SSS-Rank Slap Skills Turned Me Too OP

Arthur stepped outside and took a deep breath of the fantasy world’s air—a world beautifully described by a NovelFire that earned absolutely nothing,

not even reaching the Minimum Guaranteed System, despite being categorized as a male fantasy book, complete with power-trip escapism stuffed inside.

With Bounchiechomie clinging faithfully to his shoulder, he made up his mind to head for the Adventurer’s Guild.

"Better go there than rot in Casca’s damn house," he muttered,

striding toward the guild with zero expectations and a wallet just as empty.

Arthur walked down the city street, now thick with the scent of greasy food, the sweat of overworked laborers, and the illusion of a productive life. Between rows of half-finished stone buildings and crooked wooden panels, he spotted a small tavern.

Its paint was peeling, the sign hung askew, and faint smoke drifted from its window—maybe from the kitchen, maybe from the charred remains of teenage dreams.

In front of the tavern stood a man in a dull brown cloak.

His face was forgettable—just another NPC who never got voice acting.

But his eyes were sharp, like a stray cat that knew how to tell food from traps.