The Taste of Adventure

The wet, raspy heat insistently scrubbed across my cheek. When I forced my heavy eyelids open, my entire field of vision was filled with a single silver fluffball.

"Kyuu!"

Rua's adorable snout licked the tip of my nose while her front paws pinned down my face. Lukewarm saliva from the little beast trickled stickily down my cheek and chin. I couldn't believe I'd slept through her licking my face to this state. The muscles across my body screamed in protest, proof that last night's exertions had pushed well past their limits. This was the morning after a night that had danced on the edge of exhaustion.

Rustle.

The sound of sheets shifting as I sat up. As if she'd been waiting for that tiny sign of movement—

Knock, knock.

"Come in."

"Good morning, Master. Have you awakened?"

The door opened, and Silvia entered, carrying the faint scent of soap. She wore her usual neat maid uniform. At her presence, Rua—who had been diligently licking my cheek—whipped her head around.

"Kyaang!"

The fluffball barked once in delight, her tail spinning like a propeller fast enough to make her rear wiggle. At that charming welcome, the cool, intelligent gray-blue eyes that were usually like ice softened with unmistakable affection.

I roughly wiped the saliva from my chin with the back of my hand and muttered, "Did you check the list I left on the desk?"

Silvia's gaze instantly regained its unshakable composure. She bowed with perfect grace.

"Personnel confirmed."

"......"

"Training will begin today."

A flawless, unwavering reply.

"Feed her."

At my curt command while glancing at Rua, Silvia's cheeks flushed slightly, but her movements remained impeccably composed as she bent at the waist. She approached the silver fluffball who was still making soft kyuu kyuu noises on the bed. The moment Silvia's pale, elegant hands slipped beneath Rua's tiny belly and gently lifted her, the little beast burrowed her face into Silvia's chest with familiar affection, acting spoiled. Silvia carefully adjusted her hold and carried Rua out of the bedroom.

Click.

With the sound of the door closing, silence settled over the room. I headed for the bathroom.

Shaaaa.

Icy cold water slammed against my entire body. Every time I swept my hair back, streams of water raced down the taut muscles of my back and across my broad shoulders. The sensation washed away the thick fatigue that had clung to my veins. After a quick shower, I threw on a shirt while my skin was still damp and made my way to Theo's workshop.

Even from the entrance, the smell of medicinal herbs wafted out of Theo's workshop. Bubble, bubble. The acrid scent of boiling herbs stung my nose from beyond a round flask filled with bubbling blue liquid. In one corner of the workshop, Celine was polishing empty glass bottles with a soft cloth. The fabric glided smoothly along the curves of the glass. Wherever her hands passed, cloudy dust vanished, replaced by a clear, glossy shine. The pleasant resistance between the dry cloth and smooth glass seemed to travel straight to my fingertips.

"Ah, Assistant! I told you the evening primrose sap has to come off right before the boiling point!"

Theo shouted desperately, his hands covered in charcoal powder as he held up a beaker of liquid. Celine calmly set down her cloth without any sign of panic and reduced the flame beneath the brazier.

"The reaction was delayed by the slime mucus you added moments ago, Master. This is the precise timing."

"Huh? It really is? As expected of my assistant! You're a hundred times better than those old fossils at the guild!"

Theo's attitude flipped instantly. He laughed heartily and transferred the writhing solution into another beaker. The alchemist, who had been grinning energetically, suddenly fell silent. Only then did my figure—previously buried in the workshop's commotion—register in his vision.

"Huk. M-My Lord! I mean, Master!"

Theo, still holding a vial, flinched and gave a deep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bow at the waist. Celine quickly set down her glass bottle and bowed with equal respect.

"Basilisk byproducts. Which ones hold value?"

As if he'd been waiting for the question, Theo answered without hesitation.

"Combining the venom sac with flameweed creates a top-grade corrosive that can melt even plate armor. Grinding the eyeballs and mixing them with darkroot produces temporary petrification scrolls. The salivary glands beneath the hide also make an excellent base for poisons."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

A torrent of knowledge poured out without pause. Theo's eyes already looked drunk on the finished compounds he envisioned. I stared indifferently at the smoke rising from the bubbling beaker and asked again.

"Intended uses?"

"The corrosive is essential for silently melting magic-infused locks when opening treasure vaults. As a bonus, it can reduce knights' armor to mush. The petrification scrolls are even better. You can capture expensive magical beasts without a scratch by turning them into 'statues,' or use them as top-tier emergency treatment to petrify critically wounded allies for safe transport."

Theo rubbed his charcoal-stained hands together, wearing a satisfied smile at his own explanation.

