Chapter 11: A Long Road Ahead

Venturing into a strange world was far from romantic. Amidst the thrilling ruins, magic, giant beasts, and heroic tales, there were far more pressing, practical concerns—like how to survive outdoors, sleeping under the open sky, and, most importantly, how to fill one’s stomach.

Their escape had been rushed at every turn. After the castle fell and the last few loyal guards fought to the bitter end, no one had the luxury to pack a bag full of provisions. Besides, they had set out from the ancestral tombs—a place that hardly looked like it stored any food.

So when hunger gnawed at Amber’s belly, everyone was painfully reminded of the urgent reality.

They were surrounded by barren wasteland, not a blade of grass in sight. Across the hillside lay the ruins of Cecil’s domain, now a blazing inferno. But a little farther down the slope was a dense forest.

In this medieval world steeped in magic, forests beyond the towns were synonymous with danger. Where civilization’s light didn’t reach, there were only wild beasts, bandits, and monsters. Yet the forest also meant one thing: food.

And to reach the northern town of Tansan, they had no choice but to pass through this very forest.

The group found a flat, open spot at the forest’s edge to rest briefly, then began assigning roles for foraging.

Gawain first glanced at the quiet, somewhat dull little maid—Betty. The girl was hardly noticeable, but surprisingly brave. When the dragon had appeared earlier, she hadn’t even cried—though maybe she was just too stunned to react. Now, clutching her treasured frying pan tightly, she stood nervously, shrinking back a little when she caught Gawain’s gaze.

“Betty, Hetty, Rebecca, you three stay here,” Gawain said. “Byron, you stay as guard. The rest of us will go hunting. That includes you, Amber.”

Betty had no fighting skills. Hetty and Rebecca were mages, but chasing wild game in the forest wasn’t their forte. Plus, after the exhausting battle in the castle, they hadn’t had a chance to meditate and restore their magical energy—a fatal problem for spellcasters who needed a clear mind to perform. It was better for them to stay behind and guard the camp, so they could recover quickly and be stronger for the journey ahead.

The three loyal family warriors accepted the orders without complaint. Amber, however, widened her eyes. “Why do I have to go? I’m tired too!”

Gawain shot her a sharp look. “Look at your ears—half-elf blood runs through you. If you don’t come hunting with me in the forest, how can you claim your ancestors lived in the trees?”

Amber pouted, full of resentment. “That’s racial prejudice! Who says elves have to hunt in the forest? I learned stealth, not patrolling the woods…”

“You’re digging my grave.”

Amber: “…Fine.”

Gawain led three soldiers and the self-proclaimed non-hunter half-elf into the forest, leaving the loyal Sir Byron and the three ladies to guard the makeshift camp.

After using their dwindling magic to set up some protective runes, Hetty sank wearily onto a rock. Rebecca took Betty for a walk within Byron’s watchful range, then returned carrying a small bundle of dry branches.

She piled the twigs on the ground, stepped back, raised her staff, and began chanting the basic fire-starting spell. A flickering, unstable fireball formed in the air.

Before it exploded, Hetty stopped her. “Let me do it.”

Lighting the campfire with a steadier flame, the chill accumulated from the underground tunnels and the early morning breeze slowly dissipated. Hetty sighed, glancing at Rebecca with a hint of exasperation. “When will you learn any magic besides fireballs?”

Rebecca hung her head in shame. “Sorry, Auntie.”

“Don’t look so defeated, even when apologizing,” Hetty said, rubbing her forehead. “You’re the heir now, you know? Honestly, your performance today… I think the ancestor would be disappointed, even if he didn’t show it.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Then… what should I do?”

Hetty paused, then sighed. “What can we do? Look at the family now—none of the Cecils would satisfy the ancestor. Our current state is so far from the family’s former glory.”

Rebecca pressed her lips tightly. Raised as a typical noble daughter, the recent events had shattered everything she thought she knew. No teacher had prepared her for magical storms, monster attacks, or the fact that their ancestor had literally risen from the coffin. She felt utterly lost.

