WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Alyo

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◈ Surviving as a Warrior in a TRPG World ◈

Chapter 19: First Mission (3)

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Gerik suddenly remembered a system he had learned about not long ago from Bren, a former adventurer. He asked the receptionist whether the “contribution points” she had just mentioned were the same as the contribution points he knew about.

Oddly enough, Wilber, who stood beside him, answered instead with a snicker.

“Puhaha! How could they be? You only start building those up from Copper Plate! Why would they give something like that to a Wood Plate... It’s just for promotion, kid!”

Gerik’s face flushed red with embarrassment.

Wilber’s cheerful outburst and Gerik’s innocent reaction even made the normally businesslike receptionist smile for a moment.

“Hehe... That’s right. For Wood Plates, we only count how many missions you’ve completed. We don’t consider the difficulty or how well you did.”

“Is it different from Copper Plate onward?”

“Yes. That’s when the real contribution points begin. You receive different amounts depending on the mission difficulty and evaluation, and those points accumulate to determine your rank. That’s why we consider Copper Plates and above to be proper adventurers.”

After explaining, the receptionist handed him a sheet detailing the Wood Plate promotion process.

“The requirements for Wood Plate promotion are written here, so I recommend giving it a read.”

Gerik lowered his head to hide his embarrassment and began reading.

『Wood Plate Promotion Requirements: Number of Successful Missions Required (Increases by 5 for Each Rank Advancement)』

- Rank 9 → Rank 8: 5

- Rank 8 → Rank 7: 10

- Rank 7 → Rank 6: 15

- Rank 6 → Rank 5: 20

- Rank 5 → Rank 4: 25

- Rank 4 → Rank 3: 30

- Rank 3 → Rank 2: 35

- Rank 2 → Rank 1: 40

A total of 180 missions.

After checking the number of successful missions needed to advance to Copper Plate, Gerik muttered that even at the fastest, it would take seven or eight months.

Wilber replied in an incredulous tone.

“What... are you talking about? We only finished so quickly today because we got lucky... Even an ordinary gathering mission takes two or three days! Eight months, my ass... It’ll take three years!”

Listening to Wilber, Gerik realized that sounded far more likely. Remembering that Copper Plates were only then recognized as proper adventurers, he felt just how long it would take to become a real adventurer.

“Here! Sixty copper coins! You worked hard today! I’ll give you the extra pay we got for taking down five Goblins!”

“...I won’t refuse.”

Having earned twenty coins more than their expected thirty-coin reward by earning a Grade 1 rating, Olin and Wilber casually yielded the extra payment to Gerik.

After receiving the welcome earnings, Gerik asked his companions whether they wanted to continue the sewer mission tomorrow.

“What?! Tomorrow too?! That seems like a bit much...”

“Yeah. That’s pushing it.”

Not only Wilber, but even the taciturn Olin immediately looked reluctant at Gerik’s question. When Gerik asked what the point of resting was, Olin answered with his usual resolute expression.

“If you work as an adventurer like that, you’ll wear yourself out in no time.”

Wilber nodded at Olin’s words and added, “It’s not that we’re lazy or enjoy slacking off! Maintenance time is like preparing an extra life for an adventurer!”

Wilber explained that although they might not seem to have suffered much damage today, they had been so focused on the urgent battle that they might not have noticed damage to their armor or dulled weapon edges.

“Pain you didn’t notice might hit you the next morning after sleeping. Especially for frontliners like you and me.”

Olin said that frontliners had to be careful about impacts building up in their bodies. The heat of battle could keep them from feeling the pain that day, but it was extremely common to wake up aching the next morning.

“That certainly makes sense.”

Neither adventurer was wrong, so Gerik readily accepted their advice. Seeing that he understood, Wilber showed him his crossbow and continued.

“Look. See how the bowstring’s stretched out? Your sword will be the same. Check carefully for damage to the blade and leather armor! Don’t neglect it, then end up crying tears of blood in a later fight!”

Saying he had never seen an adventurer who neglected their equipment live long, Wilber left, saying he should carve a few spare quarrels too.

Mulling over those words, Gerik also headed back to the inn where he was staying.

“...I should get some sleep first.”

After wiping the Goblin blood off his body and enduring the winter cold while washing with well water, Gerik was struck by intense fatigue despite it still being early evening, perhaps due to the day’s fierce battle.

* * *

“Urgh... My whole body...”

The next day, winter sunlight shone across Gerik’s face. He barely woke up, grimacing as muscle pain surged through his entire body, then got out of bed.

“...I never imagined the soreness would be worse than when we were camping.”

Just as Olin had said, the heat of battle had only dulled the pain. The actual aftereffects appeared to be considerable.

Just in case, Gerik undressed and inspected every part of his body for bruises. Finding no notable injuries, he got dressed again and checked his equipment.

“I thought I’d wiped all the blood off... Guess not.”

He had thought he had wiped away all the Goblin blood and grease with the cloth he carried after every battle, but when he checked again in brighter light, a considerable amount of grime still clung to his longsword.

Reflecting on his arrogance, he diligently wiped down the sword with a cloth. The edge was still in decent condition, so after removing all the grease, he stopped tending to it and inspected the leather armor he had worn.

“Huh...? The back is torn?”

Despite never having been struck by an enemy, there was a small crack in the back of his leather armor, leaving Gerik bewildered.

Realizing that used goods were used goods in the end, he grumbled that he needed to get it repaired quickly.

‘I did want to look around Stonecreek... Maybe I’ll take this chance to walk around.’

Wanting to make the most of his unexpected day off, Gerik put on his equipment and explored every corner of town. His first destination was a blacksmith’s shop where he could ask to have his leather armor repaired.

