Jerry felt deeply conflicted about his nickname, "Bloody-Nosed Rat."
On one hand, as something other people at the harbor called him, the nickname really could not be described as impressive, and its origin was something he still found a little embarrassing even now.
It had come from a certain alley fight three years ago, when the burly Half-Orc on the other side had smashed his nose bridge with one punch. The dagger clenched in his hand had not even had time to touch blood before he passed out on the spot, and he had only been woken by his companions after the dispute was over.
Later, when a few of his brothers hauled him off to the tavern for drinks, the blood under his nose still had not been wiped clean. On top of that, he had lost his parents when he was little and grown up hungry in the alleys of the Saltwater District, almost never getting a full meal. By the time he scraped his way into adulthood, he was naturally a head shorter than others and much thinner too, looking like a rat when he stood in a crowd. And so, some Adventurer at the next table gave him the nickname "Bloody-Nosed Rat."
At first, Jerry did not take it seriously, treating it only as a joke from others. After all, his performance in that alley fight had indeed been terrible.
But what he had not expected was that none of the imposing titles he usually gave himself were remembered by anyone, while this nickname that left him embarrassed and humiliated kept being used all the way until now.
On the other hand, after three years had passed, he had to admit that it was precisely this crude, vulgar name that had given him a little reputation