After a moment of silence, Rebecca finally mustered courage. “Auntie, do you really think the ancestor… is truly resurrected?”

Hetty looked into her niece’s eyes, easily guessing her doubts.

“Are you doubting the ancestor, or his resurrection?”

“I know I shouldn’t doubt, but it’s hard to believe.”

“Me too. But the facts are right in front of us,” Hetty shook her head. “Remember the first lesson every magic apprentice learns? Not theory or spells, but a saying: ‘Truth may defy common sense, but truth is always truth.’ That applies beyond magic.”

Seeing Rebecca deep in thought, Hetty added quietly, “No matter why the ancestor woke from his long sleep, the resurrection of the Cecil ancestor must be a fact…”

Betty glanced between the two ladies, completely lost in their conversation. She lowered her head and hugged her precious frying pan, lost in thought.

Soon, Gawain returned with three soldiers and Amber.

The hunt wasn’t abundant but satisfactory: three rabbits, two large birds with dazzling feathers they couldn’t name, and a bunch of wild fruits. They should have enough to eat.

Watching Amber skillfully gut the game, Gawain smirked. “You said you couldn’t hunt, but your skills are as good as the gray elves in the Taemoor Forest.”

The Taemoor Forest, on the border between the Ansu Kingdom and the Ogure tribe lands, was home to the gray elves—a subspecies considered the world’s finest hunters. Their ability to track prey in dense woods even surpassed that of the forest elves. After realizing he needed to brush up on local knowledge, Gawain had been digging through his mental archives and found this tidbit, which he now proudly applied.

Pretending to be a true local, he thought.

Without looking up, Amber replied, “You’re a hero from 700 years ago—your gray elf jokes must be just as old. Did you know gray elves now deal in herbal imports and exports? They don’t hunt anymore.”

Gawain: “…”

Amber kept working, expertly skewering the cleaned game on a long stick and setting it by the fire. Then she glanced at Gawain. “Look, I really can’t hunt. Though I’m half-elf, I’ve lived in human society since I was little. An old thief raised me…”

“So where’d you learn those skills?”

“I don’t hunt, but I’m good at stealing chickens,” Amber grinned like a kid who just dug up someone’s grave and could still joke with them. “That’s where I learned.”

Gawain: “…”

Hetty frowned slightly at Amber’s words. “So crude.”

Amber wagged a finger. “Yes, yes, I’m crude. What can I do? I’m a thief. I can only pick a few copper coins from passersby’s pockets, not like you nobles who openly take money from your subjects.”

No sooner had Amber finished than Sir Byron drew his sword with a sharp “clang,” pressing the blade against her neck.

The half-elf broke out in a cold sweat.

Gawain waved his hand, signaling Byron to sheath the sword, then looked at Amber with curiosity. “I don’t get it. With that mouth of yours, how have you not been beaten to death yet?”

Before Amber could answer, Gawain mimicked her tone and mannerisms, shaking his head. “Top-notch at running away, right?”

Amber: “…”

“Alright, let’s put aside any class conflicts for now. We’re all in this together,” Gawain said, exhaling and plucking a fruit nearby to eat. “Everyone rest and regain strength. The magic users should meditate to restore their power. We must set out before noon. We’ve already wasted a whole night underground—we can’t afford to lose a whole day now.”

“Betty, you can put that down for now,” Rebecca kindly reminded her maid. “You won’t need it right now.”

Betty looked between her mistress and the frying pan, hesitating.

Curious, Gawain asked, “Why have you been holding onto that pan all this time?”

Betty shrank back a little, clutching the handle tightly. “Mrs. Hansen told me I’m in charge of frying sausages and toast… with this pan.”

“Mrs. Hansen managed the castle kitchen,” Hetty whispered to Gawain. “But she’s dead now.”

Gawain sighed, looking at the freckled little girl.

“This pan is yours now. From now on, it’s all yours,” he said. “But for now, you can set it aside and come eat.”

(Second update is here!!)

(End of chapter)