Nozomanu Fushi no Boukensha (LN) - Volume 3 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Peculiar Man 

“Oh...? How very rare, to chance upon another person in these depths.” 

The man had a surprised expression on his face and spoke in a relatively non-threatening way, as if to declare he wasn’t a dangerous individual by any means. Upon closer inspection, he hardly looked like someone who bore me ill will. He didn’t seem like an adventurer of questionable morals, specifically the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to prey on their fellow adventurers. 

I still kept my guard up, for there was no way of knowing if my observations held water. At the very least, we should have a conversation. 

“I am... Surprised, as well. After all... No sane individual... Would wander. Into the depths of the... Swamp of Tarasque.” 

The man smiled at my response. 

“It is almost as if you claim you are not very sane yourself, kind sir. I do beg to differ, though, as I am very much in control of mine own faculties. In no small part to these—I assume you are similarly equipped?” 

The man held up what appeared to be a magical tool, one for nullifying the poison, if I had to guess. In addition, he was also armed with several vials of actual holy water, purchased from an established church, no doubt. In his other hand was a high-quality, well-annotated map of the swamp. Compared to myself, who charged into the swamp with nothing more than my unique constitution as my defense against the elements, this man seemed much more prepared. 

A seemingly true explorer of the Swamp of Tarasque. 

I lowered my head slightly at his words. I was hardly as prepared as he was, though that wasn’t a fact I had to disclose. 

My circumstances were quite different: my Undead constitution staved off the poison, and my divinity had gotten me out of a tight bind with a Tarasque. But I didn’t explain this to the man. 

I simply couldn’t. 

I only nodded, somewhat halfheartedly. 

“...It is, as you say.” 

“I see! As expected of one who challenges the swamp. On another note...are you here for Dragon Blood Blossoms as well?” 

“...Yes. You are after... The same? It is a good thing, that. We do not need to fight over... The flowers. To think another adventurer... Would arrive at the same time as myself.” 

Honestly speaking, few adventurers were capable of making it to this point. Even if they were skilled, purchasing the adequate equipment required a fair sum of coin. In addition, the typical adventurer wasn’t partial to exposing themselves to potent poisons on a regular basis. If an adventurer were truly skilled enough to trek through the Swamp of Tarasque, they would instead be exploring the labyrinth depths, and making good coin in the process. 

If one desired a Dragon Blood Blossom, however, this was the only place to go. Even so, few dared venture this far into the swamp.

Raising my head to look at the man again, I couldn’t help but notice his beauty. His skin was pale, almost like it had never been touched by the sun. There was a certain coldness to his features, accompanied by an almost unfeeling gaze. His face was framed by long tresses of silver hair, hosting the very look of a noble. 

At his waist was a rapier, and on one of his arms a well-made, lightweight metallic shield. For one reason or another, I couldn’t shake the notion that the man’s equipment was decorative more than useful. If anything, finer clothes suited this man; in fact, he would look at home in finery and formal dress alone, sword and shield be damned. 

The contrast between the dreary swamp and the finery of this man couldn’t be more striking. It wouldn’t be strange if he had ventured into the swamp for the express purpose of picking these flowers. 

“Ah, you see...” the man continued, “I am not an adventurer.” 

“...Is that right?” 

“Verily so. How should I describe it... I am something akin to a butler, serving a certain esteemed individual. My master desires Dragon Blood Blossoms on a regular basis, hence my trips here.” 

Unless I misheard the man, he was a butler, on orders from his master to gather Dragon Blood Blossoms. What a wonderful master-servant relationship, given the dangers involved. 

Turning toward the black mouse perched on my shoulder, I grunted, then turned back to face the man. 

Edel... This mouse would never do anything of the sort for me. 

Making a mental note not to expect much of anything from my familiar, I posed a question to the man: “...Forgive my. Bluntness. Is your master... Unwell?” 

“Ah, yes. I suppose you could say so. Recently, even getting up has been quite the chore... Frankly speaking, I should be at my master’s side right now, not out here picking flowers. Even so, it is undeniable that my master requires Dragon Blood Blossoms. While the extract could be easily made into a potent medicine, my master has developed quite the taste for...freshly-pressed flowers, if I may say so. Speaking of...would you happen to know of any methods to preserve freshly-extracted Dragon-Flower Blood? Perhaps you might have such knowledge, given that you are an adventurer...?” the man asked, somewhat inquisitively. 

While a Dragon Blood Blossom could be processed into medication, freshly-extracted Dragon-Flower Blood was much more potent. While I didn’t know the specifics as well as an herbalist would, I understood Dragon-Flower Blood degraded in a few days’ time and had to be used within that time frame. If one required a regular supply for any reason, one had no real choice other than visiting the swamp repeatedly. 

For the average person, this would be an impossible feat, requiring a great amount of resources and hard work. While a magical tool would remain potent and functional once purchased and adequately maintained, holy water was another matter. Given that a single bottle deprived the purchaser of a few gold coins, the protection it offered from the swamp was proven. 

While I had never given it much thought until now, the monopoly that churches had over the supply of holy water almost seemed illegal. 

Regardless, I had no idea how to preserve Dragon-Flower Blood. While I learned many tricks and skills from my short tenure as an herbalist’s apprentice, what the man was asking for was clearly beyond me. Even if such a method did exist, it was likely still undiscovered. 

“...No. If I did know... Such a method. I would... Stop adventuring and. Become an herbalist.” 

Such was my answer. A flat-out lie, given the fact that I had to become a Mithril-class adventurer. If I did discover such a method, I wouldn’t stop adventuring; even so, the man before me didn’t need to know this, either. I was, however, telling the truth when it came to not knowing very much on the specifics of preserving Dragon-Flower Blood. 

The man, as if expecting such a response, merely smiled. “I suppose so, yes,” he said, in a well-practiced manner. 

“I... Apologize. For being unable to help.” 

The man’s expression softened upon hearing my apology, an equally apologetic look tinting his features. “No, no. Please, do not worry of it. In fact, I should apologize for expecting so much from someone I have only just met. Think of it more as a casual question, good sir. Do not trouble yourself over it.” 

The man seemed genuinely apologetic. 

“Thank you for... Your concern.” I decided to offer some pleasantries of my own. “I am... Not. In the business of... Disappointing people I have just met. I would be glad... To help. If there is something I could... Do, however.” 

The man seemed taken aback at my words, and he paused momentarily as if in deep thought. “Is that right...? In that case...even if you do not bear the knowledge I seek, perhaps it is fortunate that I made your acquaintance on this day. My master would certainly feel that way.” 

I tilted my head, not exactly understanding the man’s statement. 

“Ah, I do apologize. I occasionally get lost in mine own thoughts. I refer to what you mentioned prior, if there was anything you could do to help.” 

“I did say... That. Yes.” 

“To tell the truth, we have been searching for a reliable party to bring us Dragon Blood Blossoms at regular intervals. The search is not progressing well, of course...” 

“Hoh...?” 

I suppose that would be the case. If the adventurer in question was of a high rank, it wouldn’t be in their best interests to continually expose themselves to the Swamp of Tarasque. Even if the rewards were grand, or in some cases of questionable legality, most adventurers would refuse such a request if there were no good reasons behind it. 

This was why that orphanage girl, Alize, was so troubled. If the details of the request weren’t so difficult, someone would have surely aided her with it, given the client was an orphanage. 

A sudden thought flashed across my mind— 

“...I see. By reliable party... Do you mean. Me?” 

“Quite so. I do apologize for the reckless nature of this request. We will, of course, submit a formal series of requests via the guild, and arrange for an agreeable set of contracts and rewards. If you will accept, I would be most indebted... Please do forgive me for asking after all this time, but you are an adventurer, yes?” 

It was almost like he already knew I was an adventurer. I supposed I should introduce myself, then. 

I told the man my name and adventurer rank: “Yes. I am a Bronze-Class... Adventurer. Rentt... Vivie. I am here because of... A request. I picked up.” 

Yet another surprised expression crossed the man’s features. I understood the reason for this: my adventurer rank, if nothing else. 

“...I would not have thought you would be a Bronze-class adventurer...” the man continued. 

“Are you less... Eager. To entrust me with the... Task, now?” 

