"—So, why is this kid a pile of ash?"
"He says he lost before the fight even started."
"Huh...?"
When the man visited the guild that day, a familiar rookie he had mentored in the past was slumped in a lobby chair, looking utterly burned out.
The man was a B-rank adventurer. He was the city’s top veteran, a man who wouldn't have been out of place among the A-ranks, but for years he had turned down the guild's recommendations for promotion, claiming he "wasn't cut out for that kind of seat." However, everyone knew of his skill and his penchant for looking after others, so he was widely beloved by juniors and peers alike as a good-natured, fatherly figure.
He was even on close terms with the receptionist, speaking to her as an equal.
"Apparently, he found a girl adventurer he liked and tried to invite her to his party, but he got shot down instantly. He's been like this since yesterday."
"Well now, look at him. Kid’s enjoying his youth."
The man grinned, baring his teeth. It was a pleasant, open laugh that made it clear at a glance he wasn't actually mocking the boy.
"But still, was there a girl around who would catch this kid's eye?"
"You know, that girl. The small, sakura-colored one who's been staying in the city for a little while now."
"...Ah—that little lady! I ran into her on the street just a bit ago."
"...Wh—?! Hey, old man, what do you mean by that!"
The boy was resurrected from the ashes in an instant. As he strode over to him, the man offered another toothy grin.
"She’s likely a party member. She was pushing a wheelchair and taking a walk around the area. They were having a bit of a hard time at the bottom of some stairs, so I just lent the guy a shoulder."
"O-Oh... I see... so that's all it was..."
The boy was visibly relieved. The man’s smile deepened as he roughly and vigorously ruffled the boy’s hair.
"Ho-ho, you really are in the middle of your youth! Hah, I love it! You’ve gotta be like that while you’re still a brat!"
"Don't call me a brat!"
The boy barked back with spirit, but he quickly looked down again.
"It’s not 'nice' at all... I got rejected."
"Well, kid, there’s no way an A-rank would form a party with a D-rank. It’s not a babysitting service."
"Guh..."
Struck by that undeniable logic, the boy looked ready to collapse.
"In fact, if she’d said yes, she would’ve definitely been into you. You should’ve pinned her down right then and there."
"Hey, stop that! That’s sexual harassment, you old creep!"
"Shut it, shut it. A man’s gotta go for it with everything he’s got when the time comes."
The man shooed away the nagging receptionist and knelt down to meet the boy’s eyes.
His carefree, idle tone shifted into something more serious.
"Well, it’s fine. ...You’ve finished three or four requests with your party, so you probably felt like you could somehow make things work, right? But even in the adventurer trade, we’re exchanging lives with monsters. It’s not so soft that you can get by on 'somehow.'"
"..."
"If you aren't strong, an adventurer might as well not exist. You can't show up the people who look down on you for being a kid, and you won't even get a single glance from the girl you’re after."
The boy, while not quite idolizing him, recognized the man as a reliable senior. That was exactly why the man’s words carried a weight that sank into the boy’s heart.
"So you’ve got a goal now? Then the rest is simple. Just run toward it without looking aside. Regret to your heart's content, feel like you're vomiting blood. The kind of strength a man reaches while keeping his hands clean is absolute garbage."
The man continued, his voice dropping an octave.
"—Listen, kid. That guy’s hands... they were more of a wreck than mine."
"...!"
"Blisters must have burst countless times. He must have been covered in blood over and over again, and each time he probably patched it up with some clumsy healing magic. They were cracked all over, full of scars, and knotted with callouses. Even the muscle development in his arms was different between the right and left. That guy is a fool among fools—the kind of total idiot who’s thought of nothing but swinging a sword since the day he was born. ...It looks like he lost an eye and a leg, but well, that’s the kind of man that little lady is currently partnered with."
"Ngh..."
The boy clenched his fists tightly. In that moment, the man saw a flicker in the depths of the boy’s eyes—currently just a small waver like a bonfire, but a certain red flame had been lit nonetheless.
