Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Iron Tier Adventurer Hassan
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“Found it! Chalk mushrooms! These go for about one copper per root. Alchemists use them to brew potions!”
Luna shouted triumphantly as she yanked up the weird-looking mushrooms. Beside her, the bard and the doctor were stuffing their leather pouches full of fungi and bugs clinging to tree trunks.
It was a smooth gathering operation. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if we were really okay ditching the temple cleaning job to do this.
“Young fella, this is how low-rank quests work. No strict inspections or anything—most folks just handle it on their own, so grabbing some side income like this is the smart play.”
Iron-rank adventurer Doctor Platan—seasoned enough to have some real grit—already had a heap of mushroom roots crammed into his backpack.
“If we don’t snag these extras, us iron-rankers can’t make ends meet on adventuring alone.”
Coming from an old-timer like him, it rang true. In a world overflowing with internet and info, everyone’s got more knowledge than they know what to do with.
But here, where even books are rare treasures, old folks’ wisdom stands out. I’d pegged him as a total quack at first, but now he seemed legit enough.
Might not be a bad idea to pick his brain on adventurer stuff and info from now on.
So I squatted down next to him as he dug up roots and asked.
“But Doc, why’s a scholar like you slumming it as an adventurer? With a degree, you could land cushy gigs, right?”
This world has universities too. Back home, college felt more like a resume checkbox than a place of learning, but here it’s an iron fortress not just anyone can storm.
That’s why grads here strut around with egos piercing the clouds.
I’d run into a few local college kids—total insufferable pricks, like the cool kids hyped for Friday club nights.
Me, with Christmas as my double-exp event, versus those blasphemous shits boosting condom sales on the holiday—we were worlds apart.
There was just something irreconcilable between me the slave and those college assholes.
Anyway, a PhD holder grubbing around in the dirt for mushrooms? Some empiricist philosophy thing?
“My field’s philosophy.”
“Ah.”
Spoken like a true scholar—one explanation clears it all up. Guess philosophy’s still niche as hell here too.
Makes sense in a world crawling with day-to-day adventurers chasing quick coin. No way abstract metaphysics pays the bills.
Philosophy and math, the bedrock of knowledge, yet this world’s rotten to the core.
“It wasn’t always like this. There was a time philosophers were respected. Back in my youth, even. But then Titan worship crumbled, the Twelve Gods rose up, and everything flipped. Nowadays kids just chase thrills and short-term gains—”
He seemed thrilled I was listening, so old man Doctor Platan spilled way more than I’d asked for.
Guess geezers here get itchy butts too when youngsters wanna hear their tales.
“The Twelve Gods? They’re just squatting on thrones—most are irresponsible hacks. And it ain’t just them. Take Pluto. Who knows what that bastard’s up to underground? Labyrinths to the underworld are popping up everywhere, spilling monsters and undead onto the surface.”
Pluto.
I didn’t know much about the Twelve Gods, but I’d heard the name before.
Fitting for a god of wealth—his domain’s packed with buried treasures, drawing adventurers to dig up ruins.
Even if gods feel unreal, any adventurer worth a damn knows that much trivia.
“And that’s not all! Lately, foreigners are flooding Gaia Continent! Starting with that Ideope bitch over there! World Tree elves, desert Samaritans—they’re all sticking straws into our kingdom and continent, the ones we bled for!”
“That’s a massive fucking problem. When foreign laborers take over, locals—especially minorities—get reverse-discriminated. Elves are the worst shits!”
End times, end times! I spat curses in solidarity with the frothing doctor, like a vet short a limb. He perked right up, smirking as he whispered a punchline just for me.
“You’re more awake than you look, kid. Your folks from Gaia Continent?”
“Nah, I’m a native Samaritan.”
Though my real hometown’s fuck, Earth—South Korea.
“Yeah, figured. You look the barbarian part. Anyway, I’m gonna revive Titan worship. Got a killer thesis ready. Once it drops, heh heh, just watch. The backlash is coming. A counter-wind’s gonna blow!”
So the old coot had dreams too.
Dreams.
Visions and dreams fuel people. With ’em, you don’t die. In that sense, was he still in his prime? Doubt he’d last long, though.
“Samaritan kid, just an academic question—but why’d you become an adventurer? What dragged you from the wilds to this podunk town?”
The questions turned on me.
“They say Samaritans roam seeking glorious deaths. That you?”
“Roughly, yeah.”
“Thought so! My hunches never miss. You’re the most decent Samaritan I’ve met, though. Pretty scholarly for a foreigner’s pal. Formal schooling somewhere?”
