Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Iron Tier Adventurer Hassan
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Sodomora's West Gate.
Sodomora's West Gate....
I kept mumbling the important info to myself, just like a rookie private on his first mission.
This was my debut as an adventurer, and the last thing I wanted was to screw up or run into some unexpected mess that'd tank my reputation.
Adventurers live and die by their rep and fame—hell, I even paid top coin to slap my name on the guild board for promo. Even on an easy job like this, better not get sloppy and wrap it up clean, right?
『Hassan: @@@@Works Diligently@@@@』
Someday, when I finally get my own section on the board, I thought as I headed toward Sodomora's West Gate.
But shit, the city's huge, and I got totally lost, wandering like an idiot until past noon before finally making it to the west gate.
For a city gate, it was pretty quiet.
I scanned around frantically, looking for someone else holding a wooden placard like mine.
"What're you staring at? You picking a fight, you barbarian fuck?"
"Keep your eyes down. Think big size means shit?"
Every time my gaze met someone else's, these rough-looking assholes spat curses at me. Clearly not my party members.
Makes sense—they're all armed to the teeth in armor. Don't exactly scream "janitor."
The only cleaning these pricks do is ethnic cleansing. Gotta be vicious fascists.
So where the hell was my party? Did they head out without me?
Maybe they ditched the latecomer and bailed.
Shit, I'm screwed. Should've shelled out for directions. Regretting my dumbass move like that—
"Hey there, you. Samaritan."
Huh? Someone called out to me. Only guy around who looks Samaritan is me.
"Yeah, you. You with the temple cleanup party?"
It was a loud, kinda shrill male voice. I turned toward the sound—what the—nothing there.
"Here, right here."
I looked down. Sure enough, a bearded little guy half my size staring up at me. Why so short? Dwarf?
Nah, too flat for a dwarf.
Dwarves are like small, sturdy bricks. This old fart's more like a skinny goblin or something—looks weak as hell. The beard ain't the bushy broom type like dwarves; more like a weasel's scruff.
He had a tiny gray robe like a kid's raincoat, white hair, white beard, face full of wrinkles.
Kinda rings a bell for some race I've heard of, but I can't place it face-to-face.
"What're you looking down at me like that for? Think I'm dick-sized, so you can ignore me? Sure, Samaritans are big overall, but I hear your dicks are small—academically speaking."
Shit? How'd he know?
No idea what his deal is, but he's no ordinary joe. This old coot's got some weird aura.
Anyway, we flashed our Mars Guild party placards to confirm we were together. He glanced around the gate and added,
"Thought I was first. Turns out someone's already here. For a Samaritan—or any young punk these days—you're surprisingly diligent."
"I got here first?"
"Aye, probably. Wait a bit; the rest'll show soon enough."
Me, I thought I was dead last, but I was actually the first? As that weird thought crossed my mind, someone waved from afar, heading our way.
"Hey! Gotta be the cleanup crew, right?"
The guy stood out with his huge conical hat. He was shorter than me, but tall for a human around here.
Face... he had a wild red hair, massive nose taking up his whole mug. Plain enough, but ugly in that punchable way.
Had what looked like a massive wooden log strapped to his back—figured it was some adventurer weapon or maybe a broom for sweeping.
*Twang.*
Nope. It was a guitar or some sort of string instrument like that. What the fuck's with the instrument?
*Twang.*
"Same wooden tags. Praise to Mercury, god of travelers and meetings. Fateful encounter. Bitter end—."
He starts strumming and singing, *ding, ding-ding*.
What the hell? Is he a lunatic?
Strumming a guitar and crooning right off the bat? Thought I'd seen every weirdo adventurer while slaving under Elfriede, but this bard's a rare breed of crazy.
Passersby gawked and muttered, "What the fuck?" "Sings like shit." So I desperately played it off like I wasn't with him. It was mortifying.
Come to think of it, Daphne said there'd be one oddball in the party. This guitar prick's gotta be it.
Half-sized old coot's plenty weird too, but this guy's on another level.
Or so I thought.
The next arrival was just as shady. Had to put off my "spot the joker" game.
"Temple outskirts cleanup party, right?"
First thing I saw was a massive mask. Fucking enormous. Carved wooden head like a Chinese lion dance thing—is it a goblin? Monster? It was just so unclear.
Below it, gauzy, skimpy dancer clothes like I'd glimpsed over Elfriede's shoulder once. Barefoot, slapping the ground.
But this shoeless idiot's decked out in so much jewelry on arms, legs, waist that it jingled and clanked with every step.
Looks female. Super suspicious getup.
As I sized up the mask, exposed skin, and decent rack underneath—
"Hmm, that distinctive mask, skimpy cloth covering barely any skin, weird talisman. Ideophe shaman, eh? Never figured a savage daughter would be in this city."
The half-pint old-timer flaunted his fancy knowledge like a peacock's tail. Shaman? Fuck, is that a job?
