I Picked Up the Defective Stock (2)
My first party member turned out better than expected.
The elderly mage Ainz.
His appearance would have suited a nursing home far better than a battlefield, yet his eyes were clear and his speech carried a peculiar, unhurried ease. Honestly, among the unaffiliated applicants, he was a solid catch.
The problem was that a party could not run on a single mage alone.
"Let's see the next applicant."
The clerk flipped through the file with mechanical indifference.
The second name that caught my eye was a knight called Gerard.
His evaluation was impressive. Both swordsmanship and stamina graded at the highest level. No criminal record whatsoever, and his mission conduct listed as excellent. At this point it was hard to understand why he was still unaffiliated.
"Why hasn't this one sold?"
In answer, the clerk wordlessly pushed the conditions sheet toward me.
Private room required.
No interference in personal life.
No unauthorized entry.
Regular leave guaranteed.
If something urgent came up, prior notice the day before was acceptable.
In short, a man who treated his alone time like a matter of life and death. The conditions were picky, sure, but compared to the noble young masters and hopeless drunkards I'd just seen, this was practically gentlemanly.
"Seems pretty decent to me."
At my reaction the clerk's expression turned subtle.
"If you only look at the conditions, yes."
"So there's another reason?"
"He had severe friction with several heroes."
"Friction?"
"He never compromised on his conditions, and opinions clashed often, from what I hear."
Heroes as a profession tended to have pride that scraped the heavens. The title of hero chosen by the gods wasn't slapped on for nothing. Which meant Gerard was the type who had not the slightest intention of coddling those arrogant heroes.
"His skill, though, is certain."
At the clerk's final remark I nodded.
"I'll meet him first."
A short while later I came face to face with Gerard at one side of the training grounds.
The first impression completely missed my expectations.
When you hear "knight," you picture a big, solid wall of a man, but the Gerard standing in front of me was nowhere near that image. His golden hair caught the sunlight and scattered softly; his white, smooth skin looked finer than most noble ladies'; even his soft facial lines and long lashes. At a glance you could easily mistake him for a woman.
Even as a man I had to admit it—he was an absurdly beautiful young man.
Yet a strangely unapproachable air hung around him. Maybe it was Gerard's cold, indifferent gaze. His eyes felt like an invisible wall pushing people away, a warning not to cross the line any further. With a face that pretty, his personality was clearly anything but.
That thought didn't last long.
The moment Gerard's hand settled on his sword hilt, what entered my eyes was no longer a handsome youth but a pure knight who lived by the blade. He didn't take any special stance or draw his sword. He merely rested his hand on the hilt, and the air around us grew noticeably heavier. Eyes from every corner of the training ground snapped to him at once, like herbivores sensing a predator's movement.
Even I, a complete amateur with the sword, could feel it instinctively.
This guy's the real deal.
No wonder he sat at the top of the evaluation rankings.
Then Gerard slowly looked at me.
"You got business with me?"
From the first word, not a shred of friendliness—just pure brusqueness.
"I came with a party offer."
"You read the conditions, I assume."
"That's your opening line?"
"It's the most important issue."
"You never considered I might refuse?"
"I did."
Gerard answered flatly.
"That's why I'm saying it first."
Definitely prickly to the bone. Strangely, though, I didn't feel annoyed. This was far more honest and clear-cut than the fake flattery from earlier.
"If you don't like it, you can leave."
"You always talk like that?"
"I hate wasting time."
I studied Gerard carefully for a moment. His personality definitely had edges. But his skill was just as solid. And in my current situation I had zero reason to kick a competent knight to the curb with my own two feet.
"Fine by me."
I smirked and held out my hand.
"I don't exactly have a mountain of options either."
At those words Gerard's expression flickered, just barely, as if he'd heard something he never expected.
"Same here."
And just like that, my second party member joined.
The third applicant was the goblin thief Drake.
"A goblin this time?"
"More precisely, the goblin representative of the Green Skin Union."
