To Red Horse City (1)

I sat on one of the guild lobby's hard wooden chairs, casually tossing the head of a variant Blood Ghoul—its blood and brain matter already dried and crusted—onto the floor at my feet. While the paperwork for my rank promotion was being processed, I quietly felt around inside my sleeve for the Substitute Doll made from a troll's heart. 'Its limits are clear.'

The permanent tattoo carved with ogre blood had now settled into my body as a perfect passive. Explosive strength beyond human limits, a rock-solid frame, and life force that constantly welled up and circulated through my entire body like breathing. Thanks to that overwhelming physical power and its synergy with the Substitute Doll, I had been able to take the variant ghoul's acidic blood head-on and still come out with all my limbs intact.

But the problem was the critical threshold. The Substitute Doll was a semi-permanent artifact that could repair itself even after being destroyed, yet if it took a single "fatal" blow that exceeded its absorption limit—like the one I had just received—it would overload. It would melt like liquid metal, leaving a fatal window of dozens of seconds while it recovered. If my opponent wasn't some ghoul but a Silver-rank or higher expert like the ogre we had encountered in the forest, radiating aura and immense power, my head would be gone the moment the doll was destroyed and regenerating.

With my current level of primal magic, I could only maintain one Substitute Doll. Unlike orthodox magic or aura, which naturally expanded one's vessel through mana breathing, the primal magic I wielded was the pinnacle of inefficiency, complete with side effects and massive energy consumption. The number of spells my body and soul could handle was fixed, and to forcibly increase that limit, I would need to implant or absorb a "medium" with tremendous spiritual density. Currently, a third of my body was covered in ogre tattoos, and the side effects had left me in an uncontrollable state. Unless I raised my skill proficiency to increase the number of spells I could use or found the byproduct of a new high-ranking existence, facing true powerhouses of Silver rank or above head-on was nothing short of a reckless gamble.

"Mokwon, what's with that face? Are you shaking at the thought of getting your Iron badge?"

Elara, sitting beside me with her arms crossed, let out a small laugh as she spoke. In the middle of the guild—a public place—she used casual speech instead of calling me "Master," maintaining the upright, arrogant posture befitting a Silver-rank rogue. On the surface she looked like a cool-headed companion, but that subtle contact carried an intimacy that hovered right on the edge of crossing the line.

"Shaking? Might as well check the numbers while we're at it. Elara, show me your status window."

"What, curious about my stats? Don't get depressed when you see them."

Elara gave a seductive eye-smile and flicked her finger into the air. The semi-transparent status window she opened with party sharing permissions appeared in my vision.

'……Unbelievable.' I swallowed a dry cough inside. My pure agility stat was still hovering in the late teens. Only the strength and stamina amplified by the ogre tattoo's passive barely reached the mid-thirties. But a Silver-rank's specs were on a completely different level. Agility 54. No matter how much I twisted my ankles with irregular footwork, dodging the tip of her blade swung in earnest would be nearly impossible. And then there was the line at the bottom: [Special Notes: Unviewable]. Abilities or class passives possessed by natives of this world or high-ranking adventurers were protected by a systemic security that could never be revealed to others—just as the type of primal magic I possessed was thoroughly concealed.

"You there, new adventurer."

At that moment, a guild official in an ashen robe approached from the reception desk. In his hand was a freshly crafted black Iron badge.

"As promised, congratulations on your Iron-rank promotion. I didn't expect you to bring back the variant ghoul's byproduct in such pristine condition."

"Just settle the payment."

I answered dryly, handed over the stone badge, and hung the Iron badge around my neck. The heavy, cold touch of metal. I had finally obtained one qualification to receive proper treatment in this Shedborax Continent.

"The settlement has been deposited into your party account. And…… now that you've become Iron-rank, let me introduce you to a very lucrative request."

The official alternated his gaze between Elara and me with a secretive smile.

"Given your bold skills and Elara's experience, I thought you'd make a good synergy. The guild wants to make a bit of an 'investment.'"

"Investment?"

"That's right. A round-trip escort request through the back alleys of Red Horse City."

Red Horse City. A massive metropolis two days by carriage from this remote village, where commerce, pleasure, and illegal dealings ran rampant.

"The client is right here."

