The arrival of winter is always a busy time, yet unbearably cold.
Having seen off the wagons laden with the burdensome annual tribute, and with the annual joy of the harvest festival now past, the manor had quietly finished its preparations for the coming year.
Gathering firewood, they fed the hearths and stoves, curling up in their padded clothes as they waited for spring. The exemplary residents withdrew into their homes during the winter, spending their idle time industriously on side jobs.
However, the town watch had work even in the winter—no, one might say that from the autumn into the winter was when they most needed to put in the effort.
In autumn came the thieves and bandits seeking to plunder the harvest; in winter came mercenaries seeking winter quarters and easy targets, taking advantage of the reduced presence of patrols. It was the season when those least welcome to the manor gathered.
Therefore, since becoming the head of the watch, Lambert had never neglected his rounds with his subordinates, nor did he ever intend to in the future, so long as his legs would carry him. Whether it be freezing cold or, though rare in this area, snowfall—such things were of no consequence.
Just as war does not stop because it is cold or snowing, so too do the bandits not take a break because of bad weather.
Moreover, helping out the town watch were the reserve watchmen, and others who knew how to fight.
On this day, the hunter from Königsstuhl Manor, who had been assigned the task of patrol, had awakened a little earlier than usual. Layering on padded winter gear to protect his weaker constitution compared to the humans, who could move about as usual even in these low temperatures, an admirable feat for their high environmental adaptability.
Beating his complaints about staying by the hearth, he shouldered his bow and stepped out of his house.
Pushing past the hernia-induced aches in his abdomen and joints from the cold, he took on the job not merely for the sake of the manor but also due to a certain premonition.
The day before, his favorite ornament had been inexplicably noisy. Though there was no wind, it kept tinkling unexpectedly.
This usually foretells good things. It was ringing in a way different from the sound it makes when warning of something bad.
Proceeding with the rounds via the usual path, but with greater scrutiny to detect any changes from before.
Everything in nature was his ally. A broken branch touched by something, scattered leaves out of place, footprints left behind; unlike their silent and cautious adversaries, humans were easy to track. Whether they were human race, sub-humans, or magical species, they all walked around making as much noise as singing.
There was nothing unusual about the manor. Already, whispers of someone catching a cold could be heard, but it was tranquil otherwise. No peculiar signs on the roads, no hidden presence observing from afar.
It was a day much like any other, and the gods were still in the heavens.
Perched in a tree, enjoying a simple lunch, the hunter tilted his head in thought, wondering if his premonition had been mistaken. He was rather confident in their accuracy, and when the earrings tinkled, it was even more certain.
Ah, well, there are days like that too. Convincing himself of this, he considered using the free afternoon to hunt some birds or rabbits for pocket money.
That’s when his keen senses caught a peculiar presence.
Far on the horizon, visible only thanks to the hunter’s superior vision and vantage height of the tree, a distant silhouette approached ever so slowly.
This seemed odd. Naturally, winter is not a suitable season for travel, and most of the southern-bound trade caravans should have already departed the Threefold Empire by this time. It was unlikely to be a scout for the trade caravans.
Could it be mercenaries surveying the manor for an easy target?
No, that also seemed unlikely. From the silhouette, the rider appeared to be alone, and the saddlebags tied to the horse weren’t light and compact like those a scout would carry. Furthermore, without even a helmet and lacking a long weapon, which would be expected of mercenaries, such an appearance was highly suspicious.
Moreover, mercenaries traveling alone and using both horses for carrying loads were unheard of anywhere.
Therefore, the lone figure must be a traveler unaffected by the season, a wandering warrior, or a messenger on urgent business from a noble. Either way, it seemed there was no need to be on high alert. The instant the hunter relaxed, the ornament tinkled in the still air.
It had been three years now since he first opened the ornament, and though there were now several additional earrings and accessories, the reason this particular earpiece would chime remained two-fold.
One was the approach of imminent danger.
And then… as he recalled when setting out…
The silhouette of the rider became clearer as it approached, and the hunter’s heart began to race.
The figure, not particularly tall among humans, radiated an aura of seasoned martial prowess from their composed stance in the saddle.
And then, as the golden hair gleaming under the winter’s cold sun became apparent—hair that reminded him of the gentle hue of an early spring day—he felt a familiarity.
