Synthesis-type adventurers

Chapter 2: The "Duties" of Team Members

The black iron market in Rust Harbor is less of a market and more of a giant junkyard.

This place is located on a broken deck of a giant shipwreck, with a tangled web of pipes and metal walkways leading to who-knows-where overhead, and an unknown murky liquid dripping from it year-round.

Rod skillfully set up a tattered oilcloth in the corner and laid out several daggers that he had tweaked and a few bottles of low-level healing potions made from the cheapest herbs but with a little added [energizing] effect.

All around were the cacophony of hawkers' cries, the clattering of the dwarf mechanical prosthetics, and the hissing sound of steam leaking from some unknown place in the distance.

"Hey, Rod! What junk are you picking up today?" A halfling vendor selling grilled swamp rat skewers greeted him.

The rat meat sizzled and dripped with oil, emitting a strange but undeniably appetizing aroma.

"Just some little trinkets that nobody wants, that's all I can do." Rod scratched his head and replied with a sheepish grin, carefully wiping the hexagonal coin he had just earned and putting it into his inner pocket.

Just then, a series of heavy footsteps, accompanied by the crisp sound of metal armor clashing, abruptly cut off the hustle and bustle of this corner of the market.

The crowd that had been haggling fell silent instantly, like ducks with their necks being choked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rod noticed that the surrounding vendors had all lowered their heads, and some had even started to hurriedly pack up their things and shrink back.

They were a pair of gleaming leather combat boots, with gold-plated rivets embedded in the boot shafts. Even in the muddy Ruin Harbor, they remained spotless and quite eye-catching.

"Bang!"

It was accompanied by a muffled thud.

The already rickety wooden plank stall in front of Rod was kicked over without warning by this boot.

The medicine bottles rolled to the ground, making a crisp cracking sound, and the daggers were kicked into the nearby ditch.

The kick was well-controlled, causing damage without soiling the kicker's boots.

"Is this all you've got for today? Hmm, Rod?"

The voice crashed down from above, carrying an innate arrogance and a hint of disdain as if it had seen something dirty.

Rod didn't look up or immediately pick up the things on the ground.

His body stiffened for a moment, then he lowered his head, his shoulders hunching slightly, as if he had been frightened by the kick.

Fuck your mother Kyle.

That bottle cost me three whole days' worth of food!

But when Rhodes looked up, his face showed only panic and ingratiation: "Vice-Commander... what brings you here?"

Standing before him was a young man dressed in a full set of fine plate armor.

He had meticulously groomed blond hair, and a faint mockery lingered on his handsome face.

He is the vice-captain of the Anvil Adventurers – Kel von Hohenheim, the second son of a declining baronial family, yet also the undisputed local tyrant of this neighborhood.

"Don't call me 'sir'. It just makes me feel disgusted to hear it from someone like you."

Kyle didn't even look at Rhodes directly; he casually flicked non-existent dust off his breastplate with his white-gloved fingers.

"The guild leader said the 'management fee' is going up again this month. You know how much wear and tear the brothers' equipment has suffered in order to protect you useless guys from being dragged away by ghouls down there."

Rhodes was stunned for a moment, as if he had been taken aback by the news.

"But...Deputy Commander, didn't I just submit it last week? Besides, I'm just an intern logistics staff member, my salary is already..."

"That's your problem," Kyle interrupted him, his tone still indifferent. "The guild doesn't support idlers, and our adventurer's group is even less so. Can't afford it? Then get out of the camp. Or..."

He rubbed the stain of medicine on the ground with his toe, a mocking smile on his face: "Go to the slums outside and fight with those real rats for food."

The surroundings were deathly silent.

No one dared to speak, and no one even dared to look in their direction.

In this lawless port, might makes right.

Kyle is a Silver-level expert, while Rhodes is just an Iron-level porter, a whole Bronze-level difference in their ranks.

90%!

That bastard always manages to push me to the limit of not starving.

