The Road Ahead Is Long

Making one's way in another world was hardly a romantic affair. Between thrilling ruins, magic, colossal beasts, and heroic tales, there were far more practical problems that had to be faced—such as sleeping rough in the wilderness and figuring out how to fill one's stomach.

The escape had been rushed from start to finish. Especially after the castle had fallen and they had fought alongside the last few personal guards until the very end, no one could possibly have found time to pack a bag full of rations. Besides, they had set out from the ancestral tomb, which did not look like the sort of place where food would be stored...

So when Amber got hungry, everyone realized the pressing problem before them.

The surrounding area was barren, so bare that not even a blade of grass could be seen. On the other side of the hill lay the burning ruins of Cecil Territory, but a little farther downhill, there was a dense forest.

In this magic-version medieval world, forests beyond the towns were synonymous with danger. Where the lights of civilization could not reach, there were only wild beasts, bandits, and monsters. But forests also meant one other thing: there would be more food.

And to reach Tanzan Town in the north, they had no choice but to pass through this forest.

The group found a flat, open area at the edge of the woods to rest temporarily, then began assigning people to search for food.

Gawain first glanced at the rather dull-looking little maid. This girl named Betty truly had little presence, yet she was surprisingly brave. When the giant dragon had arrived earlier, she had not even cried in fright—though perhaps she had simply been scared stupid and failed to react. Even now, the girl was still gripping that frying pan tightly, standing there with nervous unease. When she noticed Gawain's gaze, she drew her neck in slightly.

"Betty, Heti, Rebecca, the three of you will stay here. Byron, stay behind as their guard," Gawain said. "Everyone else will hunt with me. Including you, Amber."

Betty had no combat ability. Heti and Rebecca were different as mages, but neither was suited to chasing wild animals through the forest. Besides, their energy had been heavily depleted. Since the battle in the castle, they had not had a chance to meditate and recover. That was a fatal problem for Spellcasters, who needed a sound mental state to use their strength. They might as well stay behind and guard the camp. If they could restore some mana quickly, they would have more combat power for the journey ahead.

The three loyal family soldiers naturally had no objections to the arrangement, but Amber widened her eyes. "Why do I have to go too? I'm exhausted as well!"

Gawain glared at her. "Touch your ears. You have at least half some elf blood in you. Aren't you ashamed to claim your ancestors lived in trees if you won't even follow me into the woods to hunt?"

Amber pursed her lips, full of resentment. "That's racial prejudice—who told you elves always hunted in forests? I learned stealth, not forest ranging..."

"You dug up my grave."

Amber: "...Fine."

Gawain led three soldiers and one Half-elf who claimed she could not hunt into the forest, leaving the loyal Knight Byron and three ladies to watch over the temporary camp.

After using what little magic power she had left to set up several warning runes, Heti sat wearily on a rock. Meanwhile, Rebecca led Betty on a circuit within Knight Byron's watch range, then returned carrying a small bundle of dead branches gathered nearby.

After piling the branches on the ground, Rebecca stepped back two paces, raised her staff, and chanted the most basic ignition spell. An unstable explosive fireball gathered in the air.

Heti stopped her before the fireball could explode. "Forget it. I'll do it."

After lighting the campfire with a more normal magic flame, the chill accumulated in the underground tunnel and the predawn wind was finally driven gradually from their bodies. Heti let out a breath and looked at Rebecca helplessly. "When will you learn magic other than the Fireball Spell..."

Rebecca lowered her head in shame. "I'm sorry, Aunt."

"Don't look so pathetic so easily. Even when apologizing, don't hang your head like that," Heti said, rubbing her forehead even more helplessly. "You are the one inheriting the title, do you understand? Your performance today... honestly, that ancestor was probably very disappointed, even if he did not show it."

Rebecca immediately became nervous. "Then... then what should I do?"

Heti froze for a moment, then sighed. "Sigh, what can we do? Look at the state of the family now. I'm afraid not a single descendant of the Cecil Family could make our ancestor satisfied. What we have become... is truly unworthy of the family's former glory."

Rebecca pressed her lips together tightly. Having grown up following the usual path of a noble child, everything she had experienced recently had far exceeded her understanding. No teacher had ever told her how to deal with such things—whether it was the Magic Tide and the monster attack, or the fact that her ancient ancestor had climbed out of a coffin. All of it had left this young viscountess at a complete loss.

After a moment of silence, Rebecca finally gathered her courage. "Aunt, do you think our ancestor... truly came back to life?"

Heti looked into Rebecca's eyes. It was easy for her to guess what her niece was thinking.

