Round One: Leisure

I finally made amends for my mistakes.
At least in part. I must admit that, though I never told anyone—when I saw Kairo wake up, I almost lost control of my tears.
No, it wasn’t just because Kairo was my friend. In fact, I’ve often considered myself a cold and heartless person. If a decision I make or an action I take causes harm to others, I won’t apologize or stop. After all, everyone’s life is spent causing harm and suffering; in a sense, that’s the essence of life. Civilized races won’t allow goblin tribes to operate near their villages, as these goblins are bound to steal their livestock, destroy their fields, and even threaten their lives. The survival of goblin populations relies on harming humans or other humanoid races, so people ask their lords to send troops to drive them away or simply pay adventurers like me to eliminate them completely. And when I complete this task, it means I’ve gained profit by harming the goblins.
I’ve done similar jobs before, when I needed money. If I were more cruel and evil—like my former companions—I could try to control an entire goblin tribe, exploiting both them and the villagers for more profit. But I just raise my price appropriately. Not every time, but often enough. Still taking the goblin threat as an example, I’d observe the wealth of the village, the attitude of its residents, whether they had the ability to resist attacks, and if there were any local guards or armies to help them… before setting my demands. Often this pushed them to seek cheaper adventurers, but it usually only gave me more bargaining power and might even save me some trouble. Perhaps my demands are indeed high, but remember, in this game of giving and taking for survival, every step is a risk. You might gain just a bag of coins, but lose everything you have. So why not try to tip the scales in my favor as much as possible?
As for those fools who think they’re getting a good deal, sadly, my predictions about their fate are usually quite accurate. Dying in the woods or by the roadside, having their last pair of pants stolen by greedy goblins—it’s not as if I have nothing to do with it, but what can I do? I’m not their nanny.
Why did I go to such extreme lengths to find Kairo? During those days on the ship, amidst the dull and aimless moments of psychic sensing, I asked myself the same question. Lady Mist, the God of Murder—no sensible person would recklessly get involved in a conflict between two gods. My actions are undoubtedly harming the interests of the gods, and the price I’ll have to pay is beyond imagination.

But every time I saw that guy fishing on the boat, oh, he did almost every stupid thing an amateur could do. I knew where Judge Singer had thrown him at that time, and during my days in the Agus Empire, I never expected him to return alive. But clearly, this guy had a different view on things than any of us. Not only did he return—I have no idea what kind of terrifying ordeal he went through, and he never told me in detail—but he also achieved victory through his incredibly reckless and brute-force approach.

As a mage, I rarely believe that impulsive actions taken without careful planning can succeed. It’s like casting a spell: only with the right materials, the right incantations, the right gestures and movements, when everything is perfect, will the magic web tremble and the spell take effect. Any carelessness or haste, even a little, will lead to failure or abnormal results. That’s not allowed, and mages rarely get the chance to suffer such failures in their lives. But Forty-Seven is different. He hardly ever thinks, or rather, he doesn’t take things slowly. He always quickly sets a goal, goes for it, messes everything up, and then… succeeds.

Sometimes, seeing him makes me think that this guy I picked up from the swamp was created just to mock me. If there’s a river, he crosses it; if there’s a door, he breaks it down; if there’s a mountain, he flattens it—even the simplest stone giants wouldn’t have such logic.

But more often, he manages to resolve my troubles just as swiftly as cutting through chaos. Of course he can, because by the time I’m deciding whether to communicate verbally or cast a spell, he’s already throwing a punch. But… really, when I first saw him on the battlefield of the Sleeping Forest and recognized him, I was actually very happy.

So, I think if I can save Kayro… she’ll surely be very happy when she sees me.

It turned out I was right.

Yes, I still believe that survival means inevitably harming others, it means precise calculation. But sometimes, we also need a more direct approach, without overthinking. A goal that’s firmly set, without considering the possible dangers or unattainable rewards—although probably over ninety percent of foolish adventurers end up that way.

Of course, with Kayro and me this time, that Forty-Seven guy succeeded again. He always succeeds.

So I must stay with him, ready to deal with the mess he creates. There should be someone who can think around him—that’s what I think. Yes, I think that person should be me.

—Former Red Robe Mage Moriel.

…

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to winter.”

Moriel’s leather boots made no trace on the snow, already compressed by pedestrians and carriages. She wore a new robe, with a furred hooded cloak over it, and complained while hugging her arms.

“How could that be, Sister Moriel?” Kairo bent down and picked up a handful of snow from the roadside. Though the snow was very hard, as her hand approached it, the snow released the dust and impurities mixed within, returning to its pure white crystalline state. The girl held the snowball in her hand, happily watching it transform in her palm, just as she used to do when decorating her magic shop, eventually shaping the once-dirty snow into a clean ice flower.

