This run-in with what was probably a scammy street vendor put a small crack in Gauss's "Falrim is pure order" first impression.
Thinking about it, that made sense.
Even in wealthy places there are poor people—and even on streets that look polished and prosperous, you'll still find thieves and hustlers. That's simply how the world is.
Still, purely in terms of capability, Gauss felt Falrim's adventurers were clearly one or two tiers above Grayrock's.
Even the low-rank adventurers usually wore proper, well-fitted armor.
For fresh beginners, armor mattered far more than weapons—except armor was expensive, so rookies in poorer regions often couldn't afford decent sets.
That was the quiet, creeping effect of regional economic differences.
In a developed city, wages were higher. If you took two teenagers with no family backing and gave them the same amount of working time, the one in Falrim could save more "startup money" for better armor, weapons, and a broader set of tools.
Another obvious difference: there were way more casters.
In Grayrock, you might not see a single spellcaster among ten—or even twenty—low-rank adventurers.
In Falrim, you could spot a caster every few people: neat robes, a staff in hand, sometimes a big wizard hat.
Gauss quietly took stock of the square.
On the way to the guild, aside from that money-grubbing vendor, no one bothered them.
"Clothes make the man," as the saying went. Gauss could now suppress his presence easily, but his robe looked expensive at a glance.
Someone like that was either well-born or genuinely strong—either way, not a soft target.
Add the "definitely dangerous"-looking companions behind him, and they might as well have worn a sign that read: Do Not Try Me.
They entered the Adventurers' Guild.
Inside looked similar to most guilds Gauss had visited—just bigger, brighter, and more finely decorated.
Following the directions, they reached the counter and waited briefly.
Soon it was their turn.
"I'm Rebecca, receptionist at Window 15 of the Falrim Adventurers' Guild—Southern Guild, Gate of Order."
"Please present your identity plaques."
Gauss and the others placed their plaques on the counter. Rebecca worked quickly, pulling their identities and commission histories.
While she was busy, Gauss studied her a little.
Not for any particular reason—he just sensed a not-weak amount of mana from her, and it felt slightly unusual.
Of course, "not weak" was by normal-adventurer standards. To Gauss, it was still far away.
A caster working the front desk? Isn't that overqualified?
Then again—this is Falrim. Even a "regular receptionist" might have professional-level mana.
If he applied his old-world logic, it wasn't hard to understand: in big cities, public posts were coveted. Tens-to-one—or even hundreds-to-one—competition wasn't rare.
A Falrim receptionist position felt like that kind of "golden slot."
"Mr. Gauss, you're from Grayrock?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I've heard of it. There was a war recently, right?" the mage-receptionist chatted lightly as she read.
Then she caught a line in the record and lifted her brows in surprise.
"Oh… so you're the Gauss who defended Grayrock."
On Gauss's file, the latest entry stated he'd made an outstanding contribution in the Grayrock defense, killing the monster leader amid a horde of over ten thousand.
And the rest of his record was just as striking—one notable deed after another.
There was even a line about killing a transcendent-level powerhouse tied to the Dragon Cult.
Her eyes flicked once, twice, as if she needed to confirm she wasn't hallucinating.
Especially in the details: it noted that at the time, Gauss was still only Level 5.
Level 5 and "killed a transcendent" didn't belong in the same sentence.
She'd heard tavern rumors about something like this, but she'd dismissed it as another bard's fake story.
Now it looked… real.
Even so, her professional training won out. She didn't indulge her curiosity on the spot. Instead, she discreetly compared the file to the people in front of her, confirmed their identities, and returned the plaques.
Checking plaques before service was mandatory—because long ago, people had exploited stolen or looted plaques to scam the guild.
Plaques were tied to money. Some adventurers stored funds in them for safety and convenience, then withdrew at any guild branch.
And higher-rank plaques unlocked higher privileges: loans, library access, research materials, and more.
That meant a lot could be "mined" from someone else's plaque.
As for disguises—guild corridors were layered with detection arrays specifically to flag transformation magic.
The bigger the guild got, the fewer loopholes remained.
"How may I help you, honored Mr. Gauss?" Rebecca's tone had unconsciously become more respectful.
"I want to register an adventuring company. I heard I need to submit the application here."
Rebecca nodded, understanding why he'd traveled all the way from Grayrock.
"Please wait a moment."
She turned, pulled a dark-blue bound manual and a packet of forms from the archive cabinet, and flipped through a book titled:
'Falrim Guild System · Adventuring Companies · Registration & Evaluation Guidelines'
"First: to submit an application, the company leader and at least one additional teammate must be Level 6 or above."
"You and your team meet the baseline requirement."
Gauss was Level 6, and he had companions at Level 7 and Level 6.
"However," she continued, "since annual registration slots are limited and applicants exceed the quota, this is only the minimum condition."
"Whether you pass depends on further review—commission records, contributions, level, growth potential, and many other factors."
"I understand." Gauss nodded.
Shirley had already warned him.
Shirley also said that if he were a typical Level 6 professional, he'd lose to veteran masters or transcendent applicants—but Gauss's potential and combat record were unusual, and standards could bend for that.
"And if you're approved, formal registration requires a 100-gold registration fund. Is that acceptable?"
"It is."
For Gauss's team, 100 gold wasn't much anymore.
Their available funds were nearing 2,000 gold—largely from the spoils of the Grayrock defense.
Risk and reward often traveled together.
Most equipment, materials, and even portions of siege assets and mounts from the monster army had been converted into cash by the guild and paid to them.
That was with Gauss keeping the ogre chief's expandable black cleaver, intending to use it as an off-hand weapon when he used Body Enlargement—otherwise their profit would've been even higher.
Rebecca's eyes flashed with a hint of bitterness.
