Chapter 12: A Bountiful Harvest
Early the next morning, not long after Rhodes and Serie had left the village, Amuro's humble workshop received an unexpected visitor.
"Old man, I've come to say goodbye."
A pack sat at his feet, his battle-axe slung over his back. Somme stood at the doorway, his tone solemn.
Amuro didn't look up. He remained focused on the searing metal in the forge, as if he hadn't heard his son's words at all. Somme was forced to repeat himself.
Finally, Amuro stopped his work. He sat down on a chair, his back still to his son. "Oh, I know. I understand. So you've decided not to listen to me after all."
He had noticed the strange look in his son's eyes when he woke up last night. He had hoped that having Serie spar with him would make him realize his own lack of strength and abandon his foolish idea of adventuring. He hadn't expected it would only strengthen his resolve.
In the end, he couldn't stop him, just as his own father hadn't been able to stop him a hundred years ago. Only this time, the roles were reversed. He was now the one standing in opposition, and only now did he truly understand his father's heart back then.
"No. You wouldn't listen to my explanation anyway," Somme replied. The desire to go on an adventure had been growing in him for a long time. The sparring match with Serie hadn't changed that; it had merely been a catalyst. He would have left regardless. He had to prove, through an adventure of his own, that he was a true and proper dwarven warrior, one that would make the whole village look at him with newfound respect.
With that, Somme picked up his pack and turned to leave. Just before he walked out, he added, "Take care of yourself, old man."
Only after Somme had completely left the workshop did Amuro turn around, a helpless smile on his face. He hadn't said a word to stop his son, just as his own father had not.
Meanwhile, Rhodes and Serie were walking along a narrow path. They had no idea which race had carved it out of the wilderness. Perhaps it was as the old saying went: the world originally had no paths, but when many people walk the same way, a path is born.
Seeing Rhodes laden with a massive pack, Serie couldn't help but ask, "Why are you carrying so much?"
During their adventure before, Rhodes had carried very little. She, herself, had carried nothing at all, relying entirely on him for food. Back then, Rhodes had a small, exquisitely crafted bag. Serie had never seen one so well-made and durable. According to him, he had been adventuring for nearly a year, yet the bag showed only minor signs of wear.
But now, he was carrying a pack that was clearly of dwarven make, one whose appearance was a world away from his old bag. Everyone knew the quality of dwarven craftsmanship: their one and only philosophy was 'if it works, it works'. The pack on Rhodes's back was a testament to this, covered in all manner of rough patchwork and stitching.
In Serie's words, it was ugly.
But to Rhodes, as long as it worked, it was perfect.
"Oh, it's nothing. Just some blankets and cookware. I never thought these dwarves would be so skillful with their hands."
Considering Rhodes's preconceived notions about dwarves, 'skillful' was high praise indeed. You couldn't exactly expect hands large enough to forge armor and weapons to nimbly handle a needle and thread and produce delicate embroidery. Even so, Rhodes was more than satisfied. This was the benefit of encountering an advanced civilization: a great leap from a primitive existence into a more modern one.
Rhodes had been on a hiking trip when he was transported to this world. He had only a small backpack with some food and not a single proper tool. Fortunately, his phone had been full of wilderness survival guides. He had frantically crammed as much knowledge as he could before the battery died, and at the same time, had felt a strange new power welling up inside him. He had survived until now thanks to his awakened magic. As for his phone, it had long since run out of power and now lay, a silent brick, at the bottom of his pack.
If only I had brought a solar-powered charger.
"What do you want to eat tonight? How about some mushroom soup?"
Rhodes could hardly wait to brew a pot of mushroom soup and taste it. Before, he hadn't been able to get his hands on a decent pot and had to subsist on roasted mushroom skewers. Even boiling water was a challenge; most of the time, he had to gamble and drink it raw. There had been some lucky days, of course, like when he found a hollow, bamboo-like plant. He would cut a section to use as a small kettle, throw in some leaves from a plant that resembled tea, and enjoy a lovely cup of afternoon tea.
Thinking about it now, Rhodes felt a sense of gratitude. Amuro was a good-hearted dwarf. Not only had he given him a mountain of supplies, but as they were leaving that morning, he had tried to press a handful of gold coins into Rhodes's hand. Rhodes had refused. In this era, not many races recognized gold as currency. The elves, at least, certainly didn't. Besides, the stuff was heavy, and Rhodes had no desire to carry it.
How times had changed. Before he was transported here, he would have run a marathon for a pile of gold that large. Now, it was just a burden. Still, just in case, Rhodes had taken a single coin. If he ran into someone who did recognize it, it could still be useful for trade.
"That is acceptable," Serie replied. She was never picky about the food Rhodes made. It was always delicious. "But aren't you carrying too much? Isn't it heavy?"
"It can't be helped. These are all necessities. See? Blankets for sleeping are a must, right? It gets cold at night, and we can't always rely on a fire for warmth."
Serie opened her mouth to argue, but she had to admit he had a point. And a blanket would indeed be very comfortable to sleep with. "Then what about all this ironware? It's too heavy. You should throw it away."
"Absolutely not! As the ancient sages said, the pleasure of the palate is one of life's greatest joys. I have no desire to live a hard life, uncertain of my next meal."
"I could teach you the elven photosynthesis spell. With it, you wouldn't need to eat for a month."
Rhodes looked at her with suspicion. "You've used that spell often, haven't you?" He had a strong feeling that the little Grand Master before him used it frequently. He couldn't imagine her foraging for food or cooking for herself. The most likely scenario was that she would just cast a photosynthesis spell on herself from time to-time.
Serie's silence was a clear confirmation of his suspicions.
Rhodes sighed. "Serie, sometimes food is about more than just filling your stomach." He patted his pack. "Tonight, I'll let you taste a different kind of delicious."
Serie tilted her head, her golden hair fluttering in the wind. "Do as you wish."
It wasn't a refusal. Clearly, our elven miss was also looking forward to whatever delicacy the man would whip up for her that evening.