111

Let me be blunt.

Slow—and boring.

It went without saying that “advancing while keeping watch on the surroundings,” perfectly normal in this great forest, slowed the party’s pace; but if you asked whether it was truly necessary, the answer was: not really.

That was only from my point of view. For the elves, this was the forest where their natural enemy had once lurked—bad enough to earn the name “Forest’s Nightmare.”

No matter how advantageous this lush terrain was for them, moving without caution simply wasn’t an option.

Because the area had been left alone for so long, even they didn’t know its current state; crossing the river and pushing forward like this demanded real courage and preparation.

On top of that, they were carrying heavy loads this time, so they also had to ensure the cargo’s safety—another reason to be extra careful.

Given those circumstances, I had no grounds to complain about the slowness. I might have said, “Leave the guarding and scouting to me,” but they had their own roles.

Carelessly taking those roles away could have unpredictable, negative consequences later.

They had their own way of doing things, and meddling would be unwise. So I accepted the situation.

As usual, I lumbered along at the rear, using the position to practice magic without worrying about eyes on me—until I sensed the malaise that came from dwindling mana and stopped to recover.

In other words, I was bored.

I let my gaze drift to the women’s backsides from time to time, but their outfits weren’t the type to show any lines—plain, functional clothes that prioritized ease of movement over sex appeal.

With nothing to look at and tired of matching the elves’ slow pace, I stared at their backs and mulled things over.

(I always imagined elves were forest naturals—leaping from tree to tree—but they’re just walking on the ground. Kind of a letdown. We’ll reach the base before nightfall at this pace, but it’ll probably be dark by then…)

Considering I was practically the master of this forest, did we really need to be this cautious?

Besides, I had already wiped out most of the monsters in this area, so moving more boldly shouldn’t be a problem.

As for why I cleared them out: obviously, because they might interfere with my surveillance work.

I didn’t want that line of questioning examined too closely, so I kept my mouth shut and followed along.

While I was zoning out, thinking, “This is dull,” I idly tracked a fluttering butterfly with my eyes—and noticed a female elf who had turned around was staring at me with a strange look.

The moment I noticed, she quickly averted her gaze and faced forward again.

Got you with the gap moe, didn’t I? I smirked inwardly.

That was how bored I was. Eventually enough time passed for my mana to recover, and I resumed training while walking.

Repeating that cycle, we ate preserved rations on the move at midday, took one break, then headed straight for our destination again.

The forest thickened, and it was dim even before sunset, when someone murmured:

“…It may be obvious, but with Argos here, monsters probably won’t come near us, will they?”

I swallowed the words, “You just noticed?” and checked everyone’s reactions.

Apparently, they’d been wondering why we hadn’t encountered a single monster; scouts and guards seemed to have been exchanging signals.

I hadn’t noticed a thing, which meant they were likely using hand signs; even that eluded me, which only proved how formidable elven coordination could be.

We paused a bit while I trained, and from the snippets I overheard, I gathered that “there were no enemies nearby.”

It seemed they decided to pick up the pace from here, moving at nearly double speed.

Thanks to that, by sundown we were close enough to spot the base.

So I told Number Six I’d break off to secure dinner alone.

Lighting my fingertip as a torch, I showed a note, slipped into the woods, and soon after the group reached the base, I returned with a deer in hand.

Leaving the bleeding and butchering to them, I went down into the underground part of the base and gathered what I needed.

(It was a good base, even if only for a short while.)

Feeling a twinge of sentiment, I began to stack the books I deemed necessary—then my hands stopped.

I hesitated over what to do with the adult magazines I’d collected.

But those could be found again in town.

There were more important things now than books.

Eyeing the empty spice containers, I stuffed the backpack with daily necessities like salt and towels.

Might as well make use of the cooler boxes, too.

I didn’t forget the spoils—the weapon and shield—but those, unfortunately, I could only carry by hand.

