Chapter 1: Beware of Scams (Please Continue Reading)

The man in the neat, polished suit looked him over. “Here to apply, are you? What’s your name?”

“Ron Griffith.”

“Age?”

“Sixteen.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“Uh... yes...”

“Sorry. We don’t hire virgins.”

Ron froze, staring in disbelief. “But I applied for a guard position at the Good-Again Potion Alchemy Factory.”

What in the hell? Even the security staff had to pass that kind of check now?

The interviewer, who looked every bit an elite professional, paused for a moment. Then, with perfect composure, he picked up the pink placard at his feet and placed it beside the sign for the Good-Again Potion Alchemy Factory.

A bold pink invitation to romance and passion, wages twelve gold lions a month.

Seeing this, Ron’s expression darkened. He had not expected such filthy, disgraceful dealings here.

Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.

What was wrong with being a virgin?

Did being a virgin mean one could not bear humiliation, endure hardship, and swallow bitterness for the sake of survival?

You do not know I am incapable unless you try me!

Looking at the handsome youth with his bright golden hair and striking features, the interviewer seemed to guess what he was thinking. He adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles with practiced professionalism.

“The rules are the rules. Perhaps you should consider another position...”

He smiled apologetically.

“To be frank, given your qualifications, the only thing available at the Good-Again Factory is a line job producing alchemical potions.”

“Three gold lions a month. If you are unfamiliar with the work, that is no problem; we offer free training.”

Only three gold lions...

One gold lion equaled ten silver eagles, or one hundred copper deer. That sounded like a lot, but in the royal capital it was only enough to survive on stale hard bread every day.

Ron sighed inwardly and accepted the contract the interviewer handed him, reading it carefully.

But when he noticed the fine print hidden between the lines, he could not help cursing aloud.

“You want me to borrow three hundred gold lions from the Golden Reserve Bank to buy an elementary alchemical knowledge license? Why don’t you just rob me instead!”

“The interest is a full sixty percent, and with a ten-year repayment term, after a month on the job I would still owe you money!”

“Are you even human?”

At that moment, Ron finally understood just how untrustworthy those recruitment ads plastered all over the streets were—the ones promising to solve all your employment troubles one hundred percent.

This was blatant false advertising.

He even suspected that the factory producing alchemical medicines had no proper safety measures at all.

Once you breathed in enough alchemical fumes and fell seriously ill, then took out another hefty medical loan, those bloodsuckers would probably kick you out the door.

Watching the interviewer’s ever-present smile, the boy suddenly felt the urge to punch him in the face.

But after glancing at the burly guard with the revolver at his waist, he could only admit that the age had truly changed.

Firearms were far more useful than spells.

“Sorry, I don’t think this job is suitab—”

Click.

Before he could finish, a sharp locking sound suddenly rang out in the dimly lit old room.

Ron’s heart tightened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the burly guard bolt the door from the inside and draw the revolver from his waist, slowly aiming it at him.

In the stifling room, a faint pungent smell of gunpowder lingered, as though a single spark would blow the whole place apart.

“Sir, please do not be afraid.”

The interviewer adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles. “We are professional agents. Since we promised to solve your employment troubles one hundred percent, we naturally keep our word.”

“If there is no problem, please sign the contract.”

So that was what one hundred percent meant.

Ron’s mouth twitched uncontrollably. Silently, he withdrew his earlier judgment of false advertising.

Indeed... in this strange other world, a boy out on his own really did need to protect himself.

Being tricked into becoming a pleasure toy was still considered lucky; becoming a factory slave would mean never standing up again for the rest of his life.

Faced with such a situation, the boy showed not the slightest panic. Instead, he secretly felt relieved that he had come prepared.

Then, from outside the room, the chaotic clatter of carriage wheels over stone began to grow louder, along with shouted voices.

“Boss, it’s the constables!” one of the criminals by the window cried first, sensing that something was wrong.

The constables? How could that be?

The interviewer, still looking like an elite gentleman, froze. His gaze instinctively shifted to the only suspicious person in the room—Ron.

Ron responded by giving a bright smile, baring his little white teeth, and even flashing a thumbs-up to encourage the criminals.

You son of a...

“Have you lost your mind? You report the place before coming to an interview?”

“Aren’t you afraid the constables will drag you in too?!”

The interviewer roared in anger, the muscles in his face twitching faintly. Feeling provoked, he was nearly sick with frustration.

The criminal leader, now cornered, desperately wanted to teach Ron a lesson with words, but there was no time to waste in such a crisis.

He took two steps at a time toward the window, hurled himself forward, and smashed through the glass.

Like the hero of a film, he soared a full five meters through the air.

Crash—glittering shards of glass flashed in the sunlight, and the hem of his coat snapped in the wind.

He adjusted his center of gravity in midair, striking a stylish pose as he fell.

And in the end, he even succeeded...

In landing straight into the encirclement of constables below.

Three minutes later...

When Ron saw those criminals again, the constables had already secured the scene.

He lightly bit his lower lip, while sunlight streamed through the shattered window, making his bright golden hair and handsome face seem especially innocent.