“Kairo, I’ve said it before—you’d better avoid using this innate spell-like ability for now,” Moriel reprimanded her, though not too sternly. Back in Rain City, Moriel had already known about Kairo’s strange talent inherited from her family bloodline. It allowed her to cast spells through her pure willpower without formal training or prior preparation, though only those related to the water element. Others like Kairo were good at controlling fire or wind. Mages usually didn’t get along well with such innate magic users, and Moriel was no exception at first, but eventually she got along quite well with Kairo.

Kairo stuck out her tongue. “I know, Sister Moriel.”

Even when controlled by the Goddess of Lies, Kairo wasn’t completely unconscious. Though her true nature had been compressed to its minimum by the Goddess of Mist’s power during those days, like a pebble adrift in a mighty river, she was still alive and watched in terror and sorrow as the Goddess of Mist used her body to do whatever she wanted. Thankfully, it was all over now.

Moriel smiled, not wanting to be too harsh on the girl. She had only managed to suppress the Goddess of Lies within Kairo, and to do so, she had to rely on the help of the Water Element Princess, infusing her with the divine power left by the murdered prince. If the Goddess of Mist could eventually break free from Xeric’s prison, things would be even more troublesome—and it was still unknown what effect Kairo’s use of magic would have. Still… one or two such tricks shouldn’t be a problem. The female mage found herself becoming more and more permissive these days.

Forty-Seven, who had been looking around, lowered his head and blew on the ice flower in Kairo’s hand. The beautiful ice flower melted instantly, its layered petals falling like torn paper. The girl grimaced and shook her hand, burned by the cold.

“If you know it, then do it,” Forty-Seven said proudly to Kairo. Leaving the Revenge hadn’t bored him at all, as he had already begun plotting a great plan. The Revenge? Just a trivial thing.

Seymon was overjoyed by this decision—he had set them ashore and then sailed away in a flash. According to him, he intended to sail across the storms with the sailors on the Revenge to the distant New World to find the most magical metal in the world for Forty-Seven.

However, the three of them did not return to Deep Flow City. After rescuing Kayro, Moriel decided to stay as far away as possible from anything or anyone related to the gods, so it was better not to deal with Himb or the Holy Warriors anymore, including the red-robed mage. Strangely enough, Chloe also returned to Deep Flow City to be with the female Holy Warriors and did not follow her. Moriel had no objections to this and hoped that the red-haired swordswoman had shifted her interest to another girl.

That’s why they were now leisurely standing in this small place called Sweetwater Town, doing nothing. Geographically, it was considered part of the southern region of the Northlands. Although it was still under the jurisdiction of the lord alliance led by Deep Flow City, it had no major trade routes or special local products. The only thing notable was the sweet quality of the groundwater in the area, along with the abundant forests and lakes, which allowed the villagers to feed themselves and earn a little extra by trading with passing caravans. Most of the time, it was so peaceful that it made people want to doze off.

“Stop messing around,” Moriel said, stopping Forty-Seven from blowing more ice and snow and Kayro from preparing to retaliate with another blast.

“Are there no dangerous monsters here? Even bastards like O’Sullivan or those Hierarchy believers would do.” Forty-Seven looked around, his gaze making the village militia standing by the wooden walls quite nervous.

“The most dangerous person here right now is you,” Moriel said as she headed toward the town’s main entrance. “Let’s rest here for one night and then decide on our next move. Kayro, don’t you really plan to go back to Rain City?”

Kayro hopped along behind her. “Because Sister Moriel, you’re not going to stay in Rain City forever, right? I want to follow you… Anyway, my magic potions are either expired or stolen, so it doesn’t really matter whether I go back or not!”

Forty-Seven was a whole head taller than the sturdy militia members. When he realized that Forty-Seven’s face was actually intricately crafted from metal, he was so surprised he could hardly close his mouth.

The three of them walked along the main road through the town. Although the villagers gave them strange looks, they didn’t react overly. In their eyes, these were just adventurers who refused to settle down and find a proper job. Wearing leather armor and ridiculous capes, carrying long swords and quivers, with messy bundles on their backs, they swept through every place they passed like a whirlwind. They spent money recklessly, asking around about any mysterious caves or ancient ruins, causing chaos everywhere. Worst of all, they always made the village’s young men, who were unaware of the hardships of life, dream of slaying dragons one day and even sleeping with the duke’s daughter, making them ignore the adults’ advice even more.

