Read Adventurer Tale of Pouring 25 Years of Life into a Useless Skill, and Now After All That Time is the Strongest

1 - unaltered days

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"15......14......13......12......11... ...ten, whoa."

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　Noticing the feeling of cracking an eggshell, Thor slowly pulled out the knife he had inserted into the forest slime.

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　The tip of the blade, which had been immersed in the soluble fluid, was discolored and distorted.

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　Grateful for his good fortune to have been able to stop it in time, he swings lightly to clean off the sticky liquid from the tip of the knife.　

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　Then, while concentrating on the knife in his hand, Thor chanted in his mind.

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　--Read at https://w w w . m t l r e a d e r.com

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　As soon as he thought of it, it was already over.

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　The terrible state he had been in earlier had vanished without a trace, and there was the knife exactly as it had been before.

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　Exhaling thinly at the loss of his magic, Thor quickly put the knife back in its sheath and picked up the long, vertical conch shell that was tucked into his waistband.

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　The slime that had been clinging to the trunk of the tree was beginning to drip from the crushed nucleus.

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　I put the mouth of the conch against the brown fluid, and pour it down to collect the slime.

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　The forest slime, an amorphous monster born from the congealed miasma, loses its solubility and becomes safe when it dies.

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　The viscous fluid had various uses, as it could be used as a strong adhesive or reinforcing material when heated.

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　Therefore, the purchase price of a single fine shell is five copper coins, which is surprisingly expensive.

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　There is another reason for the high price: almost no one wants to collect them.

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　The forest slime, which looks like a lump of mud, is a monster that clings to the trunk of a tree and withers the tree as it grows.

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　They do not attack when approached, and do not fight back when you try to kill them.

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　This sounds like an easy opponent, but the problem is how to defeat it.

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　First of all, the membrane on the surface of the slime's body is surprisingly elastic, and can only be pierced by a sharp knife.

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　And the only way to find the nucleus of its weak point, which is hidden in its brownish fluid, is to stir it around with the tip of the blade like a stew pot.

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　And in the meantime, the forest slime keeps dissolving the foreign substances that have entered its body as if in return.

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　It was no wonder that these monsters were not so popular, since they were not worth the price of expensive weapons.

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　Naturally, Thor's favorite knife for dismantling the slime would not be safe if it came in contact with it.

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　However, he had the "skill" to make it go away.

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　In this land called Eternoa, there is a war between the gods of creation and the gods of destruction.

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　The people were on the side of the gods of creation and were destined to fight against the servants of the gods of destruction who attacked them day and night.

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　The most ineffectual of human beings are no match for the fearsome monsters that are destruction incarnate.

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　But the gods of creation would not abandon their children whom they had created.

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　The benevolent gods gave the humans of the lower realms the art of fighting monsters.

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　That is the skill tree.

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　Every human soul is born with a skill tree, and the skills that reside in its branches can perform various miracles.

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　Once a tree is given to a person, it never dies and is never replaced by a new tree.

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　Thor's tree was not from the lineage of any of the six well-known deities, but was a gift from an unknown deity.

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　Only one branch grew from the tree.

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　It was the skill that bears the name of .

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　The old priest who examined it was surprised and delighted to find that it was a rare unique skill.

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　The people around him were also excited, believing that it must be a skill that could restore anything to its original state, given the name of the skill.

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　But that was only until Thor grew up and his magical power increased to the point where he could actually use the skill.

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　The skill only works on things that your hand touches, not on living beings.

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　And the state that can be restored is only ten seconds ago.

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　And to top it off, it could only be used once an hour.

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　It cannot heal even the slightest injury.

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　It can only be used for things that break right in front of it.

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　There was a great restriction on the fighting skills given by the gods in the first place.

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　They could only be used against monsters sent by the god of destruction, or people and things related to them.

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　In the end, the only use Thor could come up with for was to restore a weapon that had been melted by slime.

