In the drawer, there is a retirement notice. A formal A4-sized document with only a date written on it—an "Adventurer Retirement Declaration Form (Format Fourteen)" submitted to the Wandering Profession Guild—lay quietly sleeping in Galen Strayver's old wooden drawer. It had been put away last night. A freshly made document without a single crease. However, with roughly eighty percent of the main text left blank, starting with the "Reason for Retirement" section, it was questionable whether it even functioned as a retirement notice. Galen pulled it from the drawer in the pale morning light, stared at it for about three seconds, and put it back. (Today, for sure, I'll submit it.) It was less a resolution and more of a command to himself. Fiona and Lilia had left early in the morning. Fiona had insisted that she would "die if she didn't move her body," dragged Lilia along to the training grounds about an hour ago. The dining hall of the Rusty Gear Tavern, empty of the two of them, was filled with the particular silence of early morning. The sound of burning charcoal. The sound of Hydra Morse quietly polishing dishes behind the counter. That was all. This silence is an opportunity, Galen thought. He needed concentration to fill out the documents. No interruptions. Perfect conditions were in place. So today, for sure, he would submit it. He applied three pain patches to his waist. Right side, left side, lower back. He shouldered Ironbite—the steel longsword he'd used for twenty years—and took the retirement notice from the drawer. The three patches on his waist were part of his usual morning ritual, Ironbite was habit, and only the retirement notice was special about today. Galen Strayver was thirty-eight years old. The average retirement age for adventurers was thirty-two. He'd registered with the Wandering Profession Guild—an organization with one hundred forty-two branch offices across the continent where adventurers received commissions—at eighteen, and this year marked exactly twenty years. His waist hurt every morning. The old scar on his knee ached the day before rain. His right shoulder had lost thirty percent of its range of motion compared to before. There were plenty of reasons to retire. As he walked along the stone-paved streets of Tornica, Galen told himself this. The air in the frontier town was clear in the morning, and the bustle of the morning market was still distant. The fishmonger's old man was preparing to open, and the vegetable seller's proprietress was unloading cargo. Familiar faces doing familiar things in familiar places. Galen walked in his usual manner. Only the fact that a retirement notice was in his pocket felt somehow out of place. 　　◆ The Tornica branch of the Wandering Profession Guild was a two-story red brick building set back one street from the main avenue. The sign was slightly tilted. It had been tilted ever since the day Galen first opened the door at eighteen. No one fixed it. Probably no one ever would. When he opened the door, he saw several familiar faces. "Hey, Galen. Unusually early today." Galen raised his hand lightly and said nothing. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say he couldn't say anything. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to speak the words that he'd come to submit a retirement notice. He headed toward the reception counter. Behind the counter sat a man in his thirties. At a glance, you could tell he was the type who carefully returned his quill pen to its inkwell. Galen took the retirement notice from his pocket and placed it on the counter. "I'd like to submit a retirement declaration form." The receptionist picked up the document and began examining it. Hmm, hmm. He turned the page. Hmm, hmm. He turned it back. Hmm. About thirty seconds passed. "...You are Galen Strayver, correct?" "That's right." "A-rank adventurer, twenty years on record, completion rate is..." The receptionist pulled out a ledger and checked. His expression became subtle. While maintaining professional courtesy, his entire body emanated an unmistakable "this is going to be troublesome" atmosphere. "I'll need to confirm a few things." The confirmation process began. One minute later. "Galen, regarding Format Fourteen—for those with twenty or more years of service, supplementary documents are required. Specifically, a 'Long-term Service Confirmation Certificate (Supplementary Clause Three)' and an attached detailed record of commissions from the past five years." Galen was silent for a moment. "...Wasn't that included in the documents I was supposed to bring?" "Yes, it's written in the instructions for Format Fourteen, but it's often overlooked..." Galen checked the back of the Format Fourteen he'd received. It was covered in small print with precautions. At the very bottom of the vertical text, on the edge. Practically invisible to the naked eye. (Who would read this?) He made a mental note, but kept his face neutral. Twenty years of adventuring life had cultivated a composure that was useful here. Though he would have preferred not to need it. "Continue." The receptionist checked the ledger again. Two minutes later. "Additionally, A-rank adventurer retirement procedures require the branch director's confirmation stamp. The director is currently out, so we can handle this after three o'clock this afternoon." "Understood." There was more. Three minutes later. "We also need to verify the original commission completion records. That's three hundred eighty cases. The verification process will take about three days." Galen quietly looked up at the ceiling. Three days. The guild would verify each of the three hundred eighty records one by one. Three days. He could understand that. He could understand it. (Is retirement really this complicated?) He remembered his adventurer registration taking half a morning for fifty copper coins. So why did retirement take so long? The question was