So, you've realized that 'Plot Armor' isn't a valid currency? Shocking, I know. Welcome to Economics in Another World, where your Earthly C++ certification is worth less than a bent copper piece. Time to earn your keep, newbie.
Embracing Honest (or Mildly Dishonest) Labor:
Your first coin is the hardest. Unless you stumble upon a dragon's hoard (don't count on it), you'll likely start at the bottom rung of the socio-economic ladder. Which is probably underground.
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Menial & Messy: Mucking stables, scrubbing floors, hauling garbage, washing dishes in the greasiest tavern this side of the Styx. These jobs are universally available because no one wants to do them. Low pay, zero glamour, high chance of developing unpleasant rashes. Perks: Sometimes comes with leftover food scraps or a leaky spot in the barn to sleep.
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Delivery & Errands: Running messages, fetching items, delivering packages. Requires navigating the local area without getting lost/mugged/eaten. Success often depends on speed (DEX) and not antagonizing guard dogs (CHA/LUK). Pay is marginally better than messiness.
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Basic Crafting Assistance: Fetching supplies for blacksmiths, grinding herbs for alchemists, holding yarn for weavers. Requires minimal skill but maximum patience. Risk of industrial accidents (hammer thumb, potion explosion) is non-zero.
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Street Performance (If You Dare): Got a hidden talent? Juggling, singing, questionable interpretive dance? Find a busy corner and put out a hat. Effectiveness depends heavily on actual talent, local tolerance for public nuisances, and avoiding rotten vegetable projectiles. Requires Charisma you likely lack.
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'Finding' Things: Less 'theft', more 'opportunistic acquisition'. Picking up dropped coins, scavenging discarded items that might have resale value (check local laws on junk salvaging). LUK stat plays a huge role here – you're as likely to find a gold coin as you are to step on a rusty nail.
Currency Crash Course:
Get familiar with the local coinage. Is it copper, silver, gold? Pebbles, beads, teeth? What's the exchange rate? Don't try to pay for a room with three coppers if the going rate is five silver – you'll just look like an idiot (more than usual). Observe transactions, ask politely if unsure. A single copper might buy a bread roll, or it might be practically worthless. Context is everything.
A Word on Haggling:
Don't. Not yet. You're dressed in rags, look like you haven't eaten in days (because you probably haven't), and radiate 'easy mark'. Attempting to haggle will likely result in either laughter or the price doubling. Accept the first reasonable offer for your labor or goods until you have some standing.
Now get out there and earn that pittance! Rent isn't going to pay itself (unless you find a really nice abandoned sewer tunnel).
[Kevin's Story: Part 6 - The Dignity of Dishwater (and a Discovery)]
The meat pie had been a temporary reprieve, not a solution. Kevin still needed 10 copper pieces, shelter, and a real meal. The rat-catching idea festered in his mind – 1 copper per tail felt like selling his soul (and risking tetanus) for pennies. There had to be another way.
He thought about the vague memory of advice again... Menial & Messy. It seemed to fit his current options. It lacked the dubious thrill of opportunistic pie acquisition, but it seemed more reliable, especially with his abysmal luck. Dishwashing, floor scrubbing... glamorous it was not, but it was work.
He started targeting taverns again, but not the rough-and-tumble Salty Siren. He looked for slightly less intimidating establishments near the main market square. He found one called 'The Drunken Sailor' – still sounded nautical, but lacked the overt 'you might get stabbed here' vibe of the Siren. It looked busy, smoke curling from its chimney, the clatter of tankards audible from the street.
Taking a deep breath, Kevin pushed open the heavy wooden door. The interior was dim, smelling of stale ale, sawdust, and cooking fat. A buxom woman with flour dusting her apron was polishing the bar counter, occasionally barking orders at a harried-looking youth clearing tables.
Kevin approached the bar cautiously. "Excuse me, Ma'am?"
The woman looked up, her expression neutral but appraising. "Yeah? What d'ya want? If yer beggin', clear off. Got enough trouble with pests."
"No, Ma'am," Kevin said quickly, trying to stand a little straighter. "I'm looking for work. Any kind. Washing dishes, scrubbing floors, anything."
She eyed his ragged clothes again, but maybe his slightly less desperate tone (fueled by the stolen pie) helped. "Work, eh? Don't look like much." She wiped her hands on her apron. "Pot boy just quit – ran off with a barmaid, the useless git. Leaves me short-handed."
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
She pointed towards the back. "Kitchen's through there. Piles o' dirty pots and pans need scrubbin'. Floor needs moppin' after the lunch rush. Think you can handle that without breakin' anything or faintin'?"
"Yes, Ma'am! Absolutely," Kevin said, perhaps a little too eagerly.
She snorted. "Alright. We'll see. It's three coppers for the shift, plus a bowl o' stew if you last till closin' and don't mess up too bad. Deal?"
Three coppers! And stew! It wasn't the full ten he needed, but it was a start! "Deal! Thank you!"
Ding!