The man shook his head. “No, nothing of the sort. I was indeed surprised at your rank, but that was all. The fact that you stand before me uninjured is a testament to your skill. I would be honored if you would accept our request, or at least consider it, good sir.” 

“...You are a strange. One.” 

The average person wouldn’t think much of entrusting a Bronze-class adventurer with such a task. But the man hardly seemed bothered by my rank. I suppose he was more concerned with my actual abilities. 

Personally, I didn’t know if I was up to the task, but the fact that someone else felt that way brought some joy to my heart. 

The man, as if remembering something important, continued on. “Ah, yes... How careless of me. My name is Isaac Hart. Do feel free to call me Isaac. I would introduce you to my master...but of course, only after the formal proceedings are in place.” 

Although I ended up having quite a discussion with Isaac, the Swamp of Tarasque was hardly a place for such lengthy conversations. Now we both knew we had reliable means to combat the swamp’s poison; we hardly would have stayed to talk otherwise. Even if one was impervious to the poison, the same could not be said for one’s possessions. The best equipment could be corroded by unnecessary exposure to the swamp. Isaac, however, seemed to have noticed this before I raised my concerns on the matter. 

“It would seem like our discussion has gone on for some time. I do apologize. I must return soon, with flowers of my own, of course. By your leave, good sir,” Isaac said, bowing his head slightly as he ended the conversation. 

I suppose we both had to get going relatively soon. 

“...Yes.” I nodded in response. “About the request... I will await contact. From the guild. Is that... Acceptable?” 

“Yes, that is fine. We will be formally requesting you through the guild; good of them to contact you on our behalf. Even so...I hardly think anyone would accept this request—other than you, that is,” Isaac said, a wry smile flitting across his face. 

That much was true; one would be hard-pressed to find an adventurer who was willing to enter the swamp in the first place, much less at regular intervals for the purposes of flower-picking. Enough coin would send one skilled adventurer on a single trip, but there were some things even money couldn’t readily buy. 

Few adventurers would be convinced to ruin their health in this fashion; an adventurer’s body was their greatest asset, after all. Even if the profits were great, a sick adventurer would eventually become a hungry one. 

I was an outlier, being unaffected by the swamp’s effects in general. I suppose it also goes without saying that individuals like me were exceedingly rare. 

I nodded, before giving Isaac a quick wave of farewell. Waving back, Isaac seemed somewhat pleased by the outcome of our conversation. He also seemed pleased enough to throw something in my general direction. 

I caught the item with a free hand. “...A bottle of holy... Water?” 

Isaac offered an explanation as I tilted my head, confused. 

“Please, do use it if you would like. It seemed like you did not have any on your person,” Isaac said, somewhat concerned. 

How did he know this? Curious, I asked Isaac for an explanation. 

“Why do you... Think so?” 

“Holy water has a particular smell to it, you see. Nonetheless, it would seem like you possess other methods of protection. While this is a walled garden protected by the Dragon Blood Blossoms, I sense something even more pure on your very person.” 

The Swamp of Tarasque was many things, but it was also a place that smelled...adequately terrible. Between the poison in the air and the muck on the ground, this much was understood. 

This garden of crimson blossoms also had a stench of its own, namely, the overwhelming fragrance of the Dragon Blood Blossoms themselves. Maybe it was the fact that these flowers purified the poison and miasma, or perhaps they smelled this way for some other reason altogether. 

Either way, one would be hard-pressed to smell anything in this garden, let alone the alleged smell of holy water. 

While holy water did have a unique smell to it, its fragrance would eventually diffuse into the air with time, much like perfume. In fact, one only had to walk past a priest or a healer of the Church in a town to smell such a fragrance. Could this man really discern such a faint smell here, amidst the stench of the swamp and the thick fragrance of the blossoms? Or perhaps he was confident in his sense of smell...? 

No, there has to be more to this. 

He mentioned he could “sense something even more pure.” My divine aura, I suppose? 

There was also the fact that he had ventured into the Swamp of Tarasque alone. Maybe there was more to this man than I thought, skills and appearances aside. 

“...I see you have... A good eye. I am able... To use divinity, you see.” 

It wasn’t something I had to hide. While few humans had the ability to channel divinity, such individuals did exist. After all, I hadn’t even run into Sister Lillian, who had taken care of the orphanage all her life, on the streets of Maalt. 

Having reserves of divinity within oneself wasn’t something worth fussing over, nor was it worth hiding, especially before someone who had already noticed me utilizing it. 

With this, I could safely assume Isaac possessed honed senses, and for some reason I felt like I could trust him. At least, when it came to not carelessly disclosing information. 

As if agreeing with my assessment, Isaac nodded. “As I suspected, good sir. Well, then...was the holy water an unnecessary gesture?” 

“... No. In fact, I am... Grateful. Although I made it here... In one piece. I was having doubts... About the return trip. I am thankful... You have aided me with such... A blessing.” 

“Is that so? I am glad I was of assistance.” 

“...But. Is this really all right...? This is quite... An expensive item. I can tell from the... Bottle alone. In fact... It is a top-grade... Bottle of holy water... Blessed. By the Church of Lobelia.” 

The Church of Lobelia... This church in particular didn’t have much of a presence in Yaaran, but it wielded immense power and clout in the great kingdoms to the west. While they did have a church established in Maalt, its congregation was relatively small. 

Despite its size and lack of presence in Maalt, however, they did sell high-grade holy water, albeit at a price that bucked all market trends of whatever location they had set themselves up in. 

To be precise, the bottles weren’t exactly sold so much as they were rewarded to those who showed great faith...and also to those who donated large sums of coin to the church. A transaction in some ways, but at the same time not quite an outright sale. The higher the donation, the more potent the grade of the holy water. Higher grades of holy water, in turn, were housed in increasingly ornate bottles. Even holy water had different grades to it: although basic holy water could be sold by various churches, high-quality bottles could only be made by churches that possessed the means to produce them. 

Various factors determined a bottle of holy water’s grade: the duration of its effect, its density, fragrance, transparency... Variations in each of these factors could greatly alter the value of a bottle. The Church of Lobelia’s top-grade bottles, on the other hand, were in a class of their own. A single drop from these bottles had as much potency as an entire bottle’s worth of lower-grade holy water from other institutions. Under normal circumstances, one wouldn’t give such a bottle to a stranger casually. 

But Isaac just shook his head. 

“Would you not need it later? I simply thought it made sense to hand it to you here and now.” 

Isaac’s statement struck me as slightly odd; I hadn’t even agreed to the request at hand yet. Was he acting on the assumption that I would do so? 

Even so... 

“Did you not think... I could simply run off with... This bottle. Without accepting your... Request?” 

“If that does happen, good sir, well, then that is that. I suppose I would have been a bad judge of character in that case. In addition, neither my master nor myself are in dire financial straits, so to speak.” 

It would appear Isaac and his master have enough coin to throw around, seeing as they were wealthy enough to be offering top-grade bottles of Lobelia holy water to strangers. 

I was somewhat envious of their finances, though I suppose this was why they had issues finding someone to fulfill their request in the first place. Now, if an adventurer was offered aid here and now, the chances of them accepting such a request would increase. 

As expected, even I found it difficult to refuse, especially after Isaac’s gesture of charity. I hadn’t even begun to consider refusing. 

“In that case... I shall gladly. Accept... Well, then... Until next time.” 

“Yes. Do be careful on your way back.” 

Isaac and I parted ways.

Nothing of note occurred as I retraced my steps. Given that I could now avoid the Tarasques with Isaac’s gift of holy water, I suppose this much was to be expected. 

The other denizens of the swamp weren’t much of a threat to me, either—so long as I didn’t fall into the water again, that is. Even the Goblins kept their distance. Some Goblins escaped the moment they saw me; perhaps a few had escaped their encounters with me. They were mostly Goblin Archers who mainly shot at their enemies from a distance. It wasn’t strange to see them running when faced with one such as myself. 

Given how much I intimidated them, I would be hard-pressed to fulfill any Goblin-slaying requests in the swamp, should I ever receive them in the future. 

Yet...Goblins didn’t have a very good memory; they probably would have all but forgotten about me in a little over a week. 

I couldn’t help but feel like Goblins were creatures who lived in and for the moment. This wasn’t a critique against their character, however. Living this way probably had its merits. Those of them who had built villages and lived alongside humans probably didn’t think very highly of such a lifestyle—but that was a question for another time. 