A full 100 gold—not 50 copper. Not even 50 silver.
Even in Falrim, that could buy two or three high-quality detached homes outside the inner city.
Rebecca still lived with her family largely because she didn't own a home yet. She could scrape together a down payment, but didn't want to live under crushing pressure.
Then she looked at the man in front of her—nearly ten years younger—casually agreeing to pay 100 gold as if it were nothing more than paperwork.
It was hard not to feel the gap.
Adventuring sounded lucrative, but she knew the truth firsthand.
Back when she'd been a professional mage in a party, an easy one-star commission—ignoring rare jackpot loot—usually paid 1–2 gold total.
Split among 3–4 members, that was 25–70 silver per person… before consumables, travel, meals, medicine, and repairs.
Break a weapon, need to reforge it? Even worse.
At best, you might net about 30 silver per job.
Over a year—subtracting training, rest, travel, and failed missions—you might complete around twenty jobs if you were hardworking.
That's about 6 gold saved… except a serious adventurer reinvested constantly: spellbooks, skill manuals, gear upgrades.
So after years of risk, you often had little cash on hand.
Rebecca was exactly that case.
One afternoon, doing her accounting, she'd realized: she'd poured nearly everything into growth—and still hit a wall.
So she quit, studied for a year, and passed the civil exam to become a guild receptionist in Falrim.
Now, living at home with stable pay, she could save 5 gold a year.
She used to be proud of that.
Until she met Gauss, and her confidence wobbled again.
But she quickly reminded herself: Gauss wasn't "typical." Few adventurers could reach his height.
She accepted the forms Gauss filled out.
"Thank you for your cooperation. Please wait for the result notification."
Gauss glanced at her—she seemed like she'd been thinking deeply about something just now.
"Alright, alright—our turn, yeah?" came a gruff voice from behind.
Albena turned reflexively, but saw no one.
"Hey, giant lady—we're down here. Where are you looking?" a handful of dwarves yelled, offended as if they'd been silently slighted.
"Go ahead," Gauss said mildly.
The dwarves were rude, but they hadn't gotten physical. And Gauss had taken a while. He knew dwarves tended to be blunt, so he didn't take it personally.
"Thanks, kid," the dwarves muttered, stepping up.
Gauss moved to a nearby chair and opened the adventuring-company manual.
Meanwhile, the dwarves up front were loudly babbling about "a companion," "missing," "rescue," and "big money." He didn't pay much attention.
Then—
Thud.
"Will this work as payment?"
Something heavy hit the counter.
Albena's head snapped up. Anything metal made her ears perk.
A bright, silvery gleam caught her eye and held it.
"What is it?" Gauss noticed Albena tugging his robe and followed her stare.
"Gauss—it's mithril!" Albena said, excitement in her voice.
Mithril?
Gauss looked toward the counter.
"Oh?"
Recently, Albena had been planning to forge each teammate a set of light armor—especially Gauss.
But forging wasn't just skill. It was materials.
Normal steel had become borderline useless for Gauss, so they needed rare metals like darkiron, orichalcum, mithril, or adamantine to upgrade quality.
Those materials were usually "priceless" in practice: scarce, snapped up instantly, monopolized by dwarven smiths and powerful nobles.
"That's silver?"
"Look closer, girl!" the dwarf laughed.
"Per guild procedure, it needs professional appraisal," Rebecca said calmly.
"And even if it's a rare metal, you still owe the guild commission fee for posting your request, Mr. Bruno."
"Make it fast. I've got money," the bearded dwarf Bruno said, swaggering.
"Sorry to interrupt—dwarven friends," Gauss stepped up.
"I overheard you need strong adventurers to rescue a missing companion. Is that metal your offered reward?"
Gauss spoke up for two reasons:
First, they needed mithril.
Second, it was useful to build a connection with a dwarf "whale" who could casually throw rare materials around.
"Mm-hm. That's right," Bruno nodded.
"If so, I may be able to help."
"You?" The dwarves looked him over. He looked young—easy to doubt.
Rebecca hesitated, then—perhaps out of the small goodwill she'd formed—spoke up.
"Don't worry. Mr. Gauss is absolutely capable."
"He recently saved Grayrock during a war."
"He's also recorded as having killed a transcendent-level powerhouse."
The dwarves' expressions changed instantly. Their eyes lit up.
Dwarves respected strength openly and immediately.
"Good, good!"
"If you're willing, even better!"
"Let's go right now!"
Rebecca's face tightened.
Gauss turned back politely. "We'll follow the proper process—have them post the commission, I'll accept it. No problem, Miss Rebecca?"
"No problem." She exhaled, relieved.
Bruno filed the commission. Gauss accepted it on the spot.
He'd need time anyway for his company application to be reviewed, and his family's caravan wouldn't reach Falrim immediately.
Taking a commission now made sense—and it won him rare materials.
They headed out of the guild in a brisk group.
Bruno, clearly the lead dwarf, was especially frantic.
As they walked, he explained the situation:
The missing dwarf was his fiancée, Torga—the strongest warrior in their party.
They'd argued on the road. After he calmed down and went to find her, he only found familiar sword scars and monster blood.
No sign of her.
A horrible conclusion followed: she'd been taken.
Dwarves were great smiths, but tracking and investigation wasn't their strength.
So they detoured to Falrim to post a high-paying rescue request.
The small comfort was that many monster tribes coveted dwarven craftsmanship—so lone dwarves were often captured rather than killed.
"We've wasted too much time," Bruno said grimly. "We have to move now."
"In the short term she'll probably live, but the longer we wait… the worse it gets."
"Bruno, don't panic," Gauss said. "Take us to where she fought first. Let's look at the scene."
~~~
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