Adventurers have it rough.
Or, to be more precise, the lowest rung of adventurers—the F-rank and E-rank ones—have it really rough.
And that applies to me, an E-rank adventurer, as well.
'Please... just one. I don't want to go hungry tonight.'
I'd been combing through the forest diligently, worrying that I'd end up empty-handed again and have to skip dinner with a rumbling stomach.
After trudging through the dark woods—now so familiar I could probably navigate them blindfolded for a while—I finally heard a sound I recognized and headed straight toward it.
"Kyarruk!"
'A goblin!'
A green-skinned monster, the lowest of the low among monsters, much like my own station at the bottom of society.
The goblin, with a body like a child's, was wandering the forest in ragged clothes crudely woven from leaves.
And in its hand...
'Fuck yeah! Jackpot!!'
It must've eaten some newbie adventurer and looted it, because the thing was clutching a small dagger.
Considering normal goblins just carried roughly carved wooden spears, this one had hit the lottery.
Fearing it might bolt, I held my breath and ducked behind a tree, stroking the tool I kept tucked safely in my bosom—my lifeline.
-Shing...
A satisfying weight settled in my hand, the rough grip texture and faint metallic tang brushing my nose.
A throwing hand axe.
The perfect weapon for a guy like me—summoned from Earth with zero fighting experience. Just chuck it right, and it could end a goblin's life in an instant.
I raised the hand axe to hurl it before the goblin could flee, but then I caught myself and lowered it again.
'No matter how big the score, I can't waste it.'
Do you know how much I suffered to buy this hand axe?
Forgetting the crap on the market—shit durability, pathetic power, off-balance weight that made them impossible to throw properly—I starved myself through several meals to afford this real one...
No way I'd chuck something that precious at a mere goblin.
Even if I nailed it in one go, the blade would dull. And if I missed and it hit a rock? It might even break.
So here...
⚡ SKILL ACTIVATED ⚡Replication
(Intangible energy drains from the body... A identical hand axe materializes in the opposite hand.)
I focused intently, recalling the familiar feel of the hand axe, its unique weight, the smell of iron.
A formless energy drained from my body, leaving a slight fatigue, and something materialized in my empty opposite hand.
-Shing.
It was a hand axe identical to the one I'd drawn.
To avoid any mix-up, I carefully stowed the original and lifted the new one—the so-called 'duplicate'—aiming at the goblin.
'Now!!'
-Whirr!!! Thunk!!
"Kieeeek!!"
"Fuck yes! Nailed it!!"
I'd thrown this axe enough times that my aim had improved, but with my skill—still missing three out of ten throws—sticking it right in the goblin's back had me hyped. I rushed toward the fleeing monster.
"You little shit!!"
"Kiek?!"
Instead of wasting my precious axe, I snatched up a nearby stone and bashed the flopping goblin's skull repeatedly, like pounding a fresh-caught fish.
-Thud! Thud! Crack!!
As my knuckles started aching and the stone's edge chipped away, the goblin's thrashing finally stopped, its green body going limp.
I didn't even glance at the corpse, yanking the dagger straight from its grip.
"Kuhahaha! Score!!!"
I didn't bother wiping the green fluids splattered on my face, grinning ear to ear as I raised the dagger high.
Two years since being summoned to this world.
Bit by bit, I was adapting to life here.
.
.
.
.
I dumped the worthless goblin corpse in the woods and kept only its ear as proof, whistling lightly on my way back to town.
It was a puny town, barely deserving the name... but it had an Adventurer's Guild and all the basics covered decently enough.
My destination: the town's sole smithy.
"Hey. Hammer Uncle. Come out."
"What, rookie? Finally buying some real gear?"
"Nah."
"You lunatic... How long you gonna keep using that hand axe? How the hell do you baby it so much that it hasn't snapped after half a year..."
The man known as 'Hammer' to the local adventurers scowled the moment he saw me enter.
I brushed off Hammer Uncle's nagging and thrust out the small dagger from the goblin.
"Whatever. Sell this for me. Give me a good price."
"Huh? That's the one some F-rank punk bought yesterday... Tsk tsk. Another idiot bit the dust. What got him?"
"Goblin."
"F-ranks, man."
A person dies, their belongings turn up, and both me—eager to pawn it off—and Hammer Uncle—willing to buy—react with total indifference.
In this world, where life was dirt cheap compared to Earth, F-rank adventurers dying was commonplace everywhere.
...Still, it looked pretty clean. Knowing someone was alive just yesterday and now dead weighed a bit heavy...
"1 silver."
"Fuck no."
Any pity for the nameless F-rank evaporated at Hammer Uncle's offer.
"You charge 5 silvers for these daggers, don't you? Sold one yesterday too. You're a total thug, Uncle..."