"Sounds like things that make gold coins roll in."

"Gold coins? Master, this is the very essence of alchemy... Well, you're not wrong."

Without taking my eyes off the boiling beaker, I cut straight to the point.

"Projected profits."

Theo's eyes narrowed as if he'd been expecting it. He began counting on his fingers.

"These are products hard to obtain in the empire, with steady demand. The unit price is roughly eight gold per corrosive, seven gold per petrification scroll, and five gold for the salivary glands."

He stroked the bridge of his nose.

"Even after subtracting additional material costs, one basilisk should guarantee about fifteen gold in net profit."

Value added purely through alchemical processing, excluding basic byproducts like bones and hide. It was prime merchandise that would pump enormous cash flow into the company.

"I'll bring back the basilisk byproducts, so prepare to manufacture the goods. Also, I need vitality tonics."

I got straight to the main issue. Theo's face fell.

"Ah, about that... The nobles in the capital are going mad every night trying to turn into beasts in bed, so the market has completely run out of ingredients."

Looking troubled, Theo picked up a piece of chalk and roughly erased the complex equations filling the blackboard with his sleeve.

"The core of a true vitality tonic is the byproduct of a Twin-Headed Ogre—specifically, the serum from the junction where the two hearts meet!"

He drew two circles on the now-empty board and connected them with a thick line.

"With two hearts, the blood flow is overwhelming. Drinking the concentrated serum from where the blood crosses causes the user's entire vascular system to expand instantly, granting explosive strength and endurance comparable to a berserker."

"What else is useful?"

"The nerve stem connecting the two brains!"

White chalk dust scattered through the air.

"Extracting and compounding it causes sensory expansion. Just as the two heads look in different directions, it dramatically increases the user's reaction speed and dynamic visual acuity, creating a premium enhancement agent."

"Yield on the vitality tonic?"

"One ogre's worth of serum produces ten vials of concentrate. With my refinement techniques, I can triple that yield. One vial of concentrate can easily make ten high-grade tonics, fifty mid-grade, or a hundred low-grade."

There were more effective options for recovery.

"Wouldn't a tonic made from regular ogre or troll blood work?"

At my pointed question, Theo's eyes sparkled and he clapped his hands.

"As sharp as ever, My Lord! Of course it's possible. But the crucial difference lies in whether one can maintain their sanity during that rampaging period."

He tapped the blackboard.

"Regular ogre serum eats away at the user's reason and turns them into a literal beast. Because of that fatal side effect, the nobles desperately seek only Twin-Headed Ogres."

I narrowed my eyes and asked again.

"What's the difference between a stimulant and a vitality tonic?"

"A stimulant is a 'loan,' while a vitality tonic is a 'transplant.'"

Theo began drawing on the board again, this time to make the distinction easier to understand.

"A stimulant is simply borrowing tomorrow's life force in advance. Once the effect ends, you collapse like a corpse. But ogre or troll serum is on a completely different level—it transplants the 'heart engine' of a magical beast wholesale. It forcibly synchronizes the user's mana circuits with the monster's pulse."

Theo suddenly cleared his throat and lowered his voice. Scratching the back of his head with his charcoal-covered hand, he looked rather embarrassed.

"However... there's one more problem. Regular ogre and troll products transfer their overflowing reproductive instincts intact. So, um... once that energy surges, it simply refuses to subside."

Theo waved his hand in the air, unable to hide his awkwardness. With his other hand, he wrote on the board: 'This is why stimulants are used in battle.'

"While the drug lasts, their mind is gone but that one part stays lively. From a noble's perspective, how disgraceful would that be? Wielding power with full sanity while enjoying pleasure is worlds apart from thrashing around like a dog in heat with no reason left. That's why not only nobles but even combat professionals refuse to even touch regular ogre or troll blood."

I stared indifferently at the smoke rising from the beaker before cutting to the chase.

"I'll acquire basilisk and Twin-Headed Ogre byproducts. Immediately prepare the additional materials needed to produce what you just described."

At my order, Theo bowed deeply.

"I will keep it in mind, Master! Ah, you'll need stamina potions for the expedition, correct?"

"Are they ready?"

"Of course! I've already carefully brewed about five crates of ten mid-grade stamina potions each. How many should I give you?"

"One crate will suffice."

The heavy wooden crate Theo handed over. I accepted it, leaving behind the earnest gazes of Celine and Theo as I exited the workshop.

The problem was the extremely difficult supply conditions. Twin-Headed Ogres were naturally violent and did not live in packs. However, because hunters had wiped out all the solitary individuals on the outskirts of ogre territories, only those ruling from deep within the forest—commanding regular ogres as subordinates—remained.

