Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World: Volume 8 [Parts 1 to 2] by Schuld

Author:Schuld
Language: eng
Format: epub

[Tips] “To cover oneself in soot” is a provincial Rhinian expression, referring to the act of becoming an adventurer. Although such aspirations are all well and good, many beginner adventurers who lose heart take inspiration from the lowest rank to air their grievances.

Maybe since I’d become a familiar face at the restaurant, a lot of regulars had started asking whether I was going to be adopted. Even though Fidelio and Shymar were madly in love, the two of them didn’t have any children. Folks must’ve thought Fidelio’d fished up a capable son to cement their transition from simply an item to an honest-to-goodness family.

Naturally, they tended to be taken a little aback when I flashed my tag and gave the boilerplate “no, legitimately, we’re just coworkers” spiel.

It was no real shock to me, though; the name “Goldilocks” might have carried some weight in certain circles around here, but I was hardly a household brand among the normies. Or perhaps they had taken one look at my small frame and decided that adventuring wasn’t the job for me.

What I wouldn’t give for another head of height and some homegrown beef on these bones. If things had been going to plan, I would be nearing 180 cm in the peak of my growing period.

It’s not that I disliked the idea of being all secretly skinny-ripped, but to be frank I longed for the sturdy frame that my old teacher Lambert had. Now there was a textbook Tough Guy; just looking at him made me feel like anyone would feel safe leaving him watching their six.

Like, come on, tell me you wouldn’t find it in you to charge a block of pikemen with nothing but a firm grip on your zweihander if it was him leading you. The magistrate had recruited him personally because he was just that obviously beastly. I’d made myself an absolute fiend for meat and worked my body to the bone in the hopes that I’d come out even a little bit like him, but my results were pretty unremarkable.

To put things in Hollywood terms, I was shooting for a Dwayne Johnson look, but I topped out around a Chris Evans, which just doesn’t cut it if you ask me. Go big or go home, you know?

Ugh, pleeease let me be a reliable frontliner—190 cm tall, 120 kg, and at least an 18 in STR.

“Then why are you pouring EXP into magic proficiency?” I hear you cry, and, well, you might have a point.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about? Is it icky?”

I felt a soft sensation on my head—the now long-familiar weight of a sprightly alfish body sprawled amidst my locks. Lottie had come out to chat. I supposed she’d been waiting to show herself until the last customer saw themselves out—not that anyone would have seen her if she didn’t want to.

“I was just thinking that I wished I was a little bit taller, and that it’d be pretty damn nice to have a cool scar like that young adventurer I met the other day.

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