For the moment, I took just that much upstairs: saber and shield in hand, a large backpack with a shovel and iron griddle hooked to either side, and different-sized cooler boxes slung from each shoulder—an outfit that made no sense.

Naturally, the elves all recoiled when they saw me.

The reason was the sword and shield in my hands.

The saber’s grip was a bit small for me, so I wrapped unused cloth around it to make it fit; I’d done the same to the shield’s handle.

Ignoring someone’s mutter—“You use weapons?”—I set my load down. Judging by the smell, dinner would still take a while, so I handed over just the griddle and headed back underground.

Next on the list: bedding.

I’d stacked many layers to support my huge body, and I really didn’t want to make another round trip to town just for that.

Depending on the location of the next base, but in terms of distance, this spot was ideal.

Ideally, I wanted the next base not far from here; it would be foolish to bury the bed materials now.

So, after two trips up and down to bring all the bedding to the surface, I found myself drawn by the smell of meat on the griddle and ended up standing behind the woman cooking.

She let out a small “Eek,” so I must have startled her; I made sure to look only where I should and moved to the cooking area at ground level.

When I came back with dishes and such, an elf blurted, “Why do you even have that stuff?”

Fair point—if you visited a monster’s lair and found it stocked with tableware for guests, you’d react the same.

Even Number Six wore an exasperated look.

Thus, while everyone ate their portions of grilled meat, there I was—dipping mine in a tiny dish of salt. Clearly the odd one out.

“That’s just wrong!”

At last, one of them couldn’t take it and shouted.

“Do you want some salt?”

I offered the small dish, now flecked with meat juices. The man sagged to his knees and hands.

Apparently, he didn’t want what I’d used, so I took out the fresh salt container from my backpack and set it down gently.

Ignoring his muttered, “No, that’s not the point,” I salted another piece of meat and popped it into my mouth.

It didn’t pair especially well with the preserved rations on offer, but having more variety was a good thing.

Anyway, after dinner, I handed the tools to the elven woman who’d been grilling and pointed out where to wash the griddle.

Argos shows no mercy, even to guests.

Of course, I had the dishes washed too; I pointed with a “Gag-ga” at a man who happened to be nearby.

Satisfied that everything was in order, I heard Number Six call out to me.

“We’ll pitch the tents just before the underground entrance. Is that all right?”

So they wouldn’t start work immediately, but begin in the morning.

Even elves needed rest, and magic or not, working in the dark wasn’t efficient.

In that case, I hadn’t needed to haul the bedding up today. Chastising myself for rushing, I gave Number Six permission to set up.

As for me, “In that case,” I thought, and started carrying the bedding back underground.

Sleeping alongside a giant like me would be hard on elven hearts.

They wouldn’t need to stand watch as much, but rotating between underground and surface was still better than having “no escape route.”

After shuttling the bedding down and finishing the job, Number Six—waiting for me—posed a question.

“Do you use weapons?”

She pointed at the massive saber and the rectangular shield I’d taken from the Emperor.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t used them even once since obtaining them.

I could have answered, “I don’t,” but with the items sitting right there, that would be hard to sell.

So I held up a note that said only, “Still training.”

“Then where—and how—did you get those?”

That line of questioning gave me pause.

Now that she said it, it would be stranger not to wonder where and how those were made.

They were clearly sized for something other than humans.

Given their plain, somewhat crude construction, it wasn’t unreasonable to think I had made them.

But I didn’t have that kind of skill, and letting them think I did would cause problems later.

I knew I came off like a civilized poser, but being credited with real craftsmanship would complicate things.

With my current dexterity, making such items was out of the question anyway.

So I gave the safest—and truthful—answer: “Spoils of war.”

“In other words, you fought the monster that used them and took them?”

It stood to reason—only a monster would wield weapons that size, and if I called them spoils, the conclusion followed.

Which also meant: I had fought the monster that made those weapons and seized them.

…Ah. That might’ve been the wrong answer.