To peel. Nothing but that. To peel vegetables with single-minded focus.
It’s a task that one gets used to from helping out with caravans. The trick is to set a steady cutting line and maintain it from start to finish without wavering. When done right, the vegetable peels away as if it was made to do so from the start.
Still, it’s quite the sight to see a novice adventurer, with his jade badge, bending slightly to peel vegetables.
“Until you reach the lower ranks, that’s all it is.”
With a smooth finish, Fidelio peeled a carrot and tossed it into the basket while beginning to speak hesitantly.
“Jobs in the lower ranks are mostly menial tasks: fixing roof tiles, finding lost cats, cleaning the gutters, and plenty of requests for carrying or transporting goods.”
“Well, I expected it to be pretty mundane work.”
It wasn’t as though he had joined with fantasies of becoming a grand adventurer from the start. Proper foreknowledge ensures no disillusionment when faced with reality. With the right information beforehand, there’s no risk of being overwhelmed by the gap between expectations and the industry’s reality, leading to resignation.
Ah, this carrot has a slightly bad spot. It’s only a small part, so if I carve it out, it should still be edible.
“There aren’t many of the heroic foes described in tales. You won’t find monstrous creatures causing chaos near urban areas. Neither will you find dangerous caves full of strange creatures close by. Neither of those happen. Even situations where a magical beast prevents woodcutters from entering a nearby forest are rare.”
“So, they’re all dealt with first to ensure safety?”
“Exactly. It’d be impossible to live here if we couldn’t even gather herbs for our meals due to dangerous situations.”
The reality where stepping outside the city leads to an encounter with a monster is more of a game mechanic. In this world, where both magical and mundane realities coexist, such rules simply don’t apply. If the economic zones were fraught with such danger, human civilization wouldn’t endure.
Thus, it’s rare for brigands to openly operate around towns, and there’s no endless spawning of monsters that perpetually cause problems, leading to entire manors being wiped out without reprieve. In fact, if such urgent requests existed, the liege lord would surely summon knights to address the situation. After all, economic activities cannot halt even for a day without long-term repercussions, especially in remote regions serving as gateways to foreign lands. Such disruptions could harm the reputation of the Threefold Empire itself.
The work of adventurers is based on the idea that certain tasks are too tedious to do personally, so one might as well pay someone else a small fee to do them. Ideally, with some backing from larger organizations to guarantee minimal competence, matters can be more easily handled.
“Once you reach the crimson rank, you may start getting more active assignments, like delivering letters or messages to distant manors, or cheap guard jobs where they just need to fill numbers.”
“How about brigand eradication? I heard there’s been a lot of that around here?”
“Hmm, that’s a bit tricky.”
Apparently, the brigands in this area are quite cunning, rarely settling in one place or attacking in predictable spots. Many of them are actually part-time locals who cleverly blend into society, making it difficult to distinguish them. There have even been tales of merchants conducting their raids under the guise of legitimate trade, leading to entire manors being wiped out without any real resistance.
It’s enough to make one groan at their cunning. They evade vigilant patrols and accomplished adventurers by thinking ahead, but for the victims, it’s nothing short of torment.
“So unless they’re completely foolish, they won’t post eradication requests. Staying in one place for too long is an invitation for trouble once you’ve lived here for a season or two.”
Instead, rewards for the heads of such brigands tend to be consistently high. A dead brigand’s head fetches about five libra, while a live one could bring in between ten to twenty libra, which is double to quadruple the average rates. For notorious leaders…
“I once received a bounty of forty drachmas for bringing in a head. Initially, it was only around five drachmas, but further investigations revealed numerous unsolved crimes, and the reward accumulated over time. I was quite surprised when I went to collect it.”
Forty… forty!?!
The unexpected number almost caused him to drop his vegetable. He could sense Margit pausing beside him.
That’s incredible—equivalent to about ten years’ worth of an average farmer’s income. In modern terms, that might be anywhere from 30 to 50 million yen. Clearly, the adversary had been formidable, but as a single job, such a profit was almost absurd.
