Helping with Adventurer Party Management - Chapter 113

Young people, go on an adventure

Cut through the dark forest and cut out the world with your strength

Hold a sword in your hand that holds a hoe, and step on the world with your feet that tread wheat

Fight bravely and leave your name on the world

Young people, go on an adventure

When I was still swinging my sword as an adventurer, a man who was also a swordsman often sang this song around the campfire. The lyrics that repeat in the song still linger in my ears.

In rural villages, minstrels come during harvest festival times to sing songs praising adventurers. After the harvest, a long, harsh winter arrives. Once the taxes are collected, it becomes clear how many people can be sustained by that year’s harvest. If the harvest is plentiful, it’s good. But if it’s poor, it’s clear how many people cannot be sustained. If that’s the case, someone from the village will have to leave, or else someone in the family will starve to death.

Hunger comes to everyone, but death has its order. First, the elderly die. Next, babies die. Then children, women, and finally men die.

To prevent that, men leave for the city. They become adventurers and say goodbye to their rural lives. Songs praising adventurers are a modest pillar supporting the hearts of such young people. Their families know that most of them will never return. But people aren’t strong enough to merely sacrifice themselves for their families. They wish for a fulfilling life, at the very least, to fight bravely and leave a name behind. The songs praising adventurers also carry the wishes of the families sending them off.

And so the young people come to the city to become adventurers. They arrive unable to read, so they are deceived by senior adventurers who take advantage of them. Even if they manage to complete a request, they cannot handle financial matters and end up in the red due to merchants taking advantage of them. They may take on unreasonable requests and injure their feet while stepping into rocky caves in sandals. They might get caught in a muddy mountain path while fighting goblins, injuring themselves for trivial reasons, falling ill, becoming disabled, or even dying.

It’s terrifying. It’s emotionally unacceptable and a severe social drain. But what’s even more terrifying is that the double-chinned management staff of the Adventurers’ Guild sitting before me now don’t seem to think it’s a problem at all.

Sara and I give a brief explanation about the current situation of beginner adventurers, but they look perplexed with blank expressions. It’s as if they’ve been asked during a meal, ‘Isn’t it sad that the meat you’re eating used to be an animal?’—their faces seem to say, ‘What on earth is this person talking about?’

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When I was an adventurer, I had never interacted with the management staff of the guild, so for this visit, I prepared several scenarios based on their capabilities and interests. Among these were cases where highly competent officials like Jilboa might appear, cases where self-serving and violent types like Gooljin might show up, and cases where tricky individuals like Roro might be involved.

Despite differing directions, they were fundamentally competent. Thus, I could gauge their intentions and communicate mine. I could also engage in negotiations over profit distribution.

However, these guys are useless. It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion with them. I confirm this after exchanging a few words with the Adventurers’ Guild management during the greeting.

For the time being, the official reason for the visit is to use the information for supplementing the ranks of the Sword Fangs Legion. I even offer to pay a reward if competent personnel are secured. Yet, no list is prepared in advance, and the responses are inadequate. They seem to be instructing the window staff, who, lacking experience, only shuffle through empty lists like an alibi.

When I try to discuss the real issue—the current situation of novice adventurers—their reaction, as described at the beginning, shows a complete lack of awareness of the problem.

The response is so unexpected that I decide to ask a few more questions.

“The situation for novice adventurers seems harsher than expected.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Does the guild currently keep track of the number of adventurers and their injuries?”

“No.”

“There must be records of their numbers.”

“Well, somewhat.”

“Do you count them?”

“Those types come and go frequently. We don’t really…”

It’s the same tune all around. If they were intentionally sabotaging due to wariness of us, it would be somewhat better. But they have no such intent—they simply aren’t working because it’s too much trouble.

Beside me, Sara’s face is turning red with anger, and her fists are clenched tightly on her lap. Before she explodes, I decide to leave the Adventurers’ Guild.