Chapter 9. Good Food for Adventurers — Part Two

Chapter 9. Good Food for Adventurers — Part Two

“Hey, what level are you anyway?” Sam suddenly asked.

“Me? Thirty-five,” I answered honestly.

“Thirty-five?! Then why the hell are you still G-rank?!” he said, pointing at my adventurer tag.

“Well, I only registered today,” I said.

“Even so, they should’ve given you at least E-rank,” Sam said.

I paused. They really should have given me… E-rank?

“Ugh, stop listening to this idiot,” Tom cut in. “First, ignore him. Second, it’s rude to ask someone’s level the first time you meet.”

“Hey, we’re not random acquaintances—we’re already friends!” Sam protested.

“All right,” Tom said. “You told us your level, so I’ll tell you ours. Sam and I are both level 11. Ben’s level 14.”

Now it all made sense—why I’d beaten Sam so easily and nearly fought Ben on even footing. A difference of over twenty levels. Though, given that gap, the fight with Ben had been surprisingly tough.

Yeah, personal experience matters too, not just level. I should remember this for the future: leveling up is good, but knowing how to fight is just as important.

“As for rank,” Tom continued, “like I said, the guild doesn’t bump anyone up right away based on level. Doesn’t matter what level you are or who you are—everyone starts at the bottom. Only after you meet certain conditions can you raise your adventurer rank.”

“But we already met the conditions! We hit level eleven, and Ben’s fourteen! We should be at least F-rank by now!” Sam said.

“That’s only one of the conditions,” Tom said loudly. “The second is earning enough guild points.”

More precisely, to reach F-rank you need to earn a thousand guild points. You get those points for completing guild quests or selling materials through the guild.

I listened carefully. This was genuinely useful information for me.

“Judging by your face, nobody explained this to you,” Tom said.

“Well… the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal,” I replied.

“I get it,” Tom said, friendly.

“I’ll try to cover the basics,” he went on. “You probably should know this already, but just in case, we’ll start from the very beginning.

“Guild ranks start at the very bottom—G. Then F, E, D, C, B, A, and finally S—the highest rank.

“So,” Tom continued, “like I said, everyone starts at G, the lowest. To move up to F-rank, you need to be at least first tier—that is, reach level 11.

“On top of that, you need at least a thousand guild points. Only after you hit the required number can you submit an application for promotion. Then they’ll check you, and if your level fits, you’ll be promoted to F-rank.”

“As for E-rank,” he went on, “the requirements are higher. You need ten thousand guild points and to be at least second tier—that is, level 21.

“And it continues like that: with each new rank, your personal level has to be at least one tier higher, and the guild points required go up by about ten times.”

“As I said,” Tom concluded, “we’ve already reached level eleven. All that’s left is to build up the necessary guild points—then we can apply for F-rank. Right now we’ve got just over six hundred points. If we keep working at the same pace, we’ll hit a thousand in a couple of months for sure.”

“If we didn’t waste time on these dumb jobs and actually hunted monsters, we’d have been F-rank ages ago!” Sam shot back. “And our levels would be higher.”

“Or we’d be dead,” Tom replied calmly.

“No, we wouldn’t! We’d be stronger!” Sam argued hotly.

“And that’s why people think adventurers are idiots,” Tom sighed.

“Hey, I’m not an idiot!” Sam protested.

Tom ignored him and kept explaining. His rundown was simple and clear.

Basically, the guild doesn’t protect criminals—if an adventurer breaks the kingdom’s laws, they’re expelled on the spot. No brawling inside the guild building, no causing trouble for townsfolk, no rampaging in taverns. If someone breaks these rules and complaints come in, the guild simply deducts their guild points. If it’s serious and there are victims, it won’t stop at point deductions. They can fine you or even kick you out of the Adventurers’ Guild entirely.

