Chapter 69 — Please, Gods, Spare Me

  Mireya nearly fainted again.

  Not because of a shocking feat.

  Not because of impossible combat results.

  No—this time, it was a question.

  “Um… what’s an adventurer?” Ivaline asked, tilting her head slightly. “And… what was the test for?”

  Something in Mireya’s mind went very, very quiet.

  Then it screamed.

  Slowly—painfully—the realization settled in.

  This child.

  This absurd, terrifyingly competent child.

  She had taken the Adventurer Qualification Examination

  without knowing what an adventurer even was.

  And she had passed.

  Perfectly.

  Mireya’s smile did not falter.

  Years of reception work had forged it into armor—polite, calm, reassuring. The kind of smile that survived belligerent veterans, angry merchants, and nobles who mistook coin for authority.

  Inside, however, she was watching her sanity fall down a well.

  Of course.

  Of course she didn’t know.

  Why would someone like her ever need to?

  Taking a careful breath, Mireya clasped her hands together and leaned forward slightly, posture gentle, voice warm—like she was explaining something to a lost child.

  Which, in a sense, she was.

  “The Adventurer Guild,” Mireya began, “is an organization that handles requests from the public.”

  She gestured subtly toward the notice board lining the far wall.

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  “Townspeople come to us with problems—lost items, monster sightings, escort needs, labor shortages. Farmers, merchants, churches… even travelers passing through.”

  She hesitated, then added, “Occasionally, nobles submit requests as well. Those are… screened carefully.”

  That was the polite way to say politics and blood tend to follow.

  “Adventurers register with the guild, accept quests suited to their ability, and receive coin and merit upon completion.”

  Ivaline nodded once.

  Mireya continued, pointing to the ranking chart.

  “Ranks exist so people don’t die stupidly.”

  That earned her a blink from the girl—but no protest.

  “Copper is the starting rank. Most beginners begin there.”

  Copper-ranked adventurers handled work that was more tiring than dangerous: gathering herbs, delivering goods, finding lost pets, cleaning abandoned buildings, assisting farms or temples.

  Useful work. Necessary work.

  “Above that is Iron rank,” Mireya said. “Those adventurers handle escort duty, monster subjugation, and combat-related requests. Some are even called upon during local conflicts, if authorities require assistance.”

  Her ears flicked as she caught herself before going further.

  “Silver, Gold, Diamond, Adamant—those exist beyond that,” she said quickly. “But they won’t concern you for now.”

  Gods willing, she added silently.

  Adventurers could accept quests one rank above their own—but only with guild approval. A Copper could take an Iron request. An Iron could attempt Silver. Parties made this easier; a group led by someone competent could be trusted with more dangerous work.

  “Complete quests, earn coin and merit,” Mireya summarized. “Accumulate merit, rise in rank.”

  Some adventurers worked to feed families.

  Some chased fame.

  Some chased strength.

  Some simply wanted freedom.

  “There are… shortcuts,” Mireya added, lips thinning just a little. “Certain nobles donate large sums to the guild to accelerate rank evaluations.”

  Her tail flicked once, sharply.

  “They often rely on equipment rather than skill.”

  She did not bother masking her disdain.

  Throughout the explanation, Ivaline listened with absolute focus.

  Not awe.

  Not excitement.

  She memorized ranks, rules, restrictions—each piece filed away neatly. Her eyes glinted faintly, not with ambition, but with something quieter.

  Understanding.

  A system.

  A structure.

  A predictable exchange: effort for reward.

  For the first time, there existed work that matched what she could already do.

  “I understand,” Ivaline said politely once Mireya finished. “Thank you for explaining.”

  She bowed her head slightly—formal, precise—then turned toward the quest board with renewed interest.

  As if she had just discovered a tool.

  Mireya maintained her warm, professional smile.

  Inside, absolute chaos reigned.

  So I’m assigned to oversee an absurdly talented child under ten years old.

  A child who passed every test without knowing why they existed.

  A child who treats danger as routine labor.

  Her tail twitched again, betraying her.

  Please, Mireya prayed silently to any god that might be listening.

  Spare me.