It makes sense that such a capture would be immortalized in verse.
“Yes, though there are some heads with consistently large bounties.”
With a casualness that belied the staggering amount, Fidelio finished peeling another carrot and picked up the next one. He spoke about notorious outlaws whose infamous deeds warranted such extravagant rewards.
Eduardo of Fimia, known as the “Manor Crusher,” had wiped out seven manors across vast regions, using his lineage as his core strength. His methods were both bold and discreet, and so cunning that his victims recognized his name only after five years, when a survivor finally spoke of an otherwise mysterious monster.
Jonas Bartlinden, the runaway knight, infamous for leading a group including several mounted riders and a dozen foot soldiers, had repeatedly struck down patrolling officers. Once a knight on the frontier, a severe clash with authority led to his exile and subsequent transformation into a notorious bandit chief.
Then there was the infamous Fam Fatale, a group or perhaps even a single individual, camouflaged as a caravan prostitute. Little is known except that they infiltrate trade caravans, posing as prostitutes, and seize opportunities to strike at the right moment. Their beauty is said to be mesmerizing, allowing them to gather intelligence subtly, only for their victims to awaken as corpses in the morning camp—a tale bordering on urban legend.
“Defeating any of these will fetch no less than fifty drachmas, even for just their head. If captured alive, the bounty could rival that of the legendary ‘Gray King,’ who once struck terror across the southern provinces.”
“The Gray King…!?”
At the mention of the name, Margit’s tone unexpectedly sharpened.
The Gray King was the name given to the leader of a massive wolf pack that wreaked havoc for years in the southern part of the Threefold Empire, causing destruction comparable to war. A renowned sorcerer designed an elaborate trap where livestock fed on poison would become lethal, but the wolves somehow bypassed it entirely. The economic damage was such that the royal family put a bounty of a hundred drachmas on its head, an incredible sum.
Today, the great wolf’s dull gray fur cloak is worn by the head of the Baden family, a testament to its renown. Tales of its infamy live on, teaching lessons to children and immortalized in the poems celebrating the adventurers who vanquished it.
The fact that hunters could not capture this legendary wolf but amateurs like adventurers did, albeit with a ranger scout among their ranks, remains a significant “shame” in the southern hunters’ lineage, passed down through generations.
Such a comparison with a legendary monster must stir the hunter’s instincts in her. As refined as Margit normally behaved, one could see she was deeply rooted in the hunter’s code. Otherwise, one couldn’t imagine her, with her whimsical and feminine sensibilities, proudly dangling the tooth of a great wolf as a trophy.
“Well, you two have time to grow. Remember, adventurers are not an army, so overexertion is unnecessary. Adventuring should be about finding joy in exploration, not reckless bravado in pursuit of fame.”
Sensible advice, delivered with the wise tone of an elder advising children, but how much it penetrated Margit, whose instincts as a hunter had been teased, remained uncertain.
“With diligent work, promotion from the entry level should take no more than half a year. If by some stroke of luck, you join a significant capture, it could be quicker, but to avoid overly reckless newbies, the guild rarely grants exceptions. Don’t rush—it’s important.”
With those final warnings, the initial task of peeling vegetables was brought to a close.
“Wow, the three of you certainly sped things up! The peeling is immaculate—excellent work!”
The innkeeper inspected their handiwork with evident satisfaction and placed a new wooden box on the counter for their next task: cutting and prepping other vegetables.
Beside her, the inn’s husband—and perhaps “master of the inn,” as the title fit—busied themselves adding ingredients to a large pot. Judging from the contents, it appeared they were preparing a milk-based soup that day. The broth lacked the creamy consistency of a thick stew but possessed a simple sweetness that guaranteed deliciousness.
They worked steadily, peeling and prepping more vegetables until a temporary stop was called just before noon. They were thanked for the break after being assured that they’d be called for when the rice was ready. Tasks like bread baking or seasoning were likely secrets of the inn’s craft that weren’t meant to be shared.
