The Genius Programmer Turned Wizard - GPW Chapter 7: The Adventurer’s Guild (Part 1)

The streets outside the Colosseum felt oddly unfamiliar.

Dawn had only just begun to break.

This wasn’t the city seen through a screen. The alleys I now walked through were dark, lit only by the faint glow of early light bouncing off the dew on the stone walls, scattering into hazy halos of color.

These details had never been rendered in the game’s graphics.

Of course not. That was a game—this is the real world.

A resolution where the naked eye can’t distinguish pixels… light passing through translucent dew and scattering into halos…

My mind raced.

That’s beyond the capabilities of current-gen commercial GPUs.

But maybe—if it were a quantum computer.

Yes, this kind of visual fidelity was mostly a hardware issue. In theory, it wasn’t impossible to render.

The real problem was everything other than the visuals.

The crisp dampness of the early morning air. The clatter of dishes echoing faintly from nearby homes. The salty aroma of food wafting from somewhere.

Could any system truly simulate all this?

Well, guess I’ll find out.

One step at a time. Try what’s possible—bit by bit.

The first step was acquiring ancient magic.

But for that, I needed more power.

With only a handful of coded spells, I can barely protect myself.

And, frankly, if I didn’t want to starve—I needed money too.

Damn capitalism.

Thankfully, there was one place where I could make all of that possible.

Right here.

[Adventurer’s Guild Capital Branch No. 3]

…read the sign hanging above a two-story stone building.

Did it always look like this?

Just like the streets, this building—which I must have entered a thousand times in the game—still felt strangely unfamiliar.

Creaaak.
The old door let out a groan as it opened.

And just like that, the unfamiliarity vanished the moment I stepped inside.

She’s exactly the same.

There was a receptionist sitting at the empty front desk—it was still early morning, after all.

Her hair was a tangled mess, like it hadn’t been washed in days. Heavy dark circles hung under her eyes.

Ordinarily, she’d be the kind of person you instinctively avoid. And even though she must’ve noticed me walk in, she kept yawning and staring off into space, pretending I wasn’t there.

But honestly? I felt a weird sense of comfort. She looked exactly like she had in the game—down to the tiniest detail.

As I approached the counter, she mumbled in a tired, disinterested voice:

“Report it with an official report form…”

It was barely intelligible. I only understood because I remembered the exact game dialogue.

Even then, she yawned again as if her job here was done, flipping through papers like she couldn’t care less.

Rather than point out that her papers were upside down, I just got to the point.

“I’m here to apply for an Adventurer’s license.”

At that, she finally glanced up at my face.

“Your position…?”

“Mage.”

Her eyes widened.

She dropped her papers like they were on fire, then leaned in with a suddenly sweet and attentive voice.

“Oh my, a Mage, are you? But…”

In this world, mages are exceedingly rare among Adventurers. Most parties would go to any length to get even one onboard.

Having a mage drastically cut down dungeon clear times—and more importantly, increased survival rates by a huge margin.

As a result, mages were often scouted and signed into expensive long-term contracts by magic towers while they were still trainees.

And yet, here I was. A mage walking into the Adventurer’s Guild on my own.

Of course her attitude changed in an instant.

But then… she gave me a once-over.

Disappointment crept into her eyes, quickly followed by irritation.

“Which magic tower are you affiliated with?”

The subtext was obvious: Wait, you’re not affiliated with any tower? Don’t tell me you’re some backwater bumpkin teaching yourself magic…

There’s that old saying—“Even a beggar with style eats better.”
Honestly, even to me, I looked worse than most beggars right now.

Sure, I’m broke… but I’ve still got pride.

Slightly annoyed, I casually placed Crow’s emblem on the counter.

“Even without affiliation… what’s thi—HUH?!”

Her eyes bulged at the sight of Crow’s badge.

They widened. Then widened more. As if they were about to pop out of her skull.

Graphics glitch?

No, that couldn’t be. This was reality.

“Th-this, this is… C-c-crow’s Badg—h-hrk.”

Now it was an audio glitch?

Her system seemed to be crashing entirely as she stammered, head bobbing in confusion.

Then she slammed her head down on the counter.

“I didn’t do anything wr—I mean, I’m so sorry, sir!”

At this point, she was legitimately scaring me.

What the hell has Crow been doing out here?!

Just then, still half-bowing, she suddenly spun on her heels and bolted.

“P-please wait just one moment!!!”

Wait—what about my Adventurer’s license…?

—

Thanks to Crow’s Badge, I now found myself sipping tea in the Branch Director’s Office, being treated like royalty.

Did I plan for this? Of course not.

Across from me sat an absolute mountain of a man. His shirt looked ready to burst from the sheer size of the muscles packed into it, and his face was something between a bear and a boar—but he was smiling as he poured me tea.

I swear he’s way bigger than he looked in the game.

This was Kedgan Maddox, the Branch Director of Capital Branch No. 3.

Back when he was still active as an Adventurer, his reckless, bull-rush approach to monsters earned him the nickname “Burning Bear.”

Technically, he was still an Adventurer… just one who now “explored” paperwork in an office.

And here he was now, daintily pouring me tea.

But why?

That was the question pounding in my head.

Translatin_Otaku

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