The "panic" in Rhodes' eyes was even more pronounced.

He frantically searched his body and finally pulled a heavy money bag from the inner pocket of his clothes.

That was his savings from almost a month, which he originally planned to use to exchange for Orim and buy that runebook.

But he is now outnumbered and outgunned, and on someone else's turf, so he has no choice but to swallow his pride and accept defeat.

"This...this is everything I have...it's all here." Rhodes held the money bag in both hands, his hands trembling slightly as he handed it over.

Kyle did not answer.

One of his henchmen stepped forward, snatched the money bag, weighed it in his hand, and then nodded to Kyle.

"You're smart to know what's good for you." Kyle sneered. "Remember, this isn't a robbery, it's your 'duty' as part of the team."

After he finished speaking, he turned to leave.

The action of snatching the money bag was so smooth and fluid, it was clear that he had done it countless times before, and it wasn't just targeting Rhodes alone.

Rhodes maintained his humble posture as he gathered up the scattered goods from the ground.

His head was hanging low, as if he had been so badly hurt that he couldn't lift it up.

But from an angle where no one could see, Rhodes's gaze swept over the magnificent-looking sword at Kyle's waist.

That was Kael's most prized weapon, said to be the "Knight's Oath," a legendary sword passed down through the Hohenheim family and crafted by a dwarf master.

At this moment, in Rhodes' analytical vision, every detail of the sword was clearly visible.

【Knight's Oath (Fake - Repaired)】

Status: Structural hazard (extremely high risk)

Entry:

[Sharp (White, Normal)]: It still maintains good cutting power even after multiple sharpenings.

[Gorgeous (White Standard)]: Exquisite gold-plated handguards and gemstone inlays, highly valuable for viewing.

[Fragile as Paper (Gray, Inferior Quality)]: The sword's internal structure suffered severe lattice fractures under high temperatures, which were later repaired with clumsy magical bonding. It cannot withstand a lateral impact exceeding 300 jin (approximately 150 catties); it will undoubtedly break under such force.

[A facade that is all show and no substance (inferior quality)]: A glamorous exterior masks an internal decay.

……

That's a fine sword.

Rod stared at the striking gray entry, a fleeting smile playing on his lips.

This impact force is equivalent to the force of a large adult ghoul's rapid pounce, or the impact of a weapon parry.

Kyle seemed to sense the gaze behind him, abruptly stopped, and glanced back.

Rod was squatting on the ground, clutching a rag covered in mud, his eyes glazed over, as if he had been completely terrified.

"Hmph." Kyle scoffed disdainfully, "What are you looking at? This kind of thing is something trash like you will never be able to touch in your entire life."

He patted the hilt of his sword, and the ancestral sword responded with a clear, ringing sound.

"Of course, of course." Rhodes quickly lowered his head, his voice filled with trepidation. "Your sword is truly perfect."

It's as perfect as a time bomb.

"Let's go."

Kyle lost interest in humiliating this good-for-nothing any longer, and strode away with his henchmen, the sound of his boots hitting the metal plate fading into the distance.

Only after the figure completely disappeared into the alleyway and the surrounding market returned to its bustling state did Rod slowly straighten up.

He brushed the dust off his knees, and the panic and humility on his face just now peeled away like a mask.

"Thirteen Orim," he murmured, his calm expression almost indifferent. "You can keep it temporarily. As for the interest... let's just call it three times the rate of those rusty harbor loan sharks."

He bent down and picked up a surviving dagger from the mess.

There's a small chip on the blade of the dagger, but that's not important; the entries loaded on it are the key.

On the other hand, Rod confirmed something today.

That sword will break.

Someday in the future, at a crucial moment, when that noble vice-commander entrusts his life to that sword…

At that moment, Rhodes would make sure he was present.

After all, the powerful attributes of a Silver-rank adventurer who has just died are still fresh in everyone's memory.

"For that moment, the ticket was worth paying today."