The Transmigrated Professor

As the elevator opened on the third floor of The Pack building, Ray and the others found themselves in a space styled similarly to the ground floor, with a medieval theme.

The same wooden tables lined the wall in a single row, with the reception desk at the opposite end.

Most tables were occupied by bored mercenaries, either gambling or scrolling through reels while the receptionist called out numbers.

Beside the elevator, a guard approached them. He wore a standard blue security uniform, complete with a walkie-talkie.

Izzy scratched her head. "I'm confused... Did medieval times have walkie-talkies too?" she asked, staring at the guard, who looked out of place in the room.

“Here is your number. Please wait in the seating area until the receptionist calls you,” the guard said stoically, handing them a yellow card with the number 2004 printed in large red letters.

Having done his job, the guard returned to his post beside the tables, watching for any signs of trouble among the new mercenaries.

“I guess grumpy guards and waiting in lines are universal in any era,” Rohan shrugged at Izzy’s earlier question as they headed to the only empty table.

With a long wait ahead, considering the number of mercenaries hanging around, Rohan pulled up a game on his smartwatch. Intrigued, Izzy and Mike watched over his shoulder.

Jacob, however, joined a group of mercenaries playing cards.

“Didn't you need to gather information? I can help with that much,” the old priest said when Ray tried to stop him.

“True, but these mercenaries are dangerous. I can’t leave you like that.”

Jacob chuckled at Ray’s concerns. “Mercenaries? Oh, please. They are children compared to the ones I faced during the Catastrophe. Don’t worry. You’ve been tense since you arrived—just relax.”

Jacob wasn’t wrong in saying he was too tense. Wolfsbane, after all, was an area that didn't follow the laws of the Main Continent.

However, it didn't hurt to rest now. There was a lot left to be done.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t gamble away all the money I gave him,” Ray thought. 

Previously, when Jacob asked Ray for money to buy parts for his laptop, Ray had opened a bank account in Jacob’s name and given him full access to it.

Ray wasn’t short on funds, but he had an aversion to gambling, a habit from his not-so-wealthy previous life.

But from what he had seen, Jacob was careful with money, so he wasn’t too worried. But he still hoped the old man wouldn't spend too much just to obtain the meager information these grunts had.

Unlike downstairs, there wasn’t much information to gather here since most mercenaries on this floor were first-timers on the Island.

So, instead of talking to the mercenaries, Ray decided to look around.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to see.

Whenever a mercenary protested the long wait, the guard would release his A-Rank aura, forcing them to sit down.

'Man, I wanted to see some mercenary fights like in those medieval novels,' Ray thought, his otaku side emerging.

Though Ray usually acted maturely while looking after the minors in his care, his nerdy side showed up at the most unexpected times, like now.

So he turned to exploring the medieval-inspired decor of the floor. 

The walls were made of large, brown stones, while dark wooden boards lined the floors. The windows were much smaller than modern ones, and the entire floor was lit by kerosene lamps.

Despite the medieval aesthetic, Ray could tell the space was also designed with practicality in mind, much like buildings from that era.

The architect had truly brought the essence of a medieval building into reality.

At first glance, the stone walls appeared naturally scratched, but in reality, the marks were enchantments embedded in the walls to make the building’s defenses impenetrable, carefully carved to blend in.

‘Man, Lucius definitely spent a fortune building this place…’ Ray thought as he admired the design. 

Scattered around were tapestries hanging from wooden beams, depicting scenes of ruthless S-Rank monsters slaughtering humanity during the early days of the Catastrophe.

Ray’s eyes suddenly caught a board in the corner of the room. Brown parchments of paper had been arbitrarily pinned to the board, listing the available jobs for mercenaries.

On the top right corner of the parchment, one single letter was highlighted in bold to show the rank of the job request. Most of them ranged from A to D Rank, with very few going above that. The monetary rewards seemed appropriate too, proving how systematic The Pack was, despite the rumors of them being just cowardly savages who couldn’t make it on the Continent.

After looking around for a bit, Ray decided to head back to the table. Unexpectedly, something shocking was waiting for him.

“How ya doing, Ray?” Jacob greeted him, his neck adorned with large gold chains, as he counted piles of cash like a shady back-alley loan shark. His fingers glittered with huge rings that had appeared from nowhere.

“What’s with the gruff accent? And that…” Ray struggled to describe the sight before him.

“Oh, just gifts from my buddies over there.” Jacob coolly pointed towards the gambling table he had gone to earlier to collect information.

Seems like he had collected more than just information from his games.

Four large men sat nearby, crying as they watched Jacob shamelessly flaunt the rings he had won from them.

“But...that was only fifteen minutes ago.”

“I know. I would've played longer, but they ran out of things to bet.” Jacob explained nonchalantly.

“Dammit. How can a priest serving the Lord be so materialistic? Have you no shame?” One of the mercenaries shouted angrily.

“I’m retired. I don’t think the Lord cares what an old man with little time left does in his last hours. Amen, my Lord, for our daily bread.” Jacob blasphemously prayed, clutching the large gold chain around his neck.

“Dammit!” the mercenaries cursed at the unfairness, while Ray laughed at Jacob’s shameless display.

'Guess I didn't need to worry about him gambling all his money away.'

“Number 2000! Please make your way to the counter.” The receptionist called out.

Hearing their number being called, the mercenaries momentarily forgot about Jacob and rushed to the counter.