From behind the official, a small-statured man wearing a deeply pulled hood stepped forward. A sharp snout covered in gray fur and a nervously twitching set of whiskers. He was a Rat-kin beastman.

"Kihi kihi. Pleased to meet you. I'm the caravan master, Cheku."

The Rat-kin man Cheku rubbed his hands together and let out a thin laugh.

"I'm on my way to sell some very precious goods at the underground auction house in Red Horse City. The road itself is peaceful, but given the nature of the cargo, I need reliable vanguard protection. I saw you take down those Iron-rank mercenaries in the lobby earlier, clear as day. Kihi kihi. Rather than hiring those with big backers, someone like you—a straightforward newbie—is much easier to employ. If you just handle the round-trip escort, I'll pay you twenty gold coins."

Twenty gold coins. A huge sum that could feed an ordinary four-person family on the Shedborax Continent for a full year. It was an excessively generous escort fee for a fresh Iron-rank newcomer. But when I considered the calculations behind it, everything added up. If the goods the caravan master was transporting were "stolen property" or "smuggled items" that couldn't officially pay taxes, hiring a large mercenary company or rigid high-rank adventurers would only lead to unnecessary friction or massive bribes under the guise of secrecy fees. On the other hand, a rumored-to-be-fallen but undeniably skilled Silver-rank rogue paired with a brand-new Iron-rank with no guild ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠backing was the most manageable and cost-effective "tight-lipped blade" from the caravan master's perspective. The route to Red Horse City itself was a safe zone with low monster attack risk, so for the caravan master it was a calculation to extract maximum efficiency at minimum cost.

"Underground auction house?"

When I furrowed my brow, Elara leaned in close to my ear and whispered softly.

"It's the black market beneath Red Horse City. An underground market where you can buy anything with money—slaves, stolen magical tools, cursed grimoires, even rare monster body parts. Since it's outside guild control, all the hard-to-obtain items end up there."

At Elara's explanation, my eyes gleamed sharply. The underground auction house in Red Horse City. That was the optimal place to obtain the rare primal magic mediums I was currently thirsting for. If it was the black market, those precious items that couldn't even be glimpsed in ordinary shops might be rolling around there. There was no reason to refuse.

"Fine. I'll accept the request. When do we depart?"

"Let's meet at the west gate tomorrow morning. Kihi kihi."

Cheku bowed obsequiously with a satisfied expression and left the guild. Just as I was about to confirm the request and step outside, my eyes met a group in one corner of the lobby that radiated a strangely alien aura.

"……"

Though they wore shabby leather armor, the weapons at their waists were sharp things soaked in the blood of real battles. Their faces were covered in rough scars, and one of them had a forearm covered in grotesque reptilian scales, as if monster skin had been grafted onto it. What was surprising ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was their accent.

"Hey. That guy who just got his Iron rank. Isn't he Korean? I think I saw him in the tutorial clearing."

"Forget it. We've got our own quests to focus on. No point picking a fight with someone who's already adapted to this world and come out on top."

It was Korean. Other humans from another dimension who had fallen into this brutal continent on the same day as me. When the tutorial ended, many of them had thought they would open status windows like protagonists in novels and spam skills to become heroes. But the system ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was not kind, and the talents granted were the extreme of inequality, allowed only to a tiny few. Those who had cried out about meager goodwill and human rights had scattered into the slums, becoming monster meat shields or back-alley ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠consumables before dying. The group standing over there were survivors who had struggled to live through that hellish bottom. The scaled forearm was probably the trace of an illegal procedure performed by someone without mana talent in order to obtain power. People who had chosen the path of becoming ruthless for the sake of survival. Their eyes no longer held any trace of Earthling frailty or moral values. Far from being glad to meet fellow countrymen, there was only a dry gaze that measured the distance between them and coldly calculated profit and loss.

'In the end, those who survive to the very end all change the same way.'

Feeling not even a shred of emotion, I coldly withdrew my gaze and casually wrapped my arm around Elara's waist as she stood beside me.

"Let's go, Elara. We should prepare for the trip to Red Horse City."

"Right. If we're taking a long-distance carriage tomorrow, we should rest very thoroughly on the bed tonight."

Elara's seductive red eyes gleamed as she let out a suggestive laugh. Her soft fingers blatantly brushed against the inside of my thigh.