Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Newbie Adventurer Bern - The Red-Headed Adventurer
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The robustness of public authority and the prosperity of the adventurer industry are in inverse proportion.
If a nation runs smoothly and its soldiers maintain stable public order, there's little room for adventurers to shine in the first place.
Dangerous monsters are periodically culled by the army, and criminals disrupting order are beaten down by the guards. There's simply no need for adventurers.
No, it's more than that—they're actually a hindrance.
After all, they're an armed group that's hard for the state to control, or impossible in severe cases, acting however they please within the borders according to their own rules and discipline.
In that sense, the Kingdom of Virka was an ideal nation for adventurers to thrive.
To put it bluntly, it was a chaotic mess where the royals couldn't fulfill their royal duties.
The king and court nobles were steeped in decadence, chasing only their greed without properly governing the realm. Local lords were much the same, barring a few exceptions.
Stagnation over progress. Conservatism over reform.
Rather than competing fiercely to prove their abilities and ambitions, they banded together in cartels for easy collusion.
Security vacuums became the norm, and adventurers and the guild system developed to fill them.
The bards sang of it as the "Land of Adventurers."
Thrill-seekers dreaming of overnight fortunes and fame flocked to the guilds not just from within the kingdom but from abroad as well. Unfortunately for the guilds, a good chunk of them turned out to be utter dregs.
"What? Sewer rat extermination? Hey, you think I came all this way to catch rats? Give me a proper quest!"
A whiner with no track record demanding high-paying gigs.
"Hey! The reward was supposed to be two silver coins! Why only five coppers?! Because I got drunk and broke some village kid's leg? No, that punk had it coming!"
A thug who, after getting penalized for his own screw-up, flies into a rage instead of reflecting and starts bullying everyone.
"This body of mine is on bro terms with the heir of Baron Jenster's domain, you know? So you get the pict—"
A blusterer implying you should treat him right because he's buddies with some bigwig.
"Ptoo! You think you can mock me because I'm being nice? Who do you think you're sassing?! Huh? Let go! I said let go! Agh! Aaagh!"
A small-time punk who spits on the guild floor and makes empty threats without knowing his own limits or place, only to get thrashed by the guild guards.
Every day brought fresh parades of such wretched humanity, pushing the stress levels of guild receptionists to new highs. More than a few ended up viewing adventurers like criminals.
And honestly, with so many adventurers being ex-cons or aspiring crooks, it wasn't an unfair perspective.
The face of the Adventurer's Guild. Such are the woes that come with being flowers blooming in a harsh, rugged industry.
"...So you're telling me to play receptionist?"
But even so, this was a bit much.
Blanca, a veteran adventurer eyeing the end of her third year, stared at the woman before her without hiding her incredulous expression.
She figured showing this much dissatisfaction and reluctance was plenty, but the guild manager overseeing all receptionists at the eastern branch didn't bat an eye as she continued.
"Exactly. Just one month, no more, no less. Bellona should recover from her collapse by then and come back."
"If that's the case, just hire a new receptionist. Why drag an adventurer like me into this?"
"Five."
"Pardon?"
"Five girls who've fled after getting fed up with those scummy adventurers."
The manager took a long drag from her pipe, exhaling as if she felt the pinch herself.
"Adventurers look down on receptionists who just sit at desks shuffling papers. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find someone who can read and write, communicates well, has enough credibility not to tarnish the guild's name, and can handle wild demands from adventurers without flinching?"
"I'm one of those adventurers."
"That's why you're perfect. Unlike those runaways who got scared and bawled they couldn't do it anymore, you won't crack. Plus, you can write, you've got more refinement than your average illiterate brute, and you're pretty to boot. You're receptionist material through and through."
Thud. The manager tapped the end of her pipe on the ashtray.
"Anyway, Blanca, things haven't been going great for you lately. Your favorite staff's busted, so you need a new one, and you've got that guild debt to pay. We've been lenient on collection thanks to your track record here, unlike with the others, but even that's got limits."
"Ugh."
Blanca swallowed a groan.
The manager's words might sound like "We're going easy on you," but dropping it now made her intentions crystal clear.
Refuse, and the kid gloves come off. In other words, they'd start debt collection like with everyone else.
Realizing she had no real choice, Blanca let out a deep sigh.
"...Fine. One month?"
"That's right. Pay won't be bad."
—At least better than what you're scraping by on now.
The unspoken tail end of that sentence rang in her ears, forcing Blanca into a sour, bug-bitten grimace she couldn't hide.
It was a thoroughly unwelcome chore for Blanca herself, but as the manager said, she had a knack for reception work.
"Yes, this is a return. Can't accept it, so gather it again."
"Why!? I collected ten proper roots of Azure Grass!"
"This one's snapped in the middle, this has all the lateral roots torn off, and this one's withered to bits. I explained you need to scoop it up with the surrounding soil instead of yanking it out by force, right?"
"I never heard that!"
