bookworm

They say ignorance is a sin, but sometimes it’s your greatest asset. Masayuki had been accepted by a dragon and demon lord, and he never even realized it. Once again, I couldn’t help but marvel at his luck.
It was Mjöllmile who finally threw Masayuki a life preserver.
“Lady Ramiris, please, none of that. Why, Sir Masayuki would hardly even know how to respond, would he?”
Since he was such a fan of Masayuki, I suppose Mjöllmile assumed that conversation was a joke—Ramiris making unreasonable demands, and the kind Hero unsure how to react. I figured Masayuki’s response would’ve disillusioned him, but I guess that’s the Hero’s skill at work.
…Or maybe not. Somehow, it seemed like Mjöllmile really believed in Masayuki from the heart. Seeing it, or maybe even feeling it, Masayuki smiled.
“This is Mjöllmile, my trusted adviser and the head of Tempest’s financial department. Kind of our minister of finance, I suppose.”
“A pleasure to meet you again, Sir Masayuki.”
“Ha-ha-ha! That’s kind of you, Mjöllmile.”
“Oh, no, I’m just an upstart from the underground…”
“Well, as you said, I’m afraid I can’t join with you right now, Ramiris. I’ve already promised Mikami—um, I mean, Rimuru that I’d give him my support.”
Masayuki lightly bowed at Ramiris.
“I’ll bet,” Mjöllmile said. “Sir Rimuru does have a way of taking advantage of people!”
What had I ever done? And Ramiris was ready to join him.
“Well, if that’s how it is, so be it! You’re so cunning, you know that, Rimuru?”
“Hey,” I nonchalantly replied, “first come, first served.”
Then Veldora started bragging for some reason.
“Kwah-ha-ha-ha! You won’t find many people as dependable as Rimuru. Ramiris, I think you’ll have to give up on ever getting ahead of him. But let’s hear from Masayuki now! We need to proceed!”
I had my qualms about what everyone here thought about me, but—ah yes—we were still making introductions. It seemed kind of moot, though. Everyone already knew his name.
“All right. Masayuki, you go ahead.”
“Okay,” he said with a nod. “I think some of you are aware by now, but my name is Masayuki. I come from the same world as Rimuru, and now we’re working together. People call me a Hero, but please don’t let that cloud your judgment.”
He gave his introduction facing all the others, back straight. I felt like he wanted to tell them he called himself a Hero just as a joke, but with Mjöllmile looking straight at him, I suppose he opted against that.
Highly adaptable as always, he was already back to his usual composed self. Defiant, you could say. They may have met last time, but he was capable of being all smiles with Veldora and Ramiris, which took guts. He really was someone special. Maybe it wasn’t his unique skill Chosen One having its effect on the people around him—maybe a lot of it was just his own personality. I didn’t think there was any way he could wield this much influence with a unique skill alone.
That, I thought as we wrapped up the introductions, we could try verifying later on.
We were all seated. Our last meeting was something of an emergency confab, but this time, things were less urgent. We were all at ease.
“I have to say, Masayuki, you sure are something. We owe all our success to you!” Ramiris started excitedly shouting the moment she was seated.
“Let’s not forget,” Veldora added, “Mjöllmile has done much for us, too. As you said, perhaps we were right not to simplify the Dungeon too much!”
I agreed with them both. Putting our minds together like this was what provided success, no doubt about it.
“Oh, I’m just glad I could help.”
“Yes, and I hardly did anything myself. None of this would be possible without all of your powers!”
After that round of pleasantries, we discussed the state of the labyrinth.
Sales were going great—really great. It made Mjöllmile laugh, although all the work made him cry. Plus, the people visiting town were staying in our inns, enabling the innkeepers and the nearby taverns to run a booming business.
“Here is my report,” Mjöllmile said as he took out some papers. Veldora and Ramiris seemed interested as well, so I made some copies and passed them around. I figured I’d quickly skim over it to see if there were any problems at hand, leaving the detailed number crunching to Raphael.
Right. Let’s see what we have here. It’s times like these that I’m glad I can go into human form. I could read through papers as a slime, of course, but for office work, being human was far more convenient.
