Thirty silver coins per person.
Thirty silver coins per person.
Red hair neatly tied back, pale skin dotted with a shy sprinkling of freckles—
The receptionist at the Gwis Mercenary Guild was a young woman in her prime.
Was this because the world originated from a game? Or was it that Gwis was stable enough to attract such people? Or maybe it was just that mercenary guilds held absolute power over mercenaries?
"What's your name, Priest?"
I neatly folded away my wandering thoughts.
What could I say? Using the name I'd gone by until now would be like shouting, Hey, I'm alive! Please come arrest me!—something only a desperate attention-seeker would do.
"Malnak. My name is Malnak."
Malnak.
It was the name I had picked when I first created this character, and only now was I using it for the first time.
The receptionist began filling out various parts of a form with the pen in her hand—mainly physical descriptions and details about the god I served. After a moment, she looked up and smiled kindly.
Now that I was really looking at her—she was quite the beauty.
"Alright, Priest Malnak. Would you mind waiting here for a bit? It takes a little time to prepare a bronze-rank mercenary tag."
I smiled gently.
"I can wait as long as needed."
Hearing my reply, the receptionist stood up with the documents and walked upstairs.
No matter how I looked at her, she was beautiful.
This world was strangely full of beautiful women. Was that also because it was a game world?
"Kill!"
"I haven't fallen for her, Mother of Corruption. I merely thought she was rather pretty."
"Kill!"
I gently patted the twitching hand of the goddess and whispered:
"By the way, how many fingers does that receptionist have?"
From my chest pocket, the withered hand extended two fingers.
Two fingers.
"Then she must be somewhat capable—or someone of decent rank."
The meaning of the Mother of Corruption's fingers was simple:
1 finger: 10 Divinity
2 fingers: 100 Divinity
3 fingers: 1,000 Divinity
4 fingers: 10,000 Divinity
5 fingers: 100,000 Divinity
As a priest of corruption, my method of acquiring Divinity was straightforward and intuitive:
Harvesting the death of sentient beings.
For example, if I were to kill that two-finger receptionist and offer her up to the Mother of Corruption, I'd instantly gain 100 Divinity.
Of course, dealing with the aftermath would be incredibly annoying.
Thankfully, the rules were lenient—I didn't have to kill the person myself.
As long as I had a corpse that hadn't been dead too long, I could send it back to the Mother and gain Divinity.
When I first discovered this, I tried to get work near a cemetery.
Unfortunately, I wasn't a necromancer. The corpses that came through were always too far gone to be useful.
"Priest Malnak, here's your ID."
Before I knew it, the red-haired receptionist had returned from upstairs and handed me a bronze tag with a polite smile. I received it carefully and gave her the most devout smile I could muster.
"Thank you. By the way, is there any work available right now?"
That was the real reason I'd come to the mercenary guild, even though there were plenty of other ways for someone impersonating a priest to get an ID.
I was completely broke.
Even though I was a reinforced human who could survive without food for long periods—and had no sense of taste—I still couldn't starve forever.
"Just a moment."
The receptionist rummaged through a stack of documents.
"There should be something around here for a priest of the Goddess of Harmony…"
As she sorted the papers with practiced hands, she kept chatting with me.
"Since it's the dead of winter, there's not as much work for the guild as usual. Still, for a priest to be looking for mercenary work—did you run out of funds during your pilgrimage?"
"Yes. That's exactly right."
Pilgrimage.
This game, built on the motto of free choice, featured a wide variety of gods involved in the continent. As a result, the many religions constantly struggled to spread their faith—and the most prominent way they did that was through "pilgrimage."
A pilgrimage, true to the word, referred to priests who had reached a certain level of skill traveling the world to spread their god's power and message. Of course, priests were still human—when they ran out of money, it was common to pick up mercenary work to get by.
"Ah, here it is! This is the one, Priest Malnak."
I took the paper and quickly scanned the text. The receptionist smiled brightly when she saw me read.
"As expected of a priest—it's so much easier this way. I usually have to read things out loud to the other mercenaries one line at a time."
A notice from the lord of Gwis. The target: bandits or monsters. A mission issued because the number of missing peasants heading to Gwis had been subtly increasing.
If the reward was really what this paper said, then it'd be thirty silver coins per person for identifying the threat and eliminating it. Even if we came back empty-handed, we'd still be paid a single silver coin.
Not a bad deal.
After skimming through the paper and grasping the general situation, I gave the receptionist a modest reply.
"Those who can't read simply haven't had the chance to learn. It's not a particularly special skill."