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　Thor, who had collected enough bodily fluids to fill three vertical shells, dexterously pressed the wooden stopper firmly with one hand to make sure there were no leaks, and put it away in his backpack.

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　The part of the trunk where the forest slime had stuck to had been melted by the bark and turned into a large hollow.

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　A little later, the tree would have been ruined.

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　Thor, having finished his work, looks through the sunlight to check the time.

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　The faint reddish sunlight indicated that the sun would be setting soon.

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　Deciding that it was time to pull out, we headed back through the trees to the forest road.

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　The paths in this kobold forest have been well maintained by many people over the years.

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　Thor changed his weapon to a wooden sword and began to walk at a brisk pace, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings.

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　After about 30 minutes of walking through the forest, a gray stone wall comes into view beyond the trees.

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　This is the border town of Dadan, where Thor and his fellow adventurers live.

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　In front of the stone wall is a large gate, flanked by two guards in reddish-brown leather armor.

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　The sturdy wooden doors with iron frames are open on both sides, and the men guarding the gate are leaning against the wall, showing no signs of motivation.

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　The gate guards, who were all in a daze, stopped chatting when they noticed Thor approaching.

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"Hey, old man. Have you finished collecting mud today?"

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"Hey, come on!"

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　The younger man, one hand still in his pocket, speaks in a teasing tone, but the older man stops him.

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　Thor gave a small nod in return and lifted an adventurer's plate from around his neck.

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　The green border of the plate, about the size of his palm, was the lowest rank (G rank), known as a green oak.

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　The elderly gatekeeper, a former adventurer, looked with pity at the green plate held by a man of nearly forty and shuffled his chin inside the gate.

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　It is a gesture that tells us to get the hell out of here.

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　Again the young man's words are hurled at Thor's back as he passes through the gate.

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"You're too old to be playing with slime..." he says. It's late..."

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"That's enough, Carles. Choose your words!

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"Why don't you just retire, old man? It's easy being a gatekeeper.

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　Thor responded to the advice of the purple-eyed young man by raising one hand without turning around.

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　It is not easy to find a new job for a retired G-rank adventurer.

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　At best, he could get a day job as a manual laborer, but with Thor's troubled body, he would not be able to do so for very long.

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　It was a fact that they both knew very well.

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　Beyond the gate was a square.

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　The sun had finally set, and the stone streets were dimly illuminated by the magic stone lanterns.

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　Thor headed for the building of the Adventurers' Bureau in front of the gate, against the waves of people hurrying on their way back home.

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　Instead of the main entrance, he turns to the right and arrives at the desk for the assessment of the defeat.

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　There was already a long line of similarly dressed adventurers holding certificates of their kills.

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　Thor quietly mingles with the chattering youths.

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　As he gradually follows the line, someone who is lagging behind passes Thor and talks to the youths in front of him.

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　They seemed to be from the same party.

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　A few words were exchanged, and the young man joined the line.

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　This was not an action that could be blamed on the party, since it is a basic rule that all the party members are responsible for the payment of the hunting fee.

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　The young man who had joined in the middle of the hunt turned around to say hello to the others.

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　He noticed Thor standing in line right behind him and the G-rank plate on his neck and rolled his eyes.

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　He pointed toward Thor and whispered something in his ear, without hesitation, while attracting the attention of his companion who was standing next to him.　

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　The young men in front of him, who overheard the conversation, turn their heads to see the middle-aged adventurer.

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　Compared to their equipment, which was dirty and damaged here and there, Thor's leather jacket, though worn out, showed no signs of having been in a fight with a monster.

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　The young men, who had taken the liberty to guess the meaning of this, voiced their disdain in their mouths.

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"I really don't want to be like that!"

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"I wonder how long you're going to hang on to it, you fee-snatcher."

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I would have retired long ago in shame."

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　Thor looked blankly back at the voice he heard.

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　There was no hint of shame or discomfort in his eyes.