The clerk flipped through the documents and explained carefully. In the past, green-skinned races like goblins, orcs, and trolls had been classified as humanity's bitter enemies. Because of that they had suffered persecution no different from monsters or magical beasts, and in severe cases were even lumped in with the demonkin. But the swelling power of the Demon King's army had forced a sudden change. Humanity could no longer handle it alone.
"So they joined hands?"
"Yes. Of course the process was far from smooth. Humans who had treated them like monsters suddenly showed up demanding an alliance, after all."
Put yourself in their shoes and your blood would reverse direction. Beyond mere unpleasantness—you could slap them across the face and they'd have no right to complain.
"Even so, the Green Skin Union accepted the proposal. If the Demon King won, they would be destroyed as well."
Joining hands with yesterday's enemy to fight a common foe.
"For this 26th generation, as a symbol of the alliance, representatives of each race were dispatched as hero-party applicants. The orc representative, the troll representative, and the goblin representative—all of them top-tier fighters among their peoples."
"So they're incredible talents, right?"
"Correct."
The clerk nodded.
"The orc representative was recruited on the very first day of selection."
"Why?"
"Because he's an orc."
"Instant understanding."
Orcs with overwhelming physical power. That strength needed no explanation.
"The troll representative found a place just as quickly."
"Because of their shamanism?"
The clerk looked mildly surprised.
"You know your stuff."
"More or less."
"Troll shamanism operates on an entirely different system from ordinary magic. In terms of rarity alone, it's valued higher than a high-ranking mage."
With that much value, you could chew up any prejudice and recruit them anyway.
"Then why is the goblin representative still left?"
The clerk let out a deep sigh.
"Prejudice. Though of course it isn't only prejudice."
He pushed the evaluation sheet toward me.
Scouting ability: excellent.
Tracking ability: excellent.
Infiltration ability: excellent.
Survival ability: excellent.
"The conditions look great."
"They are. He truly is an outstanding talent."
"Then why?"
"The limits of his position. Drake's role is scout."
That was when it vaguely clicked. Scouting and infiltration were fine abilities, but the substitutes were far too numerous. Elven archers, human scouts, beastkin trackers, and so on. From a hero's perspective there was simply no merit in choosing a suspicious goblin.
In the end it wasn't a flaw in ability. The problem was that he lacked the overwhelming "irreplaceability" needed to smash through the wall of prejudice against goblins. Orcs crushed prejudice with strength beyond the norm; trolls proved their worth with unique shamanism. But even though Drake was a capable scout, people simply thought of other races to fill that seat first. That was the tragic reason he had been left behind.
By my common sense it made no sense at all. Usable ability right now mattered more than race or prejudice, didn't it?
When I actually met Drake, the sight gave me a fresh shock. He was nothing like the goblin image I'd drawn in my head. In the fantasy stories of my previous life, goblins were usually small, vile, ugly monsters—the sort of visual that leapt out of dark caves swinging crude weapons. The Drake in front of me was completely different. Aside from his compact build, green skin, and pointed ears, he looked almost human. If anything, his features were sharp and clean.
That's a goblin?
I could have believed he was just a human with green skin.
When I stared at him without thinking, he broke the silence first.
"What are you staring at?"
His voice was calm, yet it carried a strangely familiar edge, as if he had spent a lifetime receiving that wary gaze.
"Nothing."
I spoke my honest feelings.
"You're more ordinary than I expected. I thought you'd look a lot more grotesque and scary."
One of Drake's eyebrows climbed.
"Ordinary?"
A chilly silence hung for a moment. Just as I wondered whether I'd misspoken, Drake let out a short snort of laughter.
"Interesting human. Most people wrinkle their noses and say I'm disgusting or look like a monster. 'Ordinary' is a first in my whole life."
"I just said what I saw."
"That's exactly what's stranger."
Drake gave a light shrug.
"Humans usually grab their sword hilts the moment they see a goblin."
