Yorkshaw, thirty-nine years old, was an adventurer.
Well... to be precise, he could only be considered half of one.
After all, it had been a long time since he had properly accepted a mission from the Adventurers Association.
Twelve years ago, after overcoming countless hardships to barely obtain a Profession Level, the gradual passage of age and stagnation of his strength had turned his former aspirations and dreams of the adventurer's path into Gold Coins on gambling tables and alcohol digested in his stomach. They had long since been completely cast aside.
Like most low-level adventurers whose paths of advancement had reached their end in this world, he had thoroughly become a walking corpse driven by desire. Still, Yorkshaw was relatively fortunate. Before being trapped to death by his professional bottleneck, he had accumulated enough through years of struggle to raise his Profession Level to Lv3. He had also established some connections with many forces in Salt Rock Port, where he operated. Now, he had even formed a fleet centered around himself and two other Lv1 professionals. On the surface, they engaged in trade and cargo transport; in truth, they were pirates.
Adding together both legitimate and illicit income, he earned even more than he had during his previous years struggling at sea.
Yorkshaw was very satisfied with that.
He planned to work hard and save up enough money to retire to his hometown before turning fifty—though considering that he had begun this plan when he was thirty, had saved for nine years, and still had pitifully little in savings, retiring at fifty was clearly unrealistic.
He knew that himself.
It was just that sometimes, after returning from a voyage, if he did not indulge and reward himself, it was hard for him to convince himself to risk his life