I strongly believe that the most enjoyable moment of a field trip is when you’re packing your bags the night before.
Carefully packing belongings into the backpack, utilizing the space with maximum efficiency without interference, is quite challenging. However, it’s also a task filled with great satisfaction upon completion. Unpacking during winter, I now repack items, squeezing in oddly numerous farewell gifts into spaces originally left empty, struggling yet steadily preparing for my departure to the frontier.
The snow has receded. The villagers, after their unusually long holiday dedicated to the God of Fertility, which shortened the time to prepare the fields, are bustling to start the spring festival.
Opening tightly sealed storerooms, they clean the oil off shovels and hoes, checking the condition of carefully stored seeds. In the brief span, wine barrels are counted, and silver coins are gathered from each household to celebrate the end of a long winter.
This spring looks like it will be particularly hectic. With the delay of spring’s arrival, planting must happen sooner; otherwise, the opportunity will be lost. If that happens, the autumn harvest will be meager, and even with the four-to-six fair tax system for peasants and nobles, it will weigh heavily.
Given that the taxation system intermingles monetary and goods payments, the urgency felt by the farmers is profound. Although failing to pay for a year won’t result in being “strung up” or having land confiscated, the obligation to pay extra the following year is daunting enough to drive them to try their hardest. After all, if striving can prevent unnecessary expenses, then surely everyone would choose to avoid them.
It’s unwise to delay departure and, with the snow melting, I’ve already informed my family I cannot help with farming at this time. Of course, no one in my family complained since I’ve always been exempted as a non-working member of the household.
Nevertheless, remaining idle while family members labor strikes me as somewhat troubling. So, I helped prepare in other ways. Using “blade sharpening” skills learned in basic studies as a child, I honed farming tools. I also mass-produced wooden wedges, which frequently break or disappear but are essential for various uses, from reinforcing fences to supporting olive trees. Every year, no matter how many are made, they never seem enough.
Lastly, I plan to leave a gold coin as a parting gift, secretly placing it on top of the hearth. This can be considered a small act of filial piety and payment for this winter’s lodging.
Truthfully, my wallet isn’t very thick, but it wasn’t my intention to flaunt power with a coin-filled purse from the start. There’s more than enough silver for traveling expenses, and it’s an adequate apology for not being able to help with farm work.
Heck, a sense of urgency really spurs one on when there’s no backup plan. Assuming we don’t starve, I must earn not only for myself but also for Castor and Polydeuces!
With such thoughts, I closed the backpack’s lid and moved it to the back door for immediate departure when I encountered my eldest brother in the living room.
“So, Erich, you’re still awake?”
A slight smell of alcohol emanated from my brother. He was probably at a meeting in preparation for the spring festival. It’s customary for village leaders, heads of households, and the monastery’s priest to gather every year to discuss festival arrangements, food distribution, and budgets from each family.
Since our father isn’t attending but sending my brother instead, it implies a smooth inheritance of headship, doesn’t it? With children and a full beard, if Father’s involvement has lessened and participation in meetings has been entrusted, it’s a good sign.
Frayed family relations due to succession issues are common anywhere, you know.
“Yes, I’m just about to finish preparing for departure,” I replied.
“Is that so… Hey, aren’t you really leaving? At least attend the festival, huh?”
My brother suggested I sit down as he spoke, having stashed the luggage aside.
Though suggested multiple times, attending the festival before departure would make it harder for me to leave, so it’s a settled matter. Besides, it’s meant as a reward for the villagers who will work hard from now on; me participating without contributing to farm work feels dishonest.
Considering the long journey ahead, I’ve already decided not to attend the festival but leave instead. After all, we had a lavish farewell meal in my honor at noon today.
It was such a delightful dining experience. Mother remembered my favorites and prepared an extravagant spread: a soup with the grated tender roots of celery, crispy breaded pork, and pickled turnips, whose taste varies greatly from household to household despite the simple cooking method. All of it was truly delicious. Modest compared to the elaborate feasts of the nobility, but it was more delectable to me than anything I ate during the year I traveled with Lady Agrippina.
