Breathing heavily, I suppress the ragged gasps and sprint forward. Swinging my limbs, I synchronize my entire body into one cohesive mechanism. Extending forward, landing, then continuously pushing ahead, I become a single machine dedicated to the task at hand.
The rooftop is the epitome of uneven terrain. Being someone’s ceiling covered with roof tiles that serve as my makeshift ground, it is far from suitable for running. The irregular bumps created by the tiles mercilessly catch my toes and heels. Some tiles, weathered naturally, are cracked or loosely attached, easily giving way beneath my feet and threatening to trip me up.
The slope designed to channel rainwater only serves to make straight-ahead running more frustrating. My sense of balance is disrupted, and the tilted soles of my shoes cannot fully grip the surface properly. Once my equilibrium is lost, this sloped rooftop prevents me from regaining stability, making the situation more challenging. Just now, a seemingly sturdy tile tilted suddenly—probably due to a rotted foundation—and my body swayed to the right.
Swinging my arms to compensate, I forcibly plant my next step, slamming my foot to the left in an effort to regain my stance. My sides and thighs cry out in protest from the strenuous movements, but now isn’t the time to listen to them. Apparently, rooftops aren’t made for Human Races like me. They’re better suited for more elegant, lightweight species. While I might be able to mimic their actions to some extent, catching up to their agility is far beyond my abilities.
“Oh no!?”
There’s one reason I’ve been dashing around here, clumsily moving on foot. It’s because the person I need to chase has taken refuge up here.
Darting past the side of a tall winged being, the opponent has been provocatively choosing the hardest paths to navigate in order to evade me the whole time.
“Excuse me!”
“Another one of you humans!? Don’t be reckless—you’ll fall and die!”
I acknowledge the legitimate concern from a bird-like winged being holding a basket, presumably after a shopping trip, by raising my right hand. Of course, falling from a height equivalent to three stories isn’t something to take lightly—it’s about fifteen meters, roughly estimated. If you tumble down here, onto cobblestones or exposed soil, it’s fatal. At best, every bone in your body will end up pulverized. Even a perfect breakfall wouldn’t save you from severe injuries given the frailty of the Human Race. An unkind game master may not even let you roll for survival, smirking instead as they hand over a fresh character sheet.
My pursuer knows this and chose this location accordingly. “Pursue me if you must,” they seem to say, “but take responsibility for it yourself.” They occasionally glance back with a smirk, taunting me with a knowing expression. Damn them. Wait there, lad; I’ll catch up and bring you in.
Skipping from one rooftop to another, they sometimes land on precarious footholds barely wide enough for a step, before gracefully spanning heights that I couldn’t possibly clear in a single leap. All the while, I’m straining to keep pace. Curse it, I made a mistake with my stats earlier this summer. When deciding between boosting either my burst speed or endurance, I opted for endurance—now I’m too slow. Then again, thanks to my high durability, I haven’t been outrun entirely; perhaps I should be grateful for that.
However, their movement is absolutely magnificent. They choose precarious routes where I struggle, occasionally feigning turns to test my maneuverability. Despite the challenging paths, they show no signs of fatigue, pacing themselves impeccably to avoid exhausting their stamina.
Damn! Even after grand battles with elite guards and rangers in the imperial capital, how dare they treat me like a child!
“Ack!?”
Desperately thrusting out a foot, it spins uselessly in the air. The tile that looked perfectly fine until now slides forward upon impact toward the gentle slope. The world lurches sideways, the inertia within my body disrupted, leaving me completely unbalanced. No amount of flailing my arms and legs will help me regain control.
So, I abandon the futile resistance and let myself roll shoulder-first down the roof, sacrificing a single tile in the process to avoid tumbling completely down. My shoulder cries out in pain, but it’s far better than rolling down and crashing onto the ground below. Compared to ending up as a bloodied bag of broken bones, enduring the cost of replacing the tile and dealing with the pain is far preferable.
Besides, coming this far means that regardless of whether I succeed or fail, the mission itself won’t end in failure.
“Margit!”
“Hai!”
No sooner had I called out than a single arm sprouts from the gap between buildings the quarry was leaping across, grabbing its neck.