"Do you doubt our ancestor, or do you doubt his resurrection?"

"Actually, I know I shouldn't doubt it, but this... really is hard to believe."

"I feel the same way, but the facts are right before us." Heti shook her head. "Do you remember the first lesson every magic apprentice must learn? Not theoretical knowledge or magic formulas, but a saying: Reality may run contrary to common sense, but reality is always reality. That saying holds true outside the realm of magic as well."

Seeing Rebecca fall into thought, Heti added quietly, "No matter why our ancestor awakened from his long sleep, the resurrection of the Cecil Family's ancestor must be accepted as fact..."

Betty glanced at the two Mistresses and found that she could not understand a word of what they were discussing. So she lowered her head and continued hugging her precious frying pan as she stared blankly ahead.

Before long, Gawain returned from the hunt with three soldiers and one Amber.

Their haul was not particularly abundant, but it was satisfactory enough. They had brought back three rabbits and two large birds with gorgeous feathers whose names they did not know. They had also picked a huge assortment of wild fruit. Filling their stomachs would not be a problem.

Watching Amber deftly and skillfully dress the carcasses, Gawain curled his lip. "You said you couldn't hunt, yet you handle this as skillfully as a Grey Elf from Mosswood Forest."

Mosswood Forest was a vast woodland on the border between the Ansu Kingdom and the Ogre Tribes Nation to the west. The Grey Elves who lived there—a subspecies of elves—were considered the finest hunters in the world. In terms of pursuing prey through dense forest, they were even better than Forest Elves. After realizing he badly needed to make up for his lack of common knowledge about this world, Gawain had taken to browsing through the memory bank in his mind whenever he had nothing to do. He had only just found this information and was already putting it to use.

Trying hard to pretend he was a proper local.jpg.

Without looking up, Amber replied while cleaning out the insides of the gorgeous bird, "Just what I'd expect from a great hero from Seven Hundred Years Ago—your Grey Elf stories must be at least several centuries old, right? Do you know that Grey Elves are in the medicinal herb import-export business now and don't hunt anymore?"

Gawain: "..."

Amber kept working, skillfully skewering the cleaned prey on a long wooden stick and setting it beside the campfire. Then she glanced at Gawain. "I'm telling you, I really can't hunt. Though I have half elf blood, I've lived in human society ever since I could remember. An old thief raised me..."

"Then these skills..."

"Even if I can't hunt, I can steal chickens." Amber smiled like a child who could chat and laugh with the victim right after digging up their ancestral grave. "That's when I learned these skills."

Gawain: "..."

Heti, who had heard Amber's words from nearby, frowned slightly. "How utterly vulgar."

Amber wagged a finger. "Yes, yes, I'm utterly vulgar. What can I do? I'm a thief. All I can do is occasionally pick a few copper coins from passersby's pockets. I can't compare to nobles like you, who live in castles and openly take money from your subjects' pockets."

Before Miss Amber had even finished speaking, Knight Byron's longsword left its sheath with a sharp clang, its blade pressed against her neck.

Cold sweat immediately broke out on the Half-elf.

Gawain waved a hand, signaling Byron to put away his sword. Then he looked at Amber curiously. "I've been wondering—leaving everything else aside, how have you avoided getting beaten to death with that mouth of yours?"

Before the Half-elf Miss could answer, Gawain was already shaking his head and imitating her tone. "Top-notch escape skills—right?"

Amber: "..."

"Enough. Put aside whatever class conflicts or ideological disputes you have for now. We're all in the same boat now." Gawain exhaled, casually picked up a fruit from beside him, and brought it to his mouth. "Everyone restore your strength first. Those who use magic, hurry and meditate to recover your mana. We must leave before noon. We already spent one night underground, and we cannot waste the entire next day as well."

"Betty, put that aside for now," Rebecca reminded her little maid kindly after glancing at her. "You don't need it right now."

Betty looked at her Mistress, then at the frying pan in her hands, as though she had fallen into a dilemma.

Gawain was a little curious. "Why have you been carrying that pan the whole time?"

Betty seemed somewhat afraid of Gawain. She shrank her neck and gripped the handle tightly. "Mrs. Hanson told me that from now on, I would be responsible for frying sausages and bread slices... with this frying pan."

"Mrs. Hanson managed the castle kitchen," Heti explained quietly to Gawain. "But she is already dead."

Gawain sighed and looked at the freckled little girl.

"This pan is yours. It will always be yours from now on," he said. "But for now, you can set it aside and come eat."

(Second update is here!!)