The receptionist likely saw it as well. She spread her hands and gave a resigned sigh.
"Men are so simple."
"Damn right we are. After all, a man can become as strong as he needs to be for the sake of a woman."
"Is that from experience? Or just an ideal?"
"It’s experience. Even I, back in the day, was quite the hotshot..."
"—I’m going to the training grounds."
The words were spoken with quiet determination, like a bird breaking out of its shell. When the man looked back, the boy had already turned and was practically sprinting out of the guild.
Having found the summit he needed to reach, the boy no longer wavered. Watching the boy's back—which seemed just a little broader than before—until he disappeared, the man roughly scratched the back of his head.
"...Well, in the end, it was probably a good experience. This’ll help him grow. Men really are no good until they get their noses broken once."
The receptionist smiled faintly.
"Was that how it was for you, too?"
"Damn straight. I was nothing but failures, both now and in the past. That kid will probably become much stronger than me. Maybe it’s about time I retired."
"Yes, yes. Since we have a veteran who’s so full of failures, I have plenty of work for you today."
"Hey, you're a slave driver. Show a little respect for your elders."
"Oh? Then may I ask what you came to the guild for if not to work?"
"Hah—unbecoming as always. You’ll never be popular with an attitude like that."
"What—?! That has nothing to do with you!"
Just as the male adventurers nearby were making faces like they’d swallowed a hundred bitter bugs, thinking, Oh, they're at it again, someone throw some water on them, the lively atmosphere of the guild suddenly shifted.
"Oop, speak of the devil—"
The man turned toward the entrance and raised an eyebrow.
A brown-skinned girl wearing far-off, foreign clothing rarely seen in these parts had entered. She was likely the most talked-about adventurer in the guild right now, said to be in a party with the sakura-colored girl.
Her name was—Atri, if he recalled correctly.
There were two reasons why she had suddenly become the person of the hour.
One: she was terrifyingly strong. According to those who had witnessed her fight by chance, she lightly swung a massive halberd that looked like a blacksmith's mistake, crushing monsters that even B-ranks would struggle with in a single blow. It was common gossip that she had brought in a pile of drops so large an adult couldn't carry them all, making the receptionist scream.
However, her way of fighting—it was said to be as if she were possessed.
And the other reason: the ethnic clothing she wore used so little fabric that, if one looked closely, her undergarments were faintly visible through it. She was quite the sight for sore eyes—or rather, she made it very difficult to know where to look.
Among the eyes following her, there were more than a few such looks, causing the receptionist to wear a cold expression.
Atri, the girl of the hour, paid no mind to the surrounding stir and went to the counter furthest from the man. A rookie receptionist who had only recently started working there began to attend to her with a nervous face.
"—Actually," the man lowered his voice so Atri wouldn't hear. "The party that re-cleared Gouzel recently... it was them, wasn't it?"
"..."
The man spoke with total certainty, and the receptionist wasn't surprised that he'd guessed it. She gave a quiet sigh and lowered her voice as well.
"You noticed?"
"Well, besides me, all the guys with sharp intuition are saying it."
The news of the dungeon Gouzel being cleared had come out over a month ago. Then, two weeks ago, a notice was suddenly posted stating that the details were being re-confirmed because the True Boss Monster had been slain. In other words, the initial clearing approval had been a mistake.
Two weeks ago was exactly when the reports had surfaced—a group believed to be Silvery Grey had rushed into the Chryscles Holy Church carrying a blood-soaked young man.
"Normally, a party that clears a dungeon is hailed as heroes. Even the boss monster is made public, and adventurers at the tavern get hyped up. It’s one of the highest honors we can get. ...But this time, there's no information about who cleared it or what the boss monster was. Why the secrecy?"
"I’m not happy about it either."
The receptionist couldn't hide her frustration. But it wasn't directed at the man; it was frustration toward a system she couldn't change.
"If I were allowed to make it public, I’d do it right now. Those kids really... they really worked hard. ...Listen, I'm only telling you this because it's you. Don't you dare say it out loud."