“I never realized you were so good at games, Father Jacob,” Mike said, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

“More like he’s good at counting cards.” Ray smirked at him, as Jacob’s conscience tried to shoo away the sparkles reflecting off of Mike’s eyes.

“Unfortunately, Mike, I don’t have any such skill as counting cards. I am just a frail old priest whom God seems to favor from time to time.” Jacon finally admitted, his conscience unable to bear any more of the boy's pure admiration.

“Wow, I can't believe you just said that all this was pure luck?” Ray scoffed as he pointed out the golden chains hanging from his body

“I am just that lucky.” Jacob shrugged his shoulders, leaving Ray at a further loss of words.

"Sure. Sure. Whatever you say."

“Number 2004! Please make your way to the counter.” Soon the receptionist called out Ray’s group.

As Ray handed her the white-and-golden card, the receptionist looked at him in surprise. 

“Is something the matter?” Ray asked, not expecting the look of surprise on the receptionist’s face.

‘That can’t be right... In the novel, they said the white-and-gold card officially gets you into The Pack.’

“Ah, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that you are the first one to bring a white card this week.” The receptionist quickly clarified.

“This week? Is your acceptance rate that low?”

"Of course it is. You will find that most mercenaries usually receive black-and-red cards. Thus they are not deemed to be suitable to be official members of the Pack. After all, we can only have a limited number of members. You are the first person I've seen to get a white-and-gold card on the first try. Most usually take months to find out that it even exists."

"But aren't usually all mercenaries on Wolfsbane considered to be a part of the Pack? At least, that's what I learned from rumors about this place."

“That's just a misunderstanding." The receptionist clarified. The mercenaries who receive the red card are just registered with The Pack. It’s the same as the Hero identification provided by the Hero League, a sort of occupational license. With that status, the maximum Rank of job requests the mercenary group can accept is C Rank. But the white card is more of an acknowledgment of a mercenary’s skills, and so they can accept job requests higher than C Rank, as long as it is deemed within their capabilities.”

‘So basically the white card means This guy is not dumb enough to just die, so we can stick him with the more dangerous jobs.’

“You are here as a group of five, correct?” The receptionist counted them as she handed over 5 application forms. “Please fill them in front of me. Also, please don’t use any false information, such as your name or Rank, as my Skill Zone of Virtue prevents anyone from writing, speaking, or committing lies, or anything similarly dishonest, in my presence. We are pretty strict about these kinds of things, as many mercenaries try to show that they are of low Rank and get other mercenaries to fight with them so that they can kill and steal their things.”

“I see…” Ray gulped nervously, as handed everyone the forms.

It didn’t take long for him to realize how the receptionist’s Skill worked. When he tried to write just “R-A-Y” for his name, his hand involuntarily spelled out “L-A-X-O-N.

'Looks like once you start an action, there is no way to stop until you finish it honestly.' 

“That’s quite a powerful Skill you got there.” Ray complimented her, as he handed back the forms.

"Thank you." The receptionist thanked him gently, her cheeks turning slightly red, before she tasked her assistant to print their ID cards.

“Do you have any questions regarding The Pack?” She asked as the ID cards were processed.

“I would like to rent a house through The Pack. An official one.”  Ray quickly asked.

“Our houses are on the more expensive side, and we require three month’s rent upfront. May I know what your price range is?”

“The price doesn’t matter. Just make sure it's big enough for all of us.”

“Alright!” She quickly handed him a tablet. “These are the houses that are still available for rent on the market. Please pick one and inform me once you decide.”

Though the tablet only showed bungalows, Ray almost had a heart attack when he saw the cheapest rent was 300,000 R a month, with the most expensive going up to a million.

"Are these prices correct?" Ray asked the receptionist with a forced smile.

"Considering you asked for an official house, I am sure you know what it means, don't you?" The receptionist replied in a calm tone.

True, Ray had specifically requested an official house.

Although The Pack had tried to organize the mercenaries, there was only so much influence they could throw around without the short-fused mercenaries turning rebellious and planning a coup-de-etat.

That's why many mercenary groups would often turn to rob mercenaries who had newly arrived on the Island and were usually not affiliated with any major gangs in Wolfsbane.

Since Ray didn't want to subordinate himself to any of the gangs, that's why he wanted to quickly get himself an official house of The Pack, since it meant that he was living under their protection and acted as a sort of repulsing charm to the mercenaries who wanted to cause trouble to the newly arrived mercenaries.  

This would also bar the leaders of the bigger mercenary gangs from approaching them and trying to recruit him.

With a heavy sigh, he selected a house that cost 550,000 R—not too expensive but large enough for the group. With a heavy hand he handed the receptionist the full fee, and she promptly gave them their ID cards. “Keep these on you at all times. My assistant will show you to your house.”

The sun was already going down when they left the building.

Izzy and Mike were now complaining about missing both breakfast and lunch.

Luckily, the house wasn’t far.

“The pin to unlock the door is on this card. The marketplace is five kilometers in that direction, and you’ll find many good restaurants there,” the assistant explained before leaving.

The bungalow was simple and sparsely furnished, a far cry from Ray’s mansion on Indigo Street.

“Wow, that’s so plain,” Izzy remarked. “Is this really worth the 550,000 R rent?”

“Fortunately, we are not here to live.” Ray replied. “Let’s go and have lunch. After that, we’ll start our lessons.”

“What?! Can’t we just sightsee for today?” Izzy and Mike protested.

“Trust me. There's NOTHING to see here except Dungeons. And if you want to enter one soon, you'd better start learning.”