No, he did know. The hunter was certain of it. He knew that rider.
Just as the ornament began to chime impatiently, or perhaps as he leapt to another tree in excitement, overwhelmed with emotion, the hunter could no longer stay still and rushed off with all his might.
There was no mistaking that figure. It wasn’t as though, even if the world were turned upside down, he could fail to recognize them.
Elegantly traversing tree branches with movements more refined than ever before, and suppressing his presence so subtly now that even his own mother found it difficult to detect, such was the level his ability to mask his intent had reached—it was now possible for him to catch even timid mountain birds by hand.
Ah, indeed. The straight posture had not changed, despite their appropriate growth with time and age—a form that couldn’t possibly be mistaken.
The hunter dashed with all his might, carefully selecting the most optimal spot, before concealing himself.
He then patiently waited, following the hunting instincts innate to his kind.
The distance between them had narrowed to less than 50 paces. At this range, an arrow from the bow would hit its mark without fail, but projectiles were unsuitable. Unless it was some kind of explosive projectile, a mere arrow would likely be deflected with a single slash.
Aiming for a single decisive strike, he would hurl down from a height twice that of a human and deliver a critical blow.
There was no trace of doubt in his mind. Normally, jumping from such a height to collide with even the nimblest of beings would result in at least some injury, let alone a precarious attack on an unstable rider. The counter-attack could be catastrophic, risking life.
Yet, the hunter harbored not even a sliver of uncertainty.
Because, never—not even once—had the figure failed to catch him.
And so, the hunter dashed forward with every ounce of strength.
The exceptionally rare sight of snowfall in the southern regions of the Threefold Empire was indeed uncommon.
Having not once ventured from the manor until my departure for the Imperial Capital, this journey held no sentimental value as familiar landscapes approached. However, the rarity of the occasion did cause my heart to race ever so slightly.
To the folks back home, though, it was just another reason to keep the fires roaring and bristle at the rising cost of fuel.
Exhaling a single puff of smoke, I contemplated how we were finally nearing the beautiful homeland.
Setting out from the capital on a rainy morning two months ago, much has transpired since then.
Engagements with bandits and similar mercenaries, kicking away a group of five hooligans led to an enthusiastic recruitment offer—quite absurd actually—and a dispute within a guard contingent stalled a caravan, which I helped unstuck, and as a result was strongly invited to replace them. Also, at a martial contest I casually joined, I ended up with an overly attached contemporary seeking to be my disciple.
Through all the escapades, the trip’s highlight was a chaotic event involving a disguised rescue mission for a noble’s runaway daughter. Although no official meeting took place, the knight who had earnestly pursued me—rather, the fiancée I had never met—had merely considered it a case of kidnap and fallen in love with me on the spot before heading back. I almost snapped, wanting to personally make his bumbling escapade painful.
Truly, it ranks among my top ten atrocious one-off adventures. I’m simply not evolved enough to view this fiasco with rose-tinted glasses. It was a disastrous adventure worthy of punishment—even a GM couldn’t justify such misfortune, not even if he were forgiven by the gods.
Caught up in such events at roughly weekly intervals, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’m cursed in some way. When I set out, I idly thought it might be rather dull and uneventful—and now, I’d like to send a note to my past self, reassuring them that there’s no need for concern.
Such stress has somewhat acquainted me with cigarettes. The smoke infused with throat-soothing magical medicine suited the dry, cold season. My throat had felt a little sore the previous night, so this seemed like a good measure.
Amidst these reflections, I’m finally returning home. It’s been a considerable stretch since I set out as a youth at twelve.
Though my period of service might seem trivial, losing three formative years is no small matter.
As the tobacco burns down and my throat feeling improves—a somewhat odd sensation despite its throat-soothing effect—I arrange my pipe and start to straighten up, estimating we should arrive soon, when…
A faint, almost imperceptible sensation at the nape of my neck.
So slight and heavy, it’s the dull kind of killing intent I encountered numerous times while running errands for Lady Agrippina—like that of an assassin wielding a staff, an insectoid type. But this one was even thinner.
Mistaking it for being observed by a beast as I reached my neck, I was suddenly overcome by a familiar feeling.
A pleasant chill running from my waist to my neck.
