Getting out of bed early in the morning, I immediately checked my condition. It might seem excessive, but since I have no skin or flesh, I could miss something important. So, all bones intact, all belongings in place, no signs or smell of mold either—though I still can't actually smell anything. Alas, they didn’t give me the medallion.

  The captain explained that the medallion is a second-tier artifact and quite expensive, so I shouldn’t even think about stealing it—the twins would be able to track me down within an hour if I tried. After hearing that, my desire to appropriate the item dropped significantly. Beri also told me that, like all artifacts of this tier, the medallion has a negative effect, or "Backlash." For every word spoken on behalf of the user, the artifact disables leg movement for one second—essentially turning you into an invalid. Horrible. Back then, I didn’t collapse to the ground, but everything below my waist went numb and felt similar to the knife hidden in my left hand—it seemed merely like an object.

  A dangerous ability paired with equally severe backlash. I wonder how it would work on four-legged creatures—cows or dogs, for instance? Though they lack thoughts, so the artifact couldn’t voice them, meaning no effect would occur. What if it were a creature with a combined body—horse below, human above? Would all four legs freeze? And if the person were disabled, without legs, moving only on their hands—would their arms freeze instead?

  Setting aside these unnecessary musings, I went downstairs to speak with Granny Brin. It wouldn’t be easy explaining that her free labor was leaving, but she’d have to accept it—especially since I could now pay her real money. The captain said I’d receive my full daily payment each morning, giving me time to handle personal matters if needed. These terms sounded promising, but only now did I realize I had absolutely no idea about local prices. I didn’t even know the name of the local currency or its exchange rate. That was slightly depressing.

  Downstairs, I again saw those yellow eyes watching me. Gathering my thoughts, I was about to explain my situation—but the old woman spoke first:

  “One of those rogues told me you’re leaving with them indefinitely. Your room will stay yours for now; I won’t put anyone else in it. Not that there’s anyone to put.”

  Her words sounded like a warm farewell—until she added:

  “You’ll work it off in the fields later. I’ll be waiting.”

  I nodded in agreement and left the tavern, deciding to take a short walk and look around. During my time here, I’d only seen the elder’s house and the path from the gates to the tavern.

  People were already out on the streets: some had just woken up, others repaired their meager tools, while a few discussed matters and headed toward the fields together. Work, work, work. I noticed people casting sideways glances at me, though most simply ignored me.

  The settlement wasn’t large, so within ten minutes I reached its opposite edge. There I found a building unlike the others—a forge. A man who looked about fifty or sixty struck a small metal blank repeatedly, then fixed it onto a wooden handle. It turned out to be a hoe. He began sharpening it, seemingly unaware of my presence—or so I thought.

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  “How long are you going to stand there?” a gruff male voice called out. The blacksmith didn’t pause his work for even a second. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. Don’t just stand there like a dead stump.”

  If only he knew how close he was to the truth. I decided not to approach him and, waving a peaceful, friendly gesture, moved on. Five minutes later, I reached the gates. As usual, two guards stood there: Rick and Paul.

  “Oh, Chatterbox. How are you?” Paul began, yawning. “Heard you’re leaving with those adventurers. Not bad work, though it can be dangerous. They say sometimes they abandon porters or use them as bait for monsters. Blah-blah-blah.”

  “Ah, stop scaring him,” Rick interrupted through a chuckle. “Only bandits or lowlifes do that. Our guests are a very well-known group.”

  “What’s so special about them?” the big man asked, turning to his partner. I joined him in looking questioningly at Rick—if such an expression were even possible for me.

  “They’re all silver-rank adventurers, and their captain, Sleepy Sem, might’ve already become gold-rank,” Rick explained. “There are at most three to five groups like that in our kingdom. Of course, excluding the king’s regular troops and nobles—but that’s another story.”

  This brief explanation improved my opinion of the team, though too many unfamiliar terms remained. I kept staring at the thin guard, signaling him to continue.

  “Ah, you probably don’t know anything about ranks, do you?” Rick rubbed his forehead. “I’m not an expert myself, but roughly speaking, there’s a universal Adventurers’ Guild in the world. A couple of hundred years ago, they established a standardized strength-rating system to assign members appropriately—avoiding unnecessary trouble and foolish deaths. When you join, you start at Stone rank, equivalent to an ordinary soldier. Then come Wood, Iron, Copper, Silver, Gold, Diamond—and possibly others beyond that, though I don’t know them. To advance, you must defeat five members of your current rank simultaneously, or one member of the next higher rank. Moving between the first three ranks isn’t usually difficult, but beyond that, advancement becomes much harder—and such individuals gain higher status.”

  “Oh really?” Paul shifted his spear from one hand to the other and smirked. “So one Silver equals 625 Stones? That’s practically a one-man army.”

  “Not exactly,” his partner corrected. “To advance, you must defeat five of your own rank at once—and it doesn’t matter whether they’re fresh recruits or veterans close to breaking through themselves. The new rank is granted only when you’ve truly become head-and-shoulders stronger than before, both in power and skill. So one Silver adventurer is far stronger than even a thousand Stones.”

  “I see, I see. Wait—hold on. We’ve got a whole group of them right here,” the big man’s voice grew slightly uneasy. “Granny Brin’s hosting six of them! Isn’t that extremely dangerous?”

  “…You forgot? Their captain’s Gold-rank. He’s stronger than the entire rest of the team combined,” Rick glanced toward Brin’s tavern. “I heard he single-handedly wiped out an army of Gruh-men during the Three Nations War. He met them in the swamps near Broad Mountain and buried them all in those marshes…”

  I don’t know who these ‘Gruh-men’ are, but it all sounds impressive. Looks like I made the right choice agreeing to work for them. I nodded and headed back to Brin’s tavern, worried about being late for the group’s assembly. Behind me, the two guards kept talking, already shifting to a new topic.