According to the data on the report, things had gone smoothly with our labyrinth since our adjustments.
“Looks like our advertising worked well.”
“Oh yes! We’re astonishingly busy every day,” he said, eagerly nodding.
Veldora and Ramiris looked at the report, whether they could understand it or not. For the most part, it was a ledger of our most recent statistics, but there were a few special topics covered as well.
One of these was the Adventurer Cards—the Guild membership IDs that could be used as admission into the labyrinth now that Mjöllmile had received Yuuki’s approval to do so. These cards were magic in nature, keeping track of the bearer’s vital signs and retaining that data in a record, which was quite convenient. They allowed for seamless labyrinth entry, just like how you’d use it at your Free Guild post, so it was easy for adventurers to get to grips with. Hardly any bodyguards or mercenaries weren’t Guild members, either, so the implementation went pretty smoothly.
For the moment, the labyrinth’s admission fee was three silver coins a go. The cards were manufactured by the Free Guild, saving us from production hassles. Our own nation provided basic cards as well, at the cost of ten silver—and while most challengers were Guild members, we occasionally sold these cards to people, too. Between all of that, we were raking in a lot of money just from admission alone.
The report also contained details on the three Ramiris-produced items in the labyrinth. Your first Resurrection Bracelet cost nothing—a freebie so you could see how useful they were. After that, you had to pay for them; but at just two silver coins, they were quite reasonable—especially considering they not only resurrected you but also healed any of the wounds you incurred that led to your death. After debating it for a while, we decided to keep the price low as a service to our audience. (By the way, we had a warning announcement play if you reentered the labyrinth without wearing your Resurrection Bracelet. If you got yourself killed in there, that’s none of my business, but it’d still leave a bad aftertaste in my mouth if that happened.)
To make them easier to buy, the bracelets were sold right next to the front desk, where we had the dead resurrected. Between that and being a pretty indispensable item, they were selling like hotcakes, definitely the most popular out of the Dungeon’s three items.
Return whistles, meanwhile, allowed a single person to instantly zoom back to the surface, a godsend if you got lost. This was insurance for a lot of parties, so it was priced on the high side—thirty silver per whistle. People tried to cheap out on these and just rely on Resurrection Bracelets instead, but I wouldn’t exactly call that smart. Yes, you would be whisked back to the entrance that way, but you could lose your equipment and stuff as well. You’d keep whatever armor you had on, but anything that slipped out of your hands at the time of death was gone for good. Nobody’s literally carrying booty while in a fight, of course; you’d probably drop it in the corridor for the time being. Losing that stuff could make for a pretty hefty penalty. Few people would take that risk just to get back to the entrance, so there was a pretty decent demand for whistles.
Finally, Recording Crystals weren’t selling as well as we hoped, but we did see some clients purchase them in large quantities. At one gold coin a pop—close to a thousand dollars—they were luxury goods, no doubt. And why not? They let you basically turn back time whenever, and wherever, you wanted. And since a lot of people would be focusing strictly on the bosses, letting them go for cheap seemed kind of dangerous for us, so we priced them sky-high instead.
Still, I thought there was a demand for them. In the deeper levels, the difficulty really ramped up from floor to floor; the save points on every tenth floor could very well seem like a trip across the continent. Thus, I figured it’d be a while before we profited from them, but even in these shallower levels, some people were still using them.
We were also experimenting with renting weapons and armor out to people, but that hadn’t turned a profit yet. These were Kurobe-crafted goods, pretty decent quality, and since many people rented them after dying and losing their main weapon, the feedback from them was excellent. With the right word of mouth, I think we could see demand rise soon.
So by and large, things were going well—but just because we were succeeding now didn’t mean we could let our guard down. Right now, we needed to be more prudent than ever before.
The party at the forefront of the Dungeon was continuing to do well, going deeper and deeper without anyone dropping out. They were drumming up enthusiasm among the other challengers, too, people who kept coming back after messing up. That improved our sales, a cycle we needed to keep going. If we can convince people that it’s worth coming back again and again, then even our initial goal of at least a thousand admissions per day seemed surprisingly attainable.
