Over the next few days, Ogre and his companions' tasks went very smoothly. As their coordination improved and they became more adept at dividing the work, the speed at which they completed missions grew faster and faster.
Before long, they became a Three-Star adventuring band.
Below is Ogre's record of those past few days.
Monday: Had some free time. Trained, fought goblins.
Tuesday: Folke was busy. Trained today.
Wednesday: Trained, fought goblins... Didn't fall asleep while practicing the meditation method today. It seems I must have practiced it wrong before.
Thursday: Trained, fought goblins. People from the arena came looking for me. Brushed them off for now.
Friday: Trained, fought goblins. Lange seemed to have gotten more confident today, so I had another fight with him.
Saturday: Trained. Went out with Folke to take on a commission. Spent the day capturing a fleeing hybrid werewolf variant.
Sunday: Trained, fought goblins. Folke said he has things to do tomorrow, so we have next Monday off.
...
“It's been a while since I've made any money.”
As Ogre organized his small vault of savings, he realized he was running a bit short on money—the gold coins earned from their commissions were all kept with Folke.
Ogre was currently working under a contract and had no active income, as his payment had been collected in advance, and he had even received an excellent weapon.
If he asked Folke or Lange, they would probably give him some.
But Ogre didn't want to do that.
Freeloading on meals was already pushing it. Asking for money without a proper reason felt a bit too much.
Ogre cherished this friendship, so he had no intention of doing so.
“To buy the Forbidden Elixir, it will cost at least a thousand-plus gold coins... and I might also need materials like a mana core.”
Ogre took out a portion of gold from his small vault. He had nothing to do today, so he planned to go make some money first.
Gold was not all-powerful, but without it, life would be highly inconvenient.
“I have to return to that place...”
Ogre had his disguise tools hidden away securely—as they were crucial to whether he could slip away at any moment.
However, Ogre's identity as “Gourmet” had virtually no privacy.
The arena people had easily tracked him down with a simple investigation.
They had even come knocking on his door a few days ago.
Thanks to his connections with Yade and Laidi (Folke's uncle), the arena wasn't quite sure about Ogre's background and didn't dare do anything to him.
They had merely left a message, asking to catch up when he had the time.
“I should change my mask...”
Ogre looked at the items in his room and sighed. Without a spatial item, he wouldn't be able to carry most of his things with him.
“Unfortunately, it's very hard to get a spatial item in the black market, and getting one through the Professionals Association is even more of a hassle. I hope they have them in larger cities.”
Ogre's hand passed over the striped mask he usually wore, picking up a multi-hole mask instead—this was the identity he had been using at the Professionals Association recently.
“Let's see just how strong those defending Professionals are.”
Picking up his spear and putting on the mask, Ogre left the room through the back door.
...
“Gourmet! I've finally caught up with you. Why the change of look... and how have you considered our offer?”
Although Ogre had changed his mask, the long spear on his back still gave away his identity.
However, this was also intentional on Ogre's part; he hadn't even bothered to disguise his voice.
His cover was merely another layer of protective coloration.
It was also to prevent some loose-headed playboy nobles who had lost money from causing trouble for him.
The “truth” the arena saw was only what Ogre wanted them to see.
“I recently took a job from that out-of-towner and can't get away for the time being,” Ogre said, using Folke as a shield. “The kind with a signed contract.”
Initially, the fat manager's eyes lit up upon seeing Ogre return, but after hearing that Ogre couldn't leave, his eyes dimmed again.
The arena wouldn't go as far as to offend a Silver-grade Professional just for Ogre.
“Oh, my... Then why are you back here now? No one at the Apprentice level dares to challenge you anymore. Wait, you aren't planning to change your identity, are you? If so, I advise against it. That counts as cheating, and if you get recognized, we won't be able to protect you.”
The fat manager thought he had guessed Ogre's purpose for changing his mask and hastily shot down the idea.
Ogre's current position was very awkward. As he defeated more and more people, the challenge threshold and payouts rose higher and higher. He had almost lost his profitability, leaving only an intimidating presence to hold down the fort.
This was also why the higher-ups wanted to transfer Ogre.
They had investigated Ogre's age and connections.
Thus, their original goal was to train Ogre to enter the Professional-grade arena and recruit him as one of their own.
However, Ogre's push-and-pull attitude had made the higher-ups lose some patience with this rising star.
Help him fabricate a cheat? Ogre did not have that kind of privilege yet.
“No, you misunderstand.” Ogre unwrapped the cloth strips around his long spear.
The arena made money fast, but it was only quick cash. The further he went, the harder it would be to earn.
But even quick cash wasn't that easy to come by.
The arena was not a charity. To make money, one had to take various risks.
“Then what are you here for?” Seeing Ogre fiddle with his spear, the fat manager subconsciously shrank back.
“I want to try the Professional-grade arena,” Ogre said, adjusting his mask.
“You've advanced?” The fat manager's eyes instantly lit up upon hearing Ogre's request.
The debut battle of the strongest apprentice advancing to a Professional—what a brilliant gimmick! Opening a betting pool for this would yield a fortune, wouldn't it?
Maybe arrange a medium-difficulty opponent to aggressively market the fight?
Although the arena in Meteor City was more suitable for Professional-grade gladiators to develop, it did not mean there were no Professional-grade arenas in this borderland region.
They were simply rather average in development.
After all, formal Professionals were no longer cheap labor; their status was not low, which meant Professional-grade arena matches weren't organized on a large scale.
High costs, few participants, and thus a naturally small market, especially in this borderland region.
But arranging a debut match was still no problem.
“No,” Ogre said, throwing cold water on the fat manager. “The energy level testing should be able to determine that I haven't become a formal Professional.”
The gap between a Professional and a non-Professional (Apprentice level) was massive; once they fought, it was impossible to hide.
However, in the face of profit, there were always daring individuals who tried to exploit this loophole to disguise themselves as Apprentice level.
They wanted to ruthlessly crush novices and make a quick buck.
The energy level testing Ogre mentioned was designed to prevent Professionals from using special methods to suppress their strength and participate in Apprentice-level matches.
If Apprentices and formal Professionals were mixed together, how could the arena still make money?
Ogre himself had initially been suspected of being a disguised formal Professional.
“You want to fight above your rank!” The fat on the manager's face quivered, his tiny eyes widening considerably.
“That's right,” Ogre's voice drifted from the holes in his mask, carrying a hint of financial temptation. “An Apprentice challenging a formal Professional. That's quite a gimmick, isn't it?”
“If you cheat, you'll be...” The fat manager still thought Ogre wanted him to fix the match.
If Ogre had fully joined the arena, he would consider doing that, but with Ogre showing no commitment, he didn't want to make that call.
“No cheating. Just arrange a weaker Professional for me,” Ogre interrupted the fat manager's words.
Yet the fat manager didn't get angry over this. No one would refuse a boost in performance. “Are you sure?”
“Sure. But I want to change my alias...” Ogre tapped on the multi-hole mask on his face and said.
“What alias?”
“Just call me—” Ogre paused for a moment.
Finally, he slowly spat out the name.
“Ogre.”
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