swallowed rather than spoken aloud, as it would have sounded like complaining. At that moment, the receptionist pulled out yet another page from the ledger. It was a very old ledger. The edges of the paper had turned brown. "...Um, Galen." "What?" The receptionist looked at him with an indescribable expression. A face mixing professional courtesy with genuine surprise. "In the service record here—there's a stamp indicating you're a candidate for the Long-term Service Special Commendation." Galen paused for a moment. "...What's that?" "The Long-term Service Special Commendation—it's a commendation system by the Wandering Profession Guild, selecting outstanding long-term adventurers every five years. Those with twenty or more years of service and a ninety percent or higher commission completion rate are eligible..." "What about it?" "If you retire without accepting the commendation, you'll need to submit a 'Commendation Declination Notice' as an additional requirement for retirement procedures." Galen Strayver completely froze for three seconds. A commendation candidate. For twenty years, there had been a stamp on his record. He hadn't known. He'd had no idea. He'd never once thought of himself as a commendation candidate. In other words, for twenty years, Galen hadn't noticed that something was stamped on his ledger, the guild hadn't particularly informed him, and only today, when he came to submit his retirement notice, did it come to light. "...Do I have to attend the commendation ceremony?" "If you accept the commendation, attendance is required. If you decline, you'll need to submit a declination notice—" "I decline." It was an immediate answer. The receptionist nodded and pulled a declination form template from the shelf. It was thicker than expected. Seeing the thickness of the document, Galen felt despair creeping in again. 　　◆ "Would you mind waiting in the branch director's office? I'd like to have you review all the documents together." And so Galen was shown to the branch director's office. The director's office was on the second floor. Since the director himself was absent, only the receptionist and Galen with his documents were in the room. Galen's ledger-related documents were spread out on a round table. And the explanation of additional documents continued. Galen began methodically organizing the documents. What was what, what was needed for what, and in what order things should be processed. The more problems there were, the more he broke them down and organized them. This was a habit gained from twenty years of adventuring experience. Whether facing a horde of magical beasts or document issues with commissions, the basics were the same. The receptionist brought a bundle of documents from the shelf. Galen's commission records. Not one or two sheets. They came in bundles, piles of them. The first bundle alone stacked up to the edge of the table. The receptionist brought another bundle. It didn't fit on the table, so he stacked it on the floor. Another bundle came. It piled up to the height of a chair seat. When the receptionist muttered something, it was at the point where the stack reached the height of a chair seat: "...I've never seen anyone with this many completion records before." He seemed taken aback, as if he hadn't expected it to pile up this high either. Galen felt the same way. When it appeared before him in physical volume like this, twenty years became comprehensible not as a number but as a tangible mass. Galen picked up the top sheet. The date was yesterday. "Flame Leo Subjugation Assistance - Commission Completion Confirmation - Issued: Tornica Branch" was written on it. Yesterday's date. The ink wasn't completely dry yet. Yesterday's work sat at the very top of the mountain of records. Galen stood holding that single sheet, unable to move for a while. (Do I even have the will to retire?) The mountain of records silently posed the question. The tower of paper from twenty years, stacked from floor to chair height. With yesterday's document placed on top. Exerting a wordless pressure through sheer height alone. Galen began checking them one by one. The records at the very bottom were from when he was eighteen. The handwriting was slightly more youthful than now. The commission content read "G-rank magical beast subjugation, two goblins." The reward was thirty copper coins. Now it was Flame Leo subjugation assistance. In twenty years, he'd come a long way. Somewhere in the middle was a record from seven years ago. The Glacie Serpent subjugation in the Red Rust Gorge—an ice-attribute serpentine magical beast whose breath instantly froze everything within a ten-meter radius—was recorded there. He'd handled it alone at the time. Thirty-one years old. His knees moved better then. His back pain wasn't as severe. And then the commendation-related documents appeared. Next to the long-term service special commendation ledger was another document. When Galen picked it up, it was a "letter of recommendation." The sender was a senior adventurer who had retired five years ago. The name of someone who had already left Tornica was written there. He read the contents. "Commendation Certificate: Exceptional Long-term Service and Contribution to Junior Adventurer Development" Galen read line by line. Junior adventurer development. That phrase seemed to glow softly on the paper. He had no memory of developing juniors. But he had given advice to younger adventurers who accompanied him on commissions many times. He had shown his way of handling situations to those with ability but lacking experience. That was being recorded as "junior adventurer development." Without his noticing, such achievements had been officially documented. The receptionist helped organize the documents while pulling another ledger from the shelf. Galen, still holding the letter of recommendation, paused slightly in his movements. "Junior Adventurer Develop