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　There was only the look of a man who had been exposed to the harsh wind and snow.

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　The young people who noticed Thor's gaze looked at each other and fell silent.

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　Then, as if forcing a change of subject, they began to talk happily about the results of today's battle.

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　After a short wait, it was Thor's turn.

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　The receptionist in the green uniform was an unfamiliar woman, but Thor opened his backpack as usual and took out the fine conch shells one by one, checking each one.

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　Alternating between this and the line stretching out behind Thor, the slightly slack-eyed receptionist tapped the counter with her long fingernails in frustration.

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　With one last sharp pointy corner, the receptionist idly picks up one of the shells, her lower lip pouting in frustration.

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"What's this?"

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　The receptionist takes one look at the green-rimmed plate around his neck and asks Thor in an intimidating manner, raising her voice slightly at the end of her sentence.

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　The majority of the staff of the Adventurers' Bureau are former adventurers of high rank.

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　The rest are hereditary or nepotistic recruits.

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　Those with such privileges tend to look down on those who work in the field.

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"Are you sure you're in the right place?　This is the window for assessment of defeat."

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　Since there is no part of a slime that can be used as evidence of its defeat, three rolls of shells filled with bodily fluids are enough to prove that one slime has been killed.

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　The only person who hunts slimes in this town is Thor, so it was understandable that the woman who seemed to be new to this window had her doubts.

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"You didn't put anything strange in here, did you?"

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　Without waiting for Thor's explanation, the receptionist suddenly uncorked the shell.

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　Before she could stop her, a brown mucus gushes out from the mouth of the tilted shell.

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　It dripped down and spread stickily on the bundle of papers that had been placed on the table.

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　The receptionist lets go of the container of shells and lets out a loud scream.

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"Crikey!　What the hell is this?

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"Hey, what's going on?"

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"What did you do?

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　The men in the back of the line notice the woman's screams and rush over to her.

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　Thor made a small gap to avoid the man's arm, which was extended toward his shoulder.

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　Thor then took a step back and brushed aside a man who jumped at his waist.

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　The men who were evaded hit the counter and cower, letting out grunts of pain.

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　Someone shouted for the security guard, and amidst the commotion, a panicked female voice suddenly interrupted.

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"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?"

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"Oh, Enna-senpai!"

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　A woman with a chubby figure appeared from the back of the room.

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　She was not beautiful, but she had a charming face.

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　The woman called Enna seemed to understand the situation immediately as she looked alternately at the container of the shells that had caused the commotion and the receptionist's face.

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　She shrugs her shoulders in disgust.

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"Did you do it again?　Marika-chan. Oh, Mr. Thor, thank you for everything."

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"What, because ...... this."

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"I told you to be careful with slime mucus, didn't I?"

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No, I didn't.

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"There you go again. I'll take care of this. Go in the back and fill out the report.

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"What? It's not my fault!"

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"Just go, just go, just go. There's been a slight misunderstanding. I'm sorry for the trouble I caused you.

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　The familiar receptionist brushes Marika's disgruntled face away and apologizes to the men, who are still frowning in pain, and the situation is easily resolved.

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　Enna bows silently to Thor and first tries to pick up the unsealed conch to prevent further damage.

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　Thor's hand reaches out to intercept her and touches the spilled liquid.

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　The next moment, the slime that had been sprayed on him vanished without a trace.

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　Enna is stunned to see the liquid settled in the shell as if nothing had happened.

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　But again, she quickly understood what had happened and gave a big smile to Thor.

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　She quickly counts the items brought in, writes Thor's name and the amount of money on the appraisal form, and stamps her stamp.

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Yes, I have checked it. At least one horned mole, five forest slimes, and fifteen bottles of mucus. Please accept them.

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　On the plate was a receipt for ninety-five copper coins.

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　Since the daily wage of a day laborer is about two hundred copper coins, it is hard to say that this is a good deal.

