Chapter 74: If You’re Curious, Bring Me Five Million Gold (1)

Cork became a mercenary as soon as he became an adult. He never picked fights or challenged anyone stronger than himself. It was common sense that skill and experience determined the winner of a fight, and Cork knew his limits and exercised restraint until he had grown enough.

One day, Cork and his friends visited a tavern to celebrate his promotion to Gold-class.

“Oops!”

One of his friends, drunk, spilled beer on a man sitting at a neighboring table. The man was alone, cloaked, with neatly kept hair and clean clothes. It was obvious he was either a knight or a noble.

But the alcohol made the mercenaries lose their fear. More than that, it was mostly because the man was alone and looked like an easy target.

“Oh no, I’m sorry about that! Your clothes look expensive too. Heh, heh!”

The drunken mercenary chuckled as he made his clumsy apology.

“Tsk.”

The young man clicked his tongue, shoved the mercenary aside, and left the tavern. His dismissive attitude irritated the drunk mercenary.

“That brat thinks he can click his tongue at me? Does he think nobles can’t die?”

The mercenary drew his sword and followed the young man outside.

Cork and his companions didn’t bother to stop him. To them, the young man didn’t seem particularly strong due to his uncalloused hands and casual walk.

Clang! Clang!

The sound of clashing swords echoed from outside the window.

Splat!

Cork shot to his feet when he saw that blood spattered against the windowpane.

“Damn it, don’t tell me he killed him?”

It wasn’t guilt or concern; it was the fact that they had to flee quickly if the young man was dead.

When Cork and his friends rushed outside, they were shocked. Lying on the ground wasn’t the young man, but one of them. He wasn’t moving because he was already dead.

“Zort!”

The drunken mercenaries, now sobered, gripped their weapons and charged at the young man who still had his sword in his hand. The way he adjusted his sword stance confirmed their initial impression—he was clearly a novice swordsman.

Clang! Clang!

The young man struggled to block their attacks, but the battle didn’t last long as one of the mercenary’s swords suddenly snapped in two.

“Huh?”

The mercenary froze in confusion. At that moment, the young man’s unpolished swordsmanship landed a strike on the mercenary’s neck. He raised his arm to block, but the sword sliced through it smoothly and cut deep into his torso.

“Die!”

Another mercenary circled behind the young man and lunged at him. Although he wasn’t wearing armor, just light clothing, the mercenary’s sword was stopped by his cloak.

“N-no way!”

Squelch!

The mercenary who had ambushed him from behind collapsed, his throat slashed.

Now left alone, Cork trembled uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. It wasn’t because he was drunk or mourning the death of his friends. It was because he was overwhelmed by how pathetic he was for thinking that skill and experience were all that mattered.

The young man’s swordsmanship was clumsy at best. Compared to mercenaries, he barely scraped the level of a Silver-class novice. The difference in equipment was what determined the outcome; skill and experience were meaningless here.

“Ahhhh!”

Cork let out a desperate, pathetic scream and fled, leaving behind his friends’ lifeless bodies in the cold.

The next day, he still couldn’t shake off the shock. He didn’t even feel a desire for revenge.

“So, equipment is more important than skill or experience, huh...”

A passing Diamond-class mercenary overheard Cork’s lament and chuckled.

“You’re just realizing that? Artifacts are powerful enough that even a farmer from the country could kill thousands of guys like you with one. And you might stand a chance against me if you use magic tools, those knockoffs of artifacts.”

Cork wanted to know if that was true, but there was no way he could get one. Even as a Gold class mercenary, considered above average in the field, Cork was still a nobody on the national stage. He was a lowly ant at best.

He still visited an auction house in the city to find a magic tool, but they were so outrageously expensive that his jaw dropped. A magical dagger engraved with a single spell to enhance cutting ability cost an astronomical three

hundred gold. By comparison, a top-tier steel dagger could be bought for just ten

gold—a price difference of thirty times.

“Damn it, even one spell drives the price up to three hundred gold?”

Cork typically took on C-tier requests, which paid eight gold. Rare B-tier requests earned him twenty gold. But those quests took at least a week, sometimes up to three months, and carried high risks.

Despite working tirelessly as a mercenary for six years without rest, Cork had only saved up two hundred gold. That amount, by mercenary standards, was actually impressive, as most blew their earnings on booze, women, and indulgences, knowing their lives could end any day.