Maybe I would make it a point to ask a friendly Goblin about that, sometime in the future. I would have to learn how to speak Goblin, though... 

Thinking so, I found myself finally out of the Swamp of Tarasque.

Climbing the steps, I emerged on the main road, waiting for the horse-carriage that had brought me here earlier in the day. After waiting for a while, the familiar sound of carriage wheels resounded in the distance. Closing in, the coachman hopped off, staring at me with a mixture of surprise and wonderment. 

“So, you’re still very much alive, huh...? I’m s’prised. You’re pretty good!” 

“Actually... I am already a Mythril-class... Adventurer. This mask... Is just to keep... My movements hidden. From the world.” 

A silly response, and a funny one. The coachman laughed. 

“Ha! Look’it’chu, quite the joker ’spite how ya look! Lemme know if ya want me to bring ya here again. I’ll give ya a discount!” 

Heartily agreeing, I hopped into the carriage. The horses were soon off, bound for the familiar township of Maalt. 

The first thing I did upon returning to Maalt was report my findings to the guild—and so off to the guild I went. 

While I wanted to make my way to the orphanage and deliver the Dragon Blood Blossoms right away, I had something else that required my immediate attention: the carcass of the Tarasque I had slain. 

I wanted to cure Sister Lillian’s illness as soon as possible, but she wasn’t in danger of immediately losing her life. As long as I handed some materials over to the local herbalist and picked up the relevant medication tomorrow, I suppose having her wait a single day was acceptable. 

Entering the guild, I immediately made my way to Sheila; as usual, she was standing behind the receptionist’s counter. Sheila knew of my circumstances, and she often assisted me with guild business. 

“Oh, Rentt...! Were you looking for something specific today? Wait... Don’t tell me—you are already back from the swamp?” 

Even Sheila wasn’t expecting me to return so quickly. This was to be expected, given she knew of my prowess, or lack thereof, in life. I had also cleared most of the Bronze-class ranking progression exam with prior knowledge, as opposed to relying on individual skill. 

Exploring a place like the Swamp of Tarasque, however, was a league of its own. A lack of skill would easily result in one’s death. 

Due to neither Lorraine nor myself giving Sheila a complete briefing of my capabilities, I suppose her reaction was, for the most part, normal. 

“Yes. I have retrieved... The requested Dragon Blood... Blossoms. I intend to... Deliver. The flowers to the orphanage... Soon. And have the client... Sign off on my request.” 

“I’m surprised, Rentt. To think you would finish the job so quickly... I thought your hard work only bore fruit when you went Orc-hunting, but this is something else altogether. You have gotten strong, Rentt.” 

“...Is that right. Personally... I am not. So sure.” 

Those were my honest thoughts; I was by no means fishing for praise. 

Sheila was right, I was stronger than I used to be. That was a fact I couldn’t argue against. 

Have I truly become stronger in all senses of the word, though? Was I more skilled, more capable? Somehow, that didn’t feel quite right. I couldn’t help but feel I had only obtained this strength due to my monstrous constitution. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the thought. 

I wasn’t disgusted with what I had become, yet I felt a deep fear in my mind: the fear of losing this newfound strength if I should one day become human again. 

Will I be able to live with that fact? 

I had obtained some strength in return for my efforts, but would restoring my humanity cause that to fade? If I did return to my previously powerless self, my goal of becoming a Mithril-class adventurer would be all but impossible. Would that break my will, if not my very sense of self? 

That was what I feared. 

But of course, I suppose I would just continue trudging stubbornly toward my goal regardless of what would happen in the future. There was no way I could predict how I would feel if this hypothetical scenario came to pass. I suppose this was the proverbial fear of the unknown. 

In any case, it was pointless counting my chickens before they had even hatched. I gave those thoughts a rest, turning to Sheila once more. 

“If you can venture in and out of the Swamp of Tarasque on your own unharmed, you’re more or less already Silver-class in terms of capability, Rentt! You would do well to remember that!” 

I could only stand there and nod sheepishly as I accepted Sheila’s encouragement without a word of protest. 

Even if I would one day lose this power, it was now unmistakably present, and unmistakably mine. It was important to have an accurate measure of my own strength; acknowledging one’s skills was as important as actually having them, after all. 

“I understand, Sheila. On another... Note. I have a request... Of my own.” 

“Ah, yes, that. Since you are not turning in the request yet... Would it be the sale of materials?” 

As expected of Sheila and her five years’ worth of experience, I didn’t even have to explain what I needed. 

“Yes.” I nodded in response. “However, some... Processing. Is required. A regular dissection room... Would be... Impractical. For the task.” 

“I see. You bagged something big, I guess? Well, you did rent quite a high-capacity bag, Rentt.” 

“Yes. It is... Relatively. Large.” 

If it was a matter of size, I could have dropped the carcass off right here, but there were other adventurers within earshot, and I didn’t want to be piled with strange offers and requests after the fact. 

Sheila nodded, understanding my intent. “In that case...you could make use of the dissection chamber in the back. I’ll lead you there.” 

Sheila approached one of her colleagues to replace her spot at the counter before packing up some documents and walking off. I followed close behind. 

A few dissection rooms existed at the guild, but they were relatively simple and small, if only because most adventurers tended to deliver pre-dissected items, or just the specifically requested part of a client’s order. If an adventurer had to work on a significantly larger carcass, they were led to a dissection chamber located in a building at the back of the guild halls. 

Most adventurers sought the services of the dissection specialists who worked here, most of whom were former adventurers. Due to their histories of being former adventurers or butchers, these individuals possessed highly detailed knowledge regarding dissection techniques. It wasn’t uncommon for adventurers to pay them for more complicated tasks, or if the adventurers had multiple carcasses to process. 

While I was considerably skilled in the art of dissection among my peers, having had many opportunities to practice back in my home village, dissecting a Tarasque was another story. Due to the sheer size, armored scales, and poisonous nature of the carcass, I had no choice but to bring it to this chamber. While poisons did not affect me in any way, dissecting a Tarasque in the street would cause its bodily fluids to flow into the ground, eventually polluting the town’s groundwater system. I, for one, did not wish to be responsible for a mass-poisoning incident. Luckily, this chamber housed the necessary infrastructure to ensure this didn’t happen. 

“Dario! Mister Dario!” 

Stepping into the entrance of the large building, Sheila took a deep breath, shouting out the name of the specialist we were here to see. 

Due to its nature, the dissection chamber was a large building; if Sheila hadn’t shouted, no one would have heard her. But there was no response. Undaunted, Sheila continued shouting. 

“Yeah! Yeah, I hear ya! Hold on!” A gruff response in a gravelly voice answered Sheila’s call. 

Soon after, a seemingly indomitable man stood before us. This person was none other than Dario Costa, the guild’s head dissection specialist. I had met him several times in life, but Dario didn’t recognize me as I was now, which was to be expected. 

“My bad! Didn’t want ya waitin’... We just got tons of Orc carcasses in the morn. Short-staffed as usual! Gotta love Orc meat, though... Worth its weight in gold, anywhere ya go.” 

It would seem like Dario was done with his Orcish dissection. 

While such occurrences were rare, capable individuals or groups might eventually transport a large amount of carcasses into the guild. Such parties were handsomely compensated by the butchers who sold Orcish meat, with said butchers issuing the requests in the first place. I suppose we were now in the middle of Orc season for this to be the case. 

With my Dragon Blood Blossom request fulfilled, it would do me well to keep an eye open for other, more lucrative requests. I would hate to miss any valuable hunting opportunities. 

If only Orcs lived in the Swamp of Tarasque... But if they really did live there, the Tarasques would just have them for dinner. Orcs were quite delicious to both man and beast. Maybe one would pity the Orcs for being eaten by just about everything, but such was the way of life in these lands. 

Leaving me and my thoughts behind, Sheila walked up to Dario, briefing him on the specifics of my request. 

“I do apologize for disturbing you at a busy time, Mister Dario...but I promise this is worth your time. Rentt over here has brought you a considerably rare carcass to work on today!” 

I had informed Sheila of what I hunted on the way here, hence her description of my harvest. Dario, however, didn’t seem very convinced. 

“A rare carcass? Young lady, I don’t get s’prised often, y’know?” 