A shrill shriek emerges, akin to a cat’s protest. In fact, it might as well be the cat itself, or rather a cat raising the cry.
“Well, we’ve finally caught it…”
In Margit’s firm grasp is a cat. The feline, with a coat blending black, grey, and brown into a beautifully mixed rust color, thrashes all four limbs wildly, wriggling its entire body in an attempt to escape, but the hunter’s capable hand holds steady, refusing to budge.
“Ow, have some mercy, you fish thief!”
Indeed, the task we undertook today was to catch this thievery-prone cat. Delivering it to a certain individual was our assignment, the sole reason we sweated and chased it around for a paltry twenty aas salary.
“Excuses will be sorted at the white sands, I suppose. By the way, Erich, is your shoulder alright?”
“Oh, it’s a bit sore but fine. Soaking it in a bath for a while will set it right.”
I slammed my shoulder against the ground to stop the spin, but I was careful enough that it won’t hamper my upcoming activities. Since I managed a breakfall, there’s no harm to the rest of me.
“Also, this isn’t broken either.”
Nodding my chin toward it, the tile sits snugly in place, as though nothing happened.
Ah yes, fearing it might fall down and cause an accident, I caught it with an “Invisible Hand.” It would have been a disaster if dropping it resulted in injury or death.
“My partner really thinks of everything. Let’s hand over the culprit and collect our reward, shall we?”
“Yes. The compensation is modest compared to the pain, but it’s thoughtful nonetheless.”
Supporting my aching body, I descend to the ground with the cat. I carefully step down using the wall’s texture to reduce momentum, but I can’t help envying how Margit descends effortlessly using the spider’s “bookmark thread.”
Well, this is what adventurer work entails sometimes.
Yesterday, I roamed the city all day looking for lost items, stumbling over pebbles or cobblestones with my toes and searching for lost rings. Despite its trivial nature, it paid fifty aas, just enough to offset the dirtied clothes. The day before, I helped repair roofs, carrying tiles up and down tirelessly—work more fitting for a roofer or a plasterer. Yet, considering the cost of hiring skilled technicians could be two to four times that of adventurers, being frugal makes sense. Still, with a mere thirty aas payout, it brings tears to the eyes.
Three days ago, we somewhat ventured into proper adventurer territory by posing as bouncers at a tavern. After a half day of cleaning and washing dishes, I received an unexpected compliment for managing to not chip a single plate and wiping them clean. For that, each of us earned a meager ten aas.
Today, the chase across the rooftops after a cat ensued. Were I to show young adventurers this, they’d surely sigh deeply and slump their shoulders, realizing the harsh truth of what it means to be a beginner.
But it’s worthwhile. It’s a truly fulfilling beginner’s adventurer life. While I love the later levels where I can challenge esteemed monsters of legendary dungeons with great fanfare, there’s an unmistakable charm in these early trials.
A limited supply of resources naturally creates more exciting adventures. A single spell can solve many problems, but low-level characters with minimal MP must reserve energy for critical moments. Consequently, everyone thinks creatively to bypass these challenges—this is the essence of tabletop role-playing games, in my opinion. Unlike most games where using magic is the only option, we have a shape-shifting god at our service, providing endless possibilities. Imagine a world where every little obstacle doesn’t feel insurmountable. How marvelous that would be.
Though monotonous, these tasks are enjoyable through the lens of past fantasies. Margit appears a little weary, but we’ve established a once-every-three-days rest day to relieve stress together, and I hope she enjoys it. Anyway, dragging our weary bodies, we arrived here: the edge of the city wall, near the outer periphery.
This area is colloquially known as the “Garbage Heap,” a place where urban refuse eventually accumulates.
However, it’s not a site of illegal dumping with towering piles of civilization’s refuse, but rather a storage area for broken items and human waste collected by designated workers within the city. Surprisingly, it doesn’t smell terribly bad.
Here, reusable items are collected, with items that can be repaired taken home by carpenters for a small fee, and irreparable ones broken down for firewood. Human waste is carefully aged in containers, transforming into fertilizer. This fertilizer, piled in one corner, is as valuable as its monetary equivalent to farmers working outside the city walls, who eagerly arrive in large carts during the spring as part of the city’s annual routine.