But Cork needed one hundred more gold. To make up the difference, he would have to take on five dangerous B-tier quests, and that was assuming he could even find the quests to take. There were some that he couldn’t do.

If he suffered injuries during the quests, that would cost him more money. On more than one occasion, his treatment costs had exceeded his earnings.

“Two years if I’m lucky, three years if I’m not.”

But truthfully, Cork’s patience was already at its limit. He was dying to experience the power of a magic tool and waiting two or three years felt impossible. In addition, he was anxious that the prices would go up while he saved up.

“I’ve got no choice. Really... no choice.”

Cork purchased a mask at a general store.

Six months later, an unfamiliar dagger hung at his waist.

After using the magic tool, Cork was struck with shock, awe, and finally exhilaration.

“To think I can cut steel without using aura... Is this even real?”

Of course, Cork could wield aura, but he could only manage to do about eight swings before exhausting it. Plus, aura wasn’t just used offensively; it was crucial for defense as well.

Cork immediately put his magic dagger to the test in a real battle. He joined a B-tier request to hunt orcs and charged in alone.

“That crazy bastard! Why is he rushing in by himself!?”

Contrary to the other mercenaries’ concerns, Cork fought well. He used his aura solely for defense, relying on the magic dagger for offense. His extraordinary performance drew the attention of his fellow mercenaries.

“What’s the deal, Cork? When did you get this good?”

“Did you drink some kind of elixir? Come on, share your secret!”

“You made it so much easier for the rest of us.”

Cork didn’t foolishly flaunt his dagger. But he was sure of one thing.

Even with just one magic tool, I can do this much.

From that moment on, Cork became obsessed with magic tools. However, they were expensive. A dagger engraved with just one spell cost three hundred gold. In the industry, this engraving was referred to as level: one engraving was level one, two engravings made it level two.

However, the cost didn’t scale linearly. A level two magic tool didn’t cost six hundred gold but a whopping three thousand gold. A level three tool exceeded fifty thousand gold, and level five tools rivaled artifacts in power. One artifact was rumored to have sold for two million gold at the empire’s largest auction house.

“I have no choice... not this time either.”

Cork stepped into forbidden territory. The first time was always the hardest, and the second came easier. He began committing acts no mercenary—or human—should do: pillaging and murder.

He targeted magic tool owners in particular. Sometimes monsters carried magic tools, usually taken from adventurers they had killed. Cork began hunting down such monsters, obsessively collecting them.

Over eight years, Cork grew stronger in every sense.

He covered himself in magic tools, learning to wield every type of weapon to adapt to the tools’ variety. While he didn’t excel in any one weapon, the tools’ performance compensated for his lack of skill.

In the mercenary world, skill with tools was considered an ability in itself, so Cork faced no obstacles in his promotions. Cork, who ascended past Platinum and reached Diamond-class, experienced the thrill of his life. He had achieved a rank he once thought was forever beyond him. Even with the aid of magic tools, it was an awe-inspiring feat.

“Alright, now I’ll aim for the highest rank: Orichalcum-class.”

But Cork’s dreams and confidence were shattered within a year. Amantir-class, the rank above Diamond, was unattainable with magic tools alone. The highest-level magic tools Cork could acquire were only level two.

Despite this, Cork refused to give up easily. But the wall of the Amantir-class proved far more insurmountable than he had imagined. He even believed he could hold his own against an Amantir-class mercenary.

“I’ll admit that I’m lacking in aura reserves and technique, but in real combat, I’m as good as any Amantir-class mercenary!”

When he protested to the Mercenary Association, the receptionist smirked and asked, “Care to test that claim?”

The receptionist introduced him to an Amantir-class mercenary. Cork sparred with him, and by the end of the duel, Cork had lost three magic tools.

The Amantir-class mercenary destroyed the tools and remarked with disdain, “You’re nothing but a man reliant on equipment.”

The insult from the Amantir-class mercenary wounded Cork’s pride deeply. In his rage, he attempted to assassinate the mercenary but failed, forcing him to flee to Liqueur.

Although he had become a fugitive and knew escape was impossible, Cork did not give up on life or his request for revenge. While fiercely battling the harsh environment and adapting to his new surroundings, he got into a dispute and killed a man. When he searched the man’s belongings, he found a peculiar note.

