Clank.
Golden beer sloshed like waves as the mugs collided.
“This place is nothing like those other joints that serve piss-water beer. If you’re lucky, you might even catch a free show—minstrels drop by here all the time!”
“⋯⋯hmph, it’s not bad⋯⋯.”
Axe Warrior Gurumon and Thief Roest chugged their beer at the same time. As the cold liquid washed away the lingering fatigue in their throats, a pleasant warmth spread through their stomachs as they became intoxicated.
It had been eight hours since they returned from hunting goblins with the Game Master. After parting ways once the mission was complete, only the Warrior and the Thief remained, catching up over drinks.
The Master also seemed to want to join the afterparty, but unfortunately for him, the scary Flame Wizard had taken him away.
“There was still so much I wanted to ask. Like what that scar on Goblin Min’s left eye was about. And who the hell took that cunning bastard’s eye?”
“Hmph⋯⋯ I’d bet it has something to do with the Goblin Monarch.”
How had a proud, battle-hardened Warrior and a slippery, scheming Thief—two people who seemed like they would never get along with each other—become this close?Their unlikely friendship had begun when Roest fumbled, and Gurumon took an arrow meant for him in a last-minute support action. It had been a very dangerous attack that could have ripped a hole in their character sheet.
Later, when Gurumon was framed as a goblin murderer thanks to Goblin Min’s wicked scheming, Roest forged evidence to create an airtight alibi, saving him from certain death.
After going through so much together—laughing, struggling, and watching each other’s backs—how could they not become friends?!
Even if it had all taken place in their imaginations, it had been one hell of a journey.
At first, their storytelling felt awkward, but as they got lost in the tale, their trivial thoughts faded away, leaving only one goal: bringing Goblin Min to justice.
They wondered if this was why people went to see street performers, listened to storytellers, and read books. Neither of them had ever considered such pastimes before—after all, their hobbies had always been limited to swinging axes and sharpening daggers. The cultural shock was real.
One by one, empty beer mugs piled up as they reminisced, their words growing increasingly slurred in their drunken state.
“We first met at the inn. I was a clueless noob who’d just arrived in Lukeln, completely unfamiliar with the Goblin Emperor’s laws.”
“⋯⋯hmph, looking back, I’m lucky I didn’t end up in jail. I did punch that goblin who was serving⋯⋯.”
Their conversation flowed nonstop.
They talked about their first case and their encounter with the great Detective—the same Detective who, in a tragic twist, was killed by the true mastermind, plunging from a cliff into the waterfall below, leaving behind nothing but the Miranda warning as his last words.
Helping a merchant on the brink of bankruptcy, deceived by an inarticulate Orc’s fraud, and receiving the bright smile of the merchant’s daughter as a reward.
And then, Goblin Min himself—a shadow flickering within the screen of darkness, always one step ahead, slipping through the cracks of the law!
As the story got to that point, the once-lively tavern gradually fell into silence. The patrons who had been drinking, eating, and laughing now found themselves drawn in, one by one, hanging onto every word.
Where exactly was this country called Lukeln? And what the hell was a Goblin Emperor⋯⋯?
The tavern became as quiet as a temple, except for the voices of the two adventurers. Every ear perked up, trying to catch the words coming from that table.
Because it was different from the predictable and cliché stories the minstrels told.
But there was something⋯⋯ tantalizing about it.
There was no structure in the conversation. They skipped details, assumed knowledge the other already had, and tossed around names and events with no explanation.
“That last twist really gave me chills.”
“⋯⋯hoot, are you talking about the 『Wisdom Teeth』.”
“Yeah, the Wisdom Teeth⋯⋯.”
The tavern-goers couldn’t help but be frustrated, left behind in a web of cryptic proper nouns and unfinished thoughts. Yet, despite the gaps, something about the Detective Mercenaries’ journey had an undeniable pull, sending sparks of excitement through their listeners.
Among them was a minstrel named Hans, who had been eavesdropping from two tables away. He finally couldn’t hold back any longer and approached the Warrior and the Thief.
A minstrel’s job was to take great stories and immortalize them in song. But how many thrilling adventure stories were there in the world? The minstrel community was starved for fresh material.
And this? This was a gold mine!
How much coin would he get if he turned that story into a ballad?
So, thinking of this as an investment, Hans opened his wallet.
“Excuse me, Adventurers. I’m a wandering minstrel, just passing through. I’d like to buy you both a round—food and drinks, on me. In return… would you be willing to start from the beginning and tell me everything in detail?”
