Chapter 8: A Tense Morning Encounter
Cough.
The priestess, after eating the mushroom, trembled briefly before slumping limply.
She must have been exhausted.
Given she struggled to survive in this damned forbidden zone, passing out like this might be natural.
I gazed at the priestess, sleeping like the dead, and draped a soft, fluffy blanket over her.
Then, staring at the nearly empty basket of vegetables and mushrooms, I let out a deep sigh.
“Gotta gather more.”
Yesterday, I collected enough food for three days, but now there’s an extra mouth to feed.
That means my ample supply just became scarce.
The precious food in the basket would likely run out in two days, and I’d need to fetch water for the priestess too.
With no choice, I grabbed the cleaver and basket and left the house.
“She’ll earn her keep eventually. And if she survives, she might clear my name as an evil witch.”
Heading to the spot where I gathered vegetables the first day, I sank into thought.
…By the way, her coming here alone probably means the rest of her group got “hunted,” right?
I felt her body while binding her.
It was too soft to belong to someone in a combat role in the theocracy.
Plus, her frilly vestments were nothing like the battle gear of monks, inquisitors, or paladins mentioned in the novel.
She was almost certainly a priest specialized in support, likely of high rank.
A priest with next to no combat ability, coming to the Great Forest alone without escorts…
Unless she’s suicidal, that’s unlikely.
She must have come with escorts.
“Looks like the elves took out her entire escort.”
Those crazy elves who kidnap anything with a third leg on sight.
Her escorts were probably snatched by those “Erofs,” as the readers called them.
The escorts of a high-ranking priest would be strong.
Only those seed-obsessed, mating-crazed elves could silently abduct such warriors.
“At least they won’t be cranky for a while. I can gather food there for a few days.”
Elves, usually as touchy as spinsters, become the most generous race after getting their protein.
I turned and headed toward their territory.
As expected, no arrows flew when I reached the entrance.
The murderous intent was still there, though.
“I’m just taking fruits, vegetables, and mushrooms. Those are just snacks to you, right?”
Muttering, I felt the hostility lessen.
A sign of permission.
Stepping deeper, the piercing glares intensified, but I ignored them and gathered heaps of fruits and vegetables.
I was certain these beastly elves wouldn’t kill me right now.
“Had a great time.”
After filling the basket to the brim, I thanked the elves and left their territory.
Their sticky, hostile stares lingered until the end, but I was grateful they didn’t shoot arrows.
Vowing not to return unless desperate, I started walking home.
“She’s probably awake by now.”
Leaving the elf territory, the sun was nearing the horizon.
Watching the red sunset, I mentally listed my tasks.
First, I’ll question the priestess when I get home.
What year it is.
Why she came to the Great Forest.
And if she knows anything about the protagonist’s party.
Information on the protagonist’s party is crucial.
Knowing how those loose-screw lunatics act will reveal the changed settings and help predict the future.
“I hope they’re not unbearable crazies.”
Even Beatrice, the relatively normal loser witch, was crushed by their madness and gave up.
It was funny to read in the novel, but if the original story plays out, I’ll have to endure it myself.
“I can… handle it, right?”
I asked the setting sun, but, naturally, no answer came.
Instead, someone—or something—answered from behind.
ROAR—!
An owlbear—cute owl head, ferocious bear body, both adorable and terrifying—charged at me, as if mocking my worries, ready to devour me.
“…Oh, you’re telling me to focus on surviving?”
Right, this is a survival story.
Too late to run.
I gripped the cleaver tightly and faced the charging owlbear.
*
Sizzle—
The satisfying sound tickled my ears.
Smelling the delicious aroma rising from below, the priestess, watching in fear, asked me in a trembling voice.
“What… is this?”
She stared blankly at the plate piled high with meat.
As if it were obvious, I placed the still-bleeding owlbear head on the table.
THUD—
“Can’t you tell? Owl… no, bear meat. What, don’t want to eat this either?”
“…”
Frowning, thinking she was being picky again, she glanced between the owlbear head and me, then shook her head vigorously.
Then she frantically started devouring the well-cooked owlbear meat.
Somehow, she seemed more polite.
Puzzled by her sudden change, I added more owlbear meat to her plate.
“You’re eating well. Should’ve eaten like this from the start.”
If she can eat like this, why was she so fussy about the mushroom at lunch?
Oh, maybe she’s a carnivore?
Tilting my head in curiosity, I noticed her guard seemed slightly lowered, so I cautiously asked.
“I’ve got a lot of questions. Can you answer them?”
“Huh? Yes? N-No! I mean, go ahead! Please ask!”
“Why the formal tone all of a sudden? You were casual at lunch.”
“W-Well… I was just, um, flustered earlier…”
Her eyes darted around, clearly nervous.
I didn’t understand why, but she seemed easier to talk to now, so I smiled warmly and asked.
“What year is it in the Imperial Calendar?”
“R-Right now? Hold on… It’s Imperial Year 421!”
“421, huh…”
I thought it over but recalled nothing.
History questions always made me nauseous, so what could I possibly know from a year?
Sighing deeply, I asked her another question.
“Have you ever heard of ‘Fasible’?”
“Fasible…? Hmm, maybe I have…”
“No worries if you don’t remember. What about Stroheim?”
“Oh, I’ve definitely heard of him. The mad dwarf abandoned by his kin, right?”
Bingo.
Smiling with satisfaction, I immediately asked about his recent activities.
“Know anything about what he’s been up to? Even bits and pieces are fine.”
“W-Well, I know a little…”
She glanced between the owlbear head and me, avoiding my eyes, and spoke slowly.
“B-Before that, could you move that head? It’s been staring at me, and it’s really unsettling…”
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t know it’d scare you.”
I’d placed it like a pig’s head at a feast, not thinking it’d bother her.
I moved the owlbear head under the table, feeling sheepish, and the relieved priestess shared what she knew about the crazy dwarf.
“Two years ago, he visited the theocracy. I think he asked to borrow a paladin to test a new weapon as a punching bag and got permanently exiled…”
“Oof…”
“I heard recently he’s adventuring with a party, but I don’t know much else. The name ‘Stroheim’ is practically taboo in the theocracy…”
“Makes sense.”
A dwarf who openly spouts nonsense like “Paladin = Ultimate Punching Bag” would naturally be hated.
Even this small bit of info was already giving me a headache.
I’d hoped the author would tighten their screws a bit.
Why did they leave these lunatics unchanged?
“F*ck.”
Just one of them is nauseating enough, and I’ll have to deal with two more just as bad, plus the protagonist, the true embodiment of madness.
“Got a cigarette?”
I’ve never smoked, but I really wanted one right now.