—I’ve finally located the labyrinth where an artifact rests. But the security is too tight. The place is filled with traps and mazes. I can’t do it alone. Gather a team and find me. I’ll be waiting at the house.”

“An artifact?!”

Cork quickly covered his mouth in shock.

Artifacts—mythical relics from the Age of Legends, and the very predecessors of magical tools!

The records of their power were said to be more than mere exaggeration. The Demon Sword Hellfire was said to be able to burn an entire city with a single swing, while the Holy Sword Arondight granted its wielder impenetrable defense.

Artifacts didn’t only come in the form of weapons, either. The Armor of Iras bestowed infinite vitality and life force, and Malphite’s Ring granted the strength of giants.

However, all known artifacts already had owners. Without exception, these owners were either renowned warriors or high nobles, known throughout the continent. Taking an artifact from them was impossible.

An unclaimed artifact... This is a divine opportunity!

The note mentioned only that it was a house, so it took Cork an entire year to locate the house concealing the labyrinth. True to its reputation, the labyrinth where the artifact rested was riddled with traps and mazes. On top of that, undead monsters occasionally roamed its halls, making it impossible to clear alone—even in a hundred years.

“I need trustworthy people for this... and to keep the operation discreet.”

But where could he find such people? Mercenaries would do.

Fortunately, Liqueur had a mercenary guild. Cork poured his efforts into taking over the guild and spent three years securing the position of branch manager.

“Ha! Half the battle’s already won!”

With his authority as branch manager, Cork restricted access to the labyrinth and quietly recruited reliable mercenaries to conquer it. He was meticulous, knowing that if the labyrinth’s existence became known, thousands of competitors would descend upon it.

One day, during the careful planning, a peculiar incident occurred.

“Take in the rookie!”

A young boy boldly entered the mercenary guild filled with grim-faced men.

“What’s this, kid? Go play somewhere else. This isn’t a place for brats.”

“Isn’t this the mercenary guild?”

“It is, but your mom’s not here. Maybe your dad is? Hey! Who left their kid here?!”

Cork’s mocking comment caused the guild to erupt in laughter.

“Was it me?”

“No way! A kid like that would never come from you!”

Despite the laughter and scorn, the boy remained unfazed.

“Kid, just go home. This isn’t the place for you.”

“I want to be a mercenary. That’s my dream.”

One of the mercenaries approached and provoked the boy.

“Oh, how cute. Well, go drink some more of your mother’s milk and come back later.”

“The man said anyone can be a mercenary if they pull their weight. Isn’t that right?”

“And how are you going to do that, huh? This isn’t an assassin guild that raises brats.”

“I didn’t ask to be raised. And more importantly, I’m already stronger than you.”

“What? You little...!”

As the mercenary grabbed the boy’s hair roughly...

Thud!

“Ugh?!”

...The boy suddenly rammed his head into the man’s groin.

As the mercenary collapsed to his knees, the boy began pummeling his face with his small, chain-wrapped fists.

“That kid’s got chains around his hands!”

“When did he do that?!”

“Stop him!”

The other mercenaries rushed in, but by then, the first man’s face was a bloody mess. The boy’s own hands bled heavily from punching with chains, but he showed no signs of pain.

“I’ve proven that I can pull my own weight. Now I’m a mercenary, right?”

The blood-covered boy smiled brightly, leaving the mercenaries speechless. They turned to their manager, Cork, for guidance, but he frowned.

Letting a brat in would draw too much attention. That’s the last thing I need.

Finding the artifact had to remain a closely guarded secret. Cork even planned to kill his fellow mercenaries afterward to ensure their silence.

Approaching the boy, Cork crouched down.

“You can’t join. Come back when you’re at least twelve. Then I’ll let you in.”

“That’s too late. I have no reason to wait that long.”

“Don’t worry. Time flies. Listen to the adults.”

“The adult I know says age doesn’t matter.”

“Who’s that?”

“The man who used to be the branch manager here.”

“Well, that was his rule, not mine.”

“...Fine...”

The boy hung his head low, pretending to sulk. Cork approached him, intending to give him a silver coin to send him on his way.

Shing!

“Hmph!”

Cork quickly deflected something aimed at his eye. He always wore magic tools, and he had on his gloves at the time. What was blocked by his gloves was a sharp shard hurled at him.

“That didn’t work, huh,” the kid said nonchalantly, stepping back. “What’s your name, mister?”

