The Adventurer Has Retired
The weather was unusually fine that day. Tucked among medieval-style buildings stood a shabby wooden structure that smelled of mildew and old sweat. The sign hanging above the door read Adventurer’s Guild. The rusted, stained planks creaked and groaned with every shift of the wind.
“...”
The man who stepped inside said nothing as he stopped in front of the counter. When his shadow fell across the flickering lantern, the old man wearing spectacles finally looked up.
“Ah, it’s you.”
The old man gave a curt nod of recognition.
“Have a seat. I’m rather busy at the moment.”
Busy? The guild hall was practically a ghost town. Only a handful of low-rank adventurers were flipping through quest boards, and there wasn’t a single piece of paperwork in sight. Still, the old man told him to wait without offering any further explanation.
“How long will it take?”
But the logic of power is brutally honest. The man was in no position to push his luck.
“You know how it works. I’ll call you when it’s time. Just sit down.”
“...Understood.”
With no other choice, the man limped toward an empty table. Even that short distance revealed the awkward hitch in his step. A flicker of contempt and mockery passed through the old man’s eyes.
Some time later, the wooden door slammed open so hard it nearly splintered. The quiet hall erupted into noise. A one-eyed man entered, a long scar cutting across his face. The stench of coppery sweat and road dust rolled in with him.
“Well, well! If it isn’t Ban-gan!”
The same old man who had been indifferent to his earlier visitor suddenly vaulted over the counter with surprising speed. The newcomer’s gaze also landed on the one-eyed man.
He knew him. In this business, Ban-gan was somewhat famous.
His name was Ban-gan—better known as One-Eyed Ban-gan. A fifteen-year veteran and leader of his own party, he qualified as a true professional.
The old man’s sudden deference made sense.
“Shut your mouth and bring the money.”
Ban-gan barked irritably and tossed a heavy pouch onto the counter. Dozens of monster heads spilled out—proof of dungeon conquests.
The old man scrambled to fetch a sack of gold coins. As he did, Ban-gan’s eyes met the seated man’s.
“...Huh? Siwoo? Is that really you, Siwoo!”
“...Fuck.”
The man cursed under his breath. He had really hoped to avoid this encounter.
“Hah, you son of a bitch! Long time no see. Your face looks a lot better than the last time I saw it.”
Ban-gan strode over and clapped him on the back with exaggerated familiarity. Whether it was friendliness or mockery was hard to tell. His massive hand smacked the man’s head with enough force to sting.
“Still clinging to life like a damn leech, I see. You really are hard to kill.”
The man’s name was Lee Siwoo.
In this hellish world where lives vanished as quickly as the sunrise, he was the leech who had stubbornly survived for ten full years.
But none of that mattered anymore. Siwoo was a worn-out adventurer, and today he had come to close the books on those ten years.
League of Fantasia.
The greatest online game to ever hit South Korea in the 2010s. It held the number one spot in PC bangs for five straight years. Its premier competition, the Rop Cup, was supposedly a global event…
…None of that glittering future ever happened. League of Fantasia—or Rop, as people called it—was just another mediocre game.
It was a nurturing-style dungeon crawler set on the continent of Astria. The goal was to recruit randomly generated NPCs, raise them, and use them to conquer the Seven Great Labyrinths scattered across the land.
Over a thousand NPCs with deep, intricate interactions. A massive world map, high-quality dungeons, and near-infinite build possibilities.
Because you could never meet more than ten percent of the available NPCs in a single playthrough, the game offered endless replay value once you got hooked.
Yet despite its rich content and impressive scale, Rop never became truly popular.
This was the perfect example. Every NPC in Rop had completely random stats.
Three stat points were granted per level, distributed randomly among five attributes. Skills were random too.
As you can see, Ban-gan was a hybrid Warrior-Assassin. His high Strength was a blessing for a warrior class, but the wasted points in Intelligence were pure garbage. And look at that Agility—five measly points. A dagger-throw skill based on Agility was about as useful as throwing chopsticks for him. As for Pee Far, no one could explain why that skill even existed. The fact that it consumed mana made it even more tragic.
