The Talent Had Better Be Legit

[Castro Swordsmanship Proficiency +1, LV2 → 3]

[Strength +1, Agility +1]

Lance let out a long breath and casually set the sweat-stained training wooden sword on the rack.

GOOGLE searched TWKAN

His chest heaved several times, yet the stamina that had nearly been exhausted from swinging his sword recovered completely after only a few breaths.

At last, it was time to register as an adventurer.

With a thought, a pale-blue translucent panel appeared before his eyes.

The details of the swordsmanship entry immediately popped up.

Castro Swordsmanship LV3 (Proficient): The standard swordsmanship of the Iris Kingdom's Third Legion, mockingly called "Mud-Slug Swordplay" among the common folk. It originated from the Fourth Border Army Manual and was designed specifically for fighting leather-armored orcs in muddy trenches.

Beneath this plain and unremarkable swordsmanship skill hung several scattered auxiliary skills.

Common Language Reading and Writing LV3 (Proficient)

Arithmetic LV4 (Mastered)

Looking at this pitiful skill tree, Lance helplessly curled his lip.

There was nothing he could do about it.

These were the skills he had developed over the past few months while barely scraping by at the Adventurers' Guild.

Several months ago, after Lance had transmigrated into this world and confirmed that it truly contained fire-breathing dragons, pointy-eared elves, and violence-obsessed orcs—

He had immediately laid down three unshakable iron rules for himself.

Never join the excitement.

Never meddle in other people's business.

Never go out after dark.

It was not that he was naturally timid. The previous owner's life had paid for those bloody lessons.

This frontier town was called Grayrock Town. With the resource-rich Copper Creek Forest just outside the city and a small dungeon labyrinth not far away, it had become a paradise for adventurers.

The streets of the town were broad, with shops lining both sides.

Every day, warriors clad in heavy plate armor and spellcasters carrying exaggerated staffs could be seen moving through the streets.

Merchant caravans came and went without pause, while the air was filled with the scent of ale and the crisp clinking of gold coins.

This thriving commercial atmosphere supported countless people.

The previous owner had originally made a living by writing letters home for illiterate adventurers.

Those men who lived with blades at their throats always had something they wanted to send to family members or sweethearts far away in their hometowns.

Because the previous owner's father had been a deceased veteran, letters sent through the Veterans' Guild came with a decent discount through that connection. The previous owner earned money from the difference.

However.

Crime often grew in the shadows cast by prosperity.

On one dark and stormy night, the previous owner had returned home a little late because he wanted to earn an extra rush fee.

As a result, he had caught the eye of some wandering thief from who knew where and lost his life to a single knife.

That was how the current Lance came to be.

It was rather miserable, really.

In his previous life, Lance had merely been a nine-to-five office drone, with a side job reviewing some rather improper games.

That day, he had been typing furiously at his screen, writing a review for a newly released game.

Who would have thought that his computer case would suddenly leak electricity? His vision went black, and he transmigrated.

What still made his toes curl whenever he thought of it was this—

He had not had time to close the game page on his computer screen.

Even after several months in this world, whenever he imagined his family discovering his body and seeing what had been on that screen—

Lance wanted nothing more than to find a crack in the ground in this other world and crawl into it.

Since he was here, he might as well make the best of it.

Having learned from the previous owner's lesson, Lance decisively gave up the letter-writing job that required him to travel all over town.

He dug out a small pouch of silver coins that the previous owner had hidden beneath a crack in the floorboards, untouched by the thieves.

Then he gave up his current rental and found a safer house closer to the bustling district.

He also swallowed his pride and contacted several of his father's old comrades.

After pulling strings in every direction, he finally secured an ironclad position as a copyist at the Adventurers' Guild.

The work was tedious, but it was safe.

He only needed to hide behind a sturdy counter, copying newly issued commissions or recording changes to adventuring party registrations.

He did not even have to face those crude adventurers who filled their mouths with dirty jokes all day, unlike the front-desk receptionists.

It was boring, but the pay was stable.

His daily wage was a full fifty copper coins.

At The Boar and Rose tavern beside the Adventurers' Guild, a hearty dinner with a large serving of roasted meat and a big mug of frothy ale cost only eight copper coins.

It had to be said that any profession involving the word "adventurer" was indeed outrageously profitable.

As a copyist, Lance had access to the latest mission information and rumors before anyone else every day.

It was a sensitive position, and quite a few scheming information brokers had tried to pry secrets from him.

But Lance always adhered to the principle of putting survival first.

His mouth was sealed tighter than if it had been stitched shut, and he kept such a low profile that he was practically invisible.

Instead, this earned him unanimous praise from his colleagues and the adventurers. They all said the young man was steady and reliable.

His days passed as calmly as still water.

Every day, Lance listened to the adventurers outside the counter boast.

Today, one party had found mithril ore on the third level of the dungeon, become rich overnight, and all moved to a coastal city to buy a new base.

Tomorrow, some lucky fellow had saved a lone elven ranger during an expedition, receiving not only a reward but love as well.

As for that—

Lance felt nothing at all. If anything, he found it a little funny.

He did not envy those gamblers who traded their lives for money.

His goal was clear and humble: lie low for a few more years and save up ten gold coins.

Then he would join Grayrock Town's largest merchant caravan and head for Ostella, the most prosperous trading capital on the eastern coast.

He had heard that the high-end lounges there had foxkin maidservants with fluffy fox ears.

There were forest elves renowned across the continent for their beauty.

There were seductive older succubi with heart-shaped tails and sultry eyes.

There were even siren songstresses with azure hair whose singing could soothe the soul.

And if he was lucky, he might even meet the kind of dragonborn girl who was proud and hot-bodied.

Lance's wish was modest.

He wanted to find a nonhuman girl who had existed only in fantasies in his previous life, do a little business, and live out the rest of his days in peace.

However.

Just when he thought this peaceful life would continue forever, fate played a cruel joke on him.

Perhaps his cheat needed time to adapt to the laws of this world.

On the day marking exactly one month since his transmigration—

The attribute panel that looked so familiar it made him want to collapse abruptly appeared on his retina, accompanied by a crackle of electricity.

This was the very game that had electrocuted him into transmigration!

Name: Lance

Class: None

Strength: 4

Agility: 5

Constitution: 4

Spirit: 7

Perception: 6

The utterly ordinary numbers perfectly matched his current identity as a common clerk.

Only the blood-red talent entry at the bottom was particularly eye-catching.

[Talent: Hvergelmir's Boiling Surge (Red)]

Description: Hvergelmir, the world spring located in Niflheim in Norse mythology.

Effect: Your stamina will be as inexhaustible and ever-flowing as the source of the world itself. No matter how intense the expenditure, it will recover at extreme speed with nothing more than simple breathing.

Additional Effect: Due to constitutional mutation, your sensitivity to pain and abnormal statuses will be greatly reduced.

Looking at that skill description, Lance's mouth twitched.

That sensitivity had better be the legitimate kind!

What kind of legitimate talent was this?

This was clearly a special constitution designed specifically for the protagonist to slaughter his way through the game!