The Three Rookie Adventurers

"Do we even need to bring weapons? I left all of mine behind."

"What's a rookie adventurer doing, not knowing their place, showing up with flashy weapons they have no business carrying? Rookies ought to use crappy weapons like proper rookies."

After giving Aslan a hard time, Rai led the two of them off somewhere.

"So. You came to me to get some crappy weapons?"

A vein stood out on Clay's forehead as he listened to the explanation, but Rai just grinned and started picking through the weapons.

"Yeah. Nowhere else is this cheap and this terrible."

"Get out, you bastard."

"You should be grateful someone like me even showed up."

"Piss off."

While the two of them bickered, Zeroa and Aslan picked out gear that fit them. Raised in a martial household, Aslan seemed to be seeing low-quality weapons for the first time; he turned Clay's clumsy work over in his hands with genuine curiosity.

"Did you leave this uneven on purpose? To make the wounds deeper?"

"Ohh—unlike this idiot, an Academy student actually understands the deeper meaning."

"Deeper meaning, my ass. He's got nothing but strength and his hammer work is complete garbage, so it came out uneven. You think that's some kind of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sword Breaker?"

"You're the Sword Breaker. Everything that ends up in your hands gets wrecked."

Rai and Clay started fighting again. Aslan ignored them and went back to choosing a weapon, eventually picking up a club roughly the size of the greatsword he usually used.

"The only thing even close to the size I'm used to is this club."

"Hahahaha! A club! He called it a club!"

Rai clutched his stomach and collapsed. Clay, whose enormous greatsword had just been called a club, shut his mouth. Aslan hurriedly apologized for misspeaking, but Clay told him it was fine, a gentle smile on his face — and stepped on the foot of Rai, who was still sprawled across the floor.

Once the commotion had died down, Zeroa and Aslan finished suiting up. In that shoddy equipment, they looked like rookies from every conceivable angle.

"Let's see, all together that's…"

"Think of it as an investment. I'll pay you back in three days."

"…Want me to call the city guard?"

"Go ahead. You think I'll just sit there and take it?"

Rai mouthed a threat to reveal his identity, that infuriating look on his face. Clay clenched his fists, unclenched them, swallowed his anger, and told them to get out. Zeroa, who had never seen him genuinely furious, looked worried, but Rai said it was fine and shoved the two of them out of the shop by the shoulders.

"Alright. Let's go chew some adventurers to pieces."

"That's not actually the goal, is it?"

"Wherever we go, isn't it more fun when the rookies wreck the veterans?"

Zeroa could only blink at that incomprehensible state of mind. Aslan, though, seemed to relate — his expression shifted into something uncomfortably close to excitement.

Hello. My name is Cindy. I'm an officially registered porter with the Adventurer's Guild.

Even if you're registered with the guild, porters aren't really treated as fellow adventurers. If I were in their shoes, I wouldn't think of someone who just hauls bags as the same kind of adventurer either. But when people who have to fight monsters and explore dungeons are stuck with enormous packs on their backs, it gets in the way something fierce — so porters are, in their own way, essential to a party. That said, since hauling luggage is about all we're good for, we don't have fixed parties. We're day laborers, scrambling for work every morning.

Most people who become porters don't have any special abilities. Except for cases like Mr. Craosa, who retired from adventuring because of an injury, most of us can barely beat a slime. And I can't even manage that properly. Anyway, most of us showed up hoping to scrape together even a single coin, so the porters gather on one side of the guild and wait for a party to pick them up.

I've only been doing this for three months. I haven't taken many jobs in that time. Just as every adventurer values experience, experience matters for porters too. Get in the way during a fight, or fail to manage the gear properly, and you'll get an earful.

Mr. Craosa has an adventuring background, so his experience is incredibly rich. Parties actually fight over who gets to take him. He gets to pick which party he joins, and every porter looks up to him for it. He's naturally become the representative of the porter adventurers, and he looks out for us — recommending a porter after looking a party over, warning us not to join that one, helping in all sorts of ways. So after sending out everyone who's needed, he heads out with a party last. Sometimes he doesn't go out at all and just sits in the guild all day.

Today, too, Mr. Craosa is bustling around the guild, arranging porters for parties. I don't have much experience, so even when I get recommended I often get turned down — but I really want to go out on a job this time.