A city is a living entity. For it to support so many inhabitants, it must maximize the use of its refuse. Truly, it’s an efficient and eco-friendly system.
Items that can’t be reused are disposed of into covered pits, ending up in the caustic alkaline liquid beneath the imperial capital’s sewers, designed to dissolve waste. Naturally, a branch of “the Great Cleaner” from Marsheim resides here, quietly managing our ongoing sins of existence.
Weaving through the cleaning staff and excrement collectors—who often bear tattoos marking prior criminal offenses, likely as part of their community service—we approach the grotesque “throne.”
This structure is a bizarre assemblage. Broken furniture and beds are haphazardly stacked and sheltered to resemble a pavilion, more akin to a clumsy wooden construction project hastily completed by a child on summer vacation.
On this throne of junk sits a grand feline ruler. Lord Ludwig is a cream-colored cat with a distinguished black marking on his face. His imposing figure boasts an elegant coat.
He’s called Lord not out of jest but because he truly is the ruler of the cats in this city.
In the major cities of the Threefold Empire, cats are protected as sanitary workers, preying on small vermin that could endanger public health. Historical data confirms that cities with more cats tend to have fewer epidemics—this tradition dates back to before the empire. While many small states practiced similar cat protections, the empire has continued the tradition for another reason—the existence of feline rulers like Lord Ludwig.
Surprisingly, when cats multiply in urban areas, an extraordinary cat emerges to lead them. If treated well, they contribute positively to the city’s welfare; if mistreated, they might vanish, taking important felines with them. Thus, the empire maintains a feline ruler in the public interest, and their subjects are treated with respect. Indeed, killing a cat, intentionally or otherwise, incurs a hefty fine of thirty libras, indicating just how cherished they are. They might even be more valued than certain individuals.
We brought the little rust-colored thief to Lord Ludwig based on his posted request. The feline rulers forbid their subjects from stealing from businesses, a rule they enforce to maintain the balance of urban life. Sometimes, individual cats disobey, and their leaders issue capture requests as punishment. Hence, adventurers are occasionally hired to chase after these misbehaving felines through the rooftops.
The grand cat, standing as dignified as ever, leapt gracefully to the ground and approached Margit’s hand, which held the captured rust-colored feline. The latter cowered markedly, her ears flattened, and her tail tucked tightly between her legs. A slight hissing sound was dismissed with a flick of Lord Ludwig’s nose, and after a close inspection, he intimidated the rust-colored feline with a terrifying glare that would make a human utter “whoa.”
Appearing satisfied with its submissive reaction, Lord Ludwig turned back to his throne and began grooming himself leisurely without as much as a glance in our direction.
With this, the case seems settled. Once Margit releases her grip, the rust-colored feline will bolt away at lightning speed—perhaps a relatively lenient punishment that’s heavy for cats. Surely, it will refrain from stealing fish from the shop again.
Resisting the urge to stroke and fondle his luscious fur, I bowed respectfully to the ruler before leaving his presence. The ruler, as usual, continues his meticulous grooming, ignoring our departure. Peace prevails, and all is well.
“With this twenty aas, our total purse is…”
“Common fund stands at thirty-five aas for now.”
On our way back to the adventurer guild to collect our fee, we chatted idly about various topics: today’s work, our next day off, and more, though today’s discussion centered on our finances.
With a five aas allowance per head and ten aas in the common purse, we weigh options: should we exert ourselves a bit more in the afternoon or perhaps do some light shopping for grocery savings? While our wallets aren’t exactly threadbare, the balance isn’t reassuring enough to let our guard down yet.
By the way, the common fund Margit mentioned is exclusively from our earnings since arriving in this city. Both our personal and communal funds are carefully locked in a box. We’ve chosen this self-imposed limitation to maintain a sense of purpose every day, similar to restrictions I applied in my previous life: spending only a thousand yen a day, or using the stairs for floors below the fifth. Also, if beginner adventurers get flush with cash too quickly, they might draw unwanted attention and misfortune.
“For the next day off, let’s shop for oil for the lantern and a few other things?”
