A bona fide A-Team. A certain theme song sprang to mind. In any case, it seemed like an occupation that seniority had no place in. No sense for an ace player to address a rookie with honorifics.
“Oh, no! I wouldn’t dare risk offending a Hermit!” Mister Swordsman waved his hand in denial. “Besides, I don’t like this ranking system. Doesn’t feel right for a kid like me to act all high and mighty just ’cus I got a higher rank.”
“Is that so?”
Exchanging some vague smiles, we stepped out of the spring. While the man was shorter than me, he was almost six feet tall, which made him taller than most in this world. He quickly put on his clothes and extended his right hand.
“I’m Syfer.”
“Nice to meet you. Eiji.”
Charming, down-to-earth, didn’t let his rank get to his head, and had a handsome face and well-toned body. To top it off, Syfer had blonde hair and blue eyes. What a protagonist-type. He must have been quite the lady killer. Like I said, I wasn’t jealous, dammit. I was engaged myself.
“You said you don’t like the ranking system?” I asked, glancing at the rest of the party still in the spring. It seemed like we would have a few moments to talk.
“I’m only seventeen. I’m just a kid with a few more muscles than most, and I know how to swing a sword. But since my abilities on my registration card were high, I got a lot of sweet gigs.”
“Really?”
“Lucrative stuff, both in pay and glory. Went through a bunch of those, and I’m A-rank before I know it. Just two years into the business. What do you think, Mister Hermit?”
“Hm...”
I had to think about this. In the world of bureaucracy, it’s uncommon to see anyone climb a ladder much faster than others. In most cases, seniority rules. No matter how much talent one displays on the job, no one is promoted based on accomplishments.
What about in private corporations? While connections must matter anywhere, I’m sure some private businesses promoted people based on their performance. In two years, though? Not a chance. It’s hard to imagine that someone would be anywhere beyond a step above a rookie after only two years in the business. They wouldn’t even be self-sufficient at that point.
Perhaps I had to compare this to a much more performance-oriented career than a 9-to-5, like professional sports. How about a professional baseball player? Could a star player get away with talking down to someone in the Minors? Of course not.
From what I have heard, people in those career paths are even more particular about etiquette. There are players straight out of high school, and players out of college. Some are drafted later in life, and some people join the team through trades or free agent negotiations. Their time spent in a particular team varied, too.
The only thing they could use to set up a hierarchy in such a situation is age. Regardless of their time spent on the team and their position in it, older members are respected and younger members are looked after. A nicer way of putting this would be to say that one’s experience in life matters more than their experience in the business.
In Syfer’s case, he would have still been a high-schooler in Japan. It was only natural that he was unsure of what to do with the sparkly title given to him.
“I see. I am fourteen years your senior, Syfer. You don’t mind if I speak frankly with you?” I said, speaking frankly already.
“Of course not! Wait, you’re 31, Sir Eiji!?” he replied with joy and surprise at once. This young man was a multitasker.
“You’re almost my father’s age! Do Hermits not age!?”
“No, no. Of course we do. I’m not even fit. My whole body hurts from walking all day yesterday and today.”
Sadly, it was true. I wondered if my muscles would ever be released from soreness.
“Perhaps you just need to train better, Sir Eiji?”
“Maybe I’ll start working out once we’re back in town.”
I shrugged. While a tireless body might have been unachievable, I wanted to be better than spending two days one-way on a journey the average citizen of Azur could make round trip in a single day.
“Oh, I can help you with that. Even just doing the basics would make a big difference, I think.”
Apparently, Syfer was willing to get me into shape. While grateful, I turned down his offer with a smile. Carrying on the baseball comparison, that would be like a little leaguer taking private lessons from a major league star. There would be nothing the little leaguer could learn if the star had any prowess at all. I would have felt too much guilt to use up Syfer’s, or any A-rank adventurer’s, valuable time for such a fruitless activity.
“A nice excuse. The real reason, if I were to put money on it, is that you don’t want to get yourself into what must be rigorous training led by an A-rank adventurer.”
Coming out of the spring with immaculate timing, Tiamat spouted some accurate nonsense.
Come on, you’re making me blush. I’m just a feeble bureaucrat.
In a Japanese period drama, I would have been the one killed three minutes into the episode, or a face in the crowd killed in the climactic sword fight.
“It’s true that I can’t argue any part of the assessment you’ve just made, Tia, but it’s also true that I wouldn’t be able to stand taking time away from Syfer’s life.”
Time is a precious commodity. On top of that, the people of Azur lived much shorter lives than I would.
“Then pay Syfer for his time. You can’t deny, also, that you should get some sort of training.”
Dammit. My partner seemed dead set on getting me to exercise, but I wasn’t done. My heart remained yet unbroken.
“I have no money to hire an A-rank adventurer.”
“How do you know without asking the price? What do you say, Syfer? Just for two hours, each morning. How much would it take to occupy you for that long?” Tiamat asked, with a half-grin on her face.
“How about three silver coins a day?”
That was the equivalent of paying him about 1500 yen an hour. Maybe doable for a couple of sessions, but that wasn’t a price I could afford day after day.