Sheila continued on, and Dario’s eyes opened wide in response. 

“Rentt has brought you a Tarasque. An entire Tarasque full of materials, fresh from the swamp. It has to be dissected, of course.” 

“A Tarasque...?! You’re pullin’ my leg, Sheila.” 

I could understand Dario’s suspicion. Tarasques were strong monsters that only lived in an extremely inhospitable environment, and were also armed to the teeth with a potent venom. One would have to be an adventurer of Silver-class or above to reliably slay it. I was an exception, I suppose, what with my immunity to poisons and all that. 

As a matter of fact, due to my unique circumstances, the only real challenge the swamp posed to me was that it slightly slowed down my movements. A normal adventurer would have gotten poisoned to death without the adequate equipment. 

I couldn’t tell Dario about my undead nature, so I held my peace. Sheila spoke up in my stead. 

“Oh, come on now, Mister Dario. Why would someone waste your time like that? It is really true! Maybe you would believe it after seeing it with your own eyes...?” 

“But where be this Tarasque, Sheila...? Did he leave it out front?” 

It was a question with merit, at least, as some adventurers had a habit of leaving the carcasses of large monsters they had slain outside the chamber as a show of strength. 

They were commonly loaded on giant wheeled carts and the like, however. Such carcasses would often be paraded around the streets of Maalt before stopping at the gates of the guild, after which they would be transported to the chamber for dissection. 

This can be seen as a form of advertising: given that the adventurer in question had slain such a large beast, they would have rare materials for sale, and that was primarily the goal of such a venture. 

But I didn’t wish to stand out. 

Though I drew some eyes in my direction when I was promoted to Bronze-class shortly after registering as an adventurer, Bronze-class adventurers weren’t rare. If one had the required skills, one could easily make it to Bronze-class in such a short time, just like I did. 

In response to Dario’s question, I pointed to the magical bag on my tool belt. “It is... Inside this bag. Should I... Set the carcass down here?” 

“No.” Dario shook his head. “That’s no good. If it’s really a Tarasque, that is. Come.” 

Dario gestured as he turned, leading us to the central area of the dissection chamber. 

Soon after, we followed Dario into a relatively wide, purpose-built room, one that was more than large enough for a Tarasque carcass. A complicated series of magical tools lined the walls—implements for containing poisonous fumes during a carcass cleansing prior to dissection. 

These tools were highly specialized equipment, and they were a requirement for most established dissection chambers. But they were very expensive, and there couldn’t possibly be more than two of such rooms in the entire building. 

“Well, here we are. Lessee it.” 

Turning a crank, Dario raised a platform in the center of the venue, gesturing for me to unload the carcass there. He also supplied Sheila and me with safety masks as precautions against the poison. Since I already had a mask on, I looked ridiculous, but I suppose this much had to be done for appearance’s sake. 

Affirming Sheila and Dario had safely equipped their masks, I opened the bag, preparing to unload the carcass. Just like how I had attached the mouth of the bag to the carcass when bagging it for transport, I did the same here, aligning the bag’s opening to the central platform. If one made a mistake while sucking in an item, they would be faced with great difficulty when getting it out. Luckily for me, I had plenty of experiences with this sort of magical tool in life. This bag was significantly bigger, but they fundamentally worked in similar fashions. 

“I see you weren’t pullin’ my leg... She’s a big’un, even for a Tarasque,” Dario said, examining the carcass as he spoke. 

The carcass had been neatly unloaded on the room’s central platform, severed neck, body, and all. Taking a good look at its armored shell, Dario ran his fingers along its surface, nodding in approval. 

“Not a single scratch, eh? Don’t see that often.” 

I was a Bronze-class adventurer, so to Dario, this meant my knowledge and experience of Tarasque-hunting should be relatively low. To slay a Tarasque, one had to chop off its neck, or smash through its armor and crush its heart. The former was the easier choice. 

Even so, was an undamaged Tarasque shell really that rare? 

Curious, I asked Dario for an explanation. 

“I get what you’re tryin’ to say. But see here... Doin’ that is problematic. The biggest problem’d be gettin’ close to the thing, poison breath and all that. So...if’n adventurer gets this close, they’d be exposed to the stuff. ’Course, Silver- ’n’ Gold-class fellers could buy magic tools to fend most of it off, but only those of the Platinum-class can afford a complete nullification. S’pensive stuff, y’know. Since most folks don’t have that, they kill it from a distance, see.” 

Dario’s explanation was easy to understand. While I was impervious to poisons, normal adventurers and parties would probably choose to attack a Tarasque with long-distance spells and projectiles. 

“So it has a hard shell,” Dario continued. “But the scales are hard, too, see. Both are equally difficult to cut through. Given the opportunity, most folks aim for the shell. Much bigger, yeah? A few strong attacks’ll break through the thing. Most adventurers who can slay Tarasques have a few tricks to do this. In that case, though, there’d be a hole in its shell. Y’show a broken shell to a dissection specialist, and y’just look at the reaction on their faces. What’re we supposed to do with that, huh?” 

An attack from a Silver- or Gold-class adventurer could indeed penetrate its shell, but I suppose such a shell would be difficult to turn into functional armor. Armorers weren’t Goblins, though; even a cracked shell could be integrated into a suit of armor, as long as the crack had been strengthened and combined with other materials to achieve its former hardiness. 

But of course, most armorers would indeed prefer a pristine shell. In other words... 

“So this is... Worth. Quite a lot?” 

Dario nodded. “What’s it look like? Course it’s worth a lot! Well... Takes quite a bit’a time to take the thing apart, so there’ll be some fees for that. But even so, this’s worth quite a lot of coin. Neck’s good, too. Only injury’s the neck itself. The poison glands seem intact... Been a while, y’know, since I’ve seen such a pristine Tarasque carcass.” 

It would seem like Dario had given the remains his personal seal of approval. 

“I see... In that case. I would like... To entrust you. With the task of selling... The shell.” 

There were many ways an adventurer could deal with their spoils: some brought the relevant remains and left them for dissection here, before searching for an auction venue on their own time to put it up for sale. For those without the luxury of time, the dissection specialists could sell the harvested material on their behalf, albeit for a small fee. 

Under normal circumstances, most adventurers left it all to the specialists. The entire process was too much work for the typical adventurer, who would instead commonly task a shop they were familiar with to sell the materials on their behalf. Rare materials, like the shell of a Tarasque, were often auctioned off at events. 

In my case, a pristine Tarasque carcass would easily attract many potential buyers. Since I already entrusted the dissection of the body to Dario, I supposed I should just leave everything else to him. 

“I don’t mind, but...really? Y’just have to look, y’know? Tons’a buyers out there.” 

Dario was correct, but searching for buyers in my current state was a difficult, almost impossible task. I would have to interact, and continuously meet face-to-face, with potential buyers. It wasn’t something I looked forward to doing, at least not in this state. 

Although I could task Lorraine with it, she wasn’t well-versed in the sales of rare monster parts, nor was she well-informed on their worth in the current market. If I were to sell it, I would at least like to sell it for a fair price, hence my request to Dario. 

I turned to Dario, deciding to put my trust in the man. “...You have... My trust, Mister Dario. I am counting... On you.” 

Dario chuckled at my overly-formal statement. “Ha! Now that’cha’ve put it that way...guess I gotta do a really good job, eh? I’ll get a good price for ya—just wait ’n’ see.” 

Leaving the carcass and other dissectible materials behind, I went through my spoils, handing over what plant matter I had gathered to Sheila. Due to the sheer amount of materials I had harvested, Sheila was unable to give me a quote for the items right away, but it should be quite the profit for my purposes. 

The only thing left to do now was deliver the Dragon Blood Blossom to the orphanage, where Alize and Sister Lillian were awaiting my return. Though I suppose Sister Lillian wouldn’t exactly be waiting, as Alize had kept all this hidden from her, but that was neither here nor there. 

Either way, my next destination was set. I stepped out of the guild hall, and headed toward the orphanage in question. 

Creak... 

A truly dreadful sound. I paused, staring at the door knocker I had repaired with slime fluid on my previous trip here. It was, of course, broken, having come loose once again in my hand. While I did break it, I was also the one who had repaired it. I suppose I had to fix it again. 

“Perfect...” 

A singular voice interrupted me from behind. 