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　But Thor accepted it silently and put the reward in a small bag hanging from his waistband.

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"Thank you very much. I'll tell her well, so please forgive her.

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　Thor scratched his chin lightly in response to Miss Enna's words.

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　After leaving the assessment counter, Thor next went to the buying station attached to the Adventurers' Bureau.

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　The buyers' market is a place where the corpses of defeated monsters are purchased, dismantled, and sold wholesale.

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　The peculiar smell hit my nose as I entered the place.

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　Inside the spacious room, tables for dismemberment were lined up, and staff members, their forecoats stained with blood, were busily carving the carcasses into pieces.

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　One of them, a small, stocky man with horns sprouting from his forehead, notices Thor and approaches the counter.

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"Welcome, Mr. Thor.

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　Nodding to the familiar staff member, Thor hands over the carcass of a horned mole, the horns of which have been clipped from his waist.

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　Horned moles are monstrous moles that have been attacked by a miasma (a miasma that causes noxious gas).

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　It has a sharp, horn-like snout and a body the size of a medium-sized dog, and when it senses prey, it attacks it suddenly from beneath the ground.

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　Although they may sound strong, they are second only to slime in the kobold forest for apprentices.

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"You still manage to kill them beautifully. This will help you to get rid of the skin nicely, that's for sure.

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　Usually, monsters are killed by martial or magical skills, leaving charred or spectacularly mutilated corpses.

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　However, the mole that Thor had brought was in a very undamaged condition, with only a few bruises concentrated on its face.

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"Is it the same as usual?"

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　Silently scratching under his chin, the official handed Thor the meat of a dismembered horned mole wrapped in a packing leaf.

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　After seeing that he had put it in his backpack, he offered him three copper coins.

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　The purchase price for a single horned mole was five copper coins, but it was also possible to have the meat and skin bought separately.

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"And the usual freebies.

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　As Thor reaches his right hand for the leaf packet that a staff member has surreptitiously placed on the counter, someone's voice suddenly calls out to him.

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"What in the world is that?　Mr. Sargon!"

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"Chief!"

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"We have received reports that some of your staff have been illegally distributing the goods they purchased, but we had no idea that you would be so shameless."

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　A red-haired, dark-skinned man wearing a white apron like everyone else approached me with a hoarse voice.

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　Not a speck of dirt could be seen on his clothes.

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　Sargon hurriedly tells the breakdown to the man who snatched the package from his side.

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"It's a misunderstanding, chief. That's the part that was to be discarded.

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"Why would you give me something like that?　You're not doing yourself any favors by telling stupid lies."

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"Toll requested it."

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　With a suspicious look in his eyes, the man called the "chief" unfolded the package on the counter.

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　Inside were the bones and organs of an inedible horned mole, just as the staff had said.

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　The red-haired man, who was looking at the contents of the package and Thor's face alternately with a grim expression on his face, suddenly changed his expression to one of mockery as he noticed the green plate around the neck.

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"Oh, I see. You're the one they call the mud fisherman, aren't you? I see. So you've eaten your way to the bottom and have become a beggar.

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　The man seemed to have lost all interest in the matter and suddenly took out a smoking pipe from his pocket and lit it.

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　He deliberately exhaled smoke and called out to the staff, ignoring Thor.

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Well, let's give it to him this time. It will save me the trouble of throwing it away. But, Mr. Sargon... There's no end to the number of people you have to deal with who don't have any dignity. Let's put an end to this kind of thing once and for all."

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"...... Okay."

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　Sargon looked at him stealthily as he replied with a displeased look on his face.

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　Thor, realizing what he meant, lifted the leaf packet silently.

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In the first place, those who have lost their pride do not deserve to live. Don't you agree?

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"Yes, you are correct, sir."

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　Thor exited the buying station, re-carried his backpack, and let out a deep breath.

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　Finally, he started walking back home.

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　Behind him, the high-pitched voice of the red-haired man could still be heard.

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