The first morning as an adventurer was not greeted by a refreshing sunrise but instead began under a dreary drizzle—a gloomy start that made me feel as though fate was once again thwarting me.
Beside me sat my childhood friend, suffering from the oppressive air pressure and lingering alcohol spirits, clutching his head in agony. The aftermath of last night’s banquet left the neighboring seats in a state of disarray.
To make matters worse, what was supposed to be breakfast was instead an assortment of last night’s leftovers. Clearly too heavy for morning consumption, it was a robust assembly that wasn’t light by any means.
Could this area, influenced heavily by both the Threefold Empire and foreign cultures, be an example of how leftover foods are used without hesitation to fuel hearty breakfasts?
“Hey, listen up,”
Across from me, Ebbo—who was dipping hardened black bread into a leftover tomato broth, still heavily affected by last night’s drinking—took the moment to speak.
“There’s this thing called a guildhouse, you know, mostly divided by clans. You can stay there even without being part of the clan, but the atmosphere, well, it’s not exactly pleasant.”
Apparently, yesterday, Lorans had instructed Ebbo to inform me of the town’s customs. Meanwhile, Lorans himself lay deep in slumber on his designated sofa. As I’ve noted before, with proper grooming, he could be quite handsome—a rather wasted potential.
I almost felt an urge to comb his disheveled hair, freshen his face, apply some makeup, and dress him properly—a habit I’ve developed after years of serving the Nobility.
It’s odd; in my previous life, this sort of attentiveness would have been a gratifying quirk, but in this life, it was merely part of the job, leaving me with a strange feeling.
I must get my act together because supporting myself is already a monumental task.
“Anyway, don’t get the wrong idea, our place is rather mild compared to others. There’s no demand for you to hand over all your money or endure any beatings or anything absurd like picking fights with someone unknown just to prove yourself.”
“Are there actually places like that?”
“Of course, we’re practically the same as the Yakuza with administrative badges dangling from our necks. It’s expected that the ruffians among us earn their daily bread through violence.”
Upon reflection, his statement made complete sense. It wouldn’t be reasonable for groups engaging in violence to be considered mild. In a mob, ethics vanish faster than alcohol. The ratio is evident in how aggressive these groups can become.
“Sorry to interrupt, but there are a few you should avoid entirely. One of the worst in this area is…”
Outside the city walls, under erected tents, there’s a congregation of nomads known as the Drifter’s Compact Guild. They’re numerous and diligent in completing tasks requiring large numbers, but they’re trapped in a cycle of poverty, submitting over sixty percent of their income as dues.
Furthermore, nestled in the nearly abandoned districts of the urban north—an area that shocks even those accustomed to the chaos of the Imperial Capital—resides the Baldur clan. Their dues are similar to the Lorans clan, but it’s rumored that their leader, a sorcerer, deals in ‘dangerous drugs,’ making him a problem in a different way.
The notorious Hailbron family is the worst of the worst. Consisting of criminals on the verge of incarceration, joining requires either surrendering all of one’s money, enduring vigilantism, or…
“There are even rumors of being forced to watch someone being killed in front of you. No doubt, they’re headless fools.”
“But why are such people allowed to exist…?”
“And why on earth would I want to join them in the first place?”
With a hand pressing her temple and the other absently spearing cooked beans with her fork, Margit voiced a highly reasonable question.
“Simple, it costs money to get rid of them. Besides, there are always those who admire what they do despite how incomprehensible it is.”
The answer came from Kevin, who had arrived with an alarming amount of grilled skewers that morning. He appeared to have rewarmed them over a fire in the courtyard, greedily biting into the oily food as he explained.
“Bottomline, as long as they keep to themselves within your own territory, the Lord doesn’t care. When it comes to non-taxpaying immigrants and drifters, protecting them is just wasteful. As long as it doesn’t harm the city, the adventurers and mercenaries are left to their own devices.”
“Which is why it’s crucial not to harm the soldiers and knights patrolling the area.”
“Exactly. Unlike us, their death impacts pensions and compensation funds. For those governing, doing anything that doesn’t affect municipal politics isn’t worth the trouble.”
So, as long as there’s no significant chaos, certain vices are overlooked. Truly, the benefits of cracking down on these groups are minimal. Yes, the city’s security is a concern, but if it remains unseen, it might as well not exist in this era. As long as they don’t disrupt the Lord’s profits and remain out of sight, the cost of dismantling them outweighs the profit.
Given the Lord operates like a businessman, there’s no point in investing in an unprofitable venture. The police may be given a budget to enforce the law, but while both serve to maintain order, this is where they differ.
In a city like the Imperial Capital, where the purpose is clear, things could be different. However, here, progress and chaos are inseparable in the periphery. Rather than depleting resources on uncontrollable elements, turning a blind eye might sometimes be the better option.
In fact, it’s not inconceivable that some might be quietly paid off to handle troublesome matters without causing a ruckus.
Indeed, human nature being what it is, certain practices seem unchanged regardless of the location. A society free of corruption appears to exist only in dreams.
Therefore, even those committing deeds do so with a measure of discretion to remain undetected. It all seems quite troublesome.
“Thank you for the advice. I’ll be sure to avoid any involvement.”