“What’s perfect now...?” 

I was surprised—caught in the act! 

Turning around, I came face-to-face with Alize, who was holding a paper bag full of what appeared to be food in her arms. Behind her, several older children of the orphanage stood, all hugging similar bags. It would seem like the children had just returned from a grocery trip of sorts. 

Forcing myself to stay calm, I put on a cool façade to the orphans, turning around to greet them. 

“Well... I was just. Reminiscing... About the request.” 

Alize’s eyes opened wide. “Eh? What? Really? You must be joking!” 

Although surprised, the doorway was hardly a place for discussion. Opening the door gingerly for Alize, who had her hands full, I took great care not to damage the fragile knocker, now once again appropriately glued in place. 

“Well, then...is it true? You’re done? It’s done?” Alize asked as I sat down in the cramped reception room where we had first met. 

Alize looked more surprised than doubtful. I suppose I did wrap up the affair relatively quickly. 

What Alize didn’t know was what my previous statement truly referred to: the unfortunate fate of the broken door knocker. The truth, of course, would remain concealed in the darkness forever, if I could help it. 

Masking my embarrassment from that entire affair, I answered Alize in a flat tone of voice. 

“Yes. Here... Have a look. Yourself.” 

I withdrew a single stalk from my magical tool pouch and set the Dragon Blood Blossom down on the rickety wooden table between us. I laid out a spare piece of cloth for fear of dirtying the table, old and worn-out as it was. The flower now sat on its covered surface, wrapped roots and all. 

Alize, however, didn’t seem to care very much about the state of the table at all. She was instead entirely taken with the flower, and was currently gawking at it curiously. 

“This...is it? It’s the first time I’ve seen one! What a pretty flower...” 

Maybe it was the flower’s beauty, rarity, or potency when used as medication; whatever the reason, Alize seemed deeply moved by the plant before her. 

But as Alize said, Dragon Blood Blossoms were quite beautiful. The flower never faced the sky with its crimson petals; instead, it drooped ever so slightly, with its broad leaves accentuating the blossom’s shape. Supporting the plant itself was a sturdy stem, a testament to the flower’s vigor and hardiness. 

This quaint, yet almost miraculous balance was perhaps responsible for its popularity in proposals. If one didn’t have anyone to propose to, they would at least be able to admire its beauty for what it was, or so I would assume. 

“Is this all right...?” 

“I can’t say much,” Alize, seemingly still lost in thought, finally answered, looking up at me as she did so. “I don’t know if this is a real Dragon Blood Blossom or not... Ah. I don’t mean that I doubt you. It’s just that...I can’t tell! This is beyond me.” 

“Did you not say... That you had an herbalist... Healer, friend? They were going to make... The medicine for Sister Lillian.” 

“Yes, yes. I’ll go get both of them right now. You’d have to wait a bit—is that all right?” Alize asked, apparently intent on fetching the aforementioned healer and herbalist right away. 

I, for one, would like my request form signed and returned as soon as possible, so summoning them would only accelerate the process. As such, I nodded at Alize. 

With a quick nod of her own, Alize rushed out of the room in a great hurry, presumably on her way to both of their residences. 

herbalists and healers in general were often found working for churches or medical institutions, most of which were a fair distance away from the orphanage. I supposed Alize wouldn’t be back for quite a while, which also meant that I now had spare time on my hands. Waiting for her return in and of itself wasn’t a difficult task, but dealing with boredom in general, however, was a pain. 

Just as I was about to resign myself to a boring wait, Edel, who had been slumped over on my shoulder all this time, suddenly flew off his perch, landing neatly on the ground. Running off, Edel began scratching the walls of the room. 

“...What. Are you doing, mouse?” 

In response to my question, Edel looked up at the doorknob, before jumping onto it himself. While he landed with an impressive thud on the old doorknob, it wasn’t a type that responded to pressure, so the door resultingly did not open. 

To think he had slammed into the Tarasque’s neck with such force... I suppose mice couldn’t easily open doors, given their physique. If anything, I found the sight somewhat amusing. 

I wasn’t sure if I should open the door, but I also didn’t intend to confine Edel into this small reception room until Alize returned. As long as he didn’t enter any restricted areas, I supposed a little stroll wouldn’t hurt. Of course, if I received any complaints about my pet running wild, I would blame it entirely on the mouse himself. It technically wouldn’t be a lie. 

While I did have my doubts from the moment Edel had requested me to deal with the door, any questions and internal monologues I had were simply answered with a glare from the mouse. I suppose he really did want out of this room. 

I stood up, walking over to the door. Giving the doorknob a good turn, I pulled the door ajar, and with that, the mouse was off. I followed after him, curious as to where he was headed to. A somewhat predictable destination, perhaps, but I soon found myself in the basement storage room of the orphanage—the very same room where I had first met Edel. 

Scampering to the middle of the room, Edel stood up on his hind feet, before promptly unleashing a high-pitched squeak into the damp, cold air. Almost immediately, no less than five Puchi Suri appeared from the shadows with immense speed, lining up before my familiar in a perfect line. 

Haven’t I seen this somewhere before...? 

I definitely recalled a similar scene of smaller Puchi Suri lining up before a larger one. In fact, these Puchi Suri looked familiar; I had seen these specific scar and fur patterns before. They did seem a little bigger, markedly so since the last time I had seen them. 

As I continued to ponder upon the fur patterns of mice, Edel squeaked again, as if holding some sort of conversation with his compatriots. The vocalizations of the Puchi Suri were all squeaks, of course, so while these sounds made little sense to most humans, I had the benefit of sharing a mental link with Edel. Slowly but surely, I began understanding the specifics of their conversation. 

According to the many squeaking voices, the five Puchi Suri under Edel’s command had, as promised, continued to protect the basement storage. In the process of doing so, they had been attacked by other gangs of Puchi Suri, who had wandered in from the streets of Maalt. Even so, they held their ground, eventually managing to protect the basement without any incursions. The reason for them being able to do this was because Edel had changed his compatriots slightly by infusing a small amount of mana and spirit into their bodies. In addition, these Puchi Suri were a little stronger than ones typically found in the streets to begin with, hence their victory. 

In other words, they seemed close to an Existential Evolution of their own. 

This point bothered me, though. In the first place, did that mana and spirit not belong to me? Edel’s powers were taken from none other than his master, Rentt Faina. 

Edel, however, turned around, staring in my general direction before squeaking somewhat fiercely. It seemed like my familiar would like me to keep my thoughts to myself. 

What an unreasonable mouse! 

In fact, I was the master, and Edel the servant! But he apparently didn’t feel the same. 

Due to the intensity of his squeak, I supposed I should leave him to his devices...for now. Plus, the conversation between Edel and his minions did prove somewhat useful to me. While they did defeat the Puchi Suri that tried to enter the basement, Edel’s minions had also subjugated them in the process. As such, they received information on all of Maalt’s buildings, roads, and hidden passageways, all through this elaborate urban-mouse network of theirs. Due to this newfound cooperation, the Puchi Suri living in this basement embraced a newfound age of prosperity, and were all able to live in peace. This was all because of their mouse-boss, Edel... 

At least, this was what I understood. 

I found myself at a loss for words... Although that was all well and good, the source of Edel’s powers was none other than me... 

I really wanted to say it out loud, but alas, I could not. Even if I did, these other smaller mice didn’t understand human speech. 

I also didn’t have the charisma that Edel possessed; a real pity. 

My bout of self-pity was quickly interrupted by a surprising thought from Edel, however. Apparently, he could instruct his underlings to gather information for me if I so wished it. Due to their size, speed, and overall mundane nature, Puchi Suri could be found in many corners of Maalt. Although slaying one wasn’t difficult, the sheer speed at which they reproduced made extermination a relatively pointless venture. If I could use this to my advantage, and have this mouse network gather information from all across Maalt... 

Everything in this town would be known to me. 

To think I hadn’t even noticed it happening—I now had a network of tiny informants and spies at my hands. 

This would be useful. Very useful indeed... 

“This... This is superb! Amazing! I have never seen such a well-preserved specimen!” 

The person before me was none other than a certain Unbert Abeiyu, the healer Alize had mentioned before. Accompanying him was the herbalist, Norman Hanel. 

