At first, he worked odd jobs at the lowest, filthiest, most rundown taverns while doing a bit of thieving on the side. Every day, he gnawed on black bread and waited to die, living a life where he never knew if he would have his next meal.
Then, a party of Iron-rank adventurers hired him with three days' worth of wages from his tavern work to serve as support—a laborer who carried the adventurers' equipment.
Only then did he realize that being an adventurer was such a lucrative profession.
That very day, he stole a customer's wallet, used the money inside to buy an iron sword and a small shield, then spent the remainder on a loaf of whole wheat bread he normally could not afford. He squatted by the roadside and ate it all before knocking on the door of the Adventurers' Guild.
After that, whether it was luck or talent, he somehow survived in that deadly profession for nine years. He had killed goblins and fought orcs; he had watched companions die and had bones broken.
Before he knew it, Michael had become an Orichalcum-rank adventurer, and his father's advice had long since been cast aside.
A dispute over reward distribution caused him to fall out with his teammates. He left Maplemoon Territory and came to the capital, where the missions were more dangerous and the money and temptations greater. Yet before he had completed even a single mission here, he took the wrong path.
Instead of going to the Adventurers' Guild, he let a moment of impulse carry him into the most famous Plum Fragrance House in the country, where he fell in love with someone he should never have loved.
Adventuring was a profession where one could be alive in the morning and dead by night.