“Cork. I’m the new branch manager here.”

“Got it. My name’s Keter. Do you have a dream you want to achieve?”

The question was odd, especially coming from a kid who had just attacked him. Yet, at the mention of “dream,” Cork instinctively nodded.

Keter’s eyes crinkled into a sly smile.

“Perfect. I’ll make sure to crush it for you.”

From that day forward, Keter persistently harassed the mercenaries in Liqueur and Cork himself. At first, Cork dismissed it as childish antics that would eventually stop.

But as ten years passed, Cork grew restless. He had thought it would only take five years to conquer the labyrinth, but Keter’s constant meddling had delayed the process significantly. He had long considered killing Keter, but the kid—now grown—seemed to anticipate every move, provoking him to his breaking point before slipping away each time.

Nevertheless, Cork finally reached the labyrinth’s final chamber. The problem? No matter what he tried, the door wouldn’t open.

“Damn it! What’s the condition to open this thing? There’s not even a keyhole!”

Even brute force failed. Cork punched the door in frustration, his bare fist scraping against the surface, leaving his skin raw and bleeding.

Then...

“The blood... It’s being absorbed by the door?”

Cork experimented further, splashing a handful of blood onto the door, which vanished instantly.

“This is it! Blood is the key!”

It didn’t matter how much blood was needed. In Liqueur, corpses were plentiful. However, the door rejected the blood of the dead. It only accepted the blood of the living.

Cork shrugged off the challenge.

“Well, no choice then.”

The first was the most difficult, and then it got better by the second. By the third, he didn’t even hesitate. Cork kidnapped countless people, extracting their blood to pour onto the door. When a fellow mercenary objected, Cork killed him too, using his blood to feed the door.

He killed over one hundred people in this manner. Among them were children, as Cork instinctively realized that the door preferred young blood.

“It’s almost done. Just a little more...”

A sphere was embedded at the center of the door, gradually filling with a deep red hue as blood was offered. When Cork had sacrificed three hundred lives, the sphere finally turned completely red. He thought the ordeal was over.

The labyrinth trembled, and the mechanisms whirred. The sphere retracted inward, revealing... three new spheres.

“What the...?” Cork staggered, dumbfounded.

If one sphere required three hundred lives, these three meant it required another nine hundred.

“Ha... haha...”

A creeping dread that this might not be the end overtook him.

However, Cork muttered to himself, “Fine. I never expected this to be easy.”

His eyes were wild with determination.

Cork uncovered another truth: killing individuals with aura sped up the process, and the blood of young maidens worked exceptionally well. He killed indiscriminately. In Liqueur, where people deemed disposable were abundant, there was never a shortage of materials.

Then, years passed. Ordinarily, branch managers were replaced every five years, but Cork had held the position for far too long. Suspicion began to arise outside Liqueur as to why he had not relinquished the role. Cork concealed himself even more, pouring his focus into his work. He was confident that everything would be resolved if he obtained the artifact.

I will become the Mercenary King of Liqueur.

On the brink of filling the three new spheres with blood, the person Cork hated most appeared unannounced: Keter, a mad dog and the Solver of Liqueur.

Keter had disappeared for four days, much to Cork’s brief relief. He had planned to kill Keter first once he acquired the artifact. But now, Keter had come to him asking for the branch manager position.

Cork absolutely could not hand it over, as the entrance to the labyrinth was designed to only grant the branch manager access.

Keter... Surely you don’t know about the artifact and are targeting me because of it?

Though Keter claimed it was about revenge, the timing was far too convenient. Just as Cork was on the verge of obtaining the artifact, Keter suddenly made a move against him. No matter the circumstances, Cork couldn’t afford to lose in this Goddess’ Trial. From what he knew of Keter, he was reckless but never acted without some kind of plan. He was undoubtedly scheming something.

Cork gave orders to his mercenaries, “Find out what Keter is up to. And you—recruit anyone skilled in detection magic. Make sure Keter can’t hire a single one of them.”

Magic detection was required to locate the A-rank Named Monster, Red Comet, so Keter would undoubtedly seek out a mage or incantor for the task.

There’s no way he’ll be able to capture the Red Comet, but I’ll make sure he can’t even get started.

However, the report Cork received from his subordinate was entirely unexpected.

“Keter... is taking a nap in the town plaza.”