Chapter 13. The Grape Cluster Mercenary
The adventurers in the guild were monsters, beasts, or demons. The Guild Master called the man the Grape Cluster Mercenary. They each used different names for him, but it was easy to tell who she meant just by the tattered armor and the figure standing in front of the request board.
"M-Maener, I'm not hungry, can I go home first?"
"Haha, me too... Director, should we head out? It feels like we'd be better off eating somewhere else."
The dragon hatchling let out a mighty gurgle from its belly while insisting it wasn't hungry, and even Cache's face—the picture of positivity—had stiffened with tension.
"No, I need to talk to that guy for a bit. You two wait here."
"M-Maener! Don't gooo! Maeeenerrr!"
As I stood to approach the man dubbed the Grape Cluster Mercenary, the trembling hatchling scurried onto Cache's shoulder and squeaked in protest. But I crossed the now-empty tables of the adventurer guild with purposeful strides.
"Hello?"
Even after I stepped up beside him and spoke, the Grape Cluster Mercenary gave no response.
"I'm Miner, a plastic surgery specialist. Mind if we chat for a minute?"
"...?"
I leaned in a bit more from the front, and only then did he slowly turn his head toward me. One look at his face explained exactly why people called him the Grape Cluster Mercenary—or a monster, or a demon.
From above his eye to below his lip, half his face was completely covered in massive, tumor-like growths.
"Can you hear me?"
"..."
His one good eye stared steadily at me, but no words came. Was he deaf? Mute? Or just not interested in talking to me? His expression was unreadable.
"It's been a while."
"...?"
The grape-like clusters dangling from his face swayed as his lips parted.
"I mean, it's been a long time since anyone's faced my mug without flinching."
His speech seemed fine—no issues with hearing or talking.
"They say I carry plague wherever I go. Aren't you afraid to talk to me?"
"Pardon?"
The absurd words, delivered so gravely, nearly drew a scoff from me. But this was a different world from mine, so I had to watch my words. His tone was dead serious, the other adventurers' attitudes toward him spoke volumes, and the sword sheathed firmly at his waist demanded caution.
"What's to be afraid of? Doesn't look like plague to me. No contagion signs, either. Though I haven't done a full diagnosis yet."
Twitch—
At my curt words, his brow furrowed. The red—no, purple—grape-like skin that had claimed half his face quivered faintly.
"You talk like you know exactly what curse afflicts me."
"I'm a doctor running the Beauty Tower hospital at the dungeon zone entrance. I came to tell you that thing on your face isn't a curse or a contagion."
"...?"
Doctors shouldn't make declarations lightly. I'd need precise tests, but the growths on the Grape Cluster Mercenary's face matched a condition I knew well enough to speak confidently.
"Need a full exam to confirm, but those look like fibromas."
"...Fibromas?"
"A type of benign tumor made of connective tissue cells and fibers."
"Tumor... tumor..."
The Grape Cluster Mercenary murmured the word like a chant. Then my vision flashed white with a streak of motion. In the blink of an eye, the sword from his sheath was at my throat.
"Maener!"
"Director!"
A sharp prick pressed against my neck—right near the carotid. Any deeper, and it was lights out. Just then, the hatchling and Cache rushed over. But his one good eye stayed locked on me, ignoring them entirely as he spoke again.
"I've cut it with swords, cauterized it with fire—this damned curse just keeps growing. Nearly bled out once trying to hack it off myself; a high-grade potion barely saved me. And you call it... a simple tumor?"
As the Grape Cluster Mercenary glared at me with icy eyes, the Guild Master approached.
"Hey, that's enough. You know killing in the guild means no more requests, right?"
At her calm but firm intervention, he reluctantly sheathed his sword, his face twisted in suppressed rage. But I had no intention of stopping there.
"It's rare, sure. But where I'm from—"
"You think I haven't been to the East Continent?"
This guy was driving me nuts. I wanted to tell him his East Continent and my old world were worlds apart, but even without micro-expressions, I could see he was on the verge of exploding.
"I know your mages and priests are all con artists fleecing people under the guise of healing. My patience has limits—"
"I can't guarantee treatment right now."
No need to sugarcoat for someone venting raw anger. Any nice words would just look like pandering to a fool.
