[Castro Swordsmanship proficiency +1, LV2 → 3] [Strength +1, Agility +1]
Lance let out a long breath and casually set the sweat-stained wooden practice sword on its rack.
His chest heaved a few times. The stamina he had nearly exhausted swinging his sword returned to full strength in just a few breaths.
At last, he was ready to register as an adventurer.
With a slight shift of his thoughts, a pale blue, translucent panel appeared before his eyes.
The details of his swordsmanship skill popped up next.
Castro Swordsmanship LV3 (Proficient): Standard swordsmanship of the Iris Kingdom's Third Legion, popularly nicknamed "Mud-Slug Swordplay." Derived from the Frontier Army's Drill Manual Four, it was designed specifically for fighting leather-armored orcs in muddy trenches.
A few scattered support skills sat beneath that plain, unremarkable swordsmanship skill.
Common Tongue Literacy LV3 (Proficient) Arithmetic LV4 (Mastery)
Looking at his pitiful skill tree, Lance twisted his lips helplessly.
There was nothing he could do about it.
These were the skills he had developed to earn his keep during the past few months of scraping by at the Adventurers' Guild.
Several months earlier, when Lance had first transmigrated into this world, he had confirmed that it really did have fire-breathing dragons, pointy-eared elves, and violence-obsessed orcs.
He had immediately laid down three ironclad rules for himself.
Never join a commotion.
Never meddle in anyone else's business.
Never go out after dark.
It wasn't that he was a coward by nature. The body's previous owner had paid for that bloody lesson with his life.
This frontier settlement was called Grayrock Town. With the resource-rich Copper Creek Forest just outside town and a small dungeon labyrinth nearby, it had become an adventurers' paradise.
The town's streets were broad, lined with shops on both sides.
Every day, warriors clad in heavy plate armor and spellcasters carrying outlandishly large staves could be seen passing through the streets.
Caravan wagons came and went without pause, and the air was filled with the scent of ale and the crisp clink of gold coins.
This thriving trade supported countless livelihoods.
The body's previous owner had earned his living writing letters home for adventurers who couldn't read a word.
Those men who lived on a knife's edge always had something they wanted to send to distant family or a sweetheart back home.
His late father had been a retired soldier. Thanks to that connection, he could send letters through the Veterans' Guild at a generous discount and pocket the difference.
However.
Crime often bred in the shadows of prosperity.
One dark, windy night, the previous owner had been tempted by an extra rush fee and headed home a little later than usual.
A wandering thief from who knew where had set his sights on him and ended his life with a single stab.
That was how the current Lance had come to be here.
It was a miserable story, really.
In his previous life, Lance had been an ordinary nine-to-five office drone, with a side gig reviewing some rather indecent games.
That day, he had been typing furiously in front of his monitor, writing a review of a newly released game.
Who could have guessed that his computer case would suddenly leak electricity? His vision went black, and he transmigrated.
The thing that still made his toes curl with embarrassment whenever he remembered it was this.
He hadn't even had time to close the game's page on his screen.
Even after several months in this world, whenever he thought about his family finding his body and seeing what was on the monitor-
Lance wanted 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 fate, Lance decisively gave up the letter-writing job that required roaming the streets and alleys.
He dug out a small pouch of silver coins that the previous owner had hidden between the floorboards at home, where the thief had missed it.
Then he gave up his rented place and found a safer home closer to the busy part of town.
He also swallowed his pride and contacted a few of his late father's comrades.
After calling in favors and greasing the right palms, he finally landed a secure job as a scribe at the Adventurers' Guild.
The work was tedious, but it was safe.
All he had to do was stay behind the sturdy counter, copying newly posted commissions or recording changes to adventuring parties' registrations.
He didn't even have to deal with crude adventurers spouting dirty jokes all day like the receptionists did.
It was boring, but the pay was steady.
A full fifty copper coins a day.
For comparison, at The Boar and Rose tavern beside the Adventurers' Guild, a hearty dinner with a large portion of roast meat and a big mug of frothy ale cost only eight copper coins.
He had to admit, anything with the word "adventurer" attached to it really did rake in profits.
As a scribe, Lance was among the first to see the latest mission reports and hear the latest rumors every day.
It was a sensitive position, and more than a few information brokers with ulterior motives had tried to pry things out of him.
But Lance always stuck to his principle of "staying alive comes first."
His lips were practically sewn shut, and he kept such a low profile that he might as well have been invisible.
That had instead earned him unanimous praise from his colleagues and the adventurers, who all called him a dependable, down-to-earth young man.
His days passed in uneventful peace.
Every day, Lance listened to the adventurers bragging on the other side of the counter.
One day, a party had found mithril ore on the dungeon's third floor, struck it rich overnight, and moved to a coastal city to buy a new base.
The next, some lucky fellow had rescued an elven ranger separated from her companions during an expedition, earning not just a reward but love as well.
As for all that.
Lance felt nothing. If anything, he found it a little funny.
He didn't envy gamblers who traded their lives for money.
His goal was clear and modest: keep his head down for a few more years and save ten gold coins.
Then he would travel with Grayrock Town's largest caravan to Ostella, the most prosperous trading city on the eastern coast.
He had heard that its upscale lounges had foxfolk serving girls with fluffy fox ears.
There were forest elves whose beauty was famous across the continent.
There were alluring older succubus women with heart-shaped tails and smoldering gazes.
There were even siren songstresses with long azure hair whose songs could soothe the soul.
Of course, with a little luck, he might even meet a proud dragonkin girl with a scorching figure.
Lance's wish was a small one.
Find a girl of another race who could only have existed in his fantasies back in his old life, run a small business, and live out his days in peace.
However.
Just when he thought that peaceful life would continue forever, fate played a rather twisted joke on him.
Perhaps his cheat needed time to load and adapt to the laws of this world.
On the day that marked one full month since his arrival.
Accompanied by the crackle of electricity, a stat panel so familiar that it nearly drove him mad abruptly appeared across his vision.
It was the very game that had gotten him electrocuted and sent him here!
Name: Lance Class: None Strength: 4 Agility: 5 Constitution: 4 Spirit: 7 Perception: 6
The unremarkable stats suited his current identity as an ordinary clerk perfectly.
Only the blood-red talent entry at the very bottom stood out like a sore thumb.
[Talent: Hvergelmir's Boiling Surge (Red)] Description: Hvergelmir, the wellspring of the world located in Niflheim in Norse mythology. Effect: Like this source of the world, your stamina will be boundless, surging without end. No matter how severely it is depleted, a few simple breaths will restore it at tremendous speed. Additional effect: Due to alterations to your constitution, your sensitivity to pain and abnormal conditions will be greatly reduced.
Lance's mouth twitched as he read the skill description.
That had better mean sensitivity in a perfectly decent sense!
There was nothing decent about this talent.
It was clearly designed specifically to let the male protagonist conquer everything in that game...
A special physique!
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