The line was tossed out casually, yet a faint bitterness clung to it. Given the long history of racial grudges, that was probably the natural outcome. But it wasn't my business. All that mattered to me was ability, and the specs written on the Management Bureau's documents for Drake were more than overflowing.
"So."
I held out my hand without hesitation.
"Want to come with me?"
Drake stared down at the offered hand for a moment, then gave a small, hollow laugh.
"You won't regret it?"
"Why?"
"I'm a goblin."
"So?"
"..."
Drake's quiet gaze rested on me. In his eyes I must have looked like a truly bizarre human. Barely a day ago, at the examination hall, I'd been the failing hero everyone pointed at for the absurd reason of guessing the bureau chief's underwear color. Honestly, most people had been certain that party would fall apart in no time. Not just him—most of the unaffiliated applicants had written me off and laughed. That was why none of them had approached.
Yet when the lid was opened, it was completely different from expectations. A human who neither eyed him with hostility for the innate limit of being a goblin nor looked through the lens of old prejudice, but simply faced his ability head-on.
In that moment Drake felt something strange stir in a corner of his chest. He had spent his entire life as the victim of prejudice. Despised and undervalued for no reason other than being a goblin. Yet he himself had been committing the same error—judging the human in front of him based only on rumor.
The pathetic hero who guessed the bureau chief's underwear.
To have been swayed by that shallow gossip and looked at the man through tinted glasses was truly ridiculous.
"...Keh keh."
Drake let out a low chuckle.
"I accept the offer."
He gripped my outstretched hand firmly.
"Looks like I've reeled in a surprisingly decent hero."
It was a short handshake, yet in that moment the tightly shut wariness in him melted away like snow. And just like that, my third companion was filled in.
That evening I gathered with my newly recruited party members at a shabby restaurant.
Hero, mage, knight, thief. Looking only at the lineup, it was a fairly respectable combination. The problem was that most of us had only just met today and the atmosphere was stiff.
I broke the smothering silence first.
"For starters, let's do names and self-introductions."
Ainz stepped up first.
"I am called Ainz. As you can see, an old mage."
"Is that all?"
"My hobby is light reading, and lately my knees ache whenever rain is coming."
"I didn't ask about that."
"Important information. At this age, the condition of one's knees takes priority over magic."
Oddly persuasive in a strange place.
"Still, I can handle magic well enough to make a living."
"How long have you been at it?"
"About sixty years of grinding away."
"You can't call that 'handling it casually.'"
Ainz merely chuckled, "Ho ho."
Next Drake casually raised a hand.
"Goblin thief Drake."
He sank deep into his chair and grinned.
"Scouting, tracking, and infiltration are my specialties. I'm also pretty confident at running away."
"That last one sounds weird."
"Keh keh, nonsense. Surviving on the battlefield is the greatest value there is."
I couldn't argue; it wasn't wrong.
Finally I looked at Gerard, who sat bolt upright.
"You?"
"Gerard."
End.
"That's it?"
"I stated my name."
"Self-introductions usually include other information."
"I am a knight."
"Hobbies?"
"None."
"Favorite food?"
"Why should I tell the likes of you?"
As expected, his manners were bottomless. Drake, watching from the side, seemed equally exasperated and snorted.
"Hey, knight. Do people often tell you that you have no friends?"
Gerard's brow twitched.
"Why bring that up all of a sudden?"
"Just checking."
Drake propped his chin and smiled slyly.
"I suddenly understand why an outstanding talent like you was left rotting as leftover stock."
Gerard gave him a chilly stare for a moment, then snorted.
"I have no hobby of making friends with weeds."
"Are you openly comparing goblins to weeds right now?"
"Don't overestimate yourself, goblin."
Gerard shot back in a voice like ice.
"Weeds grow back even after you pull them. You don't."
"Kehaha!"
Drake instead clutched his stomach and roared with laughter.
"What a filthy personality."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
The party's future already looked bleak.
Then Gerard crossed his arms and threw a sharp question.
