Frieren World.
Since heavy weapons were hard to obtain abroad, Yuhran first returned to his home country and used offline channels to get what he wanted.
Its name was—
Rebar.
As the saying goes, the staff is the ancestor of all weapons. Though not sharp, it can both attack and defend; blunt force alone is enough to kill if it lands solidly on a person.
Rebar was even more so.
"Whoosh—whoosh—!"
Inside the small wooden house, Yuhran swung it several times. The air split with thunderous cracks, one after another.
When the black, threaded metal rod head stopped abruptly in front of the wooden bed, Yuhran finally let out a long breath and shook his sore wrist.
—Heavy. Very heavy.
This was specially customized, weighing thirty jin (about 15 kg).
In the past, even lifting it with one hand was a struggle, but now he could swing it with ease, as if it were an extension of his own body.
Creak.
Just as Yuhran was thinking about where he could best put this weapon's advantages to use—
After all, boys are boys. No matter the age, the love for weapons is like seeing a stick and instinctively wanting to smack roadside flowers with it—
The door slowly opened. Miliarde walked in leisurely, carrying a bottle of wine.
Her emerald-green eyes carried a hint of laziness and ease. She was long used to Yuhran's sudden appearances.
She got straight to the point:
"You're finally back. When are we leaving?"
Miliarde herself didn't mind staying here. When she had nothing to do, she often stayed in one place for decades at a time.
But this time was different. She had Emperor's Wine on her mind, and Yuhran had his own needs, so she urged him on:
"Let's get moving already. Didn't you want to learn magic?"
"Think about it carefully—since we arrived in this village, more than eighty days and nights have passed."
"If we stay any longer, I'm afraid that by the time we reach the royal capital, the emperor will have changed again. If that happens, I'll have to wait another few decades just to drink wine."
So-called Emperor's Wine was a wine brewed to celebrate an emperor's accession to the throne.
Hearing this, Yuhran nodded lightly. But before that, there was still one matter that had to be settled properly.
—Food.
"Food?" Miliarde raised an eyebrow.
"That's right. When we travel, the cellar can't just follow us around," Yuhran explained.
"So I need you to move everything back first. Next time we come, we'll find a new cellar and move it back again. That shouldn't be too hard for you, right?"
As he spoke, Yuhran slung the rebar behind his back, tying it upright like a bundle of firewood with a slipknot.
He walked to Miliarde's side, pushed the door open, and sunlight poured in. Looking out at the scenery beyond, he turned back and said:
"Think about it—you've eaten quite a lot of my food these days. You wouldn't refuse to help with such a small favor, would you?"
"Of course not."
Miliarde shook her head. It was just object-transportation magic.
The mana consumption wasn't even one-thousandth of her total reserves.
"Oh, right."
Miliarde stepped closer to Yuhran, about to ask when exactly they would start working. But Yuhran suddenly remembered something.
Rubbing his chin, he thought:
If we have to worry about food every time we travel, that's way too troublesome… Is there something like a storage ring?
So he changed the topic and asked:
"Do you mages know spatial storage magic?"
"You know… the kind that can compress and store a large number of items into a very small, portable, independent space, and let you take them out whenever you need?"
"If that exists, future travels would be much easier. Food could be preserved long-term, and we wouldn't be restricted by geography."
"..."
Miliarde's mouth opened, then closed again. She froze on the spot.
Spatial storage?
Why was it that everything Yuhran said always sounded so absurd?
Space—was that something you could just manipulate at will?
She wracked her brains but couldn't imagine what it would look like to store objects in thin air.
Letting out a breath, she shook her head and replied:
"I can't do that. Maybe some elves can, but elves are extremely rare—you might encounter one once every hundred years."
"Yuhran… you probably won't live that long, will you?"
There it was. The moment he heard "a hundred years," Yuhran knew there was no hope.
He'd have to place his expectations on the Goddess after all.
After a bit of thought, he stopped dwelling on it, turned, and went out to inform the village chief about their departure.
However, after only a few steps, the sound of pounding hooves suddenly came from not far away.
"Horses?"
Yuhran stopped, a trace of confusion flashing in his eyes, followed immediately by delight.
Wait—how did he forget about that?
Was it because this wasn't ancient China, so he'd subconsciously ignored it?
First impressions really were misleading. Not everyone liked walking like elves did.
"Miliarde, come out—can you ride a horse?"
Yuhran called back. Just then, the clop-clop of hooves came to an abrupt halt.
Before he could hear Miliarde's reply, a voice from outside made the expression on his face stiffen.
It was a man shouting loudly:
"Everyone in the village, listen up! Hand over all your gold coins, grain, and valuables!"
"We are the Golden Vipers! From now on, this village belongs to us!"
"If you can't hand over food and gold, you'll pay with your lives!"
"!"
What an arrogant tone.
Yuhran instinctively looked in the direction of the voice.
Though his view was blocked by rows of wooden houses, he could easily imagine the smug, domineering expression on the speaker's face.
Bandits existed in this world too?
Thinking about it carefully, that was normal enough.
With monsters everywhere, mages not engaging in production, and seemingly few in number—
If the lower classes couldn't get enough to eat, turning to plunder was only natural.
Miliarde frowned as she walked out of the wooden house.
Many villagers came out with her.
Unlike her calm expression, every one of the villagers wore looks of tension and despair.
A few elderly people were already trembling.
Again. Once every half year.
They vaguely remembered that the last group had been a bandit gang called Bloodfang. How had they been wiped out by these Golden Vipers in just half a year?
The villagers silently prayed that these bandits would be easier to deal with—take money but spare lives. Otherwise…
Yuhran narrowed his eyes. With the situation unclear, he quietly grabbed a cloak and draped it over himself.
Then he followed the villagers toward the village square.
By now, the square was already packed tightly with people.
All of them squatting.
In front of them stood more than a dozen men wearing animal hides, mounted on horses, their gear a mismatched mix that included chainmail.
The leader had a vertical scar on his face, chin raised, looking down his nose at others. None of them looked particularly clean—scruffy beards, more like beggars than soldiers.
Whether they were strong or not was unclear.
But Yuhran glanced at the rebar on his back—hidden beneath the cloak—and thought to himself:
I wonder what would happen if a warrior in this world got hit by several hundred jin of steel-driven force?
Wait. He still had a crossbow.
The thought made Yuhran's eyes light up.
Almost unconsciously, he looked toward Miliarde.