“So, looking at Mollie’s report, I’d say we’re a pretty resounding success right now. But we can’t rest on our laurels. If you’ve noticed anything, don’t be afraid to speak up.”
I wanted everyone to be at attention as I got the ball rolling. Ramiris was the first to react.
“Me!”
“All right. Ramiris?”
“You know the elementalist using Elemental Communication? Boy, I sure never thought about relying on the spirits for info like that! But I can interfere with that, if you want. What do you think?”
“Interfere, huh…?”
I did want to put some obstacles in their way, but it seemed kind of like a coward move to me. The approach this party took was completely orthodox, so getting all evil with them felt like we’d be going against the spirit of the rules. This isn’t a war, or a competition or the like.
“But it’s not like the spirits are being forced into it, are they?”
“No. If they’re providing that much support, clearly the elementalist must have a great relationship with them.”
“Better not interfere, then. I’m not into that kind of thing.”
“Roger! I figured you’d say that, Rimuru.”
Ramiris was quick to back down. I suppose she wasn’t much for it but thought it best to bring it up anyway.
“No, it is not good to lie. But, Ramiris, why not create an elemental-free zone? That Elemental Communication; it works by listening to the smaller spirits that’ve taken root in the area, no? And it can’t work if the spirits aren’t there, yes?”
Oops. That’s some surprising stuff coming from Veldora. He’s normally so useless to me, but sometimes even he says something intelligent.
“Rimuru, why do you look so surprised?”
And he’s sharp, too.
“Oh, no, I’m just impressed as always with you, Veldora,” I said, a little shaken. “That’s a really good opinion!”
“Yes, is it not? My vast expertise has saved the day once more! Kwaaaah-ha-ha-ha!”
Good thing he’s so gullible.
“Well, Ramiris?”
“Sure, I can do that! I’ll just ask the spirits to relocate for me. Without any conscious spirits in the vicinity, Elemental Communication can’t do anything at all!”
I guess that could work. Maybe, thanks to Veldora’s proposal, we could do something about elementalists after all.
“Great. Let’s do that. See, this is exactly why I think brainstorming like this is a great idea.”
“Yes, quite so. You see, my vast wisdom is—”
“Okay, next. Anyone have any other observations?”
I couldn’t let Veldora get further carried away. Time to move on. It wound up being Masayuki who spoke next.
“Do you think defeated monsters could drop items for the explorers?”
Monsters leaving items behind—common in video games but kind of enigmatic from a real-life perspective. And our monsters already left crafting material and magic crystals. Wasn’t that enough?
“Why do we need to do that?” Veldora asked.
Masayuki’s answer was simple. “Huh? Well, I mean, healing potions are, like, surprisingly expensive. High-ranked adventurers use ’em all the time because they can afford to shell out for them, but most people would rather run away from a battle than risk getting hurt. That, and if you die in the labyrinth, you’re resurrected without any of your injuries, so a lot of people just ‘nope’ out of there instead of using any of their potions. So I’m just thinking, why not have monsters drop Low Potions or something when killed, so that everybody has access to them?”
Hmm… It was a valid point. Our nation’s potions served as advertising, and their usefulness to us was starting to expand—but they didn’t come very cheap, no. In fact, sales were starting to stagnate a bit because of the price. Within Tempest, Low Potions cost four silver coins; High Potions were thirty-five, and Full Potions, while not offered for direct sale, would probably need to be priced at over five hundred silver, or five gold coins, if we did offer them. Meanwhile, the cheapest inn in our city cost three silver a night without meals and five with a bath and dinner. A nicer room, used by passing merchants and the like, averaged around ten silver plus meals.
On the other hand, a D-ranked adventurer earned, on average, about fifteen silver coins after a day of work in the labyrinth—maybe twenty, if they worked in a party for more efficiency. That was good, for now; enough to live day by day on, but not enough to prepare for any kind of emergency. The treatment they’d need if they were sick or badly hurt—or any kind of social safety net, really—would be out of the question. Plus, they needed to maintain their weapons, buying new ones if they broke and saving up for better-quality goods.