Unbert was a lanky, middle-aged man, while Norman was considerably younger, a plump young man in his late twenties. Judging by their demeanor and friendly smiles, I understood they had friendly affiliations with the orphanage. 

“Is that right...? Only high-ranked... Adventurers. Would explore the Swamp... Of Tarasque, after all. One would think they... Would at least know. How to harvest and preserve... A Dragon Blood Blossom.” 

The skill of an adventurer did increase proportionately with their rank. Higher-ranked adventurers commonly had more in the way of strength and power, and they would also usually pick up some other skills along the way, such as dissection and herb-picking techniques. Of course, one was also required to learn business etiquette, and to acquire general knowledge of the ways of the world. Although they weren’t expected to have the same amount of knowledge a professional would, adventurers were, at the very least, required to continue learning and polishing their core skills as they climbed through the ranks. 

There were exceptions, of course. Individuals who only took on slaying requests would grow disproportionately in strength. Similarly, adventurers who managed to cheat or bluff their way through progressions tests would end up with somewhat stranger skillsets. 

Taking all this into account, one would logically assume that any adventurer exploring the Swamp of Tarasque would at least be Silver- or Gold-class. Barring special cases like myself, they would be adequately skilled in all areas: combat, herb-harvesting, or otherwise. 

“Not quite, not quite. Being the place it is, most adventurers are far too concerned about being poisoned to actually care about the flowers they are picking! In fact, most of them harvest the flowers carelessly, thinking all is well should they return with a sample. However, given the nature of the place...few adventurers would dare venture in, so we can’t exactly complain. In fact, locating an adventurer who is able to even venture inside is something to be thankful for!” 

There was some truth in Norman’s words. Few adventurers would be willing to stay in the swamp for longer than they had to. Most adventurers who had the capability to do so would much rather be somewhere else; even so, those who did enter were probably compensated well for their time. Volunteers like me were perhaps unheard of in this particular scenario. 

An adventurer and their client were typically on equal footing, so sufficient compensation must be offered by the client to entice a capable adventurer into entering the swamp. Due to the complexities of the factors involved, the adventurer involved often had the upper hand in this discussion. In most cases, however, the opposite was true. While a balanced client-adventurer relationship was ideal, reality was quite different. 

“I am glad... It turned out well, then.” 

“Of course it turned out well!” Norman’s response was enthusiastic. “With this perfectly-preserved Dragon Blood Blossom, creating a cure for the Accumulative Miasma Disease would be a simple affair! Because of its perfect condition, I would have a much easier time processing it, as well. In fact, I could make many other medicines, as well. If only we had more Dragon Blood Blossoms...” Norman said, as if aware of the fact simply having one flower was a blessing in and of itself. 

“How many... Do you need?” 

“Eh...? Hmm. Let’s see. Well, three or four more stalks would be perfect. I would be able to distribute the extract evenly, and make many other medicines to heal the sick!” Norman said, more to himself than anyone else. 

It didn’t seem like he was pleading with me to give him more flowers; I hadn’t even informed them of the fact that I had harvested multiple flowers. Norman was probably thinking of a hypothetical scenario in which many kind-hearted adventurers each brought back a flower. 

He did not seem like the type to lie—as if affirming my thoughts, Alize leaned in, whispering into my ear. 

“Doctor Norman helps out many poor people, not just the orphanage! He pays for the medicines out of pocket, you know? He’s a rare, good-hearted doctor! Scarce in these times!” Alize was apparently full of praise for the good Doctor Norman. It would seem like the doctor had her approval. 

There was no mistaking that the doctor provided important support to Alize and the orphanage, but herbalists in general required quite some capital to operate. Medicine wasn’t exactly free, as the adequate materials had to be gathered. This was just the nature of the job. As such, most herbalists had little choice but to sell their wares at somewhat higher prices, if only so they could continue operating. 

Even so... To think the doctor paid out of his own pocket to help the sick. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of worry. If anything did happen to Doctor Norman, the orphanage would surely be negatively impacted. 

At least, Alize would think that way. Realistically speaking, however, the doctor must have some way of his own to keep his business running. As to what these reasons were, I wasn’t entirely sure, but I supposed this small contribution wouldn’t hurt. 

I reached into my magical pouch, deciding to contribute some more flowers from my stock. A few more stalks wasn’t exactly a terrible loss, and they were for a good cause. 

“Here... Take these.” 

I fished out four more Dragon Blood Blossoms, setting them on the table. Both Norman and Unbert’s eyes opened impossibly wide at the sight. I suppose they didn’t think a solo adventurer would have the capability to harvest this many flowers by his lonesome. 

Dragon Blood Blossoms grew in large clusters to begin with, but these two gentlemen hardly knew that, just like how most non-adventurers didn’t know of the bottomless nature of magical pouches. I saved up for five years to purchase this pouch—a worthwhile investment. Even a Silver-class adventurer would have to save up for at least one year; not an easy feat, given that most adventurers were unapologetic spendthrifts. To make things worse, these magical tools weren’t readily available off the shelf; one had to first find them in public auctions, or even the black market. 

Due to my many social connections and informants, I was able to purchase a high-capacity bag, whereas most adventurers usually ended up with a bag half the size of mine. Smaller bags hardly had much space left over after the usual supplies, rations, and containers were dealt with. 

Of course, one could form parties to transport more items as a result. This didn’t work as well when exploring the Swamp of Tarasque, though, primarily due to anti-poison equipment typically taking up a fair amount of space. This was why most adventurers usually returned with only a single Dragon Blood Blossom. 

In my case, I had rented a high-capacity bag from the guild, and I had a fair amount of space left over since I didn’t need any protection against poisons. 

I suppose this body of mine had its uses. A strange emotion floated up from the depths of my mind: while I wanted to one day return to being human, would I lose my resistance to poison if I did so? Perhaps it was greedy for me to have such thoughts, but then again, humans were greedy creatures by default. Once they obtained something, they would, without fail, desire more. 

Interrupting my train of thoughts was Edel, perched silently on my shoulder. He apparently wished to announce that he had little in the way of greedy thoughts, but I suppose a mouse would feel that way. In response, Edel tightened his grip on my shoulder. 

Yes, yes, mouse. I apologize. 

In any case, I turned my attention back to the two medical professionals before me, both of whom were still frozen in place at the sight of the flowers on the table. Norman was the first to react. 

“Is... Is it really? You would sell these flowers to us? But...if you have so many, Mister Rentt, would it not make more sense for you to sell it to a larger apothecary...?” 

It would seem like Norman was unable to pay for these flowers. He didn’t request this many to begin with, so maybe that was to be expected. 

“No.” I shook my head slowly. “I am... Giving. These flowers to you. For free ... As a sign of appreciation. For your just... And noble intent. Do not... Worry. I have more in the... Bag.” 

I didn’t want Norman to owe me any favors, for I simply felt like engaging in an act of occasional charity. I was simply appeasing myself—nothing more, nothing less. 

I didn’t harvest these extra flowers in the hopes of selling them off at a high price; I simply wished to help any acquaintances who happened to be in need, so giving these flowers away wasn’t much of a problem. Doctor Norman, of all people, would be able to use these ingredients for a good cause. It was good to have connections with a skilled herbalist, and aiding Doctor Norman would be the start of a beneficial relationship. 

While Lorraine herself was capable of synthesizing medicines and the like, she mainly specialized in magical potions and solutions, so curing diseases would be outside her expertise. Doctor Norman, on the other hand, worked with the sick. 

I personally trained under a herbalist in my youth, and was more capable at the subject than the typical adventurer, but I couldn’t hope to come anywhere close to an actual professional. It would be most beneficial to have Doctor Norman on my side. Not the best thing to say, but no one loses out in this transaction. 

Finally calming down after his initial surprise at my words, Doctor Norman composed himself before giving his response. 

“My apologies. Yes, it would be a great help. Many, many lives can be saved with this... If there is anything, anything I can do at all, Mister Rentt, just say the word. At the very least, I have great confidence with regards to my knowledge of herbs and medicine—second to none in these lands, I’ll say!” 

Such were the good doctor’s words of gratitude. 

“With this, the request is complete...” Alize said, signing the document on the table after Norman and Unbert had left the premises. 

Since the official client listed wasn’t the orphanage, but the orphans in it, Alize’s signature carried enough weight to declare the request completed and closed. 

