An Old Veteran Charges into the Labyrinth: The Legendary S-Rank Ogre 作：naow
This is Chapter 3 of the English translated version. As a reminder, I am a Japanese author using an AI translation tool, and I cannot read or write English.
*Please note: The story, characters, and original text of this novel are 100% my own creation. AI was used strictly as a translation tool to convert my Japanese work into English. No text or plots were generated by AI.
This is the final chapter of my translation. I am looking for a talented author in the English-speaking community to take over this story from Chapter 4! If you are interested in adopting this story and writing what happens next, please feel free to do so! You are welcome to take this idea and run with it.
The Adventurers' Guild is a revolving door of people coming and going.
It consists not only of adventurers but also of clients bringing their grievances, hoping for a solution.
And naturally, the Guild staff themselves.
Seated in a corner of the attached tavern, an adventurer watching the crowd caught sight of something peculiar.
One of the most troublesome floor guards in the branch was leading a frail-looking old man toward the counter. On the surface, it looked like a standard client being escorted. However, the expression on the guard's face—a woman named Lana—was oddly stiff.
—Is she nervous? Is that old guy some high-ranking official from headquarters?
Thinking this, he stared at the old man's face, but nothing clicked. He was an adventurer himself. Though his bad behavior had stalled his promotions, his combat strength was undeniably solid for a Rank C. Through years of dangerous experience, he had developed a sharp intuition for danger, yet he sensed absolutely no aura of a "strong person" from the old man—the kind of pressure he usually felt even from Lana.
—So, he's not a hidden powerhouse among the staff.
In that case, he had to be a high-paying client. To the Adventurers' Guild, a "fat client" simply meant someone with a deep pocketbook desperate to solve a major problem, who paid handsomely.
He glanced at his companions occupying the same table. Every single one of them had an insolent look on their face, chugging ale and boasting idly, with zero intention of actually looking for honest work.
—Idiots. Acting like that is exactly why you're always broke.
Adventurers made money in various ways: completing requests, selling materials harvested from the wild, or raiding dungeons. In a town close to a labyrinth like this one, even selling the drop items from monsters yielded a decent coin. If they lucked out and found a rare treasure box, they could live like kings for a while.
But for adventurers who didn't care about playing clean, there were other ways to earn.
Depending on the client, one could simply trick them, snatch the advance payment, and run. Or, ambush them on their way back, murder them, and strip them of their valuables.
—This town has good momentum, and making small coins is easy enough. I'd rather avoid pulling something so loud that the guards come sniffing around, but...
There was no way that old man was an active adventurer. It wouldn't be possible to kill him inside the dungeon to eliminate the evidence either. He weighed the options, knowing he couldn't grasp the full situation without hearing the details. However, his crew was flagged as top troublemakers in the branch, and their access to high-paying jobs was heavily restricted. If they walked up to the counter, that floor guard would just chase them away. So, what to do?
Wearing a predatory smirk, he activated one of his scouting skills, "Listen In," and focused his attention entirely on the counter.
***
The "Listen In" skill belonged to the sensory category, primarily used by scouts and reconnaissance classes. In reality, it relied less on actual hearing and far more heavily on lip-reading. Because of that, it remained highly effective even within a raucous, bustling tavern.
As he focused his awareness, the man let out a heavy, disappointed sigh, his shoulders slumping.
The theory of a wealthy client evaporated instantly. It turned out the old man was a fellow adventurer. Yet, no matter how many times he looked, the man appeared to be nothing more than a worn-out senior.
"Gairana, what the hell are you staring at? Huh? ...Forget about Lana, man. She looks good, but she's way out of your league. I won't stop you if you wanna die, though."
Annoyed by his companion's brainless warning, the man—Gairana—refused to stop his observation. This was no time to argue with morons.
—He doesn't look like he has much coin on him, but the weapons hanging from his waist and his clothes... those are high-quality goods. They'll fetch a pretty penny if we sell 'em.
There were no other warning flags. If an old, washed-up geezer went missing in a dungeon, nobody would care. At the very least, Gairana wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it.
Cutting off his skill, he turned back to the table, looking at the faces of the fools sitting with him.
Veda, a heavy warrior who had lost his prized shield in a gambling bet and still hadn't found a replacement—the poster boy for stupidity.