Even with goodwill, there are lines merchants don’t cross—understandable. It’s preferable that boundaries are clear in any employment relationship—it makes it easier to function.
Under the awning, seated on a bench in a small courtyard, they drank water quietly while watching the gentle rain fall. Labor’s reward made even plain distilled water taste refreshing. Further labor awaited, and real refreshment would have to wait until evening.
“Still…”
The quiet murmuring drew attention. My childhood companion sat gazing intently at the water in her tightly gripped cup.
“There are many worthy prey in the provinces.”
Her amber eyes, shadowed by the overcast, gleamed a dull golden hue. Was it ambition burning within or some primal craving?
It’s no surprise—place hunters before significant game, especially legendary foes of this magnitude, and their zeal would surely rise. Especially for someone like us, both born in the provinces they prey upon. How could one ignore enemies that attack the very manors that sustain life, or raid supply caravans that keep livelihoods going?
How could we ignore them when they continue their pillage, feeding on the wealth painstakingly accumulated by daily labor, while our own homes could have faced the same fate?
Recalling how my own home might have suffered under such circumstances makes me nearly lose my sanity. Such villains deserve swift justice—strangled by their own guts, hung along the roads until they rot.
For anyone living in the provinces, the urge to see bandits strung high is as natural as breathing.
“So, should we go after them someday?”
I asked teasingly, but earnestly. She looked up sharply, her lips curling into a terrifying grin that bared unusually long canines, a sight far removed from her otherwise lovely features.
Just as the scent of blood tickled my nose. A long memory was stirred of that evening on the hill when her fangs pierced my earlobe in a binding promise.
“Hey, Erich.”
In reminiscing over how far we’ve come, my hand was suddenly grasped.
Apparently, the scents of blood weren’t just figments of memory. On my right thumb, a small bead of blood had formed.
“Oops… guess I cut myself?”
It likely happened while peeling vegetables, perhaps in shock from hearing about the forty drachma bounty? The shallow cut must have reopened while gripping the cup, so faint that I hadn’t noticed its presence until now.
Still, it’s an embarrassment for a swordsman to wound himself with his own blade. Such folly is worthy not only of blushing but even shame severe enough to warrant disemboweling oneself. The local militia would surely tease me mercilessly about it. Thankfully, this blunder occurred far from home.
I reached for the flask in my satchel, intending to disinfect the wound, but my hand was suddenly pulled forcefully.
The warmth of another body pressed against mine, followed by a unique, spine-tingling sensation.
Looking down, I found my thumb resting inside Margit’s mouth. Her wide, golden eyes gazed up at me as she carefully and thoroughly licked the wound with her tongue, far more attentively than necessary.
For what felt like an eternity, my world narrowed to the warm sensation of her tongue and the intensity of her gaze. The rainfall above seemed distant, as if the rest of my senses were fading, leaving only the tips of my fingers.
The timeless moment abruptly ended with a soft splash as my finger was withdrawn. A silvery strand connected her lips to the wound, stretching slowly before breaking with an almost reluctant grace.
The wound no longer bled.
“For now, I shall settle with this.”
As my childhood friend flashed a hunter’s smile, I returned it, a chill of sweet coldness creeping over me.
It dawned on me that perhaps everything within her sight might be her prey.
【TIPS】 The main square of Marsheim usually features only the bronze statue of the first Lord. However, during grand captures, it transforms into a massive celebration venue.
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Postscript
I hope this update will accompany your weekend. The next chapters will begin the toils labeled as “adventures,” though I assure you it won’t drag on endlessly.
Of course, my definition of “not long” may not inspire much trust, so it depends on my self-restraint with the pen.
The voting for This Light Novel is Incredible! 2021 is set to close tomorrow evening. If you find yourself undecided or without a prior choice, a vote would be appreciated. While navigating through content descriptions may be a task, it would contribute to the future of the book. Many thanks in advance.
