Do ratmen dream of the sacred tree of spirits?

Chapter 114 Guarantee

Guarantee certificates from large shops, banks, or schools —

Having eaten nothing since morning, Fafnir decided to hold off and deal with the guarantee certificate issue first.

There are only a few small shops scattered around the mine, and they are not qualified to issue guarantee certificates for applicants to the mine.

"What? Generally speaking, this kind of certificate is not issued."

—Is it not impossible? What are the requirements?

—Is it absolutely necessary to have an account that's been held for at least three years and have a deposit of at least one pound sterling? Is there really no other way?—

Okay, sorry, thank you.

Fafnir walked for two hours before arriving at the nearest bank, where he was greeted by an impatient teller. The teller first informed Fafnir that such certificates were not usually issued, and then said that the conditions for issuing such a guarantee certificate were having an account for more than three years and a deposit of gold pounds.

Fortunately, there were many shops near the bank. Although there weren't many large shops, there were still some. After leaving the bank, Fafnir searched along the street, one shop at a time. Fafnir was a little apprehensive. The first shop he entered had a very large storefront, and it was also the most eye-catching and glamorous shop in the vicinity.

What a wonderful shop! Upon entering, Fafnir was somewhat surprised. It resembled a department store from his previous life, with a particularly spacious first floor where many customers were browsing and selecting goods. There were a dazzling array of products, each with its own counter. Each counter was a specially made square table, piled high with all sorts of fruits, meats, and daily necessities. There was even a counter for clothing and fabrics.

He felt there were more kinds of items than he had seen in his previous life. For example, there was smoked, cured, and fresh meat. Fafnir couldn't recognize all the different kinds of white and red meat; he was somewhat lost in thought.

"Hello, how can I help you? I'm a waiter here." Fafnir turned around in surprise and found a young woman in formal attire smiling at him. "Hello, I'm sorry, I'm not here to shop. I want to work at the mine factory and I need a job—"

"Heh, you want a guarantee certificate, huh? You're dressed fairly neatly, but you're just wasting my time! Go to the back office and find the manager." The waiter's tone turned sarcastic as he ran off to greet other customers.

Fafnir entered the manager's office. "Hello, I'd like to ask about the guarantee certificate—"

"Three silver shields, no bargaining," the manager said without looking up before Fafnir could finish speaking.

"I'm sorry, I might not be able to afford that price."

"Then get out of here! Take it or leave it! This price is already cheap!"

Fafnir stood frozen, unable to utter a single word of negotiation. "Get out of here!"

When Fafnir emerged from the shop, the sun was already setting in the west. Three silver shields—too expensive, he couldn't bear to part with them.

After walking through several blocks, Fafnir was met with either prices as high as three or four silver guilders or cold rejections. Fafnir's lips were cracked, and he felt a stinging pain in his throat every time he swallowed. His strength was also starting to wane. He had asked for directions to the school before, and he still wanted to try, even if he failed.

As darkness fell completely, Fafner quickened his pace, worried that it would be too late to see anyone from the school, or perhaps he wouldn't even be able to get through the school gates.

Fortunately, the gatekeeper, perhaps seeing that he was very young or perhaps mistaking him for a student, did not ask for a reason and allowed him to enter the school.

How envious I am! — Fafnir saw a few students, about his age, dressed neatly and appropriately. Although it was already evening, the school was brightly lit. Were those gas lamps? They were so bright, Fafnir thought, much brighter than the half-burnt candle on the table at Nina Collins' house.

After passing the open space between several school buildings, a group of students walked by, chatting and laughing. Fafnir quickly lowered his head and stepped aside to let them pass. What should he do?

Fafnir looked at the buildings, which were probably teaching buildings. There was a room with a light on on the ground floor of one of the buildings.

Fafnir peeked through the crack in the door and saw an old man in a gray robe sitting in the office. A book was open in front of him, and he was wearing glasses. His hair was almost completely white. After hesitating for a moment, Fafnir gently knocked on the door.

"Please come in."

"Hello, I'm so sorry to bother you."

"Who are you looking for so late?"

"Hello, I'd like to ask if you can issue a guarantee certificate here, the kind of guarantee certificate needed to go to the factory?" Fafnir asked, mustering his courage.

The old man closed the book and adjusted his glasses: "A guarantee certificate? You've come to the wrong place. The school doesn't issue these. You should go to a bank or a shop."

"I—I've been there. The bank requires a three-year account and a deposit of one gold pound, and the shop requires at least three silver guilders." Fafnir's voice lowered unconsciously.

The old man looked at him for a while, his gaze lingering on his clean but obviously poorly made coat: "Where are you from?"

"City of Cellars"

"What are you doing in the Steel City?"

"I've already asked around at factories to find work."

The old man didn't reply immediately: "The school only issues guarantee certificates to its own graduates; that's the rule. You're not a student here, so I can't give you one."

open."

Fafnir stood there, feeling as if something was stuck in his throat, and he suddenly felt extremely tired.

"I—I'm sorry," he opened his mouth, his voice a little hoarse, "Excuse me, I can do chores for you—sweeping, wiping windows, washing clothes, moving things, anything—I really shouldn't take it for free, I just—"

Fafnir couldn't continue; he didn't know how to go on. He just stood there, feeling his eyes sting.

The old man remained silent for a long time, the light shining on the deep wrinkles on his face, and he tapped his fingers lightly on the table a few times.

"Hmm—can you read?"

Fafnir paused for a moment, then nodded: "I recognize some."

"Okay, then,"

The old man looked at him for a while longer: "Come a little closer, come to the table."

Fafnir walked to the table, and the old man took out a pen and paper from the drawer and pushed them in front of Fafnir: "Write a few words for me to see, write why you came here, just write anything."

"Sorry, some of my spelling is wrong —" Fafnir can only write the common language of the Western Continent, which is similar to the common language of the Draco Kingdom, but there are still some differences in spelling.

After picking up the pen, Fafner thought for a few seconds, his hand trembling, and he wrote very slowly.

"I came here, I have nowhere to go, I'm just standing here, I have nothing to lose, I have no food to eat, I just want a job that can keep me standing."

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