Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Survival Arc (7)
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‘Does that mean if I pay up, they can treat me like it's an emergency room?’
“How mu—”
“Healing prayer for tissue regeneration costs two million jenn.”
The priest cut me off before I could even finish asking.
Two million jenn was most of the money I'd scraped together over nearly two years as a mercenary.
“Any chance for a dis—”
“We mustn't let worldly haggling drag on in a sacred place.”
‘No, you're the most worldly one here.’
A surge of frustration welled up inside me, but the priest's attitude made it clear there'd be no bargaining.
I wasn't great at haggling anyway, and he hadn't even given me a chance to try.
“...I'll make the offering.”
“Your devout offering will be distributed to many in accordance with providence and balance.”
My hands shook as I pulled out the money and handed it over.
Thinking back on all the hardship I'd endured to save it brought a lump to my throat, but there was no choice.
Over a year's worth of effort... gone in an instant.
Afterward, the priest stepped out somewhere and told me to return by noon four days later.
‘No helping it. But at least I'll be healed in four days.’
Four days passed. I returned to the temple, and without any wait, the priest led me straight to the treatment room.
I lay down on what looked like a bed, and soon an eyepatch was placed over my eyes.
“It's to protect the chief priest's identity. Please understand.”
Making sure no one knew who the chief priest was probably avoided a lot of hassle. I quietly accepted the temple's precaution and waited.
Moments later, I sensed someone entering.
Soon, an incantation rang out, and a gentle energy enveloped my ears.
"Prompt to Magic Cast—Regeneration."
⟨ Regeneration ⟩
...It had been a long time since I'd heard that incantation.
Regeneration, the special-grade holy magic that had restored my body multiple times before.
“Ah, ahh, can you hear me? Are you alright?”
It was an old man's voice. The chief priest treating me, no doubt.
“I can hear just like before. Thank you.”
My ears felt perfectly regenerated.
I reached up to touch them, and they were back to their original shape.
“Hoo...”
A sigh of relief escaped me.
After shelling out two million jenn to get my ‘ears’ back, I hoped I'd never have to set foot here again.
I left the treatment room and stood at the temple entrance.
With my fully restored hearing, the sounds of the world flooded in completely.
The familiar yet strange sensation left me standing there in a daze, soaking in every noise.
‘Man, life's throwing every experience at me... ears sliced off, eyes lost, fingers gone, molars too... Please, just spare my legs.’
I prayed one last time for the safety of my body and headed back to my lodging.
Once I shed my robe and flopped onto the bed, the tension finally drained away, and thoughts began swirling in my head.
‘What's left in my pockets? Around 620,000 jenn, give or take.’
Calculating my remaining funds nearly choked me.
Compared to a year and four months ago, it was barely better than square one.
I couldn't keep going like this. It was time for a change in plans.
‘Getting hurt every time because I push myself alone... Maybe I need to form a party or join a mercenary band.’
But as a blue mage, that was tough.
If my spells supported others, it might be different, but most of mine were personal-use only.
‘Should I just handle laundry, Preserve spells, and porter duty?’
From hanging around the right-side counter at the commission hall, I'd seen people doing exactly that.
But it looked like work for novice warriors, and it felt like a waste of my skills.
‘What if I pretend to be a high-rank warrior?’
That was actually a solid idea.
My worry had always been the mismatch: mana that screamed high-rank, but combat skills only at mid-rank warrior level.
I'd fretted over someone noticing the imbalance and drawing attention, but things were shifting now.
‘At this point, I might pass as a shaky high-rank warrior.’
Back then, I'd been a sloppy mid-rank barely patching swordsmanship gaps with magic.
The past year and four months of mercenary work had honed me through real battles, and now I felt my sword skills alone put me at mid-rank.
‘Add a few blue magic buffs, and I could look like a fresh high-rank warrior.’
With that positive spin, I settled on finding a party.
Going solo had been about hiding my abilities to avoid eyes on me. But scraping by like this meant looping between progress and setbacks, with no telling when I'd break through.
To move forward, this was the practical path.
The next day dawned.
"Prompt to Magic Cast—Dirt Clear."
⟨ Dirt Clear ⟩
Not the best way to start the morning.
I woke to the sticky discomfort in my underwear, cleared it with Dirt Clear, and let out a sigh.
The irregular wet dreams that had started about two years ago, right around puberty.
For me, they triggered trauma.
Times at the Magic Trading Post I'd tried to forget.