How many more times will I be able to enjoy this taste in my lifetime?
It reminded me of a similar sentiment I experienced in my past life, but this time it’s even more poignant.
Living alone doesn’t mean living far away; my previous residence was only a few stops by train, and I occasionally stayed for days during quarterly holidays. Meeting up wasn’t rare, as events frequently brought us together. Also, I could always talk whenever I wanted: a quick phone call could bridge time and distance immediately. A conversation mediated through electrically converted voices, however imperfect, brought the warmth of family easily enough.
But not here in this life. Communication, either by phone or even letters, isn’t reliable. Worse still, humanity here is much closer to death.
Epidemics, bandits, accidents—in comparison to my past life, death is far too close here. How unsettling it is not knowing the safety of distant family members.
And yet, staying isn’t an option. Extending departure indefinitely benefits no one, and I can’t stay here forever anyway.
“Following the plan. Any more hesitation would only lead to attachment,” I said.
“Hmm… so that’s it, then. An attachment, eh?”
Since this is my family home, it certainly feels comfortable. Fortunately, I have a supportive family. Despite that, I’ve chosen my path, so I must cut ties firmly. If not, what should be a leap might end as a stumble.
Upon hearing my words, my brother began rummaging through his pocket, as if an idea had struck him.
He extracted a flask enveloped in leather.
Its square and slightly curved form—a flask or canteen for distilled alcohol. Used for sterilizing water or cleaning wounds, it’s standard equipment for outdoor laborers.
In my past life, I heard it became trendy as a way to evade alcohol taxes, but here, it grew common due to its practical advantages. It’s not merely a stylish accessory or an alcoholic’s favorite; it isn’t a product of someone saying, “I want to drink coolly while camping!” — probably not, anyway. Hopefully.
“Take this as a farewell gift,” my brother said.
“Eh?”
“You clearly didn’t have one, and it’s not something you’d regret having.”
Indeed, I didn’t. With the ability to use magic, I rarely found it necessary. Most of my travels have been scheduled using inns, so I never thought I’d need it.
But going forward, things will change. Camping will become more frequent, and there may be days without a roof over my head. Especially given my constraint of not openly using magic unless with Margit, the convenience is indeed appreciated.
What a wonderful farewell gift.
“Besides… ‘If you don’t have a trusted travel companion in your pocket, you are bound to catch a cold!’”
As I soaked in the weight of the flask, with a flushed face, my brother rubbed his nose and added:
“Ah… from Jeremiah’s Saga of the Divine Sword.”
“Ah, yes, indeed.”
This was a line from the grand adventure tale my brother cherishes. It’s a family farewell to the protagonist who, though only appearing in early chapters, leaves a memorable impression.
Embarrassed at citing the line so dramatically, his face reddened further. Knowing this shame, I refrained from teasing him further.
And, well… it wasn’t an unpleasant gesture from a brotherly perspective.
“I graciously accept it,” I said.
“Yeah…”
Opening the flask, a strong aroma of distilled alcohol wafted up. It smelled distinctly like the recreation of Northern Isle’s potent spirits, with the unmistakable scent of barley and peat.
Taking a sip—painful for my young tongue—it was harsh—when offered, my brother took a mouthful as well. Without words, we gazed at each other and shared a small laugh.
My brother then left for the couple’s bedroom, muttering: “I’ll go to sleep, so you should rest as well.”
Watching his ear tips flushed with reddened embarrassment, I admired my adorable brother and took another sip of what was an excessively alcoholic nightcap…
The destructive force of a young child saying, “I don’t want you to go!” is truly immense. Even after vowing I wouldn’t turn back…
Turning back somehow feels rather unbecoming. It makes one appear indecisive, clingy, as if unsure of the decision one has made. Watching from the side, it’s irritating.
But, when it’s your decision, you immediately feel the urge to turn back, and it’s troubling.
“You were quite popular among the children, weren’t you?”
“Stop teasing me.”
