“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know how to read or write in this language.”
“I see. You should have told me sooner. I’ll fill it in for you, so allow me to ask you a few questions.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s my job.” She spun the papers around to face her. “Are you registered with any other Adventurers Guild?”
“No.”
“State your name and place of origin.”
“My name is Souya—of Japan.”
“Japan? I haven’t heard of it before. Is it out on the Left Continent?”
“Even farther out than that—it’s in another dimension,” I blurted out, then immediately regretted it.
Shit. Should I have kept that a secret? This is a different continent for sure, but the last batch of humans who came did absolutely nothing to earn a good rep there. Are they gonna kick me out? Argh, this is such a basic thing to mess up. Our whole mission here was supposed to be pretty covert, wasn’t it?
Just then, Machina whispered in my ear, “It’s merely a paper form. If we determine the situation is dangerous, I’ll sneak a drone in and revise the entry or burn the evidence. You would have risked garnering suspicion had you responded with a string of flimsy lies. Answering honestly was the prudent choice.”
Gotcha.
“Oh, you’re an Otherworlder? Haven’t seen many of your kind recently,” the receptionist noted before adding the information to my form without any real follow-up. “For what purpose do you intend to explore the dungeon?”
“Monetary gain.”
“I see, monetary gain. You should be aware of one important rule of this dungeon. If explorers acquire takings worth more than fifty gold pieces in a single expedition, they are required to pay a one percent tax on the total value to the Kingdom of Remlia,” she explained. “Payment is accepted in coins, paper bills printed by the Central Continental Trade Group, or even in raw materials from the dungeon. You must submit your tax seven days from the date a trade group appraises the value of your harvest. Should we find you misrepresented the value of your resources or fail to submit your payment within the allotted time, we will confiscate all of the equipment you own. I suggest you don’t do anything stupid if you do not wish to end up stripped naked at the bottom of the sewer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Scary as hell.
“Do you suffer from any physical irregularities, mental irregularities, or magical afflictions? Have any members of your family or lineage ever been cursed? Have any close relatives passed away due to infectious disease?”
“No.” My good health was one of my only redeeming qualities.
“Do you hold animosity or hatred toward any particular species, religion, or nationality? Additionally, have you ever been the target of such discrimination?”
“No.” I answered quickly, but then the thought of the battalion dispatched here crossed my mind. People tended to lump other people from the same unfamiliar culture all together. I could shout myself sore explaining I had nothing to do with them, but there was a chance nobody would listen.
“Is there a problem?” She’d seen right through me.
“I just realized there might possibly be some people who have it out for me, maybe.”
The receptionist trained her sharp eyes on me. “I won’t put anything down if it’s not a clear threat. You probably have nothing to worry about. No one, under any circumstances, can delve down into the dungeon alone. But the moment you forge partnerships, you also create enemies. Win honor and you will also naturally earn resentment and jealousy. What matters is whether or not you have the determination to not let that crush you.”
“Then it should be okay.”
I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to run. I’ll turn whatever shade they throw at me into fuel to keep going.
“Let’s continue. What was your previous occupation?”
“Umm…” How could I explain it in terms that made sense here? I guess a temp agency was kind of like—
“A mercenary, basically.” It wasn’t exactly right, but it wasn’t far off.
“Do you belong to any religion?”
Is my family in the Jodo Shinshu sect? Oh, but I am Japanese after all, so more broadly I can just say—
“Yes, Shinto.”
“Shintoe?” she repeated, sounding it out. “Don’t know it. Could you give me a brief overview?”
“It’s a polytheistic religion that’s very accepting of gods from other religions. We don’t follow any specific commandments, but we do appreciate nature and all forms of life, and we make sure to give special thanks for our food, particularly during meals. We strive to live as upstanding people and bring shame upon ourselves if we stray from that path. It’s kind of a loose compilation of all these values and, like, Japanese sensibilities? It’s kinda just vague, you know?” The more I spoke, the less I followed what I was saying. Did this even count as a religion?
“Polytheistic, doesn’t mess with other religions. No commandments. Meals are savored. A set of intuitive values unique to the Japanese race, correct?” Basically, in a nutshell. “Next, please tell me the name of the god with whom you have consecrated your covenant,” she continued.
“Huh?”
“I mean the god you’ve made your contract with.” But I wasn’t ever baptized. “A god from our world would be best, but we can also work with gods from other dimensions,” she explained. “It’s been done before.”
“It’s just, I don’t have one. A covenant.” Was that something we even had the chance to do in modern-day Japan? I had no clue.
“I see.”
“Is that bad or something?”
Her expression remained completely impassive. “It is rather rare. However, there are some people who choose to break off their consecrated covenants of their own volition and others who fall out of favor with their gods and have the contracts severed that way. Still others reject the idea of a divine blessing from the start. If you’re asking whether not having one is a problem, then not really. There are plenty of more miserable and pitiful souls out there.”
“Really? That’s good to hear.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
“The only issue is that you cannot enter the dungeon.”
Game over.
No matter how depressed you felt, how desperate you might become, or how much you might want to break down and cry, hunger waited for no one. But as long as you found yourself in a social structure such as a town, you wouldn’t have too much trouble filling your grumbling stomach. If you had money, that is.
If I hadn’t had any money on me, I think I might’ve seriously lost all hope.
I followed the map the receptionist gave me until I reached the coin dealer. The shop stood far removed from the main street, whose clangor echoed in the distance. I opened the steel door to the store, most likely installed to prevent theft, and was greeted by a youngish shopkeeper and his ingratiating salesman’s smile.