Who Says I'm Not a Proper Adventurer?
Chapter 1: You Better Be a Proper Talent

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: You Better Be a Proper Talent

[Castro Swordsmanship Skill Level +1, LV2 → LV3]

[Power +1, agility +1]

Lance Lot let out a long breath, casually placing the sweat-soaked wooden training sword on the rack.

His chest heaved violently a few times, but the stamina that had been nearly depleted from swinging the sword was completely restored within just a few breaths.

’I’ve finally met the standard to register as an Adventurer.’

With a thought, a pale blue, semi-transparent panel materialized before his eyes.

The details for his swordsmanship entry immediately popped up.

Castro Swordsmanship LV3 (Skilled): The standard-issue swordsmanship of the Iris Kingdom’s Third Legion. It’s colloquially known as "Mud Sword Fight" and originates from the border army’s fourth manual, designed specifically for fighting leather-armored Beastmen in muddy trenches.

Beneath this simple and unadorned swordsmanship skill were a few scattered auxiliary Skills.

Common Language Reading and Writing LV3 (Skilled)

Arithmetic LV4 (Mastery)

Looking at this pathetic skill tree, Lance couldn’t help but grimace.

’There was nothing to be done about it.’

These were the bread-and-butter skills he had acquired while just trying to survive at the Adventurer’s Guild over the past few months.

Several months ago, shortly after being transported to this Otherworld, Lance confirmed that it was truly home to fire-breathing Giant Dragons, pointy-eared Elves, and brutish Beastmen obsessed with violence. He immediately established three ironclad rules for himself.

Never get involved in a commotion.

Never meddle in other people’s business.

Never go out after dark.

This wasn’t because he was naturally timid; it was a bloody lesson the body’s original owner had paid for with his life.

This border town was called Gray Rock Town. Because it was located near the resource-rich Copper Creek Forest and a small Underground City Maze wasn’t far off, it had become a paradise for Adventurers.

The town’s streets were wide and lined with shops.

Every day, you could see Warriors in heavy Plate Armor and Casters carrying oversized Magic Staffs moving through the streets.

Merchant caravans were a constant presence, and the air was filled with the aroma of ale and the crisp clinking of Gold Coins.

This thriving commercial atmosphere supported countless people.

The body’s original owner had made a living by writing letters home for illiterate Adventurers.

Those men, who lived and died by the sword, always had words they wanted to send to their families back home or to their lovers.

Because the original owner’s father was a deceased veteran, he could use that connection to get a good discount on postage through the Veterans’ Guild, earning a profit from the difference.

However, crime often festered in the shadows of prosperity.

One dark and windy night, the original owner stayed out a little too late, greedy for an extra rush fee.

As a result, he was targeted by some roving Thief and killed with a single slash.

And that was how the current Lance came to be.

’It was a pathetic story, really.’

In his past life, Lance was just a 9-to-5 corporate drone who also moonlighted as a game reviewer.

That day, he was furiously typing at his screen, writing a review for a newly released game.

Who knew that his computer case would suddenly short-circuit? Everything went black, and then he was transmigrated.

What still made him curl his toes in utter cringe to this day was the game page that had been on his computer screen, which he hadn’t had time to close.

Even though months had passed since his transmigration, just thinking about what his family would see after getting the computer fixed made Lance want to find a hole in this Otherworld and crawl into it.

’Since I’m here, I might as well make the best of it.’

Having learned from the original owner’s lesson, Lance decisively gave up the letter-writing job that required him to wander the streets.

He dug out a small bag of Silver Coins that the original owner had hidden in a crack in the floorboards, which the Thief hadn’t found.

Then he gave up his current rented house and found a safer one closer to the bustling part of town.

He also brazenly contacted a few of his father’s old comrades-in-arms.

After pulling some strings and greasing some palms, he finally secured a stable position as a Copyist at the Adventurer’s Guild.

The work was tedious, but its greatest advantage was safety.

He just had to hide behind a thick counter, responsible for copying newly posted quests or recording changes in Adventurer party registrations.

He didn’t even have to face the crude Adventurers with their endless dirty jokes all day like the receptionists did.

It was boring, but the pay was steady.

The daily wage was a full fifty Copper Coins.

To put that in perspective, at the "Wild Boar and Rose" tavern next to the Adventurer’s Guild, a hearty dinner with a large piece of roasted meat and a big, foamy mug of ale only cost eight Copper Coins.

One had to admit, any industry related to Adventurers was indeed outrageously profitable.

As a Copyist, Lance had first-hand access to the latest quest information and gossip every day.

It was a sensitive position, and many ill-intentioned information brokers had tried to pry information from him.

But Lance always adhered to the principle of "survival above all."

His lips were sealed as if stitched shut, and he acted so low-key he was practically invisible.

This, in turn, earned him unanimous praise from his colleagues and the Adventurers at the Guild, who all said the young man was down-to-earth and reliable.

And so, his days passed as uneventfully as still water.

Every day, Lance would listen to the Adventurers boasting from outside his counter.

One day, a party would find Secret Silver Ore on the third floor of the Underground City, get rich overnight, and move to a Gulf City to buy a new base.

The next, some lucky guy would rescue a lone Elf Ranger during an expedition, not only receiving a reward but also finding love.

To all this, Lance felt not a ripple of emotion. He even found it a little funny.

He didn’t envy those gamblers who traded their lives for money.

His goal was clear and humble: survive for a few more years and save up Ten Gold Coins.

Then, he would travel with Gray Rock Town’s largest merchant caravan to the most prosperous Trade Capital Ostrara on the East Coast.

He had heard that in the high-class lounges there, you could find Fox Maids with fluffy fox ears.

There were Forest Elves renowned across the continent for their beauty.

There were Succubus Sisters with heart-shaped tails and smoldering gazes.

There was even a Siren Songstress with long, azure hair whose voice could soothe the soul.

Of course, if he was lucky, he might even meet one of those proud, fiery-hot Dragon-blooded Maidens.

Lance’s wish was a small one.

He wanted to find an Alien Girl, the kind who had only existed in his fantasies in his past life, start a small business, and live out this life in peace and stability.

However, just when he thought this peaceful life would continue forever, fate played a twisted joke on him.

Perhaps it was because his "golden finger" needed time to adapt to the laws of this world.

On the one-month anniversary of his transmigration, that attribute panel, so familiar it drove him to despair, abruptly appeared on his retina, accompanied by the sound of crackling electricity.

’This is from the game that got me electrocuted and sent me here!’

Name: Lance Lot

Profession: None

Power: 4

agility: 5

Constitution: 4

Spirit: 7

Perception: 6

The stats were completely unremarkable, a perfect match for his current identity as an ordinary clerk.

Only the blood-red line for his Talent at the very bottom was particularly jarring.

[Talent: Hevagmir’s Boiling (Red)]

Description: Hevagmir, the World Spring located in Niflheim in Nordic Mythology.

Effect: Your stamina will be as inexhaustible as this source of the world, surging endlessly. No matter how strenuous the exertion, it can be rapidly restored through simple breathing.

Additional Effect: Due to a mutated Constitution, your sensitivity to pain and abnormal statuses will be greatly reduced.

Looking at this skill description, Lance’s mouth twitched.

’You’d better be talking about the *normal* kind of sensitivity!’

’This isn’t some respectable Talent.’

’This was clearly designed specifically for the game’s protagonist to go on a rampage...’

’...a unique constitution!’