Faced with her sharp gaze, the man nodded silently.
"...The True Boss Monster."
She wrote the name in small letters on a scrap of paper.
<Life Reaper (Grim Reaper)>
"—...I see. That’s..."
For once, the man was speechless. This wasn't just "amazing." This was a feat that should have been carved into history. An absolute existence that reaped the lives of adventurers. A monster that, if encountered, required one to devote every ounce of strength to escaping, let alone winning.
In all of history, the officially recognized slaying records of such a beast could be counted on two hands.
And children had done it.
"I don't know why they won't go public. All I know is—it’s because they themselves don't want it."
The Grim Reaper. A scarred young man who alone lost an eye and a leg. Three companions who were physically unharmed. In the man’s head, the pieces connected into a single, tragic line.
The receptionist's voice was uncharacteristically weak.
"I’m not making excuses, but while our branch received the initial report, it was the Holy City's side that dispatched the team and gave the final approval that the dungeon was dead. So, it was a massive scandal over there. Investigators flew in immediately to interview the party."
She sighed.
"You said you lent a shoulder to the boy in the wheelchair. Apparently, it’s a miracle he’s even alive. His eye and his leg... if that happened to an important comrade, well. The investigator said he was turned away at the church by a sister. They said no one was in a state to talk... and they didn't mean the boy. They meant his companions."
"..."
"Permission was finally granted two days later. Even then, the youngest girl—the mage—apparently started crying in the middle of it... and they were told to leave. They were kicked out. ...It must have been hell."
"That's a heart-wrenching story."
The man knew his face was twisted in a grimace of suppressed anger. As an older veteran, he had guided many young people and watched them venture out. Hearing this kind of story filled him with a restless, aimless fury.
If someone were to be blamed, the guild would be the target. A dungeon thought to be cleared that wasn't—it wasn't unprecedented. There were those who lied for fame, and those who were truly mistaken. That was why the guild sent investigation teams to confirm a dungeon’s activity had stopped.
But the error had happened again. Whether the investigation failed or someone had lied—regardless, an adult's blunder had stolen a young man's future. Even if he survived, losing a leg meant his path as an adventurer was essentially over.
The receptionist looked at the man with pleading eyes.
"...Hey. That boy,"
"Yeah. He protected them. He protected his comrades by literally putting his life on the line."
Only the young man had been maimed, while the three girls were unharmed. ...That was the reality of it. Even the veteran knew that in that position, he would have made the same choice without hesitation.
But for the girls, that survival might feel like a curse. They were protected at the cost of the young man’s eye and leg.
What did the honor of slaying the Grim Reaper matter? What was reward money or an S-rank promotion worth? Would it bring back his leg? Would it heal his eye? Could they redo the past? It changed nothing. It was meaningless.
They likely couldn't bear to be praised as if it were a group achievement when only the young man had paid the price. They were likely tormenting themselves.
"...I wonder why."
The receptionist's fists were trembling.
"They worked so hard, and they came back alive, and yet..."
"..."
At that moment, Atri finished her business and turned on her heel. She was likely heading out to hunt again. Normally, a young girl hunting alone would draw dozens of eyes and unwanted advances.
But in this moment, everyone in the guild could only watch her back in silence. No one could find the words to speak to her. Atri, in turn, didn't seem to notice a single person around her.
—It was as if she were possessed.
But it wasn't the self-destruction of regret. It was the look of someone who had found a path of martyrdom and had sworn to offer up her soul to it. It was a devotion so deep it had swallowed her regret whole.
What had she seen in that dungeon? What had been burned into her eyes?
"...It really is a heart-wrenching story."
"..."
The curiosity for the unknown or a brave determination—those were the bright emotions that were supposed to drive a young adventurer.
Yet this girl, not much older than the rookie from earlier, had already determined how she would spend her life and was ready to die for it.
Neither the man nor the receptionist had any words of wisdom for such a girl.
Because even after all their years of living, neither of them had ever truly considered what they were willing to give their lives for.