"If you think so, then maybe for you. Anyway, five out of ten are defective, so can't take 'em. Fill the quota and come back."
"I wasted a whole day gathering these, and now you want half a day more on the same crap? Just give me half pay or something!"
"This isn't a shop, and we don't haggle. Get out before I call the guards. Besides, you didn't just dig roots—you foraged other stuff too, so it's not like you earned nothing."
"...Tch."
Adventurer ranks ran from the lowest 1 to the highest 7, and Blanca was a veteran who'd climbed steadily from the bottom to 3.
Considering over half of those who stepped into a guild never even reached 2, she carried real weight.
Her firsthand experience—how adventurers acted, the tricks they pulled on quests, what they hated, how far they'd go—gave her insights no pure-knowledge receptionist could match.
She had the grit to ignore most threats or mockery without flinching and the muscle to handle trouble solo if needed, without calling guards.
The manager seemed highly satisfied with her work, and the other receptionists subtly wished she'd stick around.
Clink clink. As coins filled her pocket each week, Blanca felt deeply conflicted.
It wasn't more than what she'd made at her peak as a rank 3 adventurer.
But unlike the irregular adventurer income, receptionist pay was steady. With her main gear broken from some incident and debts piling up, proper questing was impossible anyway—the difference stung.
Staying on as a receptionist forever wouldn't be so bad.
No, it might even be the smart choice.
Adventurers gained little real benefit from experience, just age. But guild staff could rise internally later on.
The manager who'd hired her was a prime example.
Even knowing that, Blanca couldn't decide easily.
Unlike her reason urging her to face reality, a sticky goal deep in her heart wouldn't let go.
"Hoo..."
Then one day.
A young man's figure caught Blanca's eye exactly ten days before her temp contract ended.
Apparent age late teens.
Messy red hair, eyes sparkling as he gawked curiously around the guild.
Pure rookie adventurer vibes drew snickers from all over.
Cute to some, laughable to others—but oblivious or bold, the redhead strode right to the counter, to Blanca, and spoke.
"I want to become an adventurer. How do I do it?"
"Hmm."
Blanca eyed him again.
Simple leather armor easy to move in. Plain iron sword without frills.
Compared to the cheapest shop gear—layered cloth armor and a trimmed wooden club—his setup was decent.
Meaning he hadn't shown up desperate and empty-handed; he'd prepared somewhat.
With his refined good looks too...
'...Some noble? Or third son of a wealthy merchant family?'
Quick assessment done, Blanca asked him,
"Registration costs five coppers. Got 'em?"
The youth silently produced the coins. Blanca grabbed pen and paper.
Few adventurers could read or write, so receptionists handled forms.
"Name?"
"Bern."
"Place of origin?"
"A village on the southern border of the Eisen Empire."
"No specific village name?"
"No special name within the village, and I don't know what outsiders called it."
Not common, but not rare either.
Plenty fudged origins anyway, so guilds didn't micromanage.
"Special skills?"
"I can handle a sword decently."
"Hunting experience?"
"Caught a rabbit on the way here. Does that count?"
Laughter erupted from prankster adventurers in the corner.
"Ooh, a rabbit! Such a fearsome foe. Stew it up, fill your belly, and it'll lull even the mightiest warrior to sleep!"
"Go easy. Better than that guy who bragged about slaying wolves bigger than himself, then pissed himself and ran on his first hunt."
"True enough. Honesty's a virtue!"
The youth didn't get mad at the jeers.
Just watched them with curious eyes, like they were a novelty.
Blanca sighed.
"Ignore 'em. React to every little thing, and you won't last as an adventurer."
"Ah, yes. Honestly, it's kinda fun."
"...?"
Odd response noted, but Blanca pressed on.
"You're registered as rank 1. You can take guild quests now. Rack up enough achievements, you'll promote to 2 and get your tag. Anything else?"
"Any quests available right now?"
"Sewer cleaning, weeding, warehouse sorting. Pick one."
Even as she spoke, Blanca inwardly groaned.
This was the point rookies rebelled most.
Dirty, grueling, unglamorous work. With stingy pay to boot.
Newbies lured by bards' polished tales struggled to accept it.
Especially the cocky ones with self-pride.
So Blanca pondered how to coax him, but...
"Warehouse sorting first, then."
"...Huh?"
"Warehouse sorting."
"Uh, right. Head out the guild, go west along the wall—you'll see a gray building. Guy there with a burn scar on his cheek. Do what he says. Don't forget your completion mark after."
"Got it."
Bern sauntered out leisurely, vanishing from the guild.
Those expecting rookie-counter drama griped about his lack of spunk, then forgot him for other chatter until fresh quests suited them.
Blanca felt a strange vibe but shrugged it off.
Docile ones were good for her, anyway.
And about thirty minutes later.
"Hello."
"Hm? What? You quitting already?"
"No, all done. Here's the proof."
"????"
Blanca's mind filled with question marks at Bern handing over the mark—for a job that usually took two hours minimum, six on busy days—in mere half an hour.