Chapter 55

Here is the English translation following your provided glossary:

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Episode 55

Star of Sodomora Hassan

055 ? Star of Sodomora Hassan #6

Luna said she was busy with paperwork and cleaning up the cabin.

“I have a lot of things to buy, and it looks like I’ll be busy today. See you tomorrow!”

“Alright.”

After parting ways with Luna in front of the inn, I headed back to the guild building. I didn’t have anything specific to do, and for some reason, I was haunted by the obsessive thought that I needed to become stronger.

So, just as Hippolyte had taught me, I was about to swing my sword a few times at the training dummies when I sensed movement behind me again.

Swoosh—

“…Is that you, Lady Hippolyte?”

“Oh? You guessed correctly without even turning around.”

Tsk, who else sneaks up on me like this besides her? No one else approaches me so casually.

Anyway, ignoring Hippolyte, I kept slamming my sword against the dummy—Pak! Pak!—just letting out my frustration. Nothing beats physically venting when I want to hit something and work off my anger.

Watching me, Hippolyte remarked,

“Training hard from the morning? That’s a good drive. I can see purpose in those swings. Still upset about losing, huh?”

Her words made me recall the duel from yesterday—if it could even be called a duel. I’d been thoroughly crushed with no room for resistance.

But I didn’t feel particularly wronged by the loss. It wasn’t a fair fight to begin with. To feel resentful, I’d have to have lost by a narrow margin or been evenly matched—but explaining all that is bothersome.

“I suppose so.”

“Hassan of Samaria. Thought you were just a common thug. Among your peers, you’re the least disappointing. Fine, I’ll correct your stance a bit.”

Swoosh.

Without hesitation, she stepped behind me, hands boldly adjusting my arms and grip.

Of course, all I felt was the hard touch of her armor—no flutters or anything—but my heart always skips a beat when someone invades my personal space so easily.

“Strike at a slightly angled motion like this—from the collarbone down to the ribs—”

She guided my hands, giving instructions, but honestly, I wasn’t paying attention.

Because Hippolyte’s scent—a mix of fragrant oil and a faint musk—was intoxicating enough to make any man’s bl**d rush south.

Like a wild beast. Terrifying, as if she might devour me.

“Good, you’re getting the hang of it. Still terrible, though, in every other way. Come by more often if you have time. I might glance over your form then.”

Having ‘corrected’ my stance (or whatever), she stepped back—probably off to her duties—when I casually called out to her retreating figure.

“Ah, Lady Hippolyte. How does one become a hero?”

After two years in this world, I’ve heard people tossing around words like ‘hero’ here and there—but I never thought it concerned me. Frankly, it still doesn’t. ‘Hero’? Sounds ridiculous.

“A hero?”

She turned just her head and shoulders slightly, looking at me like, What’s this fool getting at?

“You’re asking how to become a hero-class?”

“Yes. Is there some kind of certification or something?”

“There is. A license exists.”

Tsk, there really is one? I was just asking hypothetically.

“Where can I get it?”

“Follow the path of Mars, and you’ll naturally reach the answer.”

She pointed a finger at her own chest. Naturally, my eyes fixated on the prominent curve of her… armor.

Wait, is she bragging about her bust size? Not that it isn’t impressive—I’d felt it firsthand. Enough that one hand couldn’t even cover it—

“That’s a disturbing expression. What are you imagining? I’m referring to my identification tag.”

Ah—

Only then did I notice the glinting silver tag near her chest.

It’s like an adventurer’s rank indicator—changing material (iron, bronze, silver, gold) as one ascends tiers.

“Those who wear gold tags are called heroes. It stems from the great mentor Kairos, who gifted his disciples golden necklaces.”

No idea who this ‘great mentor’ is, but apparently, Gold Tier adventurers are called heroes. Or maybe those who enter the hero’s realm naturally become Gold Tier.

Either way, the golden tag counts as proof. Clarity, followed by dread, washed over me.

Elpride, who casually slings spells without incantations, or Hippolyte, cutting through the air with her sword—even the guild receptionist wielding that insane hammer is a Silver Tier.

What kind of monsters reach the realm of gold if not them?

“Reaching Gold Tier isn’t easy. Public reputation, popularity among citizens—many factors matter.”

“Wait, even popularity?”

“Many with great skill remain Silver due to cruelty or arrogance—Altaïr of the Minerva Guild is a prime example.”

Tsk, so I need public approval too? That might be the worst condition for me—Hassan of Samaria, widely mocked and scorned.

“But ambition is good. Aim higher, Hassan. And about last time—”

“Yes?”

“…Never mind.”

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After a cheap 2-copper burrito for lunch, I wandered the park. Hitting dummies just wasn’t my calling.

No amount of ordinary training will make me grow like others—my strength might take weeks, months, or years to increase by just 1.

“Long live Chaos.”

