After Hunting Day, River Valley Town was noticeably quieter than the bustling, heated scene it had been before.
The young and middle-aged adventurers who had once traveled in dusty haste between the Adventurers Association and various cheap general stores, dressed in shabby equipment, had, before anyone knew it, vanished into the depths of the increasingly cold autumn wind.
Naturally, it could not have been because they had earned enough money and retired in satisfaction.
As for where they had gone... the much more fertile soil in Thin Mist Forest might have the answer.
What replaced them were the green, immature faces appearing one after another on the streets, the sudden surge in equipment sales at the blacksmith shops, and the [Adventurer's Manual], which had been nearly sold out in a short period of time.
The myth of an income that could save up enough money for a lifetime of happiness after two years of work, make the Sheriff who had always thrown his weight around in the village no longer dare to speak loudly to them, and even allow them to become a "Professional" and leap to a new station.
Adventurers, at least on the Aifala Continent, were never in short supply.
The White Tit Tavern was as lively as ever.
Its excellent location, coupled with prices far higher than the other taverns in town, meant that large numbers of veteran adventurers who were willing to spend money, and had money to spend, gathered here all year round.
And for these old hands who had been in the adventuring trade for many years, the so-called Hunting Day... truly was just a "happy festival" that came once a year, when their income shot up.
Of course, some people capsized, but very few.
Thus, no matter how deserted and "vibrant" the streets