"So when is the priest arriving? Gathering time is long past."
I quietly averted my eyes.
"...There isn't one."
"Absent today, you mean?"
"No. Our party was never assigned a priest in the first place."
At that confession Drake immediately pressed a hand to his forehead.
"Oh boy, hero. When you form a party, locking down a priest first is the most basic of basics, isn't it?"
"I tried to get one. There just weren't many applicants to begin with."
Ainz took a gentle sip of tea and chimed in.
"Priest applicants are usually few."
"Why is that?"
"Normally a saint or saintess joins a hero's party."
"Ah."
"So ordinary priests rarely apply."
Ainz set his cup down and continued in a low voice.
"Of course there are exceptions. When the saint is too young, injured, or unable to move due to church circumstances. In those cases the church itself, not the Management Bureau, attaches a proxy."
"Then what exactly are the priests stuck on the Management Bureau's unaffiliated list?"
At my question Ainz chuckled, "Ho ho."
"Young Zick, you checked the files yourself, did you not?"
Remembering them made me dizzy. Fraud conviction. Severe gambling addiction. And a healing-miracle failure rate of a full forty percent.
Drake immediately recoiled and fired back.
"That's not a healer—that's an assassin trying to bury the party, isn't it?"
I agreed a hundred percent.
In that moment an ominous question flashed through my mind.
"Wait a second. Then what happens to me from now on?"
"Is there a problem?"
"The god who chose me still hasn't been revealed."
"True."
"So of course there won't be any saint or saintess matched to me."
"You'll probably be completely isolated."
"No backing church either."
"Likely."
"...So I'm completely alone?"
Drake stroked his chin and clicked his tongue.
"Hearing it like this, the hero is less a hero and more an orphan."
"Hey."
"No saintess, no backing temple, no pull of any kind. A more pitiful situation than I thought. Yes."
Ainz quietly nodded in agreement.
"Certainly a strange case with few precedents."
"Isn't this an extremely serious issue?"
"Oh, it's serious all right."
He admitted it so calmly that I lost my words. But Ainz soon showed a kindly smile.
"Even so, you are still on the lucky side."
"Excuse me?"
The old man tapped himself with his staff.
"You have a mage."
He turned his head toward Gerard.
"And a skilled knight."
Finally he pointed at Drake.
"Plus a scout secured."
Drake preened and shrugged.
"A scout with guaranteed skill doesn't come cheap."
"So there's no need to rush too much."
Ainz sipped his tea again.
"Parties always start in a state of lack."
"Is that so?"
"Not having a priest right this moment won't kill you. Though you'll certainly need one if you want to last long."
At that advice Gerard also gave a silent nod of agreement.
"Correct. Potions alone have their limits."
The conclusion was set. We absolutely had to obtain a priest. But fretting about it right now wouldn't make a healer drop from the sky.
"So starting tomorrow, diligently pound the pavement."
"In the end that's what it comes down to."
"Ho ho, what is youth? The privilege of using your body and rolling around."
It wasn't a grand solution, yet the anxiety that had been churning oddly settled. The years weathered by an old mage seemed to hold the power to stabilize people psychologically like this.
It was right then.
"Excuse me."
An unfamiliar voice cut into the table.
All four of us reflexively turned our heads.
Dazzling pink hair. Large round glasses that covered half his face. A travel bag as big as his body. And a harmless, good-natured smile.
The unfamiliar young man politely bowed toward us.
"Would you happen to be Sir Zick?"
"I am, but..."
The young man's eyes lit up and he beamed.
"By any chance, does your party need a porter to handle all the dirty work?"
Gerard's eyes narrowed in an instant. Drake's fingers were already drifting naturally toward the knife at his waist. Only Ainz's eyes sparkled with interest.
The young man paid no mind to our murderous stares and wary postures and drove the wedge in softly.
"If you happen to be inquiring after a capable priest..."
The corners of his mouth curved a little deeper into a crescent.
"I might be able to offer a small bit of help."