With four combat slaves and Elina in tow, I climbed into the carriage. The only sound breaking the heavy tension on the road to the Adventurer Guild was the rolling of carriage wheels.

It was time to officially register with the Adventurer Guild for continuous legal hunting and the sale of monster corpses. Anyone not formally registered faced penalties: even if they hunted monsters, they could not sell the corpses at the dismantling yard.

Because of this, criminals or those who wished to hide their identities paid commissions to have other hunters sell on their behalf. But there was no reason to hand over the company's massive profits to such trash.

Creeeeaaaak.

I pushed open the heavy oak door, whose rusted hinges screamed like they were being torn apart. The moment I stepped inside the guild, a foul stench assaulted my nose—a mixture of cheap liquor and sour sweat.

Tap, tap, tap.

The steady sound of hard heels striking the rough wooden floor. The chilling rhythm caused the noisy interior to fall momentarily silent.

The clerk at the reception desk tapped his ink-stained quill, then gave me—and the combat slaves and Elina following behind me like shadows—an unpleasant once-over from head to toe.

"The slave trader himself is going monster hunting? Isn't that a rather dangerous game?"

From the hunters lounging at nearby tables came a burst of sneering laughter.

I easily ignored his mockery and spoke flatly.

"Explain the registration procedure and precautions."

"So, are you only registering the male slaves? Or should I prepare registration for all five slaves, including that fine-bottomed young lady over there?"

Even at the sarcastic, disrespectful tone, my eyes didn't flicker. There was nothing to gain from getting into a fight. Besides, people like this usually straightened up once they saw real skill.

I tossed a single gold coin onto the desk, nailing shut that loose mouth.

"All six people here. Register everyone."

The clerk's mouth twitched, but when he saw the gold, he pulled out a cheap sheet of parchment from a drawer and slid it over.

"Five silver per person. And here are the hunting ground regulations. Since you can read, check them yourself."

On the worn parchment, letters blurred by blood and grease were scrawled haphazardly.

'A gang of robbers wearing the skin of legality.'

Even among these vicious rules, there was a certain sophisticated rationality. They blocked the flow of stolen goods to maintain market order, monopolized monster information, and extracted maximum efficiency. Above all, becoming a member of the massive organization called the 'guild' meant stepping into a vast arena where everyone monitored everyone else. In the darkness of the hunting grounds it might be different, but at least where the guild's gaze reached, no one could carelessly draw a blade and commit murder. For adventurers whose reputation was their life, these tangible and intangible restraints served as the most reliable safety mechanism.

"In exchange for sticking in their straws, they at least provide a minimum fence."

I roughly folded the dirty parchment and stuffed it into my pocket. The fact that the regulations were so harsh paradoxically meant that if one used those very rules well, one could control the entire board.

"Any benefits to raising your rank?"

The clerk snorted as he pushed forward a pouch containing seventy silver coins and six worn copper rank badges.

"As your commission record improves and your rank rises, you do receive benefits like tax reductions and access to premium information... but I doubt that'll happen for you."

I took the extra copper badges as well and slipped them into my pocket. At that moment, the leader of the hunter party occupying a table pushed back his chair and stood.

"Well, well. The slave trader who made a name for himself in the back alleys, and even the so-called Goddess of the Battlefield, the former noble lady."

The man approached Elina with a crude iron sword at his waist, sneering. Asking how fair the world was that she now wore a mere copper badge and licked a slave trader's boots. Even the female hunters in the corner let out suppressed laughter, jealous of Elina's overwhelming physique.

Elina didn't waver in the slightest at such pathetic insults. She had received countless provocations on countless battlefields and at noble banquets. As we tried to leave the guild without responding, the leader blocked Elina's path.

His murky gaze blatantly roamed over her leather breastplate, lingering on her firm, full breasts and toned lower body.

"That ass and those tits look nice and ripe. On the battlefield, did you take on every 'sword' that came your way, regardless of ally or enemy?"

He crossed his fists in front of his crotch and shook them, crudely mimicking the act of gripping a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠penis.

I didn't even glance at him and continued walking in silence. Getting emotionally entangled with trash was an extreme waste of time. The party leader's face twisted in fury, and he spat a glob of yellow phlegm right in front of my shoe.

"A slave trader bastard trying to play adventurer without knowing his place."

The unpleasant saliva splattered on the floor. A lone middle-aged man cleaning old equipment near the entrance, smelling of oil, offered a quiet warning.

"Tsk. It's just the hazing of some low-quality bastards. Don't pay it any mind."

"I'll remember that."

With that, Elina, the combat slaves, and I left the Adventurer Guild.