I Acquire Overpowered Traits Just By Taking Damage

My excitement about the zero fare did not last long. The next day, I asked around the dockyard about what I should prepare for such a journey. That was when I realized just how unprepared—how utterly piss-poor—I really was for the venture.

You weren't supposed to plan for this sort of thing overnight. People prepared for these journeys for weeks, even months.

The ship would not provide provisions. I'd have to buy my own supplies, in large enough amounts to last the entire voyage. That alone would cost tens of silver.

Then there was the matter of weapons. It was expected that I bring at least one. In two months at sea, anything could happen: pirates, hostile navies, even brawls among the crew. And when we reached the new land, it was said to be both dangerous and too underdeveloped to have many smiths—or even a decent supply of iron.

I went to one of the town smiths to ask for the price of his cheapest sword. He said thirty silver.

I had never felt so naïve. Swords and plate armor were so abundant in my father's manor that I once thought they could be bought for pocket change. Now I learned that the armor worn by my father's knights—no, even by the lowly sergeant standing guard at the gate—was worth hundreds of gold pieces.

It was humbling, and embarrassing. To think I had even gone to meet the leader of the expedition myself. If he knew I had nothing but the clothes on my back, he might have laughed in my face.

I started to think perhaps this wasn't the way forward. Traveling to the fringes of the world as my first step after freedom suddenly seemed ridiculous.

In the midst of this inner debate—with the "pro-journey" side steadily losing ground—I spotted something that caught my eye. Likely because it had the word silver written on it.

In the town center, outside the citadel, stood a large wooden board plastered with posters. They contained tasks and requests from the local lord, nearby nobility, merchants, and even common folk.

Most required skill or a profession. Many demanded more than two days of work. Some I didn't even fully understand.

But one was straightforward. A poster from the captain of the watch:

"1 Greenstone = 3 silver coins."

In finer print were the details. Just like anywhere, greenskins were a persistent problem. I had learned from Sir Roland that while these creatures rarely posed a true threat, they were deceptively resilient and frustratingly difficult to wipe out. Reproducing like rodents, their numbers could swell dangerously if left unchecked.

The poster stated there had been recent greenskin activity east of town, including attacks on travelers.

Never before had I thought of myself as the warrior type. Because of my weakness, I had always been bookish, avoiding confrontation and conflict. Even now it felt surreal to consider the task.

But my traits had changed me. Not only could I not die, but blades cut me less deeply, wounds closed almost as soon as they opened, pain dulled to a faint echo, and my senses had sharpened beyond the ordinary.

As I was now, I was already a formidable warrior.

It was tempting. Only one problem: I still needed a weapon—the very thing I was trying to acquire. I supposed I could kill a goblin by beating it over the head with a stick, but they rarely came alone. They fought in hordes. Even if I didn't die and felt little pain, I doubted being skewered from every side by rusty weapons would be pleasant.

And retrieving the greenstone? One had to tear it out of their chests. That sounded gross.

I sighed and searched the board for other postings, not expecting anything as undemanding as the greenskin bounty.

My eyes nearly skimmed past one. It required magical ability. But I stopped when I saw it—not because of the word silver this time, but water.

"For Water Mages."

It was a request from an alchemist for a sea herb. I hadn't heard of "Fishweed" before, but apparently it grew in the sea and was quite valuable. The offer was ten silver per root.

Ten roots, and my problem would be solved.

It seemed too good to be true. So I went to verify the offer myself.

The request came from Langston's Alchemy, a well-known establishment. It was only a short walk away, directly across from the citadel at the far end of the town plaza.

When I entered the high-end shop, the alchemist himself wasn't there. The shelves brimmed with curiosities that glowed faintly with strange light. The price tags were astonishing.

Behind the counter stood an apprentice, a young man just a few years younger than me.

"The poster about the sea herb—Fishweed, I think it was called. Can I ask for more details?" I said, summoning what little bravery I had.

He already looked annoyed that someone dressed like a commoner dared to enter a shop that sold magical items—items usable only by mages, and therefore by nobles.

"Have you read it properly? Can you even read? It said it was only for water mages," he said sharply.

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. He wouldn't believe me if I told him I could breathe underwater. Not even water mages could do that without potions or spells.

"I'm asking… for my master," I said instead. "He's a water mage."

For a moment, I feared he would ask who. I knew a couple of water mages, but I wasn't sure if my father's lands stretched far enough for their names to carry weight here.

"What does your master want to know about the herb?" he finally asked, softening slightly.

"Uh… what he needs to know to do the job," I answered vaguely.

The apprentice sighed and reached into a drawer.

"Fishweed," he recited, as though repeating a script he'd said a thousand times. "Found clinging to sea rocks and reefs. Typically grows about thirty feet below the surface. Can be stubborn to pluck, so it's important not to rush. It's recommended that one full casting of Aqua Breathing be spent per plant."

When he emerged from beneath the counter, he handed me a paper with an ink drawing of the plant.

"That's what it looks like. And obviously, the paper isn't waterproof, so your master should take the time to memorize it."