Ah, I know this sensation, and what follows…
Before I could fully respond, turning my horse’s head in reaction to the aura, the movement was a split-second too late. A hand grabbed my neck, and the slender, carapace-covered limbs secured me in an embrace from behind.
This is the end. With such a blundered reaction, there’s no move left to save myself from decapitation.
But, honestly, it’s fine.
“Hey, you’re here?”
There’s only one person capable of such an “introduction,” already gripping my neck like this. It’d be futile to resist, wouldn’t it?
“…How many strikes of bad luck was that now?”
“Ah, you’re such a good actor, pretending to forget. You surely remember, right?”
The numbers exchanged in whispers carried the same tally, as though planned all along.
“Long time no see… Margit.”
“Yes, welcome back, Erich.”
Holding the tiny hands around my neck, overwhelmed with emotion, I greeted the response that echoed back. Then, with a surprising lightness despite being held, she stepped around in front of me.
There she was, just as I remembered.
The round, cute face of a girl mistaken for a child. The hazel eyes sparkled vivaciously, and by the side, the ornamental spider eyes gleamed. Her small but capable body was dressed in a dark spider person’s hunting gear, but she hadn’t changed at all.
“Wow, you’ve become even more beautiful, haven’t you?”
“Oh, you’ve grown into such a fine gentleman.”
But she appeared more mature than the last time we met. Despite looking young enough to carry a backpack, her presence was that of a self-reliant adult. The air of confidence and ease that came with adulthood was unmistakable.
The chime of the earrings. Among the clutter of accessories, the sole lovely pink shell earring stood out, melting the heart.
When I pulled back my hair to expose my ears, she seemed to understand my sentiment, smiling as she rested her head on my chest as she used to, before I left the manor. Her soft cheeks showed no sign of discomfort against my tough linen travel gear, as she rested there smiling.
“But, it’s good we haven’t changed too much, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it truly is.”
Sharing a laugh, our shared mount, Castor, nickered as though to say, “What’s been going on up here?” Adjusting myself slightly, I offered her a place behind me.
“What a fine horse. You look like real nobility.”
“Nope, just your typical cheaply dressed traveler pretending to be nobility.”
“Is that so? Aren’t you just the charming young master from the bard’s tales embarking on a grand tour? Very striking indeed.”
Such honest compliments made me blush and giggle. Holding my childhood friend close in my arms, I tightened my attention slightly, discussing the inconsequential events until we reached our home.
“You’ve truly grown into a fine gentleman, Erich.”
“Really?”
Though I am pleased with the compliments, there’s a bit of a trick involved. Yeah, I thought it would come into play and gathered traits over the year. Starting with elevating my “Negotiation” skill to “Mastery,” I combined it with cheaper traits like “Heartfelt Voice” and “Bell-like Voice” to aim for pleasant conversational charm rather than the obvious “Charisma” or “Leadership,” which are expensive and unnecessary since I don’t lead armies.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re shorter than I thought you’d be. It makes you easier to pounce on!”
“Ugh…”
Did I get caught there? I vaguely noticed it but, I allocated my growth points correctly as a child—intending to reach an imposing height like 180 cm.
But somehow, I stayed small. Maybe there’s an error in the system or a bug. Still, I’m fifteen—roughly middle school age. If I reach eighteen, I should still grow. Yeah, it’ll be fine…
“Still, everyone must be surprised, I’m sure.”
“Yeah. Actually, I did return quietly hoping to surprise them.”
“Indeed, I was utterly shocked. Everyone will be, especially when the second harvest festival rolls around.”
Laughing at the exaggeration, the familiar sight of home finally came into view—the fields in their final preparation, the watchtowers for distant views, and the scattering of houses. Every cherished image that I’ve thought about from afar.
Ah, I’ve finally returned here.
“Welcome back home, Erich.”
“Right… I’m home.”
It truly is a blessing to have a home to return to.
I’ve returned to my beautiful homeland.
After a long while, I have finally returned home.
The journey was omitted because it would take multiple novels to describe it entirely.
Despite a somewhat consistent run of bad luck, it seems Erich’s path to becoming a true adventurer will take a bit more time.
As always, heartfelt thanks for your reviews and retweets.
Being able to maintain a proper rhythm in recent updates has been due to all of you.
Please continue to support me in the future.
Postscript: Unfortunately, due to exhaustion, I incorrectly set the scheduled posting time.
