've got over a hundred homemade rules from ten years of tinkering. Overflowing.
Print 'em up...
Printing needs cash.
The goblin village payout burns in my mind. Meant for a carriage and horse, but it'd cover printing.
"...Oppa? Why stare at the money pouch like that?"
"...Not waste. Investment."
Yeah, investment. Rulebooks fly off shelves, I buy ten carriages.
Not for greed. Healthy investment. And?
This could be history's turning point. Cheap price to etch my name in the annals...
I crept forward. Then.
"Hey."
"......"
"Hey, hey...! Where you going with the money pouch!!"
"It's a worthy investment, Selvia!"
I bolted with the pouch.
Thud thud thud!
Selvia chased, wielding her staff like a bat. But I'd weather the pressure. For glory!
Down from our second-floor inn room, through the lobby, out the front door...
"Master, help!"
"...Hmph, trouble's brewing..."
With our precious players.
"There he is! You're that 'Master', right?!"
"Tell us more about Lukern!"
"Grant us bards our material!"
Bards, eyes gleaming at fat profits, swarmed the inn for story scoops.
Momentary fluster, but judgment swift.
I slipped seamlessly into rulebook-peddling kid mode.
"Folks! Fellow traveling bards of the world! Buy this upcoming rulebook, and anyone can explore Lukern for heart-pounding adventures!"
"Skip that—tell the story!"
"Just roll dice, and fantastical quests unfold before your eyes...!"
"Buy the book and you'll spill the tale? Or just take our cash?!"
As I pushed rulebooks and they demanded song fodder—a bard-salesman standoff.
"Excuse me. He's my acquaintance. Mind if I speak with him first?"
One figure parted the crowd.
Perky bunny ears, striking bunny mask. Flat-chested bunny girl getup that somehow looked riskier for it. And an aura no weakling hides.
The singer who'd rocked Trumpet Hall: the Rabbit Princess.
The bards respected her, apparently. The crowd encircling the inn backed off bit by bit.
Selvia, arriving late and huffing, eyed the scandalously dressed Rabbit Princess in broad daylight and whispered to me.
"...Whore? You know her?"
The Rabbit Princess flinched. Her sharp ears caught it. Bet her masked face was beet red.
I answered.
"...Yeah, I know her."
Her true identity: Siselle Yurensuto, once the Eastern Front's strongest knight.
Blasted here by 'Forced Exile', she was apparently living it up...