He also explained why this is called a branch of the Adventurers’ Guild and not a full-fledged guild. Turns out it was built specifically for beginners. Everyone here, without exception, is a novice, and there’s only one staff member—the old man. The branch exists so that young people from this and nearby villages don’t run off to big cities dreaming of adventure. Ninety percent of newbies don’t even make it to F-rank: in the big cities, the odds are high they’ll die or go astray and join bandits.

To avoid that, some villages built small branches where beginners can do simple, safe jobs. Young folk from five or six nearby villages come here to register and take their first steps in the profession.

The quests at this branch are mostly very simple. Most are farm help, but there are quite a few hunting requests—rabbits, boars, and other harmless animals in the nearby forest. Those quests get snapped up in the morning, so by noon it’s usually only farm work left.

For beginners it’s a great start: most have no combat experience—they’re just village boys and girls. They even built a training yard here, though it doesn’t seem to get much use.

Still, the branch does its job well. About seventy percent of newbies, after facing the reality of adventurer life, quickly lose their romantic illusions and go home. Another fifteen percent keep grinding but eventually give up. Only the remaining fifteen percent truly grow, raise their levels, and reach F-rank—after which they can head to the big cities.

“We’ll go to the nearest city as soon as we hit F-rank too,” Tom said.

==

Tom kept talking for a long time—about guild rules, quests, and newbie life. Before we knew it, evening had fallen.

By now we were sitting in the common dining hall next to the registration area. Besides the four of us, there were around fifteen other people. Honestly, I hadn’t expected there to be this many.

According to Tom, this wasn’t even close to everyone. In reality there are two to three times more adventurers here—most are out hunting in the nearby forest, some will return late at night, and others only in a few days after finishing their quests.

“Dinner’s ready—line up!” came the old man’s familiar voice.

Everyone immediately formed a line at a window in the wall where food was handed out. The menu was simple: a bowl of hot soup, a cup of water, and a piece of bread. People grabbed their rations quickly and smoothly, like it was a daily ritual.

Tom, Sam, and Ben didn’t rush, so I didn’t either. When the line thinned out, we went up and took our food.

Sam sighed heavily when we sat down. I didn’t understand why—until I tasted the soup.

It looked fine: warm, hearty, freshly made. But the taste… I couldn’t even describe it. It wasn’t just bad—it was awful. I’d never tasted anything worse in my life.

How can food be this bad?

There was meat in it, and vegetables… everything should have been fine. But the flavor—I couldn’t even tell what I was eating.

I thought I’d just gulp the first spoonful and power through, but… no. This was going to be torture.

“Don’t chug the soup,” Tom advised calmly. “Soak it up with bread. That makes it easier.”

I followed his advice. Yeah, the bread was far better. I was about to eat only the bread and forget the soup, but Tom stopped me in time:

“Hey, don’t eat just the bread. Take small sips of soup with the bread. Trust me, it’s safer that way.”

“But… I don’t want to eat this soup,” I admitted.

“Nobody’s asking you,” Tom smirked. “If you leave even a little at the bottom, the old man will make you finish every drop. And if you’re too stubborn, he’ll just ladle you a second bowl so you ‘eat properly.’ So don’t push your luck.”

I looked at Sam and Ben.

Ben ate calmly, as if none of this bothered him.

Sam, though, had a look like a man walking to the gallows. Though if you looked closely, even Ben was obviously forcing himself.

When I got halfway through the bowl, I started to feel nauseous.

No… I have to endure.

One spoon of soup, a small piece of bread, and water to wash it down so I wouldn’t throw up—I kept going slowly.

Is this dinner… or a torture session? I thought darkly, and couldn’t help asking:

“Is the food like this every day?”

“For the most part, yeah,” Tom answered evenly.

“Wait—‘for the most part’? So sometimes it’s better?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” Tom grinned. “Sometimes it’s much worse.”

“Worse than this…?” I looked down at my bowl.