[Temporary Employment Acquired: Pot Scrubber (Lowest Rung)]
[Potential Rewards: 3 Copper Pieces, [Basic Stew (Edible)]]
[Requirement: Survive shift without termination or causing significant property damage.]
The work was brutal. The kitchen was hot, steamy, and smelled overwhelmingly of grease and boiled cabbage. Mountains of greasy pots, pans caked with burnt food, stacks of dirty tankards – it was an endless tide of filth. His STR 6 body ached quickly, his hands grew raw despite the [Worn Leather Wraps], and the grime seemed to soak into his very pores.
His System interface hovered persistently in his peripheral vision, the quest tracker ticking down the hours. And that damned pixel kept flickering. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker. It was maddeningly distracting against the monotonous scrape-scrape-scrape of his brush against burnt stew residue.
He focused on the pixel, not out of curiosity, but pure annoyance. What IS that? System, status report on visual artifact at coordinate X, Y! he mentally commanded, more out of weary sarcasm than expectation.
To his surprise, the System responded.
Ding!
[Query Received. Analyzing Interface Anomaly at specified coordinate...]
[Anomaly identified: Dormant External Data Packet. File ID: Transmigration_101_Manual_v3.7.2.ipg.]
[Source: Pre-Initialization Soul Transit (Inter-World Transit Services - Complimentary Download).]
[Packet appears stable. Open Y/N?]
Kevin almost dropped the pot he was scrubbing. External Data Packet? Complimentary Download? Suddenly, fragmented images flashed through his mind – not Finn's memories this time, but his brief non-existence between lives: A TRANSMIGRATION SERVICE ADVISORY, mention of a digital guide because personnel were unavailable, Inkstained Prophet Edition, something about Terms & Conditions he definitely hadn't read...
It wasn't a dream! That weird, slick feeling of a forced install... that was this? A user manual for being isekai'd, hidden behind a visual glitch on his budget system this whole time?
Open! Yes! OPEN! he screamed internally, scrubbing furiously at a stubborn crust while his mind raced.
The interface shimmered. The flickering stopped. Instead, text began to overlay his vision, seemingly projected onto the grimy wall in front of him, visible only to him.
[Excerpt from Transmigration 101: A Guide for Your Second Life, Foreword]
Greetings, Valued Customer/Soul!
If you're reading this, chances are high that your previous existence has abruptly and likely nonsensically ceased. Condolences. Or congratulations?...
Kevin skimmed the Foreword he now vaguely remembered receiving, the slightly smug tone grating yet... oddly informative. He mentally scrolled, past the intro, past Module 1, his eyes landing on titles like Module 2: Bare Minimum Existence, Module 3: Know Your Locale, and Module 5: Filthy Lucre 101.
He mentally bookmarked Module 5, scanning the bullet points about Menial & Messy work while currently elbow-deep in greasy water. The irony was painful. Mucking stables, scrubbing floors... low pay, zero glamour... Perks: Sometimes comes with leftover food scraps... It was describing his current reality with infuriating accuracy.
"Why couldn't I have found this BEFORE I agreed to scrub pots for three coppers?" he muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glare from the ladle-wielding cook.
He almost caused a disaster moments later, distracted by mentally flipping through a section on 'Basic Social Blending', when he tripped over a loose floorboard (LUK 3 strikes again!) while carrying a stack of plates. A desperate DEX 8 save, fueled by the fear of losing his promised stew, kept them from shattering. The cook just shook his head.
Hours later, aching in muscles he didn't know he had, Kevin finished scrubbing the last pot and mopped the sticky floor under the barkeep's critical eye. She inspected his work, grunted (which he took as approval), and handed him three dull copper coins.
"Alright, you survived," she said, ladling a thick, lumpy brown stew into a wooden bowl. "Here's yer stew. Don't expect this treatment every day. Now get out, I'm closin' up."
Kevin clutched the three copper pieces – his first honestly earned money in this world – and the bowl of stew. The stew wasn't gourmet, mostly potatoes and unidentifiable meat chunks, but it was hot and filling. He found a relatively clean crate outside and ate ravenously.
Ding!
[Objective Partially Met: Obtain 10 Copper Pieces (3/10)]
[Objective Partially Met: Consume a Proper Meal (Non-Puddle Flavored) (Stew counts!)]
[Minor Buff Acquired: [Satiated (Temporary)] - Slight boost to Stamina regeneration.]
[New Resource Accessed: [Transmigration 101: A Guide for Your Second Life]. Available via System Interface.]
Three coppers down, seven to go. And he still needed shelter for the night. He looked at his three coins. Not enough for an inn, surely. But now... now he had the Guide. It felt like finding the instruction manual after you've already broken the thing you were trying to assemble, but it was better than nothing.
He pulled up the Guide again mentally, ignoring the lingering smell of grease. "Okay, Inkstained Prophet," he thought, scrolling through the modules. "Let's see what your supposedly acclaimed wisdom says about finding shelter that doesn't involve garbage bins or getting murdered...