With a flourish of the quill, the deed was done, and with this her request officially fulfilled. All that was left was to collect my reward from the guild. 

It had been a far more challenging request than my usual tasks, and completing it left a deep and somewhat profound emotion in my heart. 

But of course...my reward was only one bronze piece. 

“...Yes. Thank you. Alize,” I said, rolling up the signed document on the desk. 

“No...it is I who should be saying that to you, Rentt. To tell the truth...putting the request up is one thing, but I had all but given up! Who would go pick a Dragon Blood Blossom for one bronze piece? But...you, Rentt. You accepted it, and you actually came back with it! I cannot thank you enough... Thank you, really... If there’s anything, anything at all, Rentt, you tell us. The children and I will do everything we can to help you... Well, I suppose you wouldn’t really be needing our help.” 

“Even I... Need help. Sometimes. When that time comes... I will depend... On you. As the situation demands. Also... There were a few others. Other than me, I mean... Who had thought. Of accepting the request. It was just... A little too difficult. For most.” 

Alize only said what she had because she had lost faith in most adventurers, and even so, I didn’t feel like she said so with those thoughts in mind. If anything, Alize probably subconsciously thought of most adventurers as selfish and cold-blooded individuals. 

It was a reasonable view. After all, few adventurers would wander into the swamp. 

But kind-hearted adventurers did exist, as proven by those other adventurers who had thought of attempting the request before me. Ultimately, they had their discussions and realized this request was beyond them. A wise decision, as a dead adventurer wasn’t of any use to anyone. Dying pointlessly in a swamp would be nothing more than folly, assuming one had an accurate understanding of their own abilities. 

While I didn’t want to lose faith in my adventurer brethren either, I could easily understand Alize’s perspective. 

“Is that right?” Alize seemed surprised at my words. “I thought no one would be interested in fulfilling an orphanage’s request from the get-go...” 

If memory served, Alize was considerably withdrawn and formal when we had first met; I suppose her disillusionment with adventurers was the reason for this behavior. She probably assumed that a random, no-name Iron-class adventurer had come knocking, without much experience, capability, or thought into the request at hand. 

Come to think of it, there was something else... 

“You said you... Wanted. To become an adventurer...?” 

“Yes... I did mention Lady Lillian’s illness was a slow one, no? Then...even if it took a while, I would eventually be able to do it—to go into the swamp and pick a Dragon Blood Blossom, I mean. Also, if I did become an adventurer, I would be able to contribute toward the orphanage’s operating costs... Or at least be able to help! I guess that was silly of me... But I couldn’t think of anything else!” 

It seemed like an impractical proposal, but the Accumulative Miasma Disease took quite a while to claim a sufferer’s life, most commonly anywhere between five to ten years. If I hadn’t shown up and Alize had become a capable adventurer a decade later, there was a chance that Sister Lillian could have held out. 

At the very least, it wasn’t impossible. Alize would have to undergo harsh training to reach that degree of strength, and given her latent reserves of mana, she might even be able to make it safely in and out of the swamp one day. 

“It would seem like... You had a lot. On your mind. Although... In the end. It may seem like... You steeled yourself for... Nothing. What will you do... Now? Will you give up... On becoming an adventurer?” I asked, curious. 

Alize shook her head rapidly in response. “No. After this event, I have decided now, more than ever, that I should become an adventurer. Well... There’s no more need to go swamp exploring for Dragon Blood Blossoms, but I want to become an adventurer like you, Rentt. A kind, good-hearted adventurer who helps the people!” 

Eh? Me...? 

At least, that was the first thought that crossed my mind. But I didn’t say that aloud. 

“I do not think... I am as great. Of an adventurer... As you think I am.” 

“What are you even saying? Because of you, Lady Lillian’s life is saved! She’ll be well again! Also...the orphanage has become much cleaner thanks to you!” 

Cleaner? 

“What... Do you mean?” 

“Eh?” Alize seemed a little confused by my response. “You didn’t know? The underlings of that mouse you have on your shoulder have been running about everywhere, killing bugs and other pests in the building. Before, we would occasionally have cockroaches and other insects around, but suddenly we found them all piled up, dead! When I went to have a look at it, I found some of the Puchi Suri observing the mountain of dead cockroaches from a distance. I guess they had been weeding out all the bugs in this old place, then left their bodies in a heap for easy disposal. We’re all really thankful!” 

It would seem like Edel’s underlings had been doing good work while we were away; a strange thought, given that they were spirit- and mana-enhanced mice. I suppose this was fine. 

But I couldn’t contain my curiosity, turning to look at Edel. He responded somewhat exasperatedly, stating that even his underlings liked to live in a clean environment, undisturbed by pests. 

I suppose those mice weren’t as selfless as I thought they were after all. 

In any case, what they were doing benefited Alize and the orphans—a symbiotic relationship, if you will. 

“I had no idea... This was happening. However... I cannot take credit. For what those mice... Did.” 

“But if you weren’t there, nothing would have changed!” 

Alize’s views seemed resolute. Even I couldn’t say much to refute her last statement. 

“...All right, all right. Think of me as... You will. On another note... If you really. Still want to become an... Adventurer. You should start training... Yourself up. Soon. Although you can register... At the age. Of 15. If you do not learn the... Basics. Of adventuring... You will very quickly. Lose your life.” 

It was a well-known fact there was no short supply of fools who immediately signed on as adventurers after leaving their villages. This was, for all intents and purposes, good advice. 

Alize nodded. “But how will I train myself?” 

A reasonable question. 

“There are many... Ways. The guild has courses... Oriented toward. Beginners. If I have the time... I could teach, you, too.” 

In spite of myself, I actually said it. I didn’t have any disciples, but I used to teach those very same beginner-oriented lessons at guild, on behalf of the guild’s staff. I was confident my lessons were useful, having imparted the basics of adventuring—techniques, knowledge, and all—to many new adventurers who had walked through those halls. 

There was also one more thing... 

“Since you have... Latent. Reserves of mana... You should learn Magecraft. While I cannot help... Much, in that regard... I know a friend. Who can. Are you... Interested?” 

Said friend was none other than Lorraine. She was often busy with her research and other scholarly pursuits, but she could be extremely lazy should she feel like it. It probably wouldn’t hurt much for her to give some form of magical instruction to Alize as she lounged around on her sofa. 

Alize, however, seemed a little overwhelmed by what I had to say. 

“But... I don’t have any coin...” 

But of course she wouldn’t. Alize was an orphan, and all she could offer up for my now completed dangerous request from her was a single bronze coin. There was no way she would be well-off. 

To make things worse, most mages who taught the art tended to charge a premium for their services. Lorraine, on the other hand, wouldn’t demand any compensation, so money wasn’t an issue. 

“Don’t... Worry. About it.” 

“That won’t do.” 

“I thought... You would say that. In that case, I have... A suggestion.” 

“Eh?” 

“I will loan you... The fees. Without interest. You can pay me back... After. You become an adventurer. How about... That?” 

I suppose this was the best way to do it; even Alize would understand my intent with this gesture. 

Of course, she had perhaps seen through it from the fact that I didn’t require any interest for my loan. 

As expected... 

“You’re sure...? Well, all right then. I’ll gratefully accept. However...I’ll definitely return that interest. After I become an adventurer...and after I start making good sums of coin, I’ll definitely return it! Is that...okay?” 

I already knew this was how she would respond, given her character. 

I nodded slowly. “Well, then... We have a deal.” 

I put out my hand. Alize took it in hers, gripping it strongly. 

“I do not really mind, Rentt. It is as you say, the boredom comes in waves. When I have some time, it almost seems like I have all the time in the world,” Lorraine said, narrowing her eyes at me as she continued eating her dinner. 

I was now seated at the table with Lorraine, having finally returned from my trip to the orphanage. The topic at hand was, of course, none other than Lorraine teaching Alize basic magic in her free time. I had brought up the suggestion while telling Lorraine of the events of the day, after affirming Lorraine was indeed in one of her lull periods. Unfortunately, I had also unwittingly described Lorraine’s free time in an unintentionally negative light. 

She was by no means a lazy individual. It was only after the fact I realized how I had made her sound. Thankfully, Lorraine had let it slide, leaving me with my shoulders slightly slumped as I contemplated how I had nearly failed to find Alize a magic teacher. Now more than ever, I felt greatly indebted to Lorraine’s magnanimity. 