“Yep. You could say you’re lucky today. Today the food is… normal,” Tom said with a straight face.

I was stunned. If this was “normal,” what on earth was “worse”?

“Then why do you even eat it?” I couldn’t help asking. “The general store has rations. Bread, dried fruit—they’re a hundred times tastier!”

Tom shrugged. “We can’t opt out.”

“Why?” I asked quietly. We kept our voices low so no one would overhear.

“Well, when we first came here, we barely had any money,” Tom whispered back. “The old man offered to just let us stay. Said we could pay later once we had coin. We agreed, of course.”

He sighed heavily and went on:

“And now… we have to eat here every day. Breakfast and dinner.”

“You can’t refuse?” I asked, surprised.

Tom snorted. “You try refusing. Nobody can. It’s the old man.”

He leaned in a little, like sharing a scary secret:

“He says it’s part of ‘adventurer training.’ That a real adventurer has to be able to stomach bad food. That on long journeys the grub is ten times worse.”

Looks like he genuinely believes he’s preparing us for the future.

I couldn’t believe breakfast and dinner here were that awful. I’d been looking forward to a hot, freshly cooked meal after all those dry rations. What I got was a hundred times worse.

“All right,” I thought, “tomorrow I’ll just skip breakfast.”

“Alisar,” Tom asked suddenly, “how many days did you pay for?”

“At first, just one,” I said. “Tomorrow I was planning to pay for another week so I could stay longer.”

“You added dinner and breakfast to the room, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Well, yeah… but only for one day. Tomorrow, when I extend for a week, I won’t take the meals,” I said confidently.

“No,” Tom said calmly. “That won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because once you agree to dinner and breakfast even once, you can’t back out later. Nobody’s managed to. The ones who tried—no dice. Even if you stop paying, the old man will just feed you for free. You still have to eat every day.”

“Damn…” slipped out of me. “So I can’t skip breakfast tomorrow?”

“Absolutely not,” Tom said seriously. “You have to. And then… well, in a couple of weeks you’ll get used to it. Though not everyone does,” he added, glancing at Sam.

There was a suspicious shine at the corners of Sam’s eyes.

I kept forcing myself to eat. But what I’d feared happened—the bread ran out, and the cup of water was empty.

“Oh, you too… You’ve got a problem,” Tom chuckled.

“So what do I do now?” I asked, staring at the soup left in my bowl.

“Just close your eyes and down it in one go. Then head to the well and drink your fill,” Tom said, laughing.

I sighed and did as he said. I tossed back the remaining soup in one gulp. For a second I thought I’d puke right there. I shot to my feet and was about to run out to the well when the old man’s voice boomed:

“Hey, newbie! What the hell are you doing?! This isn’t some restaurant—there are no waiters here! If you’re done eating, bring your dishes back here!”

I stopped short, went back, and hurriedly returned my tray with the empty bowl and spoon to the window where the old man stood.

God, I’m going to hurl…

As soon as I’d gotten rid of the tray, I practically ran into the inner yard to the well. I hauled up a bucket and started gulping water, spilling half of it over myself. I think I drank more than a liter, and poured the rest over my clothes.

Phew… it passed. I don’t feel sick now.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and stared at the empty bucket. Maybe I should’ve just let the food come back up instead of suffering? No… if I puked now and the old man saw, I don’t know what he’d do to me. Maybe it’s poison? flashed a nervous thought. I tossed it aside at once.

If adventurers started getting poisoned en masse, even he wouldn’t get away with it. So I’ll be fine. I sat down on the bench by the well and sighed. Now what?

Staying here isn’t an option. I just can’t eat this vile food every day. Even twice a day… For me, once every ten days would be more than enough, if I had enough rations in the training room. But coming back to this… No. Never.

After a short think, I came up with a plan. Risky, sure, but better than staying.

I jumped to my feet and hurried toward the general store. Night had fully fallen, and the place was probably closed. But I had to try anyway.