The only reason he could still make a living was the Strength-based sword skill Split.
Because players had so little actual control, gameplay fell into a repetitive loop: recruit promising-looking NPCs, assign them suitable roles, run dungeon grinds, pray for good main-stat growth, and pray for useful skills.
Repeating that process endlessly was the so-called “fun” of Rop. Sure, if you liked that sort of thing you could sink hundreds of hours into it… but most people couldn’t stomach a system that felt so unfair and tedious.
And when I opened my eyes, I was already inside that vast, endless game.
I wasn’t some veteran player. I hadn’t pissed off an administrator and gotten specially invited. It was just a game I occasionally turned on when I wanted to kill time before bed. I never expected to fall asleep playing it and actually wake up here.
I survived ten years in this place. I’m thirty-three this year.
No hidden skills. Average stat distribution. A small, perfectly balanced hexagon of mediocrity. A useless failure of a character.
Still, once I was transported, I had to live. Fortunately, I possessed one useful talent.
The ability to see other people’s stats. It wasn’t much, but it kept me alive. I clung to the strong and ruthlessly crushed those weaker than me.
But that was my limit. Simply seeing stats couldn’t elevate me any higher.
To survive in the dungeons, you had to be strong. Nothing else mattered. Strength was everything. The only time I ever felt truly powerful was back when I carried a real rifle on guard duty in my previous life.
Even so, I managed to scrape by for ten years. Then luck abandoned me at the very end. All because of some stupid sense of camaraderie. I tried to rescue a friend captured by orcs and took a club to the leg for my trouble. The leg didn’t get severed, but it was ruined.
That was when I could no longer work as an adventurer. I decided to retire. My friend never even thanked me. My last guild simply told me to get lost. Fuck. All I had left was the stench of a lifelong bachelor and a crippled leg.
The reward for ten years of struggle was nothing but a severance payment. I had no particular plans. Maybe I’d drink myself to death, grope a few breasts along the way, and die in some cheap inn.
Of course, that fantasy required the severance pay to actually be decent.
Speaking of which, how much would it be? I’d led several parties over the years and spent the last twelve months with a fairly well-known guild. Five thousand gold seemed like a reasonable expectation.
“What’s an unemployed bastard like you doing at the guild?”
Ban-gan’s crude voice pulled me from my thoughts.
Couldn’t he see the damn crutch? Fucking asshole. He knew exactly what he was asking. As always, the guy gave me the creeps.
Still, picking a fight with One-Eyed Ban-gan was unthinkable in this town. A Strength stat of forty wasn’t just for show.
“I’m… retiring. I’m here to collect my severance pay.”
“Pffft—”
Fucking prick. He just had to make me say it out loud.
I hope you rot in hell. No—scratch that. I’ll send you there myself one day.
Ban-gan and his lackeys chuckled as they claimed a table in the corner.
While I was stuck talking to that son of a bitch, several adventurers finished their business with the old man. I’d counted five of them. When the hell was it going to be my turn?
Our eyes met. A silent conversation passed between us. The old man’s answer was clear: Idiot. Even on my last day, this rotten world still wanted to screw with me.
“Give me my money, you bastard!”
Only after I slammed my lone crutch against the counter like a madman did the old man finally return with the pouch of gold. Unlike the respectful way he’d treated Ban-gan, he tossed it carelessly. A few coins spilled onto the floor and rolled away.
Bending over was difficult for me. Good old Ban-gan kindly picked them up—then slipped them into his own pocket. Son of a bitch.
“...Is this all there is?”
The severance pay was only one thousand gold. That was barely enough to buy a small studio apartment in the city. It was roughly a high-rank adventurer’s monthly salary. Not a tiny sum, but certainly not a fortune.
Did this make any sense? I hadn’t expected five thousand, but I thought they’d at least give me three.
“It’s the exact amount owed.”