"Might be incurable, like you think. But what if it isn't?"
His half-face twitched at my firm tone.
Was gonna use him for promo like with that freckled girl Emily, but no need if he's got cash. Rags don't mean broke—not if he's downed high-grade potions.
That was my original angle: turn him into a before-and-after ad model. But money changed everything.
"Then you're passing up your shot at treatment."
"..."
I smiled as I stepped closer to the Grape Cluster Mercenary.
"Just get the exam to confirm if it's treatable. No charge for that."
Reading his micro-expressions, I sensed real hesitation.
"Fibromas weren't common back home, either. But I've treated them. If you're not too scared, let's do the exam."
He stayed silent long after I finished. I was starting to think he'd bail when his unmarred half-lip parted quietly.
"Lead the way."
* * *
Even on the walk back to the hospital from the guild with the Grape Cluster Mercenary, the stares were brutal.
"Kah—ptui! That filthy mug sours my mood. Tsk."
"He should only slink around after dark. Dear, toss some salt!"
"What salt? We ain't got money for that, you fool! Just spit on him!"
From those who grimaced at the sight of his face, to...
"Kyaaah! M-Monster!"
"Gods above, why such a demon?!"
...those trembling in terror, shedding tears. Reactions varied wildly. The one constant? Not a single soul showed him any kindness the whole way to the Beauty Tower.
Worse than I thought. Treating him like a walking germ...
I'd chalked the guild's attitudes up to adventurer hazing at first. But out on the street, it was as bad—or worse.
"Odd..."
As I fumed at the glares, the Grape Cluster Mercenary murmured low behind me, Cache, and the hatchling.
"What's odd?"
"You're peculiar. So are the woman beside you and the hatchling. None of you seem afraid of me."
At that, the hatchling on my shoulder snorted.
"Dummy, of course! If Maener says it's a normal disease, it is!"
"...You trust this man that much?"
"Yup! Maener heals without chopping stuff off like other docs! He even removes spots no one else can!"
"Ahaha, calling people dummies is rude, you know."
Cache scooped up the hatchling from my shoulder in surprise and hugged it close.
"Honestly... people just don't know. But our Director's nothing like regular doctors. Hard to believe, I know, but just a week ago, my face was covered in freckles. Trust us, please."
"..."
We walked on in silence amid the piercing stares until we reached the Beauty Tower.
"Cache, you're late anyway—head home first."
"N-No, it's fine. I'll hang with Dragon a bit longer."
She clutched the sweetly vibrating hatchling tight; clearly worried about it.
But man, he's oppressively quiet.
The Grape Cluster Mercenary was worlds apart from the others. Jeff, Ollie, Cache, Emily, even the hatchling—all gawked in awe entering my hospital. But his dead-fish eyes showed no spark of curiosity or hope—just utter apathy.
Ding—
I left Cache and the hatchling in the break room, then rode the elevator up with the Grape Cluster Mercenary. Destination: ninth floor. Inpatient rooms and comprehensive diagnostics center.
"We'll start the full exam now. First, get cleaned up."
I led him to the exam room, handing over a patient gown and slippers from the cabinet.
"...Put on this weird getup?"
"Yeah, ditch the armor and boots... Whoa! Not here!"
Most folks undress top-down on request, but his bold bottom-first move caught me off guard.
...Though he had the confidence for it.
Less common sense than expected. Gotta watch it.
I ended up escorting him to the shower, explaining soap and shampoo use, and instructing him to towel off after. Then I waited outside.
Moments later, he emerged clean, changed into the gown.
"Alright, full diagnostics. Name and age first."
"Thirty-two. Name's not important."
"..."
Just a year older than me, and what an asshole. But I'd endure. The money scent wafting off him was too rich.
"Starting with tumor measurements."
The exam mobilized everything: sizing the massive purple grape-cluster tumor on his left face, bloodwork, MRI, biopsy. Top-tier gear rivaling Korea's best university hospitals. A stray thought hit me.
Machines are rented... wonder how that's going in Korea?
Medical equipment costs a fortune. My mole-removal laser alone topped 300 million won. Felt like the rental reps' complaints were echoing from unintended abandonment.
But unavoidable. I didn't choose to come here.
Hope the medical company folks got their insurance sorted.