Apparently that still was not enough, so Ron secretly pinched the inside of his thigh hard beneath his robe. His deep blue eyes instantly turned misty, and a faint flush appeared at the corners of them, like a startled fawn.

Pointing at the criminal leader being escorted away, he gave the female constable beside him, who looked to be in her thirties or forties, a pitiful expression.

“Officer, it was him. He extorted three gold lions from me!”

What?!

“I did not extort anyone!” the criminal leader cried, eyes wide with utter disbelief.

What nonsense are you spouting? Weren’t you here looking for work and money?

Ron, however, answered with complete righteousness.

“If you didn’t, then why did you run?”

“I...”

The criminal leader was speechless. Every excuse died in his throat.

He turned pleading eyes to the constable scrutinizing him, hoping for justice and fairness to prevail.

Instead, he received only a look reserved for scum.

Was there no law left in the world?

At that moment, a certain term suddenly flashed through the criminal leader’s mind: thieves robbing thieves.

Bastard!

Who exactly was extorting whom here?

And why were you so practiced at this?

You are only sixteen—you are still a minor!

---

[You successfully performed a good deed in accordance with the path of holy light. Your holy light healing spell proficiency +10. It has reached maximum level.]

[Name: Ron Griffith]

[Age: 16/87]

[Realm: First-Rank Mage, Apprentice]

[Skill: Holy Light Healing Spell, Transcendent Mastery. Note: Most of the healing has been removed, but 1,000% of the pain remains. Only then will you know that what you received was healing.]

[Basic Magical Theory: Proficient 78/300]

[Elementary Rune Studies: Beginner 17/100]

[Culinary Arts: Master 260/3000]

[Overall Assessment: Your attainments in holy light healing magic can now rival the gods themselves, yet you are still merely a first-rank novice mage. Truly astonishing.]

“Comparable to the gods, they say... If I still cannot find work, I may not even be able to afford next month’s bread. Fine. It seems that even with healing magic at max level, I still cannot become normal again...”

Glancing at the golden, shining max-level healing spell on his status panel, Ron, freshly out of the constables’ office, felt only that life was full of hardship and bumps.

The good news was that as a transmigrator, Ron came with a cheat.

The bad news was that the cheat seemed naturally incompatible with him.

Although he had spent all his money learning Holy Light Healing Magic at a shabby academy, after Ron’s diligent practice it had transformed into something entirely different.

One thousand percent pain—how cruel was that? Just imagining it was enough to make the boy shiver.

As for the exact effect, he did not dare test it on himself.

But after seeing the church examiner three days ago, clutching his groin in agony and cursing his magic as trash, Ron had already understood enough.

How should he put it? The spell really was quite healing.

Mainly because it could inflict both spiritual and physical despair on the person being healed.

This had directly lowered the employment rate of the entire royal capital.

What gave the golden-haired youth some comfort, however, was that his Basic Magical Theory, Elementary Rune Studies, and cooking skills had not undergone any “rebirth.”

Otherwise, his name would surely have appeared on next year’s list of people to be executed as “truth madmen.”

In this world of ancient gods, magic, and epic legends, recklessly pursuing forbidden knowledge without the approval of the rightful gods was extremely dangerous. Once condemned, no explanation would be heard.

That was also why he had been willing to take such great risks and come to a black-hearted factory producing alchemical potions to rob the robbers—no, to find work.

“Ha... even this little money is not enough. I’ll have to keep looking for a new job, or I really will end up on the street...”

Tossing the three gold lions he had received from the good Samaritan, Ron sighed helplessly.

He could already foresee the miserable end awaiting him: evicted by the landlady for four months of unpaid rent, and finally collapsing in a street reeking of wastewater and vomit.

In the sunset, the yellow light pierced through clouds thick with alchemical fumes, like a giant dying of illness slowly toppling over the filthy streets.

Treading over the dirty stone pavement, whose surface had turned slightly sticky beneath his shoes, Ron walked on with heavy steps.

Rustle—

Just as the delicate, golden-haired boy was agonizing over whether he should sell his body, a gust of wind swept a newspaper from the ground and slapped it across his face.

What the hell?

Ron irritably pulled the paper away, then froze the next second, his gaze fixed tightly on a small advertisement in the corner of the Evening West Ring Gazette.

Seeking a private tutor.

Requirements: profound mastery of holy light magic, preferably with good aristocratic manners and etiquette. Mages above second rank need not apply.

Pay: one hundred gold lions per month, four days on, three days off. Successful candidates may have the chance to join the employer on a seven-day tour to the imperial border.

“This... this...”

Ron restrained the beating of his heart and, afraid he had misread it, scanned the advertisement again.

Private tutor... that was perfect.

A private tutor meant he would not need to show off that damnable spell; as long as his theoretical knowledge was strong enough to convince the employer, that would be enough. And holy light magic—he knew it far too well.

“One hundred gold lions a month, four days on, three off...”

“And even better, there’s actually a chance to travel to the border of the Kingdom of Oran every year!!!”

As expected of a big city, there were so many opportunities here. There really was such a good thing!