Two days later, in the early morning, a thin mist hung like gauze in the air.
"Hiiih—!"
A fine horse snorted white breath, pawing restlessly at the dew-covered stone marker at the village entrance.
Miliarde tightened the reins.
She first turned her head, scanning the surroundings to confirm their position. Only then did she reach into her clothes and take out a yellowed scroll.
It was a world map.
Seventy years had passed since she left her homeland. Over those seventy years of wandering and stopping, the reason she had never lost her way was this very map.
Her fingers traced the faded lines as she compared their location to the map's center. Lowering her head, she muttered to herself:
"We left that village three days ago. In these three days, we've covered about fifty li. That puts us roughly three thousand seven hundred li from the royal capital."
She looked up.
"Yuhran, should we rest here for a while?"
The li she referred to was not a modern unit of measurement.
In societies from a thousand years ago—closer to ancient Greece—one li equaled about 1.48 kilometers.
Three thousand seven hundred li meant over 5,400 kilometers.
An absurd distance.
After thinking it over, Yuhran agreed without hesitation.
He dismounted, discreetly rubbing his stiffened backside, and when he turned back toward Miliarde, he did his best to maintain a calm expression.
"Resting sounds good. By the way… is there any magic to relieve muscle fatigue?"
Riding a horse was efficient, but the inner sides of his thighs burned painfully, and his backside had been jolted almost completely numb.
And there were still another five thousand four hundred kilometers to go.
That distance was practically equivalent to riding from Mongolia to the Arctic.
Yuhran felt his temples throb.
Miliarde leapt lightly off the horse, put the map away, and frowned slightly.
Her gaze flicked over Yuhran's small, sneaky motion of rubbing his inner thighs. Thinking back to how frequently he'd been adjusting his sitting posture over the past three days, understanding flashed in her eyes.
"Of course there is," she replied, her voice tinged with mild exasperation.
"If it was uncomfortable, why didn't you tell me earlier?"
How was he supposed to say it?
Was he really meant to bluntly admit that his butt hurt? That his hips were—
Yuhran was a man, after all. He still had his pride.
Miliarde shook her head gently, clearly unable to understand why humans made such a fuss over trivial matters.
In her view, a child asking an elder for help when facing difficulty was perfectly natural.
With that thought, she ignored Yuhran's helpless look.
She raised her hand. Magic surged at her fingertips. With a flick of her finger, it streaked like a meteor and sank into Yuhran's muscles.
As emerald-green light seeped in, Yuhran felt a cool sensation spread from his spine, like countless gentle hands massaging his sore lower body.
The accumulated fatigue vanished instantly. His entire body felt lighter.
He jumped in place.
Good. Very good.
Wait—
He suddenly looked up, eyes lighting up.
If the effect was this good, couldn't it be used to assist training?
As Yuhran rubbed his chin, pondering the possibilities, Miliarde finished casting the spell, tied up the horse, and walked toward the village.
Seeing this, Yuhran let out a breath and temporarily shelved his thoughts, hurrying after her.
Better to settle in first before thinking about anything else.
Before long, the two of them met the village chief.
...
"Travelers, is it…"
The wooden door to the chief's house opened only a crack. A deeply wrinkled face peeked out from the shadows.
The old man's graying beard trembled slightly as his cloudy eyes cautiously examined the visitors.
Only after confirming that they were merely two ordinary travelers did he relax his tense shoulders and slowly open the door wider.
"You're looking to stay for a while?"
The chief coughed a few times, his voice hoarse.
"Mm… to be honest, you've come at a bad time."
"There have been some strange occurrences in the village recently. I wouldn't advise you to stay."
"Strange occurrences?" Yuhran raised an eyebrow, instinctively glancing at Miliarde.
Within fifty li, this was the only village around. Surely they couldn't ride for another three days?
He wondered whether she could handle it.
Sensing Yuhran's gaze, Miliarde frowned again.
She suddenly realized that since meeting this human, the number of times her emotions had fluctuated exceeded the total of the past ten years.
This guy… was he expecting her to deal with it?
"Sorry," Yuhran said quickly, realizing he'd acted rashly—without noticing, he had begun to rely on the elf.
If even Miliarde couldn't resolve it, sending her in would be no different from sending her to her death.
He couldn't take that risk.
To be cautious, he reached out to pull her away, intending to leave. But Miliarde lowered her eyes, lost in thought.
She raised her hand and broke free from his grip.
"Wait, Yuhran. Let me hear what this 'strange occurrence' is first."
"I've told you before—elves, in order to avoid boredom, usually devote themselves to exploring a single thing over the course of their long lives."
"What I pursue is wine."
She turned to the old man.
"Sir, may I ask—does this strange occurrence have anything to do with alcohol?"
Just as Frieren's obsession with magic caused her to repeatedly fall for mimic chests, Miliarde was utterly defenseless against wine.
That was why, even knowing how harsh laobaigan would be, she had still forced herself to drink it.
Yuhran's eyelid twitched, his gaze shifting to the village chief.
Hearing her words, the chief finally realized that the woman before him was an elf.
It had been too dark earlier for him to notice. He rubbed his eyes, then shook his head.
"Wine… I'm afraid not. What I meant by 'strange' is disappearances."
His voice sank.
"It's been five days. Every night, someone vanishes in their sleep."
"We scraped together some money and sent for a priest from a nearby town to investigate. But we don't know how long it will take before he arrives."
"So, you two—before this strange thing happens to you as well, it's better if you leave quickly."
Disappearances?
Yuhran's thoughts immediately began racing, spinning out entire plotlines thousands—no, tens of thousands—of words long.
Monsters? Human conspiracies?
Wait. A priest?
Wasn't that a follower of the Goddess?
There were priests even in nearby towns?
Yuhran angled his body toward Miliarde, his eyes asking whether the Sacred Text could be obtained there.
Miliarde frowned and explained softly:
"Priests vary in strength. This is the Southern Continent—even if there are any, their faith in and connection to the Goddess are far inferior to the central church on the Central Continent."
She paused.
"I wouldn't recommend wasting your time there."
Is that so?
Yuhran secretly doubted it.
After all, Miliarde herself had said she didn't believe in the Goddess. If so, why did she know so much?
As expected—only seeing it with his own eyes would put his heart at ease.
Yuhran decided to stay.
However, to be safe—to avoid becoming one of the missing—he chose to keep some distance from the village for now.
They could make further plans once the priest arrived.
"Let's go, Miliarde."
Yuhran turned and left at once, choosing to wait for the right moment.
Three days later, the priest arrived.
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