“I can’t afford...”
“Now, now. Don’t rush to conclusions. Let’s ask Syfer’s comrades if that price is adequate. What do you say, adventurers?” Tiamat asked the adventurers as they emerged from the spring.
“Way too high. You kidding me?” said the rogue-looking man.
“I would ask if he didn’t mean to say a different type of coin.” said the mage-looking woman.
“Rip off...” said the hunter-looking, older gentleman.
It was unanimous.
“Wrong coin, huh? Fine. Three bronze coins it is.”
Syfer corrected his price. To 300 yen. Only 150 yen an hour. Despite the ridiculous price-slash, he was sitting there smiling.
“Hm. It’s done, then. Aren’t you glad, Eiji? You now have a combat trainer,” Tiamat declared, as cheerful as ever.
I could smell the corruption from a mile away!
7.
The wheels of the carriage turned with heavy clunking as it headed straight for Lishua. Mister Garish was the one holding the reigns as I sat next to him; the rest of the party members were on foot.
We had loaded up the carriage with gagd meat to the point where there was no room for anyone to sit in it. Five hundred kilos of it, easy. This was after discarding the guts, head, spine, and other parts of the carcass no one knew how to cook or use, yet it still ended up being close to the maximum load capacity of the carriage.
As a result, the adventurers ended up walking home. Syfer the swordsman, Yuri the ranger, Maley the mage, and Gorun the archer, as I had just been introduced. Tiamat the dragon and Baze the Fenrir also walked with them. I felt bad for getting special treatment, but my butt hurt pretty bad. There wasn’t even the concept of suspension, after all.
The reason I was the only one aboard the carriage wasn’t complicated at all, though. If everyone matched my pace on foot, the trip woul
d take much longer. My feelings were not unhurt. While making it back to town wasn’t exactly an emergency, it was naturally better to be quick since we were carrying raw meat.
“At this rate, we’ll be back in town by sundown,” Mister Garish said.
That was a quick rate. What was unbelievable to me was the speed of the party on foot. Despite chatting and walking, they were going as fast as I could jog. What did they eat to make them this strong?
“That’s great. If we approach the city gates at night with Baze in tow, I think we’d be attacked before being asked any questions.”
“Oh, no. No one would dare attack.”
I heard a hint of a chuckle in his response. Evidently, a Fenrir wasn’t a creature that could be taken on so easily. A party of four A-rank adventurers were ready to die fighting it, after all. The soldiers who guarded the capital would surely win eventually from the sheer difference in numbers, but who knew how many people would be sent to the underworld in the process? If a pair of Hermits were to bring such a magibeast to the gate, the guards very well might surrender.
“I’m not looking to make a scene...”
I glanced at Baze, who was walking alongside the carriage. The lord of the Fenrir had requested to accompany us on our journey back to the city. His reason was to discuss hunting grounds with us if humans were to start hunting gagd. A little premature, I couldn’t help but think. I wasn’t even sure that gagd meat would be accepted by the people here.
I suspected that he intended this to be more of a jab towards the humans than a realistic negotiation. In any case, the matter of hunting grounds affected the life and death of the Fenrir. It would not have been wise for him to stand idly by.
“Of course, I can’t rule out that all that could just be an excuse for him to come sightsee,” I mumbled.
I doubted that the lord of the Fenrir would leave his forest for such a trivial motivation, but I also felt no sense of any determination from Baze at the moment, as he trotted along while chatting away with Tiamat.
Back to the subject of gagd: I personally had none of the skills necessary to cook it. For some reason most of the Isekai protagonists knew their way around the kitchen suspiciously well. How much cooking practice did you expect an unmarried man living with his parents to have? It was nothing to brag about, but I had only ever made ramen and instant curry at this point. And maybe edamame.
“If you can call boiling something ‘cooking,’ you do have some experience in the department, Eiji,” said my partner.
How, or why, did those protagonists cook like professional chefs? Was it a prerequisite for them to graduate culinary school before being summoned on an adventure?
Therefore, it wasn’t my job to cook the gagd meat we had obtained.
After entering Lishua without issue, we headed to the kitchen provided by Mister Milon, the merchant. The kitchen came completely equipped with chefs. What hadn’t this man done for us?
“And what have you done for us, Eiji?”
“Cutting deep, Tia. Look who’s about to cry. I am.”
Spent two days trekking a half-day hike; had Baze hunt the animal; watched Syfer and the rest of the party take it apart; used the carriage provided by Mister Garish to transport it; and Mister Milon had prepared both the kitchen and the chefs. It looked like I had achieved some sort of world record of uselessness.
“You don’t seem as bothered by that as you say you are.”
“Leave it to the professionals, I say. No sense lamenting about or envying someone over something that is beyond my capabilities.”
I shrugged. I had no combat skills and no physical endurance; that much would never stop being true. The same could be said about my miniscule connections and influence. This was nothing out of the ordinary. Naturally, there was only so much a single person could do. Anyone would come to that conclusion after living life for three decades.