"Shut it. Keep yapping, and I won't sell you shit."
"Tch..."
I tried haggling anyway, but seeing his stone-cold face, I clicked my tongue and sold the dagger for 1 silver.
That stingy bastard would wipe off the blood and flip it for 5 silvers, no doubt.
Last time I checked, his stock was all dented-up junk—clearly no repairs, just sold as-is.
'Doesn't know the first thing about used goods etiquette?'
But I couldn't just not sell it.
I considered hawking it to another adventurer for maybe 2 silvers, but they'd haggle it down hard.
And if I was lucky. Some savage adventurers wouldn't just lowball—they'd slap me around and snatch it.
Why so detailed? Been there. Got jumped for gear I looted off a goblin once.
The psycho even asked to 'negotiate' the price, then gut-punched me and took it.
If this world had manners temperature, those guys would be sub-zero.
"Got money now? Buy something."
"Told you, no plans."
"You nutjob... You still using that hand axe from back then? Half a year should've snapped it by now..."
"I'm out."
"Hey! At least grab some maintenance oil!"
I ignored Hammer Uncle and headed to the Adventurer's Guild.
Weapons? Why buy 'em? Buy one, replicate endlessly.
As I neared the guild, adventurers covered in filthy fluids spotted each other and started cackling and chatting.
Misery loves company, huh... Buncha losers.
"Yo, Yuseong. What the hell happened to you?"
"It's Yunseong... Ugh, fine. Jacob. And you? What is that... Blech! You crazy fuck, where'd you roll in shit?"
"Ain't shit, asshole! Fell in a swamp!"
Of course, I was one of those losers too.
I naturally joined the group, trading barbs with a vaguely familiar adventurer as we lined up at the counter.
The guy ahead of me, slathered in some brown muck—shitwater, mud, who knows?—was Jacob.
One of the few folks I'd call an acquaintance after two years scraping by here.
"Goblin for you?"
"Yeah."
"Ha. The guy who pissed himself at his first goblin sighting's grown up, eh?"
"I'm bigger than you. The goblin I saw today was taller than you."
"You little...!"
We traded our usual banter while waiting our turn.
My turn came up.
"Yuseong?"
"Yeah."
The blue-haired receptionist called me. I ignored Jacob on his tiptoes, bristling, and approached the counter.
Every chat with that guy dragged up my two-year-old pants-wetting story.
How long was he gonna milk that black history...?
"Goblin extermination request?"
"Yes. Here..."
I handed over the goblin's ear.
The businesslike receptionist took it casually and placed ten small copper coins in my hand.
10 bronzes per goblin.
That's why seeing one with a dagger had me jumping like I'd struck gold.
A cheap inn dinner cost 10 bronzes—enough to survive one day.
And that was generous. Goblins caused plenty of civilian trouble among bottom-tier monsters, so the payout was decent.
Last time, some slimy mini-snail lowest-tier monster got me just 5 bronzes—I cursed up a storm.
And that thing smelled like ass from its sticky goo, harder to hunt than goblins even.
Anyway, bottom-tier hunts paid peanuts... But selling that dagger netted 1 silver, so my steps felt light today.
"Yuseong. You look happy? Good haul?"
"Think so?"
But the second Jacob approached, I schooled my face into a scowl.
Among fellow bottom-feeder adventurers, you never spill about a good day.
Random assholes who'd barely nodded at you before would swarm for 'one drink.'
Worst case? Nah, don't think it. Ruins the mood.
"Tch. Looking glum... Hey, Yuseong? One drink tonight..."
"I'm off."
"C'mon, don't be like that!"
And sure enough, the bloodhound smelled money and sidled up slyly. I coldly brushed him off and headed to my inn.
Back when I was a clueless newbie, I'd bought that bastard drinks—2 silvers' worth—and his face still haunted me.
"Welcome... What? Oh, Yuseong."
"That's how you greet a customer?"
I passed the innkeeper waving me off lazily—he'd grown annoyed with my near-year stay—and entered what was basically my fixed room.
"Hoo..."
In the moldy room, I plopped onto the cheap straw-stuffed bed, belatedly noticing my own rank stench, and grimaced while shedding my armor piece by piece.
Not real armor—wooden—but it was my lifeline now, so maintenance mattered.
This world's wood was special; for something wooden, the fit wasn't half bad.
I grabbed a dirty rag, soaked it in the basin water in the corner to wipe the armor, and caught my reflection in the puddle.
Haggard expression. Scruffy, unkempt beard. Lean, battle-hardened muscles. Shaggy black hair...
"...Ha."
Staring at it, it hit me anew: two years in this world. I let out a wry chuckle.
E-rank adventurer Yuseong... no, Kang Yunseong.
I was a second-year transmigrator from Earth.