Chapter 1: Scum and Villainy

[Worn Standard Longsword]
Type: One-Handed Sword
Level: Common (White)
Description:
25 Gray-Skinned Rats, 12 Goblins, even a Bear Goblin... Man, how can you ask for more from it?
Note:
“Original! Heart!”
— Titus, Legendary Sword Saint of the Thousand Iron Stream, Vice Captain of the Everglow Throne Adventurer Guild

...

“This must be my golden ticket, right?”

By the campfire, Xianan gazed at the longsword laid across his knees, murmuring to himself.

It was the second day since he had been transported to this world.

In his previous life, Xianan had experienced no great upheavals. Born into a modestly well-off family, he had made his way into a respectable university through diligent study.

After graduating, he joined an internet company like many others, enduring the notorious “996” work schedule, and eventually rose to department supervisor by his thirty-second birthday.

After the celebration party, drunk and refusing his colleagues’ offers to escort him home, he planned to walk back and let the evening breeze clear the alcohol.

But shortly after leaving the restaurant, as he walked along the dark road, the sudden blare of a horn and screech of brakes sounded behind him.

Then everything went black, and he found himself in this new world, reborn as an eighteen-year-old youth.

“Sigh...”

Xianan sighed quietly, distracted by memories.

The floating attribute panel above the one-handed sword, visible only to him, faded away simultaneously.

Having inherited all the previous memories of the boy, he now had some understanding of the world he had crossed into.

The good news: this was a genuine fantasy realm where extraordinary powers existed.

Whether it was the childhood bard who stayed overnight in his village and performed tricks in exchange for meals, or the burly barbarian he saw glowing faintly with twin axes when passing a tavern not long ago, these all attested to the existence of supernatural forces.

The bad news: in this life, he was nothing more than an ordinary farmer, struggling to secure his daily meals.

Beyond a few remnants of modern knowledge carried over from his past life, his most practical skills were limited to “how to till the soil more efficiently” and “which crops to sow in each season”—utterly unrelated to any supernatural powers.

---

It wasn’t that Xianan looked down on such a profession that provided life’s essentials to countless people. In fact, he had often dreamed that once he earned enough money, he would move out of the big city to a pleasant place, rent a small plot of land, and live a pastoral life of rising with the sun and resting at dusk.

But in this world, a few small fields could hardly support an entire family.

This was precisely why his former self had left the village where he grew up and ventured into the dangerous wilderness.

Xianan withdrew his gaze from the sword and looked up slightly ahead.

This was an extremely humble campsite—no tents, just a few sleeping bags scattered haphazardly around the campfire.

Several figures of varying sizes sat dispersed around the fire.

Amid the crackling flames, faint whispers could be heard, but their words were unclear.

Human, Gnome, Half-Orc.

It appeared to be the classic four-person adventuring party setup.

But in truth, Xianan could say without hesitation that they were a ragtag bunch.

The gnome, Elki, despite his race’s lifespan of up to five hundred years, was barely into his twenties and had little to show for it in knowledge or experience—less than an eighteen-year-old farmer who toiled under the sun.

He sported two daggers at his waist, looking like some kind of assassin, but in fact, Elki was a genuine right-hander. He struggled even to hold a fork with his left hand—Xianan had once watched him spend a full three minutes just unfastening a bracer from his right arm using his left hand.

The only thing slightly above average was his optimistic outlook, claimed to be a family trait, and his ill-timed sense of humor.

The half-orc, Gagu, though called a “half-orc,” probably had only about a thirty-second or even smaller fraction of orc blood.

Aside from slightly sharper canine teeth and a more muscular build, he looked almost entirely human.

Still, he served as the team’s frontline—“at least enough to let the wild beasts in the jungle gnaw on him a bit more,” as Elki put it.

Lastly, their leader and the most reliable member of the ragtag team: Marji, a human hunter.

He was reputed to be a famed hunter from several villages on the western frontier of the kingdom, but had to go into hiding after offending some noble.

Elki seemed to know some of the inside story.

“Sigh, women,” he once said when Xianan brought up the subject.

In short, a right-hander, a mutt, a hunter, and a farmer made up their entire party.

By normal standards, at least in Xianan’s understanding, a proper adventuring party should consist of a warrior, a cleric, a mage, and either an assassin or a ranger.

The classic warrior-cleric-mage trio.

But for this ragtag group, such aspirations were out of reach.

Not to mention the scarcity of spellcasters, their team lacked even one basic professional adventurer.

Even Marji, the most seasoned hunter, was far from attaining the first professional level of “ranger.”

In a sense, calling them an “adventuring party” was a generous compliment.

Of course, it wasn’t that professional adventurers didn’t exist in this world.

It was just that the criteria for becoming one were harsh, and unless one was extremely lucky or wealthy, an ordinary person wouldn’t touch that level in a lifetime.

After all, the bounty on a single goblin was three silver and seven copper coins—a sum nearly equivalent to two days’ wages for a dockworker!

High risk, high reward: this was the consensus among all intelligent beings about “adventurers.”

This was precisely why the ragtag team had come here.

“Still half a day’s journey to the location reported in the mission,” Marji said, sitting by the fire and arranging his quiver. “We should arrive by tomorrow morning.”

“Tsk, tsk, that’s a whole squad of goblins. I’ve never taken on such a big job before!”

Elki waved his dagger excitedly, his face lit by the firelight, though his small stature made him look somewhat comical.

“Scared?” the half-orc grinned slyly from the other side. “Don’t worry, they’re just green-skinned little rats your size. I can kill two with my toes.”

“Of course!”

Elki nodded theatrically, agreeing wholeheartedly:

“A tough guy like you definitely wouldn’t cry out for his mama in his sleep.”

“%@#*&!” (Orcish slang)