Chapter 1: You’d Better Be a Proper Talent |
【Castro Swordsmanship Proficiency +1, LV2→3】
【Strength +1, Agility +1】
Lance let out a long breath and casually placed the sweat-soaked training wooden sword onto the rack.
His chest heaved violently a few times. The stamina that had nearly been completely drained from swinging the sword actually recovered to its original state within just a few breaths.
He had finally reached the standard to register as an Adventurer.
With a slight movement of his thoughts, a pale blue translucent panel appeared before his eyes.
The detailed entry for swordsmanship immediately popped up.
Castro Swordsmanship LV3 (Proficient): The standard swordsmanship of the Third Legion of the Iris Kingdom, mockingly nicknamed “Mud Wrestling Swordplay.” It originated from the Fourth Field Manual of the Border Army and was specifically designed for fighting leather-armored orcs in muddy trenches.
Beneath this plain and unadorned swordsmanship skill, a few auxiliary skills were sparsely listed.
Arithmetic LV4 (Mastery)
Looking at this shabby skill tree, Lance helplessly curled his lips.
There was nothing he could do about it.
These were all survival skills he had honed over the past few months while barely scraping by in the Adventurers’ Guild.
Several months ago, when Lance had just transmigrated into this world and confirmed that there were indeed fire-breathing Dragons, sharp-eared Elves, and violence-obsessed orcs—
he had immediately set three ironclad rules for himself.
Never join in on the excitement.
Never meddle in other people’s business.
Never go out after dark.
This was not because he was timid by nature, but because it was a bloody lesson paid for with the original owner’s life.
This border town was called Graystone Town. Because it was located near the resource-rich Copper Creek Forest outside the city, and not far from a small underground dungeon labyrinth, it had become a paradise for Adventurers.
The town’s streets were wide, lined with shops on both sides.
Every day, one could see warriors clad in heavy plate armor and spellcasters carrying exaggerated staffs weaving through the streets.
Merchant caravans came and went endlessly, and the air was filled with the scent of ale and the crisp clinking of gold coins.
This thriving commercial atmosphere sustained countless people.
The original owner had made a living by writing letters on behalf of illiterate Adventurers.
Those men who lived on the edge of a blade always had something they wanted to send to their families back home or to their lovers.
Because the original owner’s father had been a deceased retired veteran, he could use connections through the Veterans’ Guild to obtain good discounts on mailing letters. The original owner earned his living by profiting from the price difference.
However.
Where there was prosperity, shadows of crime often grew beneath it.
On a dark and windy night, the original owner, tempted by earning a little extra rush fee, had returned home later than usual.
As a result, he was targeted by a wandering thief from who-knows-where and killed with a single strike.
That was how the current Lance came to be.
It was quite miserable, really.
In his previous life, Lance had been nothing more than a nine-to-five office worker, with a side job reviewing some rather improper games.
That day, he had been typing furiously in front of his screen, writing a review for a newly released game.
Who would have thought the computer case would suddenly leak electricity? His vision went black, and he transmigrated.
What made him cringe so hard even now that his toes curled—
was that the game page on his computer screen back then hadn’t been closed in time.
Even after several months in this new world, whenever he imagined his family repairing the computer and seeing what was on the screen—
Lance wished he could dig a hole and bury himself in this other world.
Since he was here, he might as well make peace with it.
Having learned from the original owner’s lesson, Lance decisively gave up that job of running around the streets writing letters.
He dug out the small pouch of silver coins the original owner had hidden in a crack beneath the floorboards—coins that hadn’t been stolen.
Then he canceled his current rental and found a safer house closer to the bustling area.
He also shamelessly contacted several of his late father’s former comrades.
After some maneuvering and networking, he finally secured a stable position as a Scribe in the Adventurers’ Guild.
The job was tedious, but it had the advantage of being safe.
He only needed to stay behind the sturdy counter, responsible for copying newly issued commission notices or recording changes in Adventurer party registrations.
He didn’t even have to face those crude Adventurers who constantly spouted vulgar jokes like the front desk receptionists did.
Though boring, the salary was stable.
The daily wage was a full fifty copper coins.
It should be known that at the tavern “Boar and Rose” next to the Adventurers’ Guild, a hearty dinner with large chunks of roasted meat and a big mug of frothy ale cost only eight copper coins.
It had to be said—any industry associated with Adventurers was indeed highly profitable.
As a Scribe, Lance had first-hand access to the latest mission intelligence and rumors every day.
This was a sensitive position, and quite a few ill-intentioned information brokers had tried to pry information out of him.
But Lance always adhered to his principle of “survival above all.”
His mouth was sealed as if stitched shut, and he kept such a low profile he was practically invisible.
Instead, this earned him unanimous praise from colleagues and Adventurers alike, all saying the young man was steady and reliable.
And so, his days passed as plain as water.
Every day, Lance listened to the Adventurers outside the counter boasting.
Today, one team had picked up mithril ore on the third level of a dungeon, becoming rich overnight and moving to a coastal city to buy a new base.
Tomorrow, some lucky fellow had saved a lone Elven ranger during an expedition, gaining not only a reward but also love.
As for all this—
Lance felt no ripple in his heart. If anything, he found it a little amusing.
He did not envy those gamblers who traded their lives for money.
His goal was clear and modest: endure for a few more years and save up ten gold coins.
Then, he would board the largest merchant caravan in Graystone Town and head to the most prosperous Trade Capital on the eastern coast—Ostera.
It was said that in the high-end lounges there, there were foxfolk maids with fluffy fox ears.
There were forest Elves renowned across the continent for their beauty.
There were succubus ladies with heart-shaped tails and captivating gazes.
There were even siren songstresses with azure blue hair whose voices could soothe the soul.
And if luck was on his side, he might even meet a dragon-blooded girl with a proud personality and a fiery figure.
Lance’s wish was simple.
To find a non-human girl who existed only in fantasies in his previous life, do a bit of small business, and live out this life peacefully.
However.
Just when he thought this calm life would continue forever, fate played a cruel joke on him.
Perhaps because the “cheat” required time to adapt to the laws of this world—
on the day marking exactly one month since his transmigration,
that interface—so familiar it made him collapse inside—suddenly appeared on his retina, accompanied by a crackling electric sound.
This was the very game that had electrocuted him into transmigrating!
Name: Lance
Class: None
Strength: 4
Agility: 5
Constitution: 4
Spirit: 7
Perception: 6
Unremarkable stats, perfectly matching his current identity as an ordinary clerk.
Only the line of talent at the very bottom, as red as blood, appeared especially glaring.
【Talent: Hvergelmir’s Surge (Red)】
Description: Hvergelmir, the wellspring of the world located in Niflheim in Norse mythology.
Effect: Your stamina will be like the source of this world—endless and surging without cease. No matter how intense the expenditure, it can rapidly recover through simple breathing.
Additional Effect: Due to bodily mutation, your sensitivity to pain and abnormal conditions will be greatly reduced.
Looking at this skill description, the corner of Lance’s mouth twitched.
You’d better mean a proper kind of “sensitivity”!
How was this anything like a proper talent?
This was clearly—
a special physique designed purely for the male protagonist to rampage freely in the game!
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