Chapter : 8
Even after that, I continued interviewing the monsters who wanted to join the company.
It seemed the talk about how difficult it was for monsters to find jobs wasn’t just an exaggeration. The applicants just kept coming.
The next applicant after the skeleton was a low-ranking goblin. Without his glasses, he had gentle, innocent-looking eyes that made him look rather cute.
With his glasses on… I didn’t even want to imagine it.
The goblin went on and on about his difficult family circumstances, pleading that he needed to find a stable job so he could support his sick mother and younger siblings.
Why would someone like that choose a place like this of all places…?
I felt so guilty that I almost wanted to suggest he look for a job in another dungeon instead.
Then there was…
“If you just hire me, I’ll work like a dog! Grrk!”
…a kobold with a head that looked like a bulldog’s.
“I’ll take care of all the dungeon cleaning!”
…And a slime that enthusiastically crawled around on the floor.
After the interviews were over, I sat at my desk with resumes spread out across it, clutching my head in frustration.
Just then, Brownie casually flew over and asked,
“So, how was it? They were probably all pretty much the same, but were there any that stood out?”
“They’re all the same.”
They really were all the same.
As soon as Low-Ranking Goblin No. 1 left, Low-Ranking Goblin No. 2 came in. That was pretty much how it went.
Their levels, attack power, and defense were all similar, and none of them had any special attributes.
On top of that, as if they’d all planned it together, every single one of their certification sections was completely blank, and their work experience was identical, too.
I’d been hoping to see something like the Trap Design Certification Brownie had mentioned, so it was a real disappointment.
“I told you. If they’re applying to a dungeon like ours that doesn’t even have a reputation yet, they’re all going to be low-level candidates.”
Even the monsters’ desired salaries were exactly the same.
Five hundred Eon per week.
“What on earth can you even do with 500 Eon?”
“It’s enough to buy snacks a few times in a human village. That’s about it.”
According to Brownie’s explanation, 100 Eon seemed to be worth roughly 1,000 won in my hometown. That made it even harder for me to understand.
“What? But they all said they’d be fine working for just that much every week.”
“It’s because they know that’s about what they’re worth.”
“Even so…”
“Monsters hardly ever get a chance to earn human money. Getting a job in a dungeon is practically their only option.”
“Why do they even need to earn human money in the first place?”
Right. That was what seemed strange to me. They were monsters, so why did they need human money?
“Monsters aren’t allowed to form communities outside dungeons. The temples strictly prohibit it. If they discover a large group of monsters gathering together, they’ll immediately send out a subjugation force. In a way, dungeons serve as their protection.”
Brownie explained this as if it were nothing unusual.
“That’s why their level of civilization is far behind, and they have no choice but to depend on human society. Useful equipment, medicine, food supplies—they have to buy all of it from humans.”
“Hmm…”
As I listened to Brownie’s explanation, I realized something important.
Monsters were forbidden from forming groups outside, but they could do so inside dungeons. If that was the case, then… shouldn’t dungeons provide an environment where monsters could build their own societies?
“The Demon God really is too cruel! If all monsters were stupid, they could live without even realizing what they were missing. But instead, He went and gave them high intelligence, making them long for human society!”
Brownie’s words sounded rather chilling.
“I see…”
For some reason, I was left with a bitter taste in my mouth.
“So, what are you going to do about hiring them?”
I spread ten resumes across the desk.
“What? You’re planning to hire ten monsters at once? You’re going all out right from the start!”
I’d selected these ten after carefully considering their personalities and attitudes during the interviews, since their qualifications were practically identical.
“Here’s how I see it. Honestly, there’s no point in trying to run a dungeon with just two or three weak monsters. If we try to save money that way, we’ll only end up being mediocre. In the end, we’ll have to overwhelm our opponents with numbers.”
Why were swarms of rats or mosquitoes so frightening when you encountered them as enemies in a game?
Because even if each individual creature was weak, things changed when dozens of them attacked all at once.
If you gathered a hundred monsters that each dealt one point of damage, you’d end up with a total of 100 damage.
“But there’s one problem. With ten monsters, their weekly wages alone would amount to 5,000 Eon. Even if we assume we’re paying nothing but their salaries, we’d only last nineteen weeks—about four months.”
If there was one good thing I could say about the CEO of my previous company, it was that he had never been late paying our salaries.
So I wanted to make sure I paid my own employees on time, at the very least.
“We need to earn at least 5,000 Eon every week. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Our dungeon doesn’t have a reputation yet. Adventurers probably don’t even know it exists. It’ll be difficult without advertising.”
So this was a matter of marketing.
“Still, I feel like we need at least ten monsters if we’re going to function like a proper dungeon…”
“Then just give it a try. If things don’t work out, you can fire them all. Just call it a probationary period! We haven’t even tested how they’ll perform in actual combat yet, have we?”