“Indeed, a wise man avoids danger.”
“That’s right. Watch out for those with matching tattoos or colored banners.”
Given the importance of this lesson, I’ll ensure to stay vigilant. It reminds me of the color gangs when I was younger. Though they have since vanished due to stricter enforcement, experiencing something similar here feels surreal.
Ah, truly unsettling, my life as a professional adventurer is starting to feel real.
Recalling a moment while nibbling on my bread, I remembered something important I had forgotten yesterday due to other events. It was the name I learned from Henzel, the bald adventurer at the gate.
Could Fidelio also be someone dangerous?
I mentioned it to someone knowledgeable, leading Ebbo and Kevin to express surprise upon hearing the name.
“You mean Fidelio of the Kitten Inn? He’s Saint Fidelio!”
Saint? Another grand title seems to have emerged.
“In these parts, he’s a renowned adventurer that bards sometimes write poems about. A sort of traveling monk, wasn’t he originally a confessor?”
“Wait, wasn’t he a Chapel Knight?”
Apparently, originally affiliated with the chapel, Saint Fidelio was a monk. There’s a notable difference between the confessor monks who forgive sins through penance and the militant monks known for spreading their faith via the spear and horse hoof.
This comes from when I lived in the Imperial Capital and consulted Lady Cecilia about monks. She explained that there are two main types of monks in the world.
One is the cloistered monk, dedicated exclusively to serving the deity within the manor. This is the standard image of a monk—devouting themselves to the deity and aiding the commoners in need, often teaching lessons, focusing primarily on their own practices and divine service.
On the other side are the secular monks, those who have left the physical sanctuary of the chapel but are still recognized and ordained by the church.
They’re often called “itinerants,” monks who travel without a fixed chapel as their base. These monks leave the chapel due to personal philosophies or missions that cannot be fulfilled within the confines of the monastery.
Though different from the monks who abandon their faith, these monks maintain their ordination and leave for their own reasons. Some aim to spread faith to areas without chapels, while others choose to preach among the common people. There are even those who dedicate their lives to hunting heretics.
Despite varying personal missions, they share the common factor of having left the traditional chapels.
To say they all get along is a stretch. Some believe true faith is found only away from worldly affairs, while others argue that being confined to a chapel is impractical for serving the deity.
Regardless, Saint Fidelio left the chapel with some purpose and now operates as an adventurer.
A tall Human male, wielding a large spear and shield, he’s ranked jade, the third-highest adventurer class, which is exceptionally impressive given the topmost rank, purple, is more honorary.
“Um, which deity was Fidelio a monk for again?”
“Dunno. It wasn’t the War God or the God of Night Shadow, but I remember that.”
The business rival’s knowledge seems a bit vague. Or maybe they’re too high in rank to be considered competitors.
“Anyway, there’s no bad rumor about him. In fact, he’s known to be a good person who takes on unprofitable jobs if needed and looks down on corruption regardless of financial compensation.”
“Plus, he doesn’t have a clan. He leads a group, sure, but the members often participate in other clans or organizations, making him a non-threatening entity when it comes to the city’s balance. Though, since he’s popular among the commoners, antagonizing him might make shopping difficult.”
“Besides, it’s best not to anger him under any circumstances.”
A character with significant influence over the city without disrupting its balance. His tales seem to suggest significant strength.
I asked about any legendary anecdotes, and the square is where the bards regularly perform, recounting his exploits. Interestingly, I learned of an uncelebrated story.
Apparently, during his earlier days, a now-defunct clan had crossed him. Whether they were trying to extort or coerce him into their ranks is unclear, but they ended up kidnapping and harming the daughter of his favorite tavern.
Fidelio was furious and attacked the clan with his group head-on, shield in one hand and spear in the other.
In the end, the clan was utterly annihilated, its members scattered and unable to continue their business.
What’s more impressive is how he concluded the incident. He marched straight to the front of the palace, slammed a sack of gold coins on the gate, and declared:
“If my actions are deemed private warfare and thus unlawful, consider this my penance for eradicating your oversight and corruption! You should thank me; it was effortless!”
Moreover, he married the woman who was victimized and continues to cherish her, as well as the tavern, where he resides to this day.
“Wow… that’s impressive…”
I couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration. This story completely struck a chord with me. My spirits rose so high, the remaining alcohol in my system seemed eager to vacate quicker.
“You’re always fond of these types of stories, Erich…”
“Can’t help it; I think most men find these tales appealing. Right?”
Margit sighed, exasperated, but the others agreed with me. Stories like these definitely resonate with men.
“Alright, visiting him is your choice, but do be cautious.”
“Yeah, as much as he might be peaceful, adventurers rarely are that simple.”
Their warnings didn’t sink in, and by the time the afternoon came, my schedule was already set…
【Tips】Certain clanhouses practice vices that aren’t significant enough for the administration to intervene. Some of these entities survive by accepting small bribes to be overlooked, while others tread carefully with actions that could warrant capital punishment.
Modern ethics may find such situations harsh, but upon considering the logic and local context, such realities might, at times, seem unavoidable.
And despite the challenges and low profits, there’s always a steady stream of people eager to join such organizations. This is akin to why organized crime groups persist even today.