I was about to graduate college back home. Would that diploma fly here? As I mulled it, the old man answered himself.
“Times change, but no way a savage went to school. Not that I’m some hotshot myself—rolling in the dirt with the barbarians I just trashed.”
And that wrapped our chat.
Felt like we’d talked a ton, but looking back, I couldn’t recall details—just that elves suck.
*
“Straight talk: no clue where we are. We’re totally fucked.”
Fuck, you old bastard. Only after sunset draped the forest in dark did he mutter that.
I’d suspected he was lost, but this bad?
Ding-a-ling—.
“Lost like a child. Crying and wailing waaah—.”
“Shh, shut it. Quiet.”
“Got it.”
In the pitch-black woods, my nerves were on edge. Two years isekai’d taught me: darkened forests are death traps.
Anything could pop out, any accident strike—you gotta stay sharp. Making music and singing? Fuck that—even the god of music wouldn’t allow it.
My gravelly growl worked; the snouty bard slung his instrument and stared gravely at the map.
“So, brother, the black stuff’s writing, white’s paper, right?”
This bard was dumber than I thought. No help there.
I wasn’t terrain-savvy either, so the vague-ass map was useless.
Left with the voodoo chick.
Luna was huffing, her bloated pack stuffed with crap, barely waddling.
“Lost? Time for my Cataclysm Voodoo!”
Cocky voice from behind her mask.
Cataclysm Voodoo? Ominous name. But right now, banking on any grace or magic she had was all we got!
“Sticks. Need sticks.”
Luna directed, so me and the snouty bard fetched some.
She eyed them: “Hmm, this one’s too bent. Too many twigs on that.” Finally, she nodded at a straight switch perfect for a rod.
“Perfect! This’ll do.”
“Chance to see Ideope sorcery. Fascinating.”
The old man, glum till now, perked at “Cataclysm Voodoo.”
I watched half-hopeful too.
Magic I’d seen was unreal: fireballs sinking giants, slashes healing instantly.
“Everyone, quiet now. Gotta focus.”
Thud.
She jammed the stick in like a post, placed her hand atop, and chanted gibberish.
“. .”
Words too horrific to describe—not a spell, more like abyssal howls from swamp depths.
Chaotic stomps rushing in, portals ripping to summon demons—fit either.
“Hiyah—!”
She screamed weirdly and flopped unconscious. Tension spiked.
“Wh-what’s happening, brother! Evil, bewitching sorcery afoot—!”
Dunno if it was real, but I just swallowed hard at the bard’s freakout.
“I dunno. Doc, you know anything?”
“Ideope rites are barely studied. Most records burned in the Giant War fifty years back. Wait it out.”
Panting hard, Luna staggered up when I wondered if I should help. She shuffled to the stick, stomped around it—thud thud—then knocked it over.
Thump.
Some religious rite? I pondered solemnly.
“This way! Go here!”
Luna pointed at the fallen stick’s direction.
“No way that works.”
“Eek—!”
Luna flinched at my pissed snap. The bard gripped my shoulder.
“Easy, wandering brother. No better options, right?”
“Sigh, true.”
But navigating this dark forest by hack voodoo pointing? Felt off.
Still, I’d joined the bug-hunt fiasco, so no complaints.
We followed the stick’s lead.
Moon high, mystery beasts howling hoo hoo—we hustled blind, lest we meet doom standing still.
Rustle rustle through brush for ages.
“See? Told you…. My voodoo doesn’t lie.”
“Bullshit. You just muttered this might be wrong.”
Ahead, moonlight gleamed on an abandoned temple—cracked walls, shattered pillars.
Fittingly ruined: crumbling buildings, eerie statues. Daytime, it’d look picturesque.
Moonlit, it screamed cursed dungeon entrance—creepy as hell.
But finding it was luck. Could orient by map from here, find the way back.
“Let’s camp here tonight. Fire up quick—beasts and monsters fear flames around here.”
“Sounds good, brother.”
“Yeah, let’s.”
Bard and I agreed with the old man. Gathered dry wood, stones—built a decent base camp around the bonfire.
“Nice work, kid. Wildlander skills—plenty of camping experience, huh?”
He whistled as I whipped up fire and shelter. Elfriede’s slave chores paid off.
“Flint here. Figured it might drag, so I brought it.”
Click click—fwoosh!
Fire roared from his flint. We all sighed relief.
First camp since adventuring.
Not quite what I pictured, but manageable.
Hiss, hissss.
Hiss hiss!
“Brother! We’re screwed! Goblin pack! Drawn by the fire!”
“What!? Goblins in woods near town!? Back in Titan’s day, this never…”
“Heh, fuck.”