In a world with gods granting boons, curses, and magic, shamans ain't that weird turns out.
"Sharp eye for an old halfling grandpa! I'm Luna, voodoo shaman of Ideophe. Great Daughter of the Night, Luna—that's me."
"What? Old halfling grandpa? Who do you think I am? I'm Platan, famed doctor of the Delpicuros School. Even a savage tribe girl like you must've heard of my renown?"
"Nope."
"Tch, kids these days got no class. Whatever. Foolish to teach a turtle to fly. Or force knowledge on ignorant savages."
Mask lady's Luna.
Half-pint's a halfling named Platan. Felt like intro time, so I was about to toss out my name casual-like—
*Twang.*
"Name's Malco. Wandering bard. All Iron-rank adventurers, eh?"
Even the guy I didn't care about introduced himself. Now all eyes on me.
Not used to the spotlight, got a bit tense, so I just said,
"Hassan's the name. Let's have a good day."
Weird bunch, but job's just picking trash and yanking weeds.
No deep talks or bonding needed—just get through the day.
Seemed everyone thought the same; no follow-ups after my intro.
*
"Old-timer, this the right way? You sure you can read a map?"
We'd left Sodomora's walls hours ago.
Head west across the fields, hit a dense forest soon—that's where the temple we're cleaning sits.
"Don't rush me, Samaritan lad. Reading a map is reading the world. Reading the world is grasping truth. Thus, map-reading reveals worldly truths."
No clue what that means, but halfling Platan's spouting this horseshit philosophy while looping the same path for an hour.
This fucker brags about being a doctor but can't read a map?
- X -
I even spotted the tree scar I marked with my dagger earlier. Rage boiled over. Right then—
"Kieek! Tiger hornet!"
Someone screeched like a chicken with a twisted neck and bolted. Voodoo shaman Luna.
"Got it, hehe! Lucky!"
Luna pinned a thumb-sized hornet with some tongs, then plopped it into the leather flask at her waist—*plop*—and sealed it.
Already five-plus hornets buzzing in there.
*Bzzz—bzzz-bzzz-bzzz.*
The furious wingbeats grated on me. Then Platan chimed in.
"Local superstition says hornet brew boosts virility. Ideophe folk use stings as medicine, they say. Guess it's true. What an uncivilized lot."
"That's 'cause you don't know shit, old man. Hornet brew sells big! One bottle for 1 silver!"
"Wh-what!? Er, ahem. People pay for that? World's gone mad. Wasn't like this under the Titans."
Eyes lit up at the cash—Platan's peepers darted through brush and trees.
This old prick's hunting hornets now.
Read the damn map right, geezer. We've been circling for hours.
*Twang.*
"Wingbeat of the hornet! Inspiration strikes this Malco! Title: Tiger Hornet's Flight. Hornet goes buzz-buzz, buzz today too, hard-working—."
Don't wanna talk much, but this party's a total shitshow.
Daphne said one weirdo? At this point, everyone but me looks like a troll.
Am I the only sane one? Nah, probably makes me the freak.
Fuck, am I the problem?
Elfriede's crew were personality wrecks, but not this bizarre.
Guess the gap 'tween Silver and Iron adventurers is ant-vs-hornet huge.
Then—*bwoong*—something buzzed past my eyes.
Shit, a hornet.
1 silver!
Body moved before brain—I slapped it with my palm.
Hornet wobbled on the ground like it was KO'd. Grabbed its waist.
Fist-sized, wings whirring like a helicopter—scary as hell.
Black and shiny, kinda cool-looking? But those *snap-snap* pincers chilled my spine.
Whoa, how'd I grab this barehanded?
Anyway, huge hornet means huge profit brew!
Struggling to stuff it in my belt pouch—
"Whoa, that's a dung beetle! Super hard to catch. Bare hands? Samaritans really are fearless, huh? Hassan, right?"
Luna, who'd been hornet-crazy, eyed my catch.
"Dung beetle?"
"Yeah, 20 coppers each. Too vicious to grab. Not even stung—lucky bastard! Live one's 30 coppers!"
Couldn't see her face behind the mask, but she sounded jealous.
Truth is, spiders terrify me, but hornets? They're fine.
Dad rambled about venom immunity as a kid; got stung tons. Army in Gangwon or Dad's harsh training meant bee encounters galore during ancestral rites visits.
Anyway, fuck, bugs are worth 30 coppers? More than my cleaning pay. For real? That's six bowls of gukbap. Ten of the cheap stuff.
Jackpot.
"30 coppers? Dung beetles got that kinda academic value? Never dreamed bugs fetched that in my day."
"30 coppers beats what this Malco makes busking all day."
Big money hooked 'em—Platan dropped the act, Malco perked up.
And so our trek turned into a freakish bug-collecting contest, showing off our treasures!!