Side Stories

01 — The Demon of the Adventurer’s Guild

Before Luciel ever set foot in the Merratoni Adventurer’s Guild, rumors about a demon who lived beneath the guildhall’s floors abounded. Local adventurers, however, knew better, and drank to the poor, ignorant souls who had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

Injuries were the leading cause of early retirement among adventurers, but the only way to survive on the low-paying work their lack of status restricted them to was to accept as many requests as possible. And that was only for solo adventurers. Times were even tougher for those in parties, who had to split the compensation several ways. So the confident ones would take extermination contracts above their ranks with a group of inexperienced newbies, end up injured in the field, and the cycle continued.

One of the primary issues was that many newbies didn’t know what it meant to be an adventurer. Ideally, new adventurers would avoid combat-related requests entirely and use their time to study monsters and other essential knowledge, as well as practice their fundamentals and teamwork in the training grounds. Only then, after about a month of solid education, would they be ready to accept combat jobs.

Were this common knowledge, the number of wounded would have dropped drastically, but to be an adventurer was first and foremost to be independent, and veteran adventurers very rarely shared their experience with anyone but those they were close with. In Merratoni, these lucky few would find themselves guided into unknown depths where their abilities would ultimately reach new heights—a hell ruled by none other than Brod, the guildmaster. A hell where, unfortunately, none had lasted more than three days, and that record went to the Lineage of the White Wolf.

The party of beastfolk (a race known for having greater physical prowess than humans) knew who their teacher was. Brod, the Whirlwind, was one of the greatest adventurers to ever live, so they had been more than eager to learn from him, and they would have continued to do so had they not run short on money. Still, over those three days, they had absorbed every ounce of wisdom they could. And for their efforts, they quickly rose above their peers.

Other newbies occasionally made appearances in the training grounds, but it never took long for them to start griping and subsequently give up. Eventually, Brod had to start personally inviting mid- to high-ranking adventurers in order to keep his own skills from deteriorating.

This man was the “demon” of the Adventurer’s Guild. Whispers of him spread like wildfire, but the feats accomplished by those who survived his domain were undeniable.

“What I’d give for a bit of excitement right around now.”

Brod stood in the training grounds beneath the Adventurer’s Guild. His nearly three-decades-long career as an adventurer had a humble beginning. Weak and alone, his first steps had been small, painstaking, and he’d devoted himself to training before anything else. The only jobs he’d cautiously taken were requests that he was certain matched his abilities.

It wasn’t until reaching A-rank that he really began to feel strong. Up until then, his mind had never wavered from his one singular goal of improving, of constantly upping the ante on himself, but when he’d found out his peers had christened him the Late Bloomer, his eyes had been opened and he’d noticed things he never had before.

His fellow adventurers were gone. And not just them—even younger adventurers who’d registered before him had all retired. From then on, Brod never looked away from the truth again. He suddenly couldn’t ignore the mess around him anymore. Talented newbies were taking on reckless jobs, mid-rank adventurers were growing complacent, and parties were constantly breaking up and re-forming while nothing ever changed.

Eventually, Brod found himself his first party—a group led by a wolf-man named Galba and his younger brother, Gulgar—and they hit it off well. But Brod couldn’t escape the fact that given how weak he was, his words would never carry weight, and he would never be able to protect anyone. He needed to get stronger.

One day, a pack of monsters was attacking a village. Leaving Galba to protect the citizens, Brod and a small group set out to face the threat. The enemy was relentless and came at them from all sides, but Brod slew them with ease, saving his fellow adventurers in the process. He seemed to be everywhere at once, faster than a gale, and he would have been awarded with the appropriate nickname if someone else hadn’t beaten him to it. So they dubbed him the Whirlwind instead. This would cause him no end of grief down the line.

Deeds like these were what eventually elevated Brod to the rank of S, but he took no pride in it. Because he hadn’t looked away. His accomplishments couldn’t lengthen the short lives of most adventurers or their careers.

He went to Adventurer’s Guild Headquarters and declined the honor of SS-rank, requesting a different kind of accolade instead: that of guildmaster.

“I need an apprentice. Someone tough who doesn’t back down.”

Perhaps this wish was what summoned Luciel to Merratoni.