Especially the four years of so-called ‘puberty exams’—sexual abuse by another name.
No matter how hard I tried not to dwell on the past, these uncontrollable physiological reactions dragged me right back.
When did it start? Around the time sexual responses kicked in, a nagging anxiety crept up.
‘Am I turning into a sex monster like Demon King Nel?’
I told myself no way.
The surging urges of a young man full of energy? I'd dealt with plenty in my past life, including pathetic moments I'd rather forget.
As I got older there, the interest had faded anyway.
So I believed I could control myself now.
But absolutes don't exist.
And as a ‘Long Ear half-breed,’ I had to be extra cautious with my actions.
Just like my younger days in my past life—reacting to imagination alone or a casual hug—mere skin contact with someone could spell trouble.
So I desperately hoped.
‘If there's a spell to control lust, I'll master it someday...’
With that resolve, I dressed and left the lodging.
My first stop was my usual breakfast spot: a street stall in the slums.
The draw? Dirt-cheap prices.
The innkeeper had recommended it early in my mercenary days, and for just 1,000 jenn, I got soup and barley bread. Mornings were always here.
After eating, I headed to the commission hall.
To follow through on yesterday's decision to find a party, I needed intel first.
Step one: hit the left passage's ‘request completion counter’ and chat with the staffer there.
‘Only person at the commission hall I've got any rapport with is him...’
Frequent completions meant reporting there often, and we'd exchanged a few words naturally.
So today, my info-gathering kicked off with him.
‘Ask about requests solo high-rank warriors complete, compare to mine, and gauge if I measure up.’
It was a way to verify if my skills matched high-rank level.
I made my way to the wide area housing the completion counter.
Glancing around, I had to duck my head quick.
‘Ugh, nowhere safe to look today either.’
Short skirts and half-exposed cleavage were par for the course here—no one batted an eye. The longer I stayed in Bellunia, the clearer it became: this was just the fashion.
Unlike Rock Forest's Long Ear women, Short Ear women had bodies that really emphasized their curves.
Out of every five around me just now, four fit the bill.
‘Small frames are treasures here—opposite of my past life.’
Generally bustier, too.
Seeing hips as full as the rest sparked genuine curiosity.
‘But how do they fight with bodies like that?’
Wouldn't it slow them down or cramp their movements? Maybe a prejudice.
Such sights sometimes made my body react like a hormone-fueled teen—heart pounding, blood rushing south.
I'd pinch myself under the robe to calm down.
‘Other thoughts, other thoughts, other thoughts.’
I snapped to when a familiar voice hit my ears. Somehow, I was already at the counter.
“You're here. Ears look regenerated—must've taken on a fresh request.”
“Ah... not quite, but I've got a quick question today. Mind if I ask?”
“Fine until another customer shows. Shoot.”
No telling when that'd be, so I got right to it.
“Wondering about the level of requests high-rank warriors solo. How do I stack up?”
If he could read mana, he'd already peg me as high-rank. The deep blue hue, plus subjugation proofs screaming melee, not magic.
“Even high-ranks solo mostly Rank 5s, occasional Rank 4s. ‘Gray,’ you haven't cleared a Rank 4 yet, right?”
Calling me ‘Gray’ jogged my memory—it was my mercenary name.
I'd stuck to Rank 6s and 5s. Was I too cautious, or just not there yet?
“What about three Rabbit Dogs?”
I based it on my latest run-in.
Last time—when I lost my ear—it was a standard two-Rabbit-Dog subjugation.
An unlisted third crashed the party. After agonizing, I trusted myself, fought on, and paid with my ear to its claw.
Costly, but I won.
“Three Rabbit Dogs? Decent high-rank warrior territory. Mid-ranks need four for that.”
Meaning I was entry-level high-rank at worst—ear be damned, I'd succeeded.
“Any tips on finding a party?”
He gave me a pitying look.
“Usually, folks watch you turn in proofs here, gauge your level, then approach or recruit. Or get referrals at the right-passage counter. But... Gray, you look tough to approach. Plus, no mercenary profile filled out for referrals—no combat specialties or rank listed.”
‘Left those fields blank on my profile. Gotta fix that first.’
One thing bugged me, though.
Why hard to approach?
“What makes me unapproachable?”
“Your vibe's too dark. Wrapped in that drab gray robe, black hair, dark brown eyes, don't-talk-to-me face, sharp glare screaming bad temper. Whoops, sorry.”