A Bountiful Harvest

The next morning, shortly after Rhode and Serie had left the village, an uninvited guest arrived at Amuro's humble cottage.

"Old man, I've come to say goodbye."

Som stood outside the door, a bundle at his feet and his battle axe slung across his back, speaking in a solemn tone.

Amuro did not look up, focusing instead on the red-hot metal in the forge fire, as if he hadn't heard his own son's words, forcing Som to repeat himself.

Finally, Amuro stopped his work and sat down on a chair with his back to his son.

"Oh, I know, I understand. So you didn't listen to me after all."

He had already sensed something was off the night before, from the strange look on his son's face when he woke up.

He had hoped that inviting Serie to spar with him would make Som recognize his own limits and give up the idea of venturing out on an adventure. Instead, it had only pushed him to make up his mind.

In the end, he couldn't stop it—just like a hundred years ago, when he himself had stood before his own father.

Only this time, the roles were reversed, and he was the one on the opposing side. Only now could he understand how his father had felt back then.

"No, you wouldn't listen to my explanation anyway."

Som had long harbored the desire to go on an adventure. Whether or not he had sparred with Serie, he would have acted on it.

He wanted to prove, through an adventure, that he was a true and honorable Dwarf Champion, and make everyone in the village see him in a new light.

Having said that, Som picked up his bundle, turned, and left, but not before adding, "Take care, old man."

Only after Som had completely left the house did Amuro turn around, a helpless smile on his face.

He did not call out to stop his son, just as his own father had done back then.

On the other side, Rhode and Serie were walking along a small path. It was unclear which race had carved it out—or perhaps, as Xun Ge'er once said, there was no road in the world to begin with, but when many people walk the same way, a road naturally appears.

Looking at Rhode, who was carrying a large pack on his back, Serie couldn't help but ask, "Why are you bringing so much stuff?"

When she and Rhode had adventured before, they had carried very few items. She had even brought nothing at all, relying entirely on Rhode to feed her.

Back then, Rhode had carried a small, exquisitely made pack—one Serie had never seen crafted so finely, and it was also very durable.

According to the man, he had been adventuring for nearly a year, and the small pack was only slightly worn, with no major damage to its exterior.

But now, on Rhode's back, was a bundle clearly stitched by Dwarves, its appearance worlds apart from that small pack.

Everyone knew the Dwarves' craftsmanship—their consistent philosophy was "if it works, it works." The bundle Rhode now carried was full of patches and stitching marks.

In Serie's words, it was very ugly.

But for Rhode, as long as it worked, that was enough.

"Oh, nothing much—just some blankets and cookware. I didn't expect these Dwarves to be quite handy, actually."

Given Rhode's general opinion of Dwarves, this was indeed high praise. After all, you couldn't expect those burly hands that forged armor and weapons to pick up an embroidery needle and weave you delicate patterns.

Even so, Rhode was more than satisfied.

This was the benefit of encountering an advanced civilization—you could leap straight from a primitive society to the modern age in one go.

Rhode had crossed into this world during a picnic trip.

At the time, he had been carrying a small pack with some food inside, not even a single handy tool.

Fortunately, before his phone battery died, he had managed to cram in some wilderness survival knowledge from the internet. Then he felt a strange power surge within him.

He had survived until now by relying on the magic he awakened. As for his phone, it had long since turned into a brick from a dead battery, lying quietly at the bottom of his pack.

If only he had brought a solar-powered charger back then.

"What do you want for dinner? Mushroom soup sound good?"

Rhode couldn't wait to cook himself a pot of mushroom soup and taste it.

Before this, he hadn't been able to get his hands on a proper pot. He had to make do with grilled mushroom skewers to fill his stomach, and even boiling water was a struggle. Most of the time, he gambled on his luck and drank raw water straight.

Of course, there were lucky moments too—like when he found a hollow plant similar to bamboo. Cutting off a section gave him a small kettle, and by adding some tea-like leaves he had picked, he could brew a lovely afternoon tea.

Thinking about it, Rhode couldn't help but sigh—Amuro was truly a kind-hearted man.

Not only had he given Rhode a ton of stuff, but even when they left this morning, he had pulled out a handful of gold coins to offer him. Rhode had refused, though.

After all, not many creatures in this era recognized gold as currency. The Elf race, for instance, didn't acknowledge it at all.

Besides, the stuff was heavy, and Rhode wasn't keen on carrying it.

Times had changed, he supposed. Back before he crossed over, if he saw a pile of gold that big in front of him, he would have picked it up and run a marathon with it.

Now, it was just dead weight.

Still, just in case, Rhode took one coin. If he ever ran into someone who recognized its value, he could use it for trade.

"Sure."

Serie wasn't picky about the food Rhode made—after all, everything he cooked tasted good.

"Carrying all that stuff—don't you find it heavy?"

"Can't be helped, these are necessities. Look, I have to bring a blanket to sleep with, right? It's so cold at night—I can't just rely on a campfire to keep warm forever."

Serie opened her mouth, wanting to argue, but she had to admit Rhode's words made sense.

Besides, having a blanket while sleeping really would be more comfortable.

"Then what about these iron tools? They're too heavy—might as well throw them away."

"No way! As the ancients said, the pleasures of the palate are one of life's great joys. I can't just live a life of feast one day and famine the next, can I?"

"I can teach you the elves' Photosynthesis Magic. It'll let you go a whole month without eating."

Rhode stared at her in shock. "You don't mean you've been using that magic all along, do you?"

He seriously suspected that the petite Little Ancestor in front of him relied on this magic often.

After all, he couldn't imagine her foraging for food or cooking for herself. The most likely scenario was that she'd just cast Photosynthesis Magic on herself from time to time.

Serie fell silent. Clearly, Rhode's suspicion was correct.

Rhode sighed. "Serie, sometimes food isn't just about filling your stomach." He patted his pack. "Tonight, I'll let you taste different kinds of deliciousness."

Serie tilted her head, her golden hair fluttering in the wind. "Do as you please."

She didn't refuse. Clearly, our Miss Serie was also looking forward to what delicious meal this man would bring her tonight.