On the gently swaying saddle, a sweet voice teased me from behind my ear. It was Margit, clinging to my back like a backpack.
We were currently leaving the manor, traveling along the road. With Castor carrying more goods and Polydeuces under me, it’s a strategy to balance the burden for a two-person ride.
“Who would have thought they’d follow me with such admiration? Teaching them all kinds of things made me seem important to them.”
“I wasn’t expecting them to cry.”
Our farewell wasn’t grand. Everyone was busy, and we left quietly.
However, the children who adored me thanks to the abundant amount of toys I made for their “adventurer’s role-playing” during the winter swarmed us. Teaching them safe and proper methods of gripping weapons, holding shields, and falling safely turned them into little self-defense groups.
At first, they thanked me and encouraged me, but something seemed to move little Herman to tears, setting off a domino effect. Soon, all of them were crying, creating quite a commotion.
I told them that crying like this wouldn’t make them fine adventurers, and after shouting loudly, they finally stopped. It was truly difficult. Seeing them cry and not stopping no matter what magic I showed was tough.
Being so loved can be challenging. Feeling attached, it’s easy to linger.
“Didn’t you feel like staying?”
“…Not really.”
“Hehe, just as stubborn as always.”
It seems there’s nothing I can conceal from my childhood friend. Embarrassed, I urged Polydeuces with a bit more spur to hasten our pace. We left later than planned, and if we don’t hurry, we might reach the inn too late for the night.
“I, too, have considered it…”
“Considered what?”
“Living as a typical villager here.”
It appears she also thought of staying. Living a life as a typical manor resident…
Though not leaving home out of longing for the city, I don’t think my hometown lacks happiness. Staying here would bring its own kind of joy.
But, I chose the thrill of adventure. Reflecting on it, did I drag her along?
“That said, I’ve never regretted the vows we exchanged, don’t get it wrong.”
I tried to pose a foolish question but was immediately reminded otherwise. For some reason, though holding the reins, I feel completely controlled.
It’s said that men can never beat women in tales from both my past and present life, but it’s frustrating. Truly, these are the ways of the world.
“Thank you, Margit.”
“Anytime, Erich. So, how far is the end of the earth?”
“I’d like to reach it by summer, with effort.”
Listening to the rhythmic sound of hooves, we leave our homeland, heading towards the edge of the land. Well, there’s no need to burden ourselves overly; carrying along nostalgia and “what ifs” won’t be harmful.
“What is it like further west beyond the empire’s edge?”
“It sounds exciting, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed. A great adventure awaits.”
Beyond lies the vast unknown. While we’ll encounter injustices and misfortunes, it’s ultimately our actions that will illuminate our adventures.
Alright, should we go get some new recording paper?
After a long build-up, we finally depart.
The journey to the frontier continues, leading to becoming an adventurer—yes, it’s been a long road.
Finally, I’ve reached level 1.
As a side note, the good news is that “Henderson’s Gospel” Volume 2 will be released on August 25th.
Pre-orders have begun across various sites, so if you wish, place your reservation. After all, the more pre-orders, the greater the initial print run will be.
Volume 2 covers Ursula’s introduction and the Lorotte rescue mission. This installment also features over seventy thousand new words, significantly enhancing the content, so I hope you’ll pick it up. As previously mentioned, “picking it up” is a euphemism for (following censored for content).
I am fortunate to be graced with some exceptional illustrations, so I highly recommend it. The book cover has been released and can be viewed on my Twitter or the official Twitter accounts.
Additionally, with your generous support, the work ranked 7th in the new releases.
To express my gratitude, a Twitter campaign is ongoing: using the hashtag
#TRPGPlayerAimingForTheUltimateBuildInAnotherWorld
you could win a personally signed (albeit slightly wobbly) copy of my book (Volume 1). The deadline is August 2, 2020 (today), so consider participating if you fancy it.
Updates slowed due to book production, but I aim to resume weekly postings.
First, we need to overcome this utterly oppressive work schedule, but…
