Chapter 4
I, Become a Mercenary!
After signing the contract, I went with Hwaruan to the Mercenary Guild branch.
The massive three-story wooden building, situated near the bustling downtown area, was as usual, emanating a faint scent of rotting wood.
As we opened the door and peeked inside, we saw a spacious area. As always, it was crowded with people, and the wooden floor creaked, absorbing the moisture from their shoes and creating puddles.
And at the reception counter in the distance, where requests were exchanged, the receptionists were diligently performing their emotional labor.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you coming in?”
“The senior should go first. Isn’t that obvious?”
“Ugh, it’s not like I’m sending you to be an arrow sponge.”
Hwaruan, with a slight smirk, entered first, and as I followed him, I felt the usual stares directed at a newcomer.
Most of them quickly fizzled out like sparks, but today, quite a few embers remained. They were coming from the left.
I glanced over with just my eyes and saw a group of people lounging near a long-extinguished fireplace and a slightly warped wooden table, covered in moisture, with bottles of alcohol scattered around. They were staring at Hwaruan.
There was no hostility in their eyes. They were just looking to see if there was any work.
But he ignored their gaze and headed for the stairs. Today’s objective wasn’t them.
The slightly more upscale reception area, tucked away on one side of the second floor, was free from the hustle and bustle below.
“Welcome, Hwaruan.”
The female receptionist, dressed in a waitress uniform, greeted us, or rather Hwaruan, politely.
Her wavy blonde hair, reaching her shoulders, fell like an awning, and Hwaruan, seemingly annoyed by her flamboyant pretense, replied curtly.
“Mary. Cut the crap. You know I don’t like that.”
Hwaruan waved his hand dismissively. Only then did a trained smile appear on her face.
“What brings you here today? You even brought Mr. Ase, whom you usually leave alone on the first floor, all the way to the counter.”
“Ase has endured for 5 years.”
Hwaruan said, patting my shoulder.
“He has decided to join our mercenary group as a free man, so I’m here to apply for a change of status.”
As a bit of TMI, I had been unpaid for 5 years. No salary, no rank, nothing.
Regardless of whether you could draw aura from a sword or cast magic that brought down light from the heavens, slave mercenaries had no rank, couldn’t be promoted, and couldn’t renew their contracts without their master’s permission.
Mary’s eyes widened.
“You’ve already endured 5 years as a slave mercenary?”
“Indeed. So tell me, Mary, how many people have endured 5 years as a slave mercenary recently?”
Hwaruan asked Mary boastfully. She excused herself for a moment and disappeared, returning shortly with a stack of documents. After scanning them, she said,
“Well, there haven’t been any in the northern Britannian region for over 10 years. Looking at the entire Britannian region, there have been about seven cases reported in the last 15 years. Almost all of them quit mercenary work after their status was changed to free men.”
For reference, it’s common knowledge that slave mercenaries are rarely used in the southern Britannian region.
In other words, those seven were almost all from the North, except for maybe one.
And with a charming smile that never faded, Mary told me that I was the first case without any physical disabilities and applauded. Clap, clap.
It would be awkward if she was the only one clapping, so I clapped along. Clap, clap, clap.
“Congratulations on surviving, Mr. Ase. You’ve become a living joke in the mercenary industry.”
“If you’re going to do that, can you also congratulate me on surviving in the future? Because hearing that makes me feel like my luck is about to run out.”
“Hehe, you’re quite the joker.”
As with most emotional labor, she responded to my unfunny joke with a smile and asked,
“So, should I update your mercenary tag to Golpion Jihouse?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you know how it works in the rest of the world?”
Hwaruan asked again. His tone reminded me of a grandfather bragging about his son passing the civil service exam.
“Uh, that’s…”
“Haha! You know very well that you won’t find it here, Hwaruan. Let’s talk.”
And just as a higher-up would appear when a big shot makes a request, a man with neatly combed blonde hair emerged from behind the counter, his face adorned with a smile that was half polite and half amused.
His colorful clothes and the way his plump belly jiggled as he approached indicated his high status.
“Uphouse! Good to see you. You’ve become the branch manager here, I see. It’s a small world.”
“Hehe, that’s right. It’s been a while, Hwaruan.”
As they shook hands and chatted, Mary asked me,
“Anyway, you’re here to get a mercenary tag, right? The starting rank is F.”
For reference, in the past, slave mercenaries started at least two ranks higher, at D or even C. It was a privilege based on the assumption that “those who have been worked hard for 5 years must be decent at swordsmanship.”
But the biggest reason for such privileges to disappear, whether in Korea or this different world, is accidents. Accidents big enough to screw over the employer as well.