“I contributed knowledge. That has to earn me some mark.”
“Mm-hm. Definitely not full marks, though.”
As we watched on during our meaningless chatter, the gagd meat was being cooked. Some of it was sliced thin and stir-fried with some vegetables, some was simmered in a pot, and some was ground into patties. In any case, each method aimed to serve the meat as a side dish.
That was requested by me, and the recipes for each were provided by Tiamat. While she couldn’t cook, of course, her data bank of trivia contained the right portions for each ingredient, and she could suggest substitutes from foods available in this world.
“The problem is spice. There just isn’t as much variety as there is in Japan,” she said.
“It can’t be helped, though, can it? I’d be spooked if there was as much variety.”
“Still, with little more than salt and herbs, we can’t vary the seasoning. Won’t that become an issue if you want the people to eat this habitually?”
“You might have a point...”
No matter how tasty the dish, it becomes bland after eating it day after day. However, I imagined that since meat was already being consumed by the people of Azur, they might have some spices at home. All we wanted from this first step was for people to think that gagd meat was the tastier choice.
Eventually, the transformed gagd was presented before us with a side of ale. Yep. Well, that was expected. I had the same thought back the Adventurers’ Guild, and at Mister Milon’s manor, but I was reminded again that most people in this country liked to drink. Almost as if they drank alcoholic drinks instead of water.
“Then, let’s dig in.”
I started things off by taking a bite, hoping to provide somewhat of a psychological encouragement. Many of them had never eaten such a food. I worried that it might be difficult for someone else to volunteer.
I had taken a bite of the vegetable stir-fry, which looked normal. Served with plenty of vegetables, it had the potential of a real side dish.
“But maybe a little bland,” I commentated, as I chewed on it and tasted the slight seasoning of salt.
If I were to phrase it nicer, I could taste the ingredients well, but it was a little lacking. Personally, I would have preferred more of a punch. For example, I thought the dish would taste incredible with the dipping sauces used for Genghis Khan grilled lamb.
“Here we go. Typical Dosanko, trying to use Genghis sauce on everything.”
“How dare you?”
“You’re the only one who would prefer such a pungent taste, Eiji. Look around. They’re pretty happy with the dishes as-is.”
I looked around to find the rest of the party enjoying the gagd dishes while each expressed their take on it. As my partner had just pointed out, no one seemed dissatisfied.
“Am I the crazy one?”
“You’re the modernized one. Too acclimated to strong flavors,” the small dragon cackled.
8.
As Tiamat and I were engaging in stupid chitchat, a bowl was placed before us; it contained a soft green soup. Lady Millia puffed her chest.
“I tried making the Senzu beans into a soup!”
“...”
Uh-huh. Her enthusiasm for experimentation was admirable, and I thought an edamame potage was actually a good idea. It sounded like something a certain café owner from an Isekai novel I had gotten into would come up with. So, that was fine. With a gentle visual, I was sure that it would be popular with women, too. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was its bizarre name.
“Um... Miss Millia? Did you say Senzu...?”
“Yes! It means the bean of a hermit. Dad said this is what we should call it!”
“Oh, I see... I was really hoping for the other possibility...”
If at all possible, I did not want this name to go around. What was this, an anime about half-monkey aliens? The beans were normal edamame...
“Hm. Not a bad marketing tactic. People would be more grateful for a hermit’s bean than an ordinary one.”
There went Tiamat, without a shred of a sense of responsibility. Th
is was more than false advertising. This was fraud. We just happened to know that edamame contained vitamin B1. We didn’t add anything to it, much less a blessing or protection. It was worse than false-idol worship.
“You know, Tia...”
“You’re overthinking it, Eiji. Faith is in the eye of the beholder. What’s important is that we add some value to it.”
“Value...?”
“It doesn’t put the dish in a good light to just say it used to be livestock feed. Were you not worried about that?”
“Yes, you’re right, but...”
I was worried that people would be hesitant to try a dish from the preconception of it as livestock feed. That’s why I tried the gagd dish first.
“Telling the whole truth is not always the best option. What marketing campaign is complete without a little exaggeration?”
It’s not like we’d be lying, she added. Without me, no one here would have started eating edamame. In that sense, it wasn’t untrue that a Hermit had brought about the dish. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
“It can’t be helped, I guess...”
“You don’t seem happy with it.”
“Yeah. But I understand.”
I shrugged, choosing to believe that it was a necessary course of action. It wasn’t like I had a better idea for the name, either. Anyone in the workforce knows to present alternatives when disagreeing with an idea. Shooting down an idea for no reason other than disliking it is just a tantrum.
In the end, edamame was to be called Senzu, or Hermit Beans. It would be served as a bar snack, too. On the other hand, gagd meat would be served as full-on dishes.
“The beans are another story, but we can’t sell the meat at too low of a price,” said Mister Milon.
It was only natural since it wasn’t domesticated, and the supply of it solely depended on the yield of the hunts.
“It’s never too easy, is it?” Tiamat said, with a satisfied sigh from a full belly.
Isekai Rebuilding Project: Volume 1 Page 8