Ever since I arrived in this world, I could read and write the language naturally. It was one of the more convenient perks—no need to bother learning it from scratch.
"So, when does this job start?"
"You've come at the perfect time, Priest. This group is scheduled to depart tomorrow."
The reason this receptionist was being oddly polite and sweet with me was, of course, because I was a priest. In this world, priests belonged to the intellectual class—just being a priest guaranteed a certain level of education, and each had powers of some kind, even if they varied in strength.
Because of that, people were always as respectful as possible when dealing with priests.
A class of power and knowledge—that was what a priest was.
The problem was, I belonged to a sect that the rest of the priesthood despised:
I was a Priest of Corruption.
I gave the receptionist a friendly smile and cautiously asked,
"Would it be possible to receive a portion of the reward in advance?"
I was completely, utterly broke.
After the receptionist reminded me again and again that this really isn't how it's usually done, and that this was a special exception because I was a priest, and also that if I was late tomorrow, I'd have to pay a cancellation fee no matter what, I finally managed to get one silver coin in advance.
"She was quite the talkative receptionist, Mother."
"Kill!"
"I won't kill her, Mother. Some people just talk a lot—surely that's no reason to murder them."
"Kill!"
"I'm not in love with her! If you keep insisting that, I'm seriously going to get mad."
"Waddling Rabbit"
That pitiful name belonged to the cheap inn I was staying at tonight.
After paying ten copper coins for a room and a meal, I had only ninety left.
Poor. Absolutely poor.
I spooned up the stew—who knew what was in it. Of course, I couldn't taste a thing.
I stared down at it in silence. The chunks floating around didn't look all that appetizing.
Well, if I did have a sense of taste, I probably wouldn't even be able to force this stuff down anyway.
Shoveling stew into my mouth mechanically, I watched the people around me—clusters of loud conversations, groups chatting away.
In contrast, I was alone.
I started to feel a little down.
"Kill!"
As if to remind me I wasn't truly alone, the voice echoed through my head.
"Do not worry, Mother. Your son's heart is steady as ever. I was simply thinking… maybe I'll use this reward to get myself a decent weapon."
The stew was gone. I set the empty bowl aside and went up to my room. I'd spent a few extra coins to get a private room. I lay my body down on the stiff bed and closed my eyes.
I arrived at the western gate of Gwis, just as the receptionist girl had so thoroughly emphasized. Maybe because the sun hadn't risen yet, I was the first to arrive at the meeting spot. That was also thanks to my body—not needing much sleep was one of the perks of being an enhanced human.
"Kill!"
"I'm just early, Mother. Killing everyone just because they're late is a bit harsh, don't you think?"
As I exchanged quiet banter with the Mother of Corruption, people started to gather one by one.
An official from the castle read off names, checking each person's mercenary tag for attendance. I watched as a line was drawn through my name, then stepped back and observed the man who seemed to be in charge of the mission.
He was a silver-rank mercenary, a middle-aged man named Gallard. He wore thick furs over his armor, which matched his weathered, seasoned look. Judging by the way he casually chatted with the official, it was safe to assume he'd worked in Gwis for quite some time.
When the official left, Gallard walked straight up to me and smiled.
"Not cold, are you, Priest?"
All I wore was a pure white priest's robe—not even a simple fur coat. The cold didn't bother me at all.
Truthfully, I just couldn't afford a fur-lined coat.
"I'm quite fine."
"The refined spirit of a priest, unfazed even by the cold, eh?"
Gallard seemed very pleased with the word refined. After a moment, he carefully asked,
"I heard you serve the Goddess of Preservation. Would it be alright to ask what sort of power you can use?"
He was expecting something simple.
"I can prevent wounds from worsening, and keep a person's condition… stable."
Gallard grinned with satisfaction. He looked relieved—clearly, that was exactly what he had hoped for.
"Just what one would expect from a priest of the Lady of Preservation."
In truth, it was just a minor ability to delay the corruption and degradation of injuries. But the outcome was close enough. To Gallard, the details probably didn't matter much.
Gallard made his way around the group, speaking to each person in turn. There were ten of us total. While he was sizing up the party, I whispered to the Mother of Corruption.
"How many fingers does each one have?"
The results were… ordinary. Gallard had one and a half fingers. The others ranged from half a finger to one full finger.
Half a finger meant they had potential to grow into the next tier—but there was no bonus divinity from harvesting a half-finger. Whether someone had one or one and a half fingers, the divine energy I'd get from killing them was the same.
In other words, no one special.
Once Gallard had finished checking the group, he gave the signal to move out.
And so began the mission worth thirty silver coins a head.