Ding—

[Name: Hassan Lv. 8

Strength: 3

Agility: 2

Stamina: 3

Tasks: 57

Blessings: Blessing of Chaos | Clumsy Hands | Cloak of Night]

Scowling at the floating text—I have this strange ability others find fascinating. Using it, I can grow stronger than I am now.

But illegal medical practices here are punishable by stoning. Is there no loophole?

“Who do we have here? Looking quite sharp, Barbaroi.”

Wandering aimlessly, I ended up at Sodomora’s library—if you could call a cramped used-bookstore filled with moldy tomes a ‘library.’ Still, the knowledge here might refine my mind.

“So, Barbaroi, what brings you? If you’re hunting, the wilderness would be faster.”

The gaunt, ashen-haired librarian greeted me with dry humor—if you could call it that. The joke was lost on me. Maybe living buried in books does this to a person.

Clink—

Glancing at the blue name tag on his neck, I asked politely:

“Mr. Erimanthos. Do you have an encyclopedia or something?”

“An encyclopedia? We do. Planning to read it?”

“…That’s the idea.”

“Astounding!”

Tsk, what else would I do with it? For a second, I wanted to crack his skull open and peek inside.

“A knowledge-seeking Samaritan. Fascinating. But formalities first—show me your tag.”

I proudly presented my newly acquired bronze tag—proof of my rank as a Bronze Tier adventurer.

“Hassan of Samaria. Confirmed. Quite a ghastly necklace, though.”

He frowned at the fist-sized oyster shell hanging from my neck. Maybe his scholar’s senses picked up its supernatural aura.

“You wear that so casually? Its magic feels… insidious.”

“Doesn’t bother me. Can I get the book now?”

“Must be the Samaritan’s mental resistance. Wait here.”

He disappeared into the shelves, returning with a massive, heavy tome.

“Here. Lose or damage it, and you pay.”

“I’ll read it here at the table.”

“Fine.”

Settling in, I cracked open the thick book—”Know the Continent in One Volume!”

Tsk, same one as last time.

Flipping through, I scanned entries.

[Goddess of Night, Nox]

One of the primordial Protogenoi, ruling the dark night. Her power predates even Titan worship. She resides in Pluto’s deepest underground palace—Tartarus, a chaotic abyss even gods avoid. Her reclusive nature leaves much unknown.

So Luna’s mother is absurdly powerful.

Tsk, then why is Luna so weak? Not her real daughter?

Or… what if Nox is just a god-tier weakling? Like a Gigantamax Chikorita? Terrifying thought.

Flip, flip—

[Clepios]

A renowned healer from decades past, said to be from Calan, Babelia, or Kolkata. He could diagnose illnesses with a glance—until his skill became his downfall. He defied Pluto by resurrecting the dead, earning a d*ath sentence from Jupiter. After his father Apollo’s plea, he was freed and deified as the God of Healing—souring relations between Pluto and Jupiter. New medical laws now strictly forbid such acts.

So Clepios became a god of healing.

Tsk, diagnosing with just a glance? My wrist-reading is odd enough—this is downright supernatural.

No wonder illegal healing is so fiercely punished.

“Ask if you’re uncertain. I’ll humor you—I dislike ignorance, not learners.”

The bored librarian struck up conversation. With few visitors, he must’ve been starved for interaction.

“I have a question about medicine.”

“Medicine?”

His expression was like a kindergarteners asking about advanced mathematical conjectures—but soon, intrigue flickered in his eyes.

“A tragic field now. Go on.”

“More about legality—what defines illegal medical practice?”

“The Clepios Laws? Not detailed in that book. Let’s see—”

He pulled a thick legal code, flipping through.

“Ah, here. ‘Acts constituting illegal practice: First, treating patients without temple approval. Second, unlicensed healing magic. Third—’”

“How many are there?”

“A hundred and fifty-five.”

d*mn, too many to memorize. I cut to the point.

“Say I massage your palm—hypothetically—and relieve shoulder pain. Is that illegal?”

“You savages truly know nothing. By that logic, men groping women’s chests would be arrested. Mere massage isn’t medicine.”

Muttering about ‘wilderness quackery,’ he lost interest.

So massage is safe? Tsk, I’ve been needlessly paranoid. Though setting up a streetside massage parlor might draw too much attention. For now, I’ll stick to trusted individuals for Task points.

With my curiosity satisfied, I returned the book and stood—Luna should be done by now.

“See you, Barbaroi.”

“Next time.”

As I stepped outside—

“Tall, black hair. That’s him.”

“Are you Hassan of Samaria?”

Turning, I saw city guards armed with swords and shields. My legs trembled—what now?

“Wh-what’s this about?”

“No need for alarm. We’re not here to arrest you—we need your help. Do you know a woman named Luna?”

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[Author’s Note]

Thanks to your support, another illustration commission is underway! Can’t wait to see which scene or character it’ll feature—maybe one already shown, or yet to come!

As always, recommendations, comments, early reads, and coupons are welcome!

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