47

Having done what I needed, I was satisfied and parted ways with the mercenary band.

From their perspective, traveling with a monster that had killed some of their comrades couldn’t have sat well. As for me, I wanted to secure vegetables somewhere.

So, wandering aimlessly through the pitch-black forest, I eventually emerged onto flat land.

It seemed I had gone too far south. I thought about correcting my direction, but heading east from here would likely bring me close to that mercenary town.

What I wanted now was a village.

Just then, my nose caught that all-too-familiar stench.

(Those guys really are everywhere, huh…)

The little green pests were usually active at night, which meant they had a purpose now.

And if goblins were on the move at night, my knowledge told me it could only mean one thing—night raid.

In other words, by following them, I had a high chance of finding a village.

Perfect. I’d let these trash lead me to their target, dispose of them afterward, and then collect my “reward” in the form of village vegetables.

‘What a rational decision,’ I thought, smiling.

For the record, goblins grew like weeds, so I considered them worthless.

And so, I began the pursuit.

Their stink was strong enough that I had no fear of losing track.

About an hour later, I had finished bludgeoning the twenty-eight goblins to death with a picked-up stick. With my guides gone, I strolled toward the village.

Not bothering to deal with the corpses, I decided to turn this into a sneaking mission.

I activated my mimicry ability, quietly slipped into the unlit village, and scouted the fields. Once I confirmed their location, I easily vaulted over the one-meter-high fence, landing gracefully on one foot without a sound.

Since no one had seen, I even struck a pose.

It was pointless, so I got straight to harvesting.

Cabbages and root vegetables—probably carrots. That was more than enough.

They weren’t fully grown, a little undersized, but that hardly mattered.

I harvested as much as my backpack could carry.

Quite the reward for exterminating goblins.

And so, I slipped out of the village as quietly as I had entered, vegetables in tow.

I would have liked more variety, but harvesting crops clearly out of season would have been disrespectful.

Do that, and the “God of Vegetables” would curse me so that I only ever found celery, which I hated.

Parents often warned picky children about the “God of Vegetables”—a deity who forced kids to eat what they disliked.

In the original picture book, however, the god punished those who wasted food.

Typical Empire practice: gods’ roles conveniently changed or added to as needed.

Truthfully, since my protective cloth for potion bottles was running low, I didn’t want to get greedy. Better to return once for safety.

Thus, my haul this time: eighteen cabbages, twenty-one carrots, and five potions.

The return trip was uneventful. After a day and some change, I was back at my base.

I quickly fell asleep, waking to find it was already morning.

Apparently, if I went two days without sleep, I would collapse immediately, so I should consider my safe operating limit as three days without penalty.

Wanting a hearty start, I butchered the boar I’d hunted yesterday.

I chopped up a whole cabbage and sliced two carrots, then stir-fried them with meat, seasoning with salt and pepper.

As I wolfed it down, I thought:

(I need more variety in flavor.)

Now I craved seasonings.

But such things weren’t produced outside the Empire, meaning they were impossible to obtain nowadays.

(No way would I risk using two-hundred-year-old stock. If only a factory was still running…)

Then, inspiration struck.

“If it doesn’t exist, then just make it.”

Yes. If it wasn’t available, I would create it myself.

The means and methods had surely been left behind in the Empire.

Old imperial city bookstores—surely I could find the knowledge there.

“What a fool I’ve been! Always reading manga, I completely overlooked something so obvious!”

I silently apologized to the Empire’s forebears who had preserved such knowledge as I stuffed more food into my mouth.

With vegetables added, the stir-fry had more depth of flavor. I grinned smugly, feigning expertise as I devoured it.

My next goal was decided.

But before that, I wanted to return to observing the elves.

Not much time had passed, but with their abilities, it was possible they had already resolved their issues and returned to daily life.

No—likely, in fact.

The elves had once tormented the Empire. Surely, whatever happened, they could resume normalcy quickly.

‘Of course,’ I told myself as I ate, then cleaned up in a rush and headed to my first observation point—the so-called “Cliff.”

I was probably just in time.

I activated mimicry as I approached, carefully scanning the river, but no one was there yet.

“Yes! I made it!” I rejoiced inwardly, staying hidden at my usual spot.

Once prepared, I dropped the mimicry and waited for No. 6 to arrive.

But no matter how long I waited, not even children came.

(…Did they change the time or place? If so, then maybe there hadn’t been a problem at all!)

If that was the case, then I had completely misunderstood.

“Damn you, elves! Did you really think you could escape my watch?” I muttered theatrically, then leapt off the cliff to establish a new surveillance point.

I crept along the riverbank, alert for any signs of life.

But no elves appeared.

I might even need to cross the river if it came to that.

But that carried great risk.

No matter how careful you were, it was never enough with elves—that much I knew.

(To risk crossing would be reckless.)

As a surviving Imperial soldier, I had to endure disgrace if needed to stay alive. Skirmishes with elves should only be taken on when safe.

Not just because I wanted to see them naked.

This was a survivor’s fight.

Still, I found myself at the very spot where I had once discovered No. 8.

Too honest for my own good.

As expected, no one was there now, nor any signs of recent presence.

Heading further south, I discovered traces of a skirmish along the riverbank.

Trees bore wounds and scorch marks—as though offensive magic had been used.

Something had clearly happened, preventing the elves from coming to the river.

The battle traces were small, but perhaps something had appeared that drove them away.

(But elves should dominate in battle. If so, was it something else?)

I needed to investigate further.

Searching the area, I eventually found several broken arrows.

So, the elves had indeed fought someone.

But who?

Most monsters were part of nature, no reason for elves to oppose them.

Only beings truly dangerous to the forest would force them to act.

Was there such a threat here? I had scouted this area before and seen nothing.

Then why had the elves attacked?

Maybe the question wasn’t what monster—but what they were protecting.

Perhaps a rare animal, defended by attacking predators or hostile monsters.

Maybe that explained why they had withdrawn from the river temporarily.

It seemed plausible.

Just then, a sound came from across the river.

I instinctively cloaked myself and listened carefully.

(Bipedal. Human-like walking pace. Between fifteen and eighteen individuals. No metal sounds.)

I pulled back from their path and used telescopic vision.

A group of armed elves entered my sight.

So, my guess was wrong.

There really was something dangerous enough to require extermination.

From their weapons, it was clear they weren’t taking chances.

For a moment, I panicked, thinking they had come to punish me, the peeping monster, and driven the women away from the river.

Relieved, I continued to watch.

Then I noticed her.

Amidst the group, blindfolded, her magnificent chest as prominent as ever—No. 8 walked at the center, surrounded by others.

When I instinctively took a step back, she seemed to react, turning her face in my direction.

A terrible sense of foreboding washed over me.