Gurumon and Roest exchanged glances. They had never received such an offer in their lives.
And then, they burst into laughter.
They couldn’t believe even a minstrel was interested in their adventure story!
“Take a seat. We’ll tell you as much as you want to hear!”
The Warrior grinned, lifting his mug.
“It all began at an inn⋯⋯where three travelers first gathered.”
“⋯⋯hmph, first of all, we need to talk about the country called Lukeln⋯⋯.”
Heavily intoxicated, the two began to walk him through the story, recounting the three great mysteries and the old enemy the Detective Mercenaries had faced.
But in their drunken state, they made a critical mistake.
“Euhahahaha! Who knows where that arrow would’ve ended up if I hadn’t blocked it? If it had hit your private parts, you’d have died as a eunuch, huh?”
“⋯⋯hmph, have you already forgotten how I cleared your false accusations. Besides, dying as a eunuch would still be a better fate than standing on the execution platform and getting decapitated⋯⋯.”
Unaware of their slip-up, they kept talking. The minstrel, having promised them an endless supply of beer, had gotten them so drunk that they completely forgot to mention one crucial fact—this entire story was just a game.
To them, discussing life-or-death situations so casually was second nature. After all, it was just a TRPG.
But to the captivated audience⋯⋯ who listened despite knowing how absurd the tale of Lukeln—a land ruled by a Goblin Emperor—sounded, these two looked like amazing veteran mercenaries who had been hardened by countless battles.
The way they reminisced about perilous situations without the slightest hesitation only made them seem even more impressive. Their nonchalance, their camaraderie, their thrilling past—it all painted a picture of true veterans who had survived unimaginable hardships
“ Can I hear more about that law in detail?”
“Ah, I wrote it down⋯⋯ but I don’t have it with me. Do you have It?”
“⋯⋯hmph, I took note of every clue the Master gave us. Let me show you.”
The suspiciously well-documented details, thanks to a certain overly meticulous Wizard, only added to their credibility.
On top of that, the two of them had only recently arrived in Elphiris City after years spent abroad. No one knew their past!
And so, the misunderstanding snowballed.
“I’ve heard about you two. I heard you just returned from an expedition to a new continent with someone called the Master? You should have told me earlier! I would have recommended you for a gold plaque promotion⋯⋯.”
“⋯⋯⋯⋯?”
Still nursing hangovers, Gurumon and Roest had dragged themselves to the Adventurers’ Guild when the receptionist greeted them with unexpected words.
They stood in stunned silence. The rumors had spread.
“They say they’re the famous Detective Mercenaries⋯⋯.”
“I heard they can tell your age just by looking at you. Is that true?”
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
“⋯hmph⋯⋯.”
Gurumon and Roest exchanged glances—
And bolted to find the Master.
===============================================================
I had no idea where the rumor had started, but it had spread like wildfire.
Suddenly, I was hearing about the fictional country of Lukeln as if it were part of some exotic travelogue.
“They say Goblin Min’s wicked fangs gleamed with the light of intelligence!”
“The great wizard Servion unleashed a spell of unimaginable power-!”
As I strolled through the streets, I overheard minstrels, each performing their own version of the story.
Selvier, walking beside me, said with a troubled expression. She seemed to feel weird since her character’s name echoed all around us. Maybe it was half shame and half pride.
“⋯⋯euwa, what is going on? Did Gurumon and Roest— I mean, the Warrior and Thief—sell the story or something?”
“Well… it does seem to have started with them.”
“What do we do? Shouldn’t we stop this?”
“Why should we? There’s no telling the whimsical trends in the human world—when the southeastern winds blow, it’s better to set sail⋯⋯!”
This wasn’t an accident. It was an opportunity.
A chance to spread TRPGs everywhere!
What had once been just our little game had gone viral. But if we nudged it along, if we fanned the flames just right⋯⋯ TRPGs might take root in this world—a world starved for entertainment.
And if it caught on⋯⋯
My heart pounded.
What if TRPGs became a national hobby for the citizens of the fantasy world⋯⋯?
What if, instead of playing house, kids like Hans and Jenna from the neighboring streets started playing Cyberpunk campaigns?
What if, instead of betting dice games in taverns, people started running love-comedy sessions.
What if TRPGs became an official event in something like the Olympics? Imagine entire crowds cheering over session replays, the title of Pro TRPG Master emerging.