In short, low-ranked monster hunters lived a hardscrabble life. If they wanted a better one, their only choice was to polish their skills. And in a life like that, four silver coins was a painful investment to make. They need to put money aside for admission, of course, and I sure get it if a potion just isn’t in the budget for them…and yeah, I know they’re gunning for a treasure chest with a major find inside, but it’s not like whatever they discover will make them filthy rich.
“That’s common in games, yeah. I understand what you mean, Masayuki, but…the monsters are naturally generated within the labyrinth, so I think it’ll be hard to have them carry items…”
It’d be a mistake to excessively spoil our visitors, giving them something they didn’t ask for in the first place. I’d like to do something to help, but I think they need to be able to support themselves first. That’s what the Free Guild is there to assist with. From our nation’s perspective, we can’t really provide welfare to people who don’t even live here. It’s not exactly pretty, but you need to be strong to survive—
“I think we can do that,” Ramiris casually commented, just as I was mentally throwing in the towel.
“Really?”
“Sure. Just have them swallow the item right after they’re born!”
If that was possible, it opened up a few possibilities. Maybe we could populate the treasure chests with more useful items and let the monsters drop the junkier stuff for explorers. Junk or not, it’d still be a source of income for the lower ranks—and going forward, I’d like those lower ranks to have something to live on. In a perfect world, people are rewarded for their efforts, and I wanted to make that happen as much as possible.
“Well, no problem, then. If it’ll help people gain more of an income beating monsters, I bet it’ll make them try even harder for us.”
And it’d have the side effect of boosting the trade-in monster-derived materials, as well as providing another attraction for our nation. And once we have some more money to work with, we can divert some of that into welfare programs. I don’t know how much we can do about illness, but serious injury? We could assist with it. If Japan can have universal health care, it’s not a dream for Tempest to have something like it. A system like this is something we’ll want to implement at an early stage in our nation’s development, lest people call it unfair. If possible, I’d like to see that happen sooner than later.
The problem is to figure out who, exactly, we’ll call citizens of Tempest. Labyrinth runners, passing merchants, and people like that aren’t, naturally. Maybe now is the time to register all our citizens and make the ownership of rights clearer to everyone. Tempest is a developing country right now, so we welcome any and all immigrants, but once our nation matures, there might be movements to ostracize noncitizens from our borders. A nation is, in a way, a large cooperative entity—nobody can live alone, so we form communities to help one another survive. We don’t need parasites latching on to our nation, and I didn’t want to embrace anyone who didn’t have a sense of belonging here. It’s hard, after all, for people with different thoughts and principles to coexist in the same community.
Basically, if a citizen belongs to a nation, they have a duty to work for the sake of it. In turn, they can receive certain services from that nation. That being said, people have the right to not belong to any nation, free of civic duty and retaining full, unfettered freedom. If you want to be part of Tempest, come on in; if not, you’re still a welcome guest, but I can’t provide you all the services a citizen would receive. We’ll need to define the difference soon, and I think Rigurd and I need to have some detailed discussions about this.
…See? I can think about serious stuff sometimes, too.
“You think so? In that case, maybe we could mix in some unfamiliar potions—or weapons and armor whose capabilities are unknown? Like, so you won’t be able to determine if they’re high value when you find them?”
Oh, right. We were still in a conference. I hurriedly considered Masayuki’s suggestion. Hmm. I think I see what he’s getting at.
“Ah, like, un-appraised tools and equipment that you can’t use until you get them appraised at the entrance?”
“Yeah, yeah! I mean, I guess you can’t really drink a potion if you don’t know its effect.”
“Oh, maybe some people would. And if we mix in some poison flasks, that’d be another labyrinth trap for us. It’d help warn people about making item appraisal a habit, too. Let’s go with that.”
“Cursed equipment might be tough, but magic weaponry would be pretty neat. Like, you think something is a piece of junk but appraise it to reveal its true colors.
“That’s good! You can’t throw away junk then, and you’ll also need to exit the labyrinth to have it appraised.”