“Show me the settlement statement.”
“Can’t do that. Requires the guild master’s approval.”
“Then get his approval.”
“Tsk. Stop causing a scene and get lost. I already gave you the money.”
Since when was demanding my own money “causing a scene”? Unfortunately, my crutch had nearly broken from all the banging, and the people behind me were starting to glare.
Like I gave a damn. My money was more important. I was owed at least two thousand more.
“Give me my money!”
The moment I raised my voice, the entire guild erupted. Nothing draws a crowd like shouting and violence. The dopamine-addicted adventurers immediately began crowding around.
There were no real sides here. People rooted for whoever was loudest, whoever was better-looking, or—most importantly—whoever looked stronger.
The quick-witted old man glanced at Ban-gan. Naturally, that bastard jumped into the amusing situation with perfect timing.
“You idiot! Be grateful you even got anything after becoming a cripple!”
In the end, I was thrown out of the guild with only one thousand gold in my pocket. Ten years of blood and sweat were worth exactly one thousand gold.
“...What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”
It was enough to blow in one night at a high-class brothel. If I went to a casino, I’d lose it all in tiny increments before dying of boredom.
I wanted to do something meaningful instead. But what?
That rotten old man. One-Eyed Ban-gan. All those sons of bitches who had mocked me.
I wanted to crush their smug faces.
There was one way. Even as a crippled leech, I could still strut in front of the small fry—if I devoted the rest of my life to it. But did this remaining life even have meaning? I was tired of living in other people’s shadows like some ordinary citizen. Maybe it was finally time to live for myself.
Thud.
“...Hm? Why are you back? Like I said earlier, I can’t give you any more—”
Wham!
I hurled the pouch of coins with all my strength. I wonder how it felt to get smacked in the face with a thousand gold.
“I’m founding an adventurer party, you rotten old bastard. Bring me the paperwork.”
The same “Start” button I had clicked countless times in Rop. This was the first time I’d ever pressed it in this world.
My chest felt strangely refreshed. I should have done this sooner.
The brief moment of dominance ended quickly.
The old man handed over the documents. I signed them. Nine hundred of my thousand gold coins vanished as the founding fee.
A wooden plaque now read Siwoo Adventurer Party.
I had burned ten years of blood and sweat on a cheap wooden sign.
“...Not bad.”
A dark, filthy future in the gutters welcomed me. Not a golden, triumphant one.
“...A-adventurers wanted! Looking for reliable adventurers willing to share blood, sweat, and tears!”
One month had passed since I founded the Siwoo Adventurer Party.
I had perfectly prepared myself to end up on the street. The five-pyeong office the guild provided for fledgling parties was all I had.
I recruited newbies every day, but this world was no different from any other—experienced hires demanded better treatment, while complete rookies had ridiculously high expectations.
My remaining funds were nearly gone. I could already see the gutter waiting for me.
Creak—
“W-welcome!”
The old door without even a doorbell swung open. A blonde woman in a maid outfit cautiously poked her head inside.
“...Um, is this the Siwoo Adventurer Party?”
“...Yes, it is. We didn’t call for a cleaner, though.”
“Ah! Hello! My name is Elaine. I’d like to become an adventurer…”
In that outfit? She wanted to be an adventurer wearing a maid uniform?
“...Come in. The Siwoo Adventurer Party is open to everyone.”
I sat Elaine on the sofa whose springs had long since died and handed her the crumpled contract.
She barely glanced at it.
“You’ll really let me become an adventurer?”
“...Yes. Just sign and you’re officially one. Though I’d recommend reading the contract first…”
I needed to check her stats, after all.
Scribble—!
“...?”
“All done!”
What was the rush?
It was the first time someone had signed before I could even look at their status window.
The moment I picked up the document to double-check it, a message appeared.
You have recruited your first member! Congratulations. As a special reward for your successful party management, you have been granted a bonus skill.
A die with six eyes dropped into my palm.
Dice of Destiny
You can now reconstruct the fates of others.
…Oh.