“I... Apologize. I did not mean to say that... You were always. Free. Just that on occasion... Perhaps. You could spare... Some time.” 

Lorraine’s expression softened upon hearing my excuses, her features now conveying more amusement than offense. With a few casual waves of the hand, Lorraine began laughing. 

“I know, I know, Rentt. Could you not tell I was joking? Really, now. But I suppose there are women in this world who do not have a sense of humor. It would do you well to pay attention to such details, Rentt. You get along with everyone as an adventurer, while callously ignoring a young girl’s feelings, eh?” Lorraine said, almost snorting with amusement as she did so. 

It would seem like Lorraine was merely pulling my leg. I felt a genuine sense of relief. 

Lorraine’s observations and advice were right, I suppose. My goal was to become a Mythril-class adventurer, and I’d dedicated my entire life to this goal, picking up as many skills as I could along the way. Unfortunately, the appropriate etiquette one would adopt to interact with young ladies was never much a subject of study. 

While I hardly had enough skill to encounter clients of the noble persuasion in life, I did practice my social etiquette to a certain degree—namely, to the point where I would be able to communicate with noble ladies and the like should it be required. However, I didn’t receive much instruction in the way of communicating with women in general. The social etiquette of women confused me. For one, I had difficulty understanding small talk. In fact, I have encountered more than one experience in which a friendly response has led to the other person revealing their true colors, and me saying something unnecessary. All in all a very complicated affair. 

I would do well to be more careful about these matters from here on out. 

“Thank you... For the warning. Lorraine. But with how I... Look. Young girls... Cute or otherwise. Would hardly be attracted. To me.” 

I was referring to the fact that I was dressed in pitch-black robes, as well as a suspicious-looking, somewhat skeletal mask. Why would any young lady in these lands be attracted to one as strange-looking as myself? At the very least, I would think the average young lady would keep me at arm’s length, given my appearance.

For instance, a robed man walking along an alleyway encounters a young girl selling flowers... How would that interaction go? 

“H-Hello...y-young lady...” 

“Eeek! Help! Somebody help me!!!” 

“W-Wait! It’s not what you think! I just wanted to t-talk to you!” 

“Eeeek! That man! That strange man says he wants to buy my flowers!!!” 

The robed man is promptly arrested for his behavior. 

Of course, the meaning of “flower” in this case would be open to gross misinterpretation. 

That...is not exactly a good turn of events. I should make a mental note to never speak to any young ladies on the streets of Maalt.

“Hey now, Rentt,” Lorraine interrupted my train of thought. “Here is a young lady before your very eyes! Up here.” Lorraine pointed at herself with a markedly raised thumb. 

I shook my head, fixating my gaze on said thumb. 

“Where...? I do not see her.” 

“You...” Lorraine balled her fingers into a solid fist. “How long do you intend to abuse my kind and welcoming nature, Rentt? I will have you know, if you keep this up, I would very well snap and give you a good pounding. Is that what you would say to a young lady of 24? Hmm... Come to think of it, I did read up on the developments of particularly strong curses recently...” 

With that, Lorraine sprang up from her seat, grabbing her staff in one hand as she held up a strange-looking grimoire in her other. Panicking, I held up my hands apologetically, desperately attempting to calm my enraged friend. 

“Wait... Wait! Young! You’re... Young! Miss Lorraine... Is a young lady! With a gentle disposition, and pure white skin! With... Well-defined features... And a well-shaped body! The very... Manifestation! Of the God of beauty... Even the faeries of yore... Cannot possibly! Compare! A divine being that... Never ages! With a mind that... Rivals! That of the Gods of knowledge themselves! With a gentle... Disposition and... Knowledge in the arcane! Lady Lorraine is... The very image! Of a cute young lady!” 

At times like these, it was best to shower Lorraine with praise. The very thought of not saying this much seemed to cause the footsteps of Death himself to echo ever so slightly louder in my ears. To avoid that, I would throw away my very definitions of shame, and turn all my efforts to praising Lorraine. 

If I couldn’t do that, what would happen to me? In fact, would Lorraine even understand my poor attempts at praise? 

I recall a time when I had shared a drink with an adventurer who was already married. He was famous for being able to avoid his wife’s wrath one way or another, and thankfully, he saw fit to share some secrets with me as we enjoyed our drinks. I wondered if he was doing well... Last I heard, he was planning to open up an inn somewhere in these lands. 

While my mind was occupied with these thoughts, I happened to glance in Lorraine’s direction, only to pause as I realized she was staring at me with an expression I had never witnessed before. 

Hm...? What is it? 

“Where exactly,” Lorraine, finally out of her trance, began speaking, “did you learn that flirtatious way of speaking, Rentt...?” 

Lorraine seemed more exasperated than she was enraged. If anything, I no longer sensed an implacable rage from the general direction of my friend. It was quite a relief. 

“Where...? Not exactly... A single place. Walking around the streets... Of Maalt. You hear... Things. Here and there. You see some of these, phrases... In plays. As well. At the very least... I just said what I thought.” 

“What you thought, Rentt? Do you say this to every woman you come across?” 

I shook my head at the sufficiently surprised Lorraine. “Well... This is not. A scene. You come across every day, is it?” 

Saying it to an even-tempered individual like Lorraine was one thing, but even I would be hard-pressed to say those words to a young lady passing me by on the street. There was just no way I could say those words. 

“Hmm...” Lorraine stopped, momentarily thinking about what I had just said. “I suppose that is the case. I do apologize, Rentt; it would seem like I have asked you quite the strange question...” 

“If I were used to... Saying things like that to every... Woman. I met. I would no longer... Be an adventurer, but just... A shopkeeper in some village. Such a... Pointless. Way of life... Could be supported even by... A Bronze-class adventurer. If they worked hard.” 

“As I thought, Rentt. It eases the mind.” 

“Eases... The mind?” Confused, I tilted my head at Lorraine. 

“Ah... That. I am merely relieved you are not a lecherous beast, if nothing else.” 

Quite the terrible thing for Lorraine to say. I suppose I could expect that much; my choice of words was awkward at best. 

Well-defined features and a well-shaped body... Those were lecherous words. Somehow, I felt like I should apologize to Lorraine for my poor attempt at praise. 

“Well... I do. Apologize. I did not mean it... That way.” 

“I understand that much, Rentt. Yes, you should be careful with interacting with other young women... In any case, would you like some more food, Rentt? Your bowl is empty.” 

Lorraine gazed at the barren bowl in my hands. Mere moments ago, it was full of the food Lorraine had prepared—with a drop of her blood in it, of course, for the taste and all. I had finished it quickly, as it was most delicious. 

Lorraine had been adding droplets of her blood to her cooking recently, in addition to preparing food on a more regular basis. She did mention it was for the sake of observing my health status and bodily condition, so in other words, it was all in the name of research. Fitting for her. 

“There is still some more.” Lorraine nodded. “Have more if you wish—where are you off to?” Lorraine called after me, as I headed off to the kitchen. “No, you wait here, Rentt. I’ll bring the food over. There are, after all, two separate cauldrons of it.” 

Lorraine snatched the plate out of my hands, before walking off to the kitchen herself. It seemed like there was almost a bound in her step, but alas, I may have simply been imagining it. 

Having reached the kitchen, bowl in hand, Lorraine looked up at a conveniently-located mirror, silently hanging from the wall. Reflected therein was her own reflection, with a relatively calm expression, at that. 

Lorraine parted her hair, revealing a pair of perfectly-shaped ears. 

“My cheeks are red... Very much so. Perhaps I had too much to drink...” 

The two of them had shared some wine after a course of dinner. While the possibility Lorraine had suggested to herself couldn’t be denied, it was worth noting Lorraine had a historically high tolerance against alcohol, and never turned red from drink alone. 

Her ears were red, too. 

Logically, even Lorraine knew her complexion wasn’t caused by alcohol. Sensing that she was now along a somewhat dangerous line of thought, Lorraine swatted it away. 

“I should not have too much to drink... Not too much to drink...” 

Muttering to herself, Lorraine filled the bowl in her hands with a few deft gestures before returning to the dining table once more. While there was, admittedly, quite the spring in her step, there were no observers to point that out to Lorraine, Rentt, or anyone else.