She looked so adorable, yet she said such terrifying things as casually as if they were nothing.
Of course, companies sometimes had probationary periods to assess employees’ actual work performance and ability to adapt to the organization…
“Maybe we’ll figure out the best approach by putting them to work and seeing how things go… Wait.”
Suddenly, Brownie stopped talking and turned to look toward the exit.
“I just heard the sound of money. A little clink.”
“Huh?”
“Someone must have put money in the offering box!”
Before I could even ask another question, she shot off at incredible speed.
The distance between the office and the exit was considerable. How on earth had she heard a coin drop from all the way over there?
Brownie returned almost immediately, looking utterly flustered as she clutched a single brass-colored coin tightly against her chest.
“This is bad! Whatever happens, hire them first! We don’t have time to think!”
“Huh?”
“A challenger will arrive when the sun rises! Look! Someone put 100 Eon in the offering box!”
Until yesterday, the offering box had been completely empty. Had someone really put money in it?
“It’ll be a disaster if a challenger arrives and finds the dungeon completely empty!”
“You said nobody knew this place existed because it didn’t have a reputation!”
An adventurer was already coming to challenge us when we hadn’t prepared anything at all!
I’d only just finished interviewing the monsters!
“I don’t know either! Maybe someone happened to pass by and discover it. What should we do? I’m so nervous, but I’m also so happy! The dungeon is finally going to open! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?”
Brownie spun around in circles, clutching the coin tightly, looking as though she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
I was so confused that my head felt like it was spinning.
“Th-then we’d better contact the successful applicants right away… But how are we supposed to…”
“What’s so complicated about that? We’ve got this.”
Brownie opened her mouth wide and pointed it toward the desk, just as she had when she handed me the emergency funds she’d saved up earlier.
A dusty object about the size of my palm popped out of her mouth.
“Is this… a stamp?”
“It’s the authority over the dungeon that the Demon King transferred to you. Just stamp each resume with this. Bam! Then the monsters will become bound to this dungeon. That means they’re officially under contract!”
“You mean stamping the resumes is enough to finalize the contracts?”
“Of course, these are limited contracts that remain valid only as long as you pay them the agreed-upon compensation. Once the monsters are bound to the dungeon, you can summon them to it anytime, anywhere. Hurry up and sign the contracts!”
I picked up the stamp and examined its underside.
The words [Hired] were engraved on it in unusual characters. It was the same stamp that had been used on my own resume.
“Hurry! Hurry!”
“I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I…?”
Unable to withstand Brownie’s relentless urging, I stamped the ten resumes I’d selected, one after another.
BAM!
The moment the red [Hired] stamp landed on each resume, the paper began to glow red.
Brownie immediately shouted at the glowing resumes.
“The contracts are finalized, so get to work right now! You slaves!”
Before her shout had even faded, the resumes rose into the air and soon transformed into the monsters I’d interviewed earlier.
Murmur, murmur.
They looked around blankly, apparently unable to understand what was happening. Then, all at once, they erupted into cheers.
“Waaaaah! I finally got a job!”
“Mom! Dad! I can finally take care of you!”
“I’m a proper dungeon monster now! Kraaagh!”
The monsters hugged one another or dropped to their knees on the floor, reveling in the joy of finally finding employment.
The once-quiet dungeon became noisy and lively with the arrival of all the monsters.
“Thank you so much for hiring me! I’ll work hard!”
“No matter what kind of adventurer challenges us, I’ll do my best to squeeze every last bit of fear out of them! Rattle, rattle.”
They were so happy that I couldn’t bring myself to mention the probationary period.
I put on a benevolent expression and thought to myself,
Fine. Since things have turned out this way, I’ll just make them all full-time employees…
All I have to do is somehow earn 5,000 Eon every week, right? And I’ve already earned 100 Eon…
That means I only need forty-nine more adventurers who each pay 100 Eon to visit.
“Quiet down, you slaves!”
Brownie shouted, pouring cold water over their celebrations.
“From this moment on, you’re all expected to risk your lives working for this dungeon! You’d better listen to me, and you’d better listen to the person in charge here, Chihuahua!”
Hearing that familiar nickname out of nowhere, I nearly stumbled.
“Chihuahua? Why are you calling me that, too?”
“Because your name was Chihuahua when you made the contract with the Demon King.”
“No, that was…! That was a nickname. It’s not my name!”
“There’s nothing we can do about it. The contract was clearly made between the Demon King and Chihuahua, wasn’t it? So if you’re not Chihuahua, all your authority over the dungeon will disappear.”
If I lost my authority here, I wouldn’t be able to keep working in the dungeon.
In the end, gritting my teeth in frustration, I had no choice but to accept Brownie calling me Chihuahua.
