Chapter 1: Rotten Fish and Shrimp

[Shabby Standard Longsword]

Type: One-handed Sword

Grade: Common (White)

Description:

25 Gray Rats, 12 Goblins, and even one Bear Goblin… Buddy, how could you demand more from it?

Note:

Initial Heart!

—Thousand Iron Flow Legendary Sword Saint, Vice Leader of the “Eternal Glory Throne” Adventurer Group, Titus

…

“Is this supposed to be my golden finger?”

By the campfire, I, Xia Nan, gazed at the longsword laid across my knees, murmuring to myself.

This was my second day after transmigrating into this world.

In my previous life, I hadn’t experienced any major storms. Born into a moderately well-off family, I studied hard, passed exams, and got into a decent university. After graduation, I followed the crowd into an internet company, enjoying the “996” blessing, and finally, on my thirty-second birthday, I secured a position as a department manager.

After the celebratory party, drunk and refusing my colleagues’ offers to escort me, I decided to walk home to let the night breeze sober me up.

But not long after leaving the restaurant, while walking on a dark road, I heard a sharp honk and the screech of brakes behind me.

Then everything went black, and I arrived in this world, reborn in the body of an eighteen-year-old youth.

“Sigh…”

I let out a silent sigh, my mind drifting slightly due to the memories.

The attribute panel, visible only to me and hovering above the one-handed sword, faded away.

Having inherited all the memories of this youth, I had gained a rough understanding of the world I’d transmigrated into.

The good news was that this was a genuine fantasy world with tangible supernatural powers. Whether it was the tricks performed by the bard who stayed in the village during my childhood to offset meal costs, or the faintly glowing double-handed axe on the back of the burly barbarian I saw passing by the tavern not long ago, both confirmed this fact.

But the bad news was that, in this life, I was just an utterly ordinary farmer, worrying about my next meal.

Aside from the bits of knowledge I brought from my modern life in my previous world, the bulk of my mind was filled with things like “how to plow the land more efficiently” or “which crops to plant in which season”—skills completely unrelated to the supernatural powers of this world.

Not that I had any prejudice against this profession that sustained countless lives. In fact, in my previous life, I often fantasized about earning a fortune, moving out of the big city, renting a small plot of land in a scenic place, and living a pastoral life of rising with the sun and resting at dusk.

But in this world, a few meager fields couldn’t possibly support an entire family.

And that was exactly why my predecessor had left the village where he grew up and ventured into the dangerous wilderness.

I pulled my gaze away from the one-handed sword.

Lifting my head slightly, I looked ahead.

This was the most rudimentary campsite imaginable, without even a tent, just a few sleeping bags scattered messily around a campfire.

Amid the crackling sounds of the burning flames, I could faintly hear a few whispers, though I couldn’t make out what was being said.

Humans, a dwarf, and a beastman.

It seemed like a classic four-person adventurer party setup.

But in truth, I could say without hesitation that we were nothing but a team of rotten fish and shrimp.

The dwarf, Erji, despite his race’s potential for a five-hundred-year lifespan, had no advantages at his current age of just over twenty. His knowledge and experience were even less than those of my predecessor, an eighteen-year-old farmer who toiled in the fields.

With two daggers tucked at his waist, he looked the part, as if he were some kind of assassin or rogue.

But in reality, Erji was a genuine right-hander. His left hand was so clumsy that he could barely hold a fork—once, I personally witnessed him struggle for a full three minutes just to undo the bracer on his right arm with his left hand.

The only thing remotely above average about him was probably his so-called “family-inherited” cheerful disposition and an often ill-timed sense of humor.

The beastman, Gagu.

Though called a “beastman,” I suspected his beastman bloodline was maybe one thirty-second or even less. Aside from slightly sharper canines and a stockier build, he looked almost indistinguishable from a regular human.

But regardless, he could at least pass as a frontliner—“at least he’d give the beasts in the jungle a few extra bites,” as the dwarf Erji had put it.

And finally, the last member, also the leader of our “Rotten Fish and Shrimp” team.

Maji, human hunter.

Arguably the most reliable member of our team.

Rumor had it he was once a renowned hunter in several villages on the kingdom’s western border, but after offending some noble, he had to flee his hometown under a false name.

Erji seemed to know a bit of the inside story.

“Sigh, women,” he had said when I brought it up once.

In short, a right-hander, a half-breed, a hunter, and a farmer—that was the entirety of our team’s lineup.

Normally, at least in my understanding, a standard adventurer party should consist of a warrior, a priest, a mage, and maybe an assassin or a ranger.

The classic warrior-mage-priest combo.

But for the Rotten Fish and Shrimp team, that was nothing short of a pipe dream.

Forget rare spellcasters—our team didn’t even have a single low-level professional.

Even our most experienced member, the hunter Maji, was miles away from qualifying as a “ranger” and gaining his first professional level.

In a sense, calling our group an “adventurer party” was giving us far too much credit.

Of course, it wasn’t that this world lacked professionals.

It was just that the requirements for qualifying as one were extremely stringent. Unless you had exceptional luck or a wealthy background, ordinary people could spend their entire lives without ever reaching that level.

After all, the bounty for just one goblin was three silver and seven copper coins—almost two days’ wages for a dockworker!

High risk, high reward—that was the consensus among all intelligent beings in this world regarding “adventurers.”

And that was precisely why the Rotten Fish and Shrimp team was here.

“We’re half a day’s journey from the sighting location in the mission report,” said Maji, the hunter, as he sat by the campfire sorting his quiver. “We should arrive by tomorrow morning.”

“Tch, tch, a whole squad of goblins! Man, I’ve never taken on a job this big!”

Erji waved his dagger with his right hand, his face lit by the firelight showing excitement, though his small stature made him look somewhat comical.

“What, scared?” The beastman on the other side grinned wickedly. “Don’t worry, they’re just green-skinned rats your size. I could crush two of them with my toes.”

“Damn right!”

Erji nodded dramatically, putting on a look of agreement.

“A tough guy like you definitely wouldn’t cry for his mommy in his sleep-talk.”

“%@#*&! (Beastman slang)”

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