Unlike Riverbridge, a trading town with several blacksmiths specializing in different fields, Stonecreek seemed to have only one blacksmith’s shop. It appeared to deal exclusively in weapons and armor.

『Steelbeard's Anvil』

Several people were busy with various tasks inside the large smithy with its striking red roof. Yet one person among them caught Gerik’s attention more than anyone else.

‘Those arms...’

A Dwarf repeatedly raised a massive hammer and brought it down upon heated metal. Each strike filled the smithy with a thunderous roar.

‘They look busy, so I feel bad interrupting them...’

The blacksmith and apprentices were working so busily that Gerik could not bring himself to speak to them.

Instead, to pass the time, he looked over the neatly arranged equipment inside the smithy.

‘The quality of these weapons and armor is impressive...?’

Even to Gerik, a non-expert, the equipment here looked excellent. The weapons, forged from high-quality iron with exceptional skill, were chilling to behold.

“Hm...?”

As he inspected the equipment, the blacksmith at work finally seemed to notice Gerik’s visit. The blacksmith stopped working, rose from his seat, and approached him.

“Well, well! It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a polite customer!”

The Dwarf blacksmith, whose fearsome muscles and bushy beard were especially striking, praised Gerik.

Most customers would shout to announce their arrival and disrupt the work, but Gerik had quietly waited until they were done. The blacksmith appeared to appreciate that.

“What brings you here, young adventurer?”

“Ah, it’s nothing much...”

Gerik explained that his leather armor had been damaged a little during battle and asked whether it could be repaired. The blacksmith closely examined the area to assess the damage.

“Hmm... This isn’t battle damage so much as wear from age. There’s not much to be done about this, so why not just keep wearing it? Repairing it won’t make much difference.”

The blacksmith then added that if Gerik was truly worried, he could have a nearby tanner or clothing shop stitch it up. That would be enough.

“Ah, that’s a relief. Thank you for the advice.”

When Gerik bowed in thanks, the blacksmith laughed heartily as though he truly liked him.

“You’re a young adventurer, but you’ve got promise! By the way, my name is Grimdal.”

“Ah, I’m Gerik.”

Since adventuring was an occupation often taken up by hopeless lowlifes, it was common for people in the profession to have sold their manners for scraps.

Yet the young adventurer before him displayed conduct far beyond his age, and Grimdal’s gaze grew warmer toward Gerik.

‘What on earth do adventurers usually do that basic behavior like this earns me so much goodwill...?’

Unaware of the circumstances, Gerik was inwardly flustered by the other man’s unexpectedly excessive friendliness.

As Grimdal watched Gerik closely, he seemed to notice something and looked at the sword hanging from Gerik’s back.

“That sword... I think it was made at our smithy. May I take a look?”

“...!!”

As Gerik had looked around at the weapons and armor here, he had thought they seemed familiar. It appeared the longsword Lugos had given him had been made at this smithy.

‘Well, this must be the only proper blacksmith’s shop nearby...’

Stonecreek was the most prosperous of the frontier settlements and had an Adventurers’ Guild, so it was only natural that Lugos had visited it often. Gerik realized he had acted too carelessly.

‘...Still, I can’t refuse to show it.’

Refusing to show the sword might make him seem even more suspicious. Having learned in his previous life how exhausting unnecessary rumors could be in a small community, Gerik handed over the sword while doing his best to appear calm.

“It’s definitely one I made recently. And one I was particularly fond of, too. But I’ve never sold this sword to you... Where on earth did you get it?”

Just in case, Gerik recalled the story he had prepared while traveling, a suitable mix of truth and lies, and answered.

He said that before becoming an adventurer, he had once helped an adventurer who had been seriously injured.

As he stayed with the adventurer for a long time and helped with the recovery, they naturally shared all sorts of conversations. Gerik explained that when the injured adventurer learned his dream was to become an adventurer like them, they gave him the sword as a gift.

“...They gave you a sword?”

To Grimdal, the idea of someone handing their weapon to another person sounded bizarre in the life of an adventurer, where a weapon was as good as one’s life. Seeing that expression, Gerik quickly continued with the prepared explanation.

“They carried three swords. Their main weapon, a spare weapon, and a multipurpose shortsword. The one they gave me was the spare. They told me that as long as it didn’t hinder your movement, an extra weapon was always the right choice.”

“Ha ha!! That’s true enough!!”

It was exactly the kind of advice a seasoned adventurer would give, so Grimdal nodded in agreement.

Judging that there was no way this greenhorn could have made up such words on his own, he laughed heartily and finally appeared to believe Gerik.

“I’m glad that this sword I made, though it hasn’t been around for long, seems to have passed into the hands of a good owner! This must be a blessing from the god of hammer and anvil!”

With that, Grimdal said that since fate had brought them together, he would inspect the sword for him.

At the offer of a skilled craftsman examining it for free, Gerik quickly unfastened the sword and scabbard from his back and handed them over before Grimdal could change his mind.

“Hmm...? Just how have you been taking care of this sword?”

“Uh... I wiped it down with a cloth after every battle, and once a mission was over, I sharpened it with a whetstone at the inn.”

“Hah...”

Grimdal squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing his annoyance with an expression that seemed to say, What am I supposed to do with this greenhorn?

Worried that those pot-lid-sized hands might smack him, Gerik shrank back a little and watched Grimdal’s reaction.

“It’s better than doing nothing... but I’ll be honest. It’s terrible. So whenever possible, bring it here to have it sharpened. I’ll do it for a small fee. Unless the edge is damaged during a mission, use only a cloth to clean it. Understood?”

“Yes...”

Footnotes:

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