Official Game Master academies would be established. High-quality scenarios would flood the market. A world where Masters besides me who could run sessions were everywhere⋯⋯!
A world where, the moment a new rulebook was announced, donations poured in instantly. A world where I no longer had to agonize over endless waits for an official release⋯⋯.
If only this could really happen⋯⋯ I’d be half-dead from happiness!
“⋯⋯Oppa? Your eyes are doing that thing again! Snap out of it! Can you hear me?”
This was it!
It was happening, whether I had planned it or not!
This was a sacred mission—one the Goddess had given me herself. A divine revelation commanding me to spread TRPG throughout this world. And if such a revelation hadn’t existed? I would have hacked the Goddess into giving it to me. That was how much I felt the weight of destiny pressing down on me now.
The rules of the game, the mechanics, the fundamental principles and guidelines—there was a way to spread all of it wisely.
The rule book. I would distribute rule books.
Technically, I could just copy some of Earth’s best rule books since copyright laws didn’t exist in this world. But that lacked integrity. I wasn’t an idiot—so I’d write my own.
It wouldn’t take long. After all, I had more than 100 custom rules I’d made over the past decade just to kill time. Ideas were overflowing.
And once the books were printed⋯⋯.
Wait⋯⋯I needed money to print them.
The mission fee we’d earned after clearing out that goblin camp—I couldn’t get it off my mind. It had been meant for buying a carriage and a horse, but if I used it to cover printing costs instead…
“⋯⋯Oppa? Why are you staring at the money pouch like that.”
“⋯⋯It’s not a waste. It’s an investment.”
Right, an investment!
The moment I published the rule books and they started selling like hotcakes, I’d have enough to buy ten carriages.
It wasn’t about personal gain—I was making a healthy investment. And would it stop there?
This could be the spark that changed history. Spending one pouch of coins⋯⋯ was a small price to pay for leaving a lasting mark on the world, wasn’t it?
Moving quietly, I reached for the pouch. And then—
“Hey.”
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
“Hey, hey⋯⋯! Where do you think you’re going with that money!!”
“This is a valuable investment, Selvier!”
Holding the money pouch, I ran away.
Thump thump!
Behind me, I could see Selvier following me closely, gripping her staff like a club. But I refused to give in to such external pressure.
For the glory!
As I dashed down from our second-floor inn room, tore through the lobby, and burst out the main gate⋯⋯.
“Master, help!”
“⋯⋯hmph, something bothersome happened⋯⋯.”
Ambushed. By our two troublemaker players.
“There he is! Are you the 『Master』?!”
“Tell us more about Lukeln!”
“Please grant us permission to use it as material for our songs!”
They had smelled profit and gone wild for the potential goldmine. Dozens of them were camping outside the inn, desperate for more stories.
For a split second, I faltered. But only for a split second.
Immediately, I switched into little rule book salesman mode.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Minstrel comrades of the Murim! Soon, a rule book will be released! If you purchase it, anyone can experience the exhilarating adventure of exploring Lukeln firsthand!”
“We don’t need that—just tell us the story!”
“A fantastic adventure awaits, brought to life with the simple roll of a die⋯⋯!”
“Are you saying you’ll tell us the story if we buy that book?! Can’t we just pay you directly?”
Tension mounted—a battle of wills between me, determined to promote the rule book, and the minstrels, dead set on getting their material without it.
Just as things were about to escalate—
“Step aside. He’s an acquaintance of mine. Allow me to speak with him first.”
Someone pushed their way through the crowd.
Bunny ears jutted from her head, paired with an eye-catching bunny mask. A bunny girl outfit that looked more dizzying since her chest wasn’t that glamorous. But beyond that an unmistakable aura of strength that she could not conceal.
It was the Bunny Princess, a singer who had quickly risen to fame in Trumpethall.
The minstrels seemed to regard her with great respect. The crowd surrounding the inn began to gradually step back upon hearing her words.
Selvier finally caught up, panting. Upon seeing the woman standing boldly in broad daylight in that shocking outfit, she leaned over and whispered,
“⋯⋯a slut? Do you know her?”
The Bunny Princess flinched. Her sharp ears had clearly picked up Selvier’s muttering. Though hidden by the mask, I was certain her face had turned red.
I sighed and answered,
“⋯⋯yeah, I know her.”
She was Cicel Yurensto—the single strongest knight on the entire Eastern Front.
It seemed she had decided to enjoy life while she could after being thrown away through the Goddess’『Forced Exile』⋯⋯.
***
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