By the manger in front of the only inn and tavern in Sweetwater Town, which shared its name, several castrated horses of different colors were quietly chewing on hay, clearly tired and hungry. Even when Forty-Seven passed by, they didn’t stir. The inn’s lobby, like all such rural places, was filled with the smell of sweat and cheap liquor. Fortunately, it wasn’t night; otherwise, the townspeople, after a day of work, would have made the smell even worse, making it impossible for Kayro to stay.

The innkeeper was a thin middle-aged man who looked much older than he actually was. But he was only in charge of baking bread; the real power holder was his wife, a plump woman with a loud voice. She guarded the inn like a hen protecting her nest, along with her three daughters and one son.

At that moment, she was complaining about the pungent smoke from the wood burning in the fireplace, which stung her eyes, and about the cost of the wood. Then she brought plates of homemade sweet wine and bread rolls to Morriel and the others sitting in the corner, and on her own initiative, placed a large bowl of stew in front of Forty-Seven—the repurposed wooden bowl was filled to the brim with carrots, onions, potatoes, and some pickled meat. As she turned to leave, she kicked her youngest son, who was lying on the floor pretending the table legs were part of a dense forest, imagining himself as an experienced ranger tracking the world’s most terrifying beasts.

“She must think you’re one of those big guys over there,” Kayro said, taking a small bite of bread before carefully using a spoon to remove a piece of meat from Forty-Seven’s bowl.

“Hey, that’s for me!” But Forty-Seven was just talking; with such a large bowl of stew, he really couldn’t eat a bite.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out on the other side of the room.

“I’ve defeated entire teams of orc bandits! What’s a winter wolf compared to that?” The muscular warrior stood up, resting his hands on the table, and yelled at the people at the opposite table, spitting saliva at his companions. His face was red from alcohol and anger. “Are you questioning me?”

The mocker drank his wine in one gulp, dismissively. “A winter wolf? Haha, I guess you think it’s just a big white wild dog?”

“You bastard!” The warrior slammed his glass on the table and rushed to settle the dispute with his fists. Fortunately, the innkeeper stepped in in time, slamming a large jug of ale on the table, splashing beer everywhere. Even the burly warrior was stopped by the innkeeper’s barrel-shaped figure. “Gentlemen! Arguing here will never solve the threats in the forest! Why not prove who’s the real hero through action?!”

The warrior glared at the innkeeper’s fearless, plump face, then suddenly grabbed the jug, drank it all in one gulp without pouring it into a cup. Yellowish foam flowed down his scruffy neck into his collar, mixing with the sweat on his shirt.

“Guys, let’s go! Let these bastards see what we’re made of!” He threw the wine flask aside, called to his companions at the table, and they all rushed out. Cold air swirled into the room but was quickly warmed by the fire inside.

The other group also stood up—only the guy who had mocked the warrior tightened his wide belt, loosened the short sword in its sheath, and walked around the bar to Moriel’s table.

“Good afternoon, beautiful mage lady,” he said with a half-hearted bow, his gaze lingering on 47, especially on his grotesquely ornate armor. “I suppose you’ve heard the news about winter wolves lurking near Sweetwater Town? Allow me to introduce myself—I’m…”

Moriel cut him off coldly.

“I’m sorry, but we’re just travelers passing through. We have no intention of causing trouble. As for winter wolves, I think they should be left to those who are capable of dealing with them.”

The man straightened up and gave a perfunctory smile. “…In that case… it seems you have no interest in joining my party. Well, good luck to you, mage lady!”

Moriel watched as they left the inn as well. Then she turned her attention to the innkeeper, who was cursing those careless adventurer bastards, along with her daughter, who had only now been allowed to help. They were undoubtedly mother and daughter, as the two women looked exactly like different versions of the same barrel-shaped figure.

Ordinary people, ordinary lives. Including those two inexperienced adventurers—as well. Moriel took a sip of sweet wine, feeling an indescribable sense of peace, even thinking about staying here a few more days.

“Girl, you did right!” The innkeeper came over, her coarse apron stretched tightly over her body. “Those people are nothing but boring idiots! The town mayor has already sent someone to report to the lord, and proper soldiers will arrive in a few days to sort out this mess! Really… there are always such people, like flies drawn to rotting meat, each thinking they can save the world! Hey, big guy, why aren’t you eating?”

The innkeeper demanded angrily, then slammed down a large bowl filled with pancakes, finely chopped vegetables, and salted fish pieces. “A change of flavor!”

Kayro was snickering.

47 glared fiercely at the innkeeper’s hulking back, while her husband and daughters paled at the sight. But in the end, he simply pulled his spoon out of the bowl, allowing Kayro to “steal” another small piece of fish.

“How far is this woman’s nearsightedness?”