Nobody's calling my name, but I'm burning with enthusiasm all by myself when a man suddenly bursts into the guild with a tremendous noise.

Good heavens. Did he just kick the guild door in?

There are plenty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of rough types around, but everyone shows some manners when they enter the guild. Yet this green-haired man is glaring at people like he's looking for a fight. And he looks genuinely terrifying. His face is handsome, but his eyes are a demon's eyes. When those fierce eyes sweep the room, I flinch and drop my gaze. If he picks a fight and comes this way, I don't have the confidence to handle that thick-looking club of his.

But unlike me, frozen solid, most of the adventurers in the guild glare right back at him with equally vicious looks. In that hair-trigger atmosphere, two more men follow the green-haired one inside. Both have ordinary brown hair, and one of them looks like he's trying not to laugh.

"Hahahahaha — haha — this bastard actually did it."

The brown-eyed man clutches his stomach and howls with laughter. Then the blue-eyed man offers an awkward smile and apologizes to the adventurers in the guild.

"Oh, isn't that Zeroa?"

"Zeroa, long time no see. You back to adventuring?"

I've never seen him, but the other adventurers know him — they call his name and treat him like a friend. Meanwhile, the green-haired man with the fierce eyes has the laughing one by the collar. Even with his collar grabbed, the brown-haired man just keeps laughing at the top of his lungs.

The man they called Zeroa seems to be on good terms with people. Once he explains the situation, the adventurers laugh it off and let the green-haired man's provocation slide.

The strange trio heads straight to the reception desk and registers as adventurers.

Wait. They register? I can't believe people who've never been to the guild before would do something that draws this much attention. I've seen people swagger in with plenty of nerve, but even they usually wilt under the stares of the adventurers inside. These people, though, don't seem to care about anyone's eyes at all.

"Impressive."

Mr. Craosa praises the strange trio. They look like lunatics to me, but maybe they look different through Mr. Craosa's eyes.

The one called Zeroa is already registered, so he renews his D2 rank. If you don't do adventuring work for more than a year, you have to renew, so he must have been on a long break. He still looks quite young, honestly. If he hasn't adventured for over a year, just how young was he when he started?

While I'm trying to guess his age, the trio naturally comes our way. They're probably looking for a porter.

No porter wants to join a party of freshly minted E3-rank adventurers. The pay is low, and inexperienced adventurers aren't popular. Even if one of them has a D2 rank, the rest are E3, so the jobs they can take are all small-time work.

The brown-eyed man who looks a bit unhinged approaches the porters, looks us over, and speaks to Mr. Craosa.

"Recommend me one porter."

Had he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heard about Mr. Craosa from the one called Zeroa? The brown-eyed man asks him to recommend a porter. Mr. Craosa stares at him for a moment, then shifts his gaze to Zeroa beside him.

"You've already got a porter. A veteran, at that."

Was Zeroa — a D2 — a porter? If a porter is D2, that's a considerable career. A porter without any particular achievements in a party would need at least three years to reach D2. Just how old is this man?

"No, this one's our tank. Even those rotting eyes of yours can tell that much, right?"

Who does this rude man think he is? Talking like that to Mr. Craosa, a veteran among veterans. Even B-rank parties are polite to Mr. Craosa. Being this disrespectful — I don't like it one bit.

"So the porter kid made it big."

"No, I'm still not good enough."

"Not good enough, my ass. I've heard about you. You got into the Academy, didn't you? What a hell of a kid. My eyes really have gone to rot, missing someone like this."

Mr. Craosa puts himself down while praising Zeroa.

The Academy? Around here, "the Academy" can only mean Legandia Academy. He's attending Legandia Academy, where all the geniuses of the Empire gather? And he was a porter? A porter at the Academy?

I can't keep up with the conversation and just stand there dazed. When they finish talking, Mr. Craosa grabs my arm and pulls me over. I look up at him in surprise, and he smiles through his bushy beard.

"I'll recommend this one. Daily rate is thirty silver."

"Heeh— doesn't look like she's got that kind of skill. She got some special ability?"

At Mr. Craosa's words, the brown-eyed man looks at me and the corner of his mouth lifts.