Reg, a scout in loose, sloppy leather armor, with dark circles under his eyes that made him look vicious.
Alborn, a mage who sat quietly sipping his ale but possessed a foul, degenerate mouth the moment he spoke.
Gazing at his reliable band of fools, Gairana let a bold, sinister grin spread across his face.
***
Kenneth drifted into a quiet contemplation regarding the sheer brutality of an adventurer's life.
Only a handful ever made a name for themselves. Before reaching a level where they could earn a stable living, the vast majority died. Even so, the total number of adventurers never seemed to decrease, simply because new recruits rushed in to fill the graves every single day.
Each came with their own reasons, dreaming big, only for most to die unrewarded. Even if they survived, losing a single limb meant they could no longer fight. Those who possessed the indomitable will to master swordplay with a single arm were exceptionally rare. Most people couldn't cope with the psychological trauma of knowing that if a strike had landed just an inch differently, they would be dead.
Those who fortunately avoided such fates or crushed their obstacles through sheer strength to become mid-tier veterans were forced to make a choice, consciously or not.
Content themselves with their current stable income and pursue a modest, quiet happiness? Or aim higher, walking a path entirely carpeted with thorns?
Rank D was the baseline where adventurers finally began to earn more than the average citizen.
From there, those who aimed higher and managed to scrape into Rank C thinned out drastically. The journey from Rank D to Rank C was incomparable to anything before it, requiring them to market their names to secure designated requests. Barring extraordinary circumstances, climbing to Rank C without taking on designated requests was practically impossible. Of course, exceptions existed in every rule.
To reach Rank B and beyond, however, one either had to take on high-risk, black-ops style fixer work exclusively for the Guild, or secure an incredibly wealthy patron while stacking up undeniable achievements. Even with connections, it was a world where you couldn't survive without raw, terrifying strength.
Only when a Rank B veteran polished their skills further, attaining a level of might that completely isolated them from ordinary men, were they finally granted the title of a Rank A adventurer.
There were plenty of Rank D adventurers rumored to have "Rank A strength." Usually, those were capable fighters who failed to secure a patron and simply remained obscure despite getting the job done. However, assuming such hidden masters were rare would be a mistake; they were actually slumbering all over the place. Some deliberately chose to stay at Rank D because they "didn't want to stand out."
—I should have done exactly that.
Kenneth downed the remaining water in his mug.
At the end of the day, those who survived, possessed raw talent, and grabbed hold of luck rose to the top of the hierarchy. And no matter how superhuman their feats might appear, Rank A was the absolute peak of what a normal human being could ever hope to achieve.
And those very Rank A adventurers—including Kenneth himself—all agreed on one thing:
...There isn't a single human being among the S-Rank.
***
Mugai spiked his bald head, leisurely surveying his surroundings.
Upon entering the dungeon, figures of various adventurers filled his vision.
One group looked like rookies, their movements stiff but clearly conscious of their respective roles as they clashed with the monsters birthed by the labyrinth. Another group was a collection of selfish individuals who somehow maintained a bizarrely functional coordination. Yet another group moved so self-centeredly that they constantly tripped over each other's feet; if left alone, someone was bound to end up dead. Even though this was only the second floor of the dungeon, it was a vivid tapestry of the adventurer lifestyle.
Naturally, just like any other labyrinth, a layout of the shallow floors—a map—could be purchased at the Adventurers' Guild or the outpost station right outside the entrance. Getting this far required no effort whatsoever.
Having no desire to disrupt other parties, Mugai waited patiently. Once he confirmed a group had finished their battle and gathered their loot, he stepped past them, offering a polite, casual greeting as he pressed deeper. He had no intention of reaching the deep zones on his very first day, but returning after only exploring the second or third floor would hardly qualify as a decent stroll.
Besides, he had guests today.
Confirming the unmistakable presence tracking him from behind, Mugai smiled warmly.
According to the map, the number of rookie adventurers thinned out significantly on the fourth floor. The warning notes attached to this section were incomparably more numerous than those of the third floor.
Above all, unlike the shallower levels which consisted mainly of large halls connected by straightforward corridors, the fourth floor was a maze formed by intricate, twisting passages.