Helping with Adventurer Party Management - Chapter 272

I begin with an investigation.

 I ask the receptionist at the Adventurers’ Guild whether it’s common for villagers, like in the earlier example, to come directly to request jobs.

“Ah, it happens occasionally,” they reply.

But “occasionally” feels too vague, so I ask how many times it’s happened in the past month.

After thinking for a moment, they say, “Hmm. I’ve seen it about three times while I was on duty.”

Of course, since there may have been times when this person wasn’t present, the actual number could be higher. This is the tricky part of managing an organization based on statistics. Cases that aren’t tracked or considered part of the organization’s purview can easily be perceived as nonexistent, leading to misinformed decisions from leadership.

At the Adventurer’s Guild, I’ve implemented a reporting system to record the number of requests as statistics, but we’ve overlooked how to account for cases that aren’t even categorized as requests. As a result, the person in charge hasn’t kept records, and no measures have been taken.

When examining a report, it’s crucial to understand what’s happening, but even more vital to consider what isn’t happening. This is a fundamental principle that we’ve neglected.

I want to conduct a more thorough investigation, but first, I ask several people about the number of requests to get a rough estimate. From what I gather, it seems there have been about seven cases in the past two months.

“Is that a lot? It seems pretty low,” Sara remarks.

“If you only count the number of people who made it to the Adventurer’s Guild, it might seem low,” I reply.

Indeed, three cases in January could be considered minimal. But that figure only accounts for clients who actually reach the guild.

When you factor in the total number of people who arrive in town but don’t make it to the Adventurer’s Guild, those who die on the journey, and those who hesitate to approach the guild in the first place, it wouldn’t be surprising if there were ten times as many cases of people who try to seek out an adventurer but can’t.

For every reported incident, there are often ten near misses—this is commonly referred to as Heinrich’s Law. However, this isn’t actual data, so it won’t be enough to convince the higher-ups at the church and the Adventurer’s Guild. I decide to do some groundwork before I approach the church.

(Translator’s Notes: Heinrich’s Law, often referred to in the context of safety and risk management, is based on the principle that for every major accident or incident, there are many more minor incidents or near misses.)

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“Thank you for your help, Lord Urbano.”

I head up to the second floor of the Adventurers’ Guild and greet Urbano, who has firmly established his position within the guild.

Even though Priest Nicolo sees through my intentions, Urbano—a sharp young civil servant—is the one who prepares the Adventurer’s Guild reports for the kingdom’s upper echelons. We meet regularly to share information.

Urbano reviews my reports first, using them to strengthen his own standing within the guild, so it’s a mutually beneficial relationship.

It seems he’s earned a solid reputation among the higher-ups in the guild. He usually issues instructions within the guild based on the guidelines outlined in the reports, ensuring alignment with the policies of the upper echelons. Because everything is documented, the various department heads can easily share and implement those policies.

When you think about it, in a world where organizations are run by people, the Adventurer’s Guild in this city operates similarly to large Japanese companies. They make recommendations for organizational management based on bottom-up figures and reports, backed by the support of upper management. It’s no wonder the people in charge find it easy to work there. This likely fosters loyalty toward Urbano as their boss.

“It seems you’ve been making waves lately, Kenji,” Urbano remarks.

“Thank you,” I reply.

“By the way, those shoes… Couldn’t you spare some for me? They’ve become quite the talk. After all, they’re Cardinal-approved, aren’t they?”

Apparently, word of the Cardinal’s endorsement has reached Urbano as well. I think it’s a bit much for him to be asking for a bribe so openly, but since it’s just a normal sales request, I answer accordingly.

“Is that so? Right now, we’re only selling to priests. The supplier identity has its limits, and the church hasn’t given us permission to sell them widely yet…”

This is half-truth, half-lie. The church has practically given us the green light, but we’re still in the phase of pre-orders for high-ranking nobles, with Anne handling those personally. It’ll probably be a while before we can offer them to civil servants like Urbano.

“Hmm. If that’s the case, there’s not much we can do. But do let us know when sales begin.”

“I’ll definitely keep you updated. By the way, there’s something I’d like to discuss…”

As I lean in to speak quietly, I notice Urbano blink uneasily, his breathing becoming more pronounced.

I feel like Echigoya offering a bribe to an evil magistrate.

(Translator’s Notes: Echigoya is a fictional character from the light novel series KonoSuba: God’s Blessing on This Wonderful World! by Natsume Akatsuki. He is a greedy and unscrupulous shopkeeper who manipulates customers for profit. The term “Echigoya” has come to symbolize shady merchants in Japanese culture, representing the stereotype of a profit-driven figure lacking integrity.)