Thirty silver? Thirty silver? That's what veteran porters get for major jobs. And he's saying I'm worth thirty silver? The most I've ever been paid is ten silver, never mind thirty.

"No, she doesn't. I just want to try raising this one. Doesn't seem like the type who should stay a porter forever."

"That so? Then shouldn't we be the ones getting paid? My tuition's pretty expensive."

"Don't be so cheap. You're new to the guild — take her as a service to the guild."

"While paying thirty silver?"

"The kid's gotta eat. Think of it as a donation to the Empire's future."

What kind of strong-arming is Mr. Craosa pulling? I've never seen him negotiate like this. He's always calculated things reasonably and properly explained things to inexperienced parties. What is he even saying? And that I have talent? What's that about?

Even if he's looking out for me, the price negotiation is so forced that I look up in bewilderment. The brown-eyed man looks me up and down with a sly gleam in his eyes.

Don't tell me he's after my body? The guild has a firm policy for porter safety, but porters are still the weak ones. There are all kinds of bizarre horror stories — porters who vanish on jobs, parties that throw the porter to the monsters and run, and so on. Of course, every adventurer I've met so far has been kind and treated me well. But those things do happen often enough that a lot of new adventurers don't take a porter until they've earned some trust.

"I-I'm… not pretty… and I don't taste good either…"

Even I think that's a bizarre thing to blurt out. The brown-eyed man's eyes narrow and he bursts out laughing.

"Hey, she takes after you. All porter types like this?"

"I-I wasn't like that."

"You two do look a bit alike."

Zeroa denies it, but Mr. Craosa laughs heartily and says they are similar. After a good laugh, the brown-eyed man and Mr. Craosa shake hands and decide to take me. I hesitate over whether I should refuse.

"Go with them. Learn how a senior porter managed to become an Academy elite while you're at it."

"D-did he really used to be a porter?"

"Yeah. Been a porter since he was a little brat. I should've taken better care of him, seeing the guts it took to follow adventurers around at that age. Shame I didn't."

"You took great care of me, Mr. Craosa. You taught me a lot, too."

"You little punk, then you should've at least brought some expensive booze instead of showing up empty-handed."

Mr. Craosa scolds Zeroa with a laugh. Watching Zeroa wilt as he scratches the back of his head, I have my doubts about whether he's really an Academy student — but I can tell he's close with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Mr. Craosa. And I trust Mr. Craosa's eye for people, so I decide to go with them.

I still don't trust the brown-eyed man, though.

The strange trio's names were Zeroa, Rai, and Aslan.

Aslan is still scowling, apparently still angry that Rai tricked him into kicking in the guild door. Rai, who is supposedly the party leader and does not look remotely reliable, tells me to get ready because we'll be in a dungeon for three days.

"What? A dungeon?"

Rai looks at me like he's wondering what the problem is.

"You just registered, didn't you? E3-rank can't enter dungeons."

Rai stares at me with a blank look.

"Ah, right. E3 can't go in. It's been so long I forgot."

Rai kicks Zeroa in the shin for saying that so casually, scowls, and heads for the request board. He studies the countless postings, tears one off, speaks to the receptionist, then comes back and shows us the request.

A rat-extermination request for the sewers beneath Legandia. Offering a single penny — the lowest unit of currency — means this is a job taken by the least skilled of rookie adventurers, or people living hand to mouth. Rai comes back looking thoroughly pleased with himself, holding the lowest-grade request the guild even offers.

"If we catch about two thousand, that should raise our rank, right?"

He figures catching two thousand would bump them straight to D-rank. But how are they going to pull off something on the scale of wrecking an entire ecosystem? They're taking this way too lightly just because the work seems easy.

Rats are weak, but they're hard to catch. Hard to catch and poorly paid, so sewer rat hunting is a job people avoid. Even if every other request in the guild disappeared, this one would still be sitting there. And two thousand of them? I frown at this nonsense, but the other two don't seem to think much of it and just say they understand.

Aslan I can understand, but why is Zeroa, who has actual experience, going along with this? Are they seriously planning to catch two thousand?! Are they planning to hunt nothing but rats for the rest of their lives?!

"Thirty silver for a rat-catching job! What a windfall!"

I'm speechless, but Mr. Craosa finds it hilarious and slaps me on the back.

Just what is going to become of this party?