“That’s fine. My hair ribbons are worn out, and I’d like to get new earrings too.”
“Getting more? But don’t you already have plenty?”
Indeed, Margit’s small but beautifully shaped ears were already adorned with quite a few trinkets. Most were round ornaments or simple stud earrings, but the dangling chain-style jewelry was limited to the pearl shell earrings we shared—recently, they didn’t swing much anymore.
While not entirely impractical, where could Margit possibly put more holes?
“Hmm, that’s tricky—but maybe… my tongue?”
“Your tongue!?”
“And maybe my navel.”
“Navel!?”
“What’s surprising? My mom has both.”
Oh, she had them and they did shock me the first time I saw! She was trying to open yet another unusual spot for piercings…
“It’s something I’ve neglected since becoming an adventurer. Thought it’d be nice to mark the occasion with a special one.”
“Hm… but isn’t it painful? I heard it takes time for the hole to stabilize.”
“Apparently, it doesn’t hurt too much, according to mom. With a tongue piercing, the healing is quicker since it’s inside the mouth. Although she did mention some difficulty speaking due to swelling for a while.”
Her casualness highlights another cultural gap between the Human Race and spiderkin. While some humans occasionally sport earrings, tongue and navel piercings aren’t commonplace. She’s also mentioned wanting tattoos to celebrate significant monster hunts. Her customs are hard to fully grasp.
Still, I admit she looks enchanting when she decorates her youthful demeanor with adult embellishments.
“Besides… if Erich does the piercing, I could endure the pain.”
A pleasurable shiver runs up from my tailbone to my neck as Margit, my childhood friend, suggests something startling. Despite being accustomed to slicing off enemies’ fingers and arms in battles, the thought of piercing her body feels entirely different.
Though I’m sure she knows exactly what she’s saying—she always does.
The question remains, how should I respond?
At that moment, a human male in ragged clothes brushes against my shoulder and quickly strides past, vanishing into the side alley without apology.
“Again?”
“Yeah, again.”
Sighing, I reply to Margit’s inquiry and withdraw my “two wallets” from my pocket.
One is my usual wallet, a crude pouch I bought after arriving here, holding a few silver and copper coins. The other is an even rougher fabric pouch, tied with a mysterious cord, containing a pathetic pile of copper coins.
We’ve been targeted by pickpockets frequently lately. Even with unassuming clothing, cleanliness seems to suggest wealth to some. Every few days, we get approached, likely due to being adventurers without much backing.
Still, as a small fee for their lesson, these less fortunate souls often receive a stone wrapped in rags in return for our wallets. They’re free to do as they wish—we have a few tricks up our sleeves.
For instance, the illusion of a pickpocket act requires no magic. Our skills in sleight of hand are honed without special training, allowing us to practice our art with ease.
With the current state of our funds, we can hardly afford dinner, but perhaps we’ll get a pot of tea?
“Margit, how about a cup of tea before heading to the guild?”
“Oh, what a pleasant invitation. I graciously accept.”
Before the clumsy thief returns to find his prize gone, let’s turn around and head home via the side street. Over a delicious cup of tea from the innkeeper, we’ll decide our afternoon plans. There’s something incredibly adventurer-like about these tranquil but tense moments.
Fiddling with the meager coins in my hand, I savor an indescribable sense of fulfillment…
The first day on the job is over, and Erich has inadvertently caught the attention he wasn’t seeking…
P.S. On tattoos: Created by needles to inscribe patterns under the skin, tattoos are cultural practices worldwide. In the Threefold Empire, they serve two purposes: ornamental and penal. While the fashion tattoos are for aesthetics, the penal ones bear specific symbols, marking visible criminals who’ve committed thefts, assaults, or robberies, serving as a deterrent.
The beginner adventurer’s work starts here, and Erich’s inadvertent drawing of attention.
Thank you to anyone reporting typos; your help is invaluable. If possible, kindly utilize the typo reporting feature—it saves a note solely pointing out errors from overshadowing the joys of receiving feedback. Due to recent updates, I haven’t had time to correct all errors yet, but once things settle, I’ll revise meticulously.