After that, when a slave’s status was changed to a free mercenary, they always started at rank F. Those who were meant to rise would rise quickly anyway.
I nodded, having heard this story on the way here.
“That’s right. Hwaruan will pay the fee.”
“Then please wait a moment.”
***
After a while, I received my mercenary tag, proof that I was now an official mercenary of the Hwaruan mercenary group.
And a bonus “congratulations on your future survival” from Mary.
Thank you for remembering, Ms. Mary.
Mary’s face flushed slightly at my words. Was she trying to hold back laughter?
I wondered if I had said something unnecessary. Emotional labor is tough.
Meanwhile, Hwaruan, having accepted Uphouse’s request for a private conversation, entered the reception room on the second floor, so I leaned against the wall next to the room and observed the bustling scene below, which resembled a marketplace.
From above, I could clearly see the rotten parts here and there.
By the way, they must be making a lot of money, why not tear this down and build a new one with stone? Or buy a new building.
The stench reached all the way up here, maybe because they barely did any maintenance and built everything with wood, or maybe it was because of the rain.
Even the rats roaming the floor in the distant corner were staggering.
And on top of that…
“You bastard! Are you calling me an idiot? I guess you’ve never heard of Bazin’s name?”
“Wow, I thought you had shit stuck in your ears, but I guess you have it in your eyes? How dare you talk to Kyle like that!”
―Crash!
With those guys fighting like hell and assaulting my ears, it was a perfect storm.
They looked like E-rank at best.
But still higher ranked than me.
“Stop fighting!”
―Smack!
“Aye!!”
“I didn’t do anything wrong, ow! It hurts!!”
If there’s someone out there watching me in omniscient first-person perspective, welcome to the reality of a mercenary in this different world, you metaphysical bastard viewer who’s a combination of a patron saint and a live streamer.
This is the Hebrides branch, an otherworldly employment agency, a place of ruin and despair, where murderers and debtors mingle, unlike the Adventurer’s Guild, filled with hope and romance, young men and women, or the Mage’s Guild, overflowing with ambition, aspiration, explorers, and madmen.
But even in this godforsaken place, there were a few things that weren’t rotten wood.
The nameless mercenary tags, standing like totem poles, watching the fight and engaging in “Generic Otherworldly Conversation A,” and the small bronze mercenary tag in my hand.
The bronze tag, the size of a national ID card, was cold and heavy, unlike the wooden slave mercenary tag I had been using.
[F-rank Mercenary – Golpion Jihouse]
Below it was a record stating that I had completed 5 years as a slave mercenary in the northern Britannian region and had become a free man, along with a gold star.
According to Mary, it was a mark that served as a plus factor when being hired, indicating a unique history.
It felt a bit underwhelming since it was simply a mark of becoming a free man, but as she said, surviving for more than 5 years as a slave mercenary in this industry was a joke.
Slave mercenaries were mostly used on battlefields with nowhere to escape, so they were rarely used in the south of Britannian, and there was no mercenary captain who wouldn’t take advantage of free labor.
And this was the northern Britannian region, notorious for its constant territorial wars, even in this different world. So slave mercenaries were sent to the battlefield whenever there was a chance.
The battlefield is fair to all. The strong are targeted and killed, and the weak are trampled even without being targeted.
Therefore, most slaves couldn’t endure for more than 2 years and ended up dead.
It was a pain to constantly replenish those slaves, which was one of the reasons why Hwaruan only used one or two slave mercenaries at a time, but he was actually an exception.
Elite few, my ass.
This was a world where even someone who had awakened mana or a veteran mercenary with 10 years of experience could die from a stray arrow to the neck while backpedaling.
But Hwaruan’s choice was right, and I had endured those 5 years, so that was enough.
In other words, I now had a title that would make people suspect I had forged my mercenary tag if I just threw it at them.
Of course, I wouldn’t be arrested because the magical processing of the Mercenary Guild could verify its authenticity, and no idiot would forge a tag to advertise their slave past.
By the way, there was no sign of Hwaruan coming out. Was he discussing something important?
I couldn’t get used to the smell of rotting wood, no matter how much I tried. I held the mercenary tag to my nose and sniffed.
“Mmm, smell.”
It might sound crazy, but the strong metallic scent calmed my mind. It was a hundred times better than the smell of rotten wood.
This mercenary tag could be considered a passport that could be used throughout this different world, except for a few forbidden and dangerous areas. Mercenaries were needed everywhere.
Although I was currently with Hwaruan’s mercenary group, I would have to wander around if I wanted to return to Earth, and this tag would be useful then.
It wasn’t in my plans to spend my entire life swinging a sword, earning money for someone else, and eventually becoming fertilizer for a single flower under some nameless mountain.