Masayuki and I, with our video game knowledge, were getting excited over this. The idea of actually implementing it was thrilling, and Ramiris and Veldora, overhearing us, seemed to be getting into it.
“If you want to hide the true nature of something, my illusory magic ought to come in handy!”
“Kwah-ha-ha-ha! Ah, how lovely it is to see challengers jump for joy, only to be agonized by doom later. Now things will be even more exciting!”
Yep. Definitely into it.
“Hmm… Yes, and since junk equipment will take up valuable space, people will want to sell it in town in short order. That ought to boost return whistle sales!”
And now here’s Mjöllmile with some more reality-based feedback. And he was right. Anyone would hesitate to toss out un-appraised weapons and armor. Planting that thought in people’s minds would make those people camping out in the labyrinth in search of big finds reconsider their strategy. And since we’re charging admission, the more people going out and in, the more profit we make.
Plus, we wouldn’t be the only ones having fun here. There’s something attractive about the term un-appraised. Your heart can’t help but race as you wait for the appraisal results—real pulse-pounding excitement. Something you thought was junk transforms into treasure before your eyes…and even if it turns out to be junk after all, you’ll still treat it as your own. We don’t need to have a ton of “jackpot” items like that, but along those lines, I think we could certainly mix in some more Low Potions and the like. That’ll help support the lower-ranked customers, although we’ll have to fine-tune the ratios of trash to treasure.
“All right. Well, it’s about time we get to work.”
“Time to push a system update, huh?” Masayuki replied.
Given that we came up with all that only just now, “it’s about time” wasn’t too appropriate. But our last “system update” went just fine.
“Sounds good to me!” Ramiris nodded, as if she knew what we were talking about. I flashed her a quizzical look, and she quickly averted her eyes. I suppose that little sneak was just trying to ride along on the wave. Mjöllmile looked confused, and Veldora was back to his usual shrill laughing, but I didn’t mind. Masayuki and I looked at each other and nodded.
The following evening arrived.
My days were now full of serious work. They were usually spent inspecting projects around town—no, it wasn’t just a leisurely walk, I promise—and each night, I’d receive reports in my personal office. Rigurd was handling a lot of my affairs, but a fair number of them still required my personal approval, so I had an office set up in our government building for that.
“Sir Rimuru,” Shion said as she handed me a sheaf of papers, “here’s your report from Sir Mjöllmile.” She was a hard worker—almost like a real secretary. Kind of surprising.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, trying to sound all haughty as I accepted the report. Mjöllmile was already getting started on what we discussed at yesterday’s meeting.
“Everything’s going well,” I muttered.
“I am delighted to hear,” Diablo said, nodding.
“In hardly any time flat, our tavern sales are up ten percent. I guess it benefits all our citizens if the low-ranked adventurers have more money to work with.”
“Indeed. It’s just as you read it, Sir Rimuru.”
Diablo nodded again as he gently poured some tea for me. It’s not at all like I had read it, actually, but it was pretty much what I hoped for. I couldn’t be happier. Diablo was overvaluing me, like he always did, but it didn’t bother me this time.
I took a sip. “Huh? This tastes different. Did you change the leaves?”
“Did you not like it?”
“N-no, it’s good, but…”
It wasn’t displeasing at all—maybe just a tad stronger on the bitterness than usual.
“I-I’ll replace it at once!” an apparently panic-stricken Diablo said. But he really didn’t need to. It was just fine; no problems to speak of.
It’s just that Shuna always brings her A game when it comes to preparing tea—Wait a minute…
“Hey, is this…?”
“Yes, your chief secretary insisted on preparing it herself. I tasted it to ensure it wasn’t poisonous.”
Um, okay?
That’s a surprise, seeing Shion prepare tea this good. The even greater surprise, though, was Diablo actually cooperating with her.
“I never thought you’d go with Shion on that.”
Poison doesn’t work on me anyway, so I assume Diablo was simply taste testing it, but that made it even more of a surprise.
“I had no other choice,” he replied with a smile. “Sir Benimaru was balking at being her taster every day. It was my first experience ever feeling ill, a chance I’m glad to have had.”