“Those bandits really were a bit off.” Cecilia said, then suddenly changed the subject: “But before we get into that, tell me, why do you call every horse ‘Pearl’?”
“Because it’s a title that can be passed down, not just a name. Every horse that carries us deserves to be called Pearl!” Rita declared righteously.
After all, she couldn’t exactly explain her own quirky sense of humor to Cecilia—even though, honestly, it wasn’t really a quirk at all.
“I see. In the southern lands, there’s a tribe whose chief is always called the Big Manpo, generation after generation. I suppose it’s about the same idea, right?”
Cecilia seemed to understand Rita’s slightly childish intent. She knew she couldn’t possibly grasp every single one of Rita’s little habits, especially those that didn’t seem to mean much.
For example, adults who call themselves animals probably aren’t too stable mentally. The odds go up if it’s a little bunny, kitten, lone wolf, or bear.
But someone who claims to be a Six-horned Dinosaur or a Northern Mountain Frog is probably just plain childish.
Now it was Rita who didn’t understand why Cecilia’s train of thought jumped around so much: “Lady Cecilia, why do you even ask that?”
“First, getting to know you better is no bad thing. Second, clearing up little questions like this helps me focus on more important matters.” Cecilia said, casting her gaze out the carriage window again. “Third, with company around, it isn’t the time for too serious a conversation.”
On the other side of the window, Claire was running toward the carriage, carrying her lute and a tiny pack that probably couldn’t fit much of anything at all.
It’s you, lovely pheasant!
“Ha, ha—thank you for your help! If it weren’t for you, they’d have stripped me bare!” Claire stopped in front of the carriage, breathing heavily, wiping sweat from her brow, and then loudly expressing her thanks.
Though technically Claire wasn’t wrong, Rita had overheard the whole conversation, and could tell right away Claire was intentionally misleading her. Wait, hasn’t this sort of “saving a damsel in distress, then getting thanked” thing happened before?
Yes, it has. And last time, she got into trouble for it.
Although Rita didn’t want to believe Claire was doing it on purpose, the sense of déjà vu made her more wary.
“Ah! It’s you! Beautiful lady! You’re the one who gave me Black Bread! Thanks to you, I slept full and warm in the haystack.” Seeing Rita wasn’t saying anything, Claire scrutinized her face, then suddenly let out a cry.
“That was Lady…Lady Sephalia’s gift. If you want to give thanks, do it in your heart to the one who owns that name.” Rita gave her no chance to change the subject, and went straight to the point: “Did you need something else?”
“I just wanted to thank you! How about this—I’d like to offer you songs for your journey, to ensure neither you nor your kind mistress need ever feel bored again!” Claire seemed to have just thought of it, and offered the proposal.
Rita didn’t need Cecilia to remind her: this was no sudden whim of Claire’s!
Though the pretty pheasant likely wasn’t in league with those bandits, her coming back now clearly meant she was after a free ride!
I’m not the naïve girl I used to be! I saw right through your little tricks!
Still, it wasn’t Rita’s call to make, so she turned to consult Cecilia inside the carriage.
“Vita, ask if she can drive a carriage?”
“I can, I can! We bards can do all sorts of things.” Claire didn’t even wait for Rita to pass the question on, nodding furiously, then—realizing she’d been too eager—scratched her head in embarrassment before resuming her dramatic air.
Some time later, Cecilia’s carriage set out again.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, Claire cradled her lute, strumming and singing as she went.
“The kingdom’s scenery is so colorful, the kingdom’s winds so wild…”
Rita sat with arms crossed inside the carriage, across from Cecilia, watching Claire sing her heart out through the little window, not caring at all about the beloved little horse. Rita felt lucky she’d set the auto-pathfinding function before getting in, then lowered her voice to ask Cecilia.
“Lady Cecilia, why let this person travel with us?”
“Because, though she may have her own agenda, her tricks are harmless to us. People who reveal their intentions are usually safer.” Cecilia leaned into the soft cushion, eyes closed, and answered quietly.
“I used to trust you for the same reason.”
“So what benefit can we get from her?” Rita asked again.
“She’ll let you rest a while. Traveling nonstop drains your energy, and I don’t want you exhausted if we face danger.” Cecilia replied.
So touching! Lady Cecilia did it for me!
At this point, there was no way Rita could confess she’d been using charm magic to keep the little horse running on auto-path!
“There’s another reason. Bards have crossed the whole continent on foot—their stories, even if exaggerated or embellished, still reflect the kingdom in their own way.”
“I see.” Rita nodded, half understanding.
The carriage rolled on down the road, Claire’s song shifting from an ode to the kingdom’s beauty to a rousing ballad of war. Rita listened off and on—one moment it was about a Mountain Giant’s fist flattening the hills, then about a Great Thunder Elephant’s tusks piercing city walls. So flowery and grandiose, but in the end, didn’t the Hero’s Holy Sword just slay them all with a single strike?
“By the way, Lady Cecilia, does this world really have Heroes?” Rita asked casually.
Cecilia looked at Rita as if a mother gazing at a child asking whether Santa Claus existed.
“I already told you, I’m not originally from this world, so I really wouldn’t know.” Rita muttered, trying to defend her somewhat silly question.
“I remember. You said this world is just a Game, with every move planned out. But isn’t every world a chessboard for some god’s Game?” Cecilia replied.
Rita had tried more than once to explain that video games and the Game Cecilia meant were different, but when she thought about it, maybe there really wasn’t much difference, so she let it go.
It seemed that, in legend, all demons came from the Otherworld, so people were oddly accepting of the Otherworld’s existence. The accidental slip of Rita’s tongue never caused a stir at all.
But after her explanations, Cecilia did seem a bit more at ease around her.
An Otherworld with no Hero—it was a little strange.
“Then what about Warriors of Light? Travelers? Pioneers? Wanderers? Moon Hunters?”
Rita’s questions earned her a look from Cecilia that said, “I don’t understand a word you’re saying, but do you even hear yourself?”
Oh well. There was nothing she could do about her limited understanding of this world.
As dusk fell, the carriage finally stopped before a village.
Since they’d set out at noon, it would be difficult to reach the next city today. Stopping in a small village was a good idea.
As soon as they entered, several villagers gathered around, smiling broadly.
“Welcome, welcome to the Village of Sirens.”
“Ah, travelers from afar, are you here to rest for the night?”
Their enthusiastic welcome actually made Rita feel a chill run down her spine.
For some reason, the saying “there’s something fishy about abnormal circumstances” suddenly popped into her mind.
If she were still playing a Game, a few village NPCs chatting her up would be normal, but for so many villagers to come out and greet her just for entering a random small village—it was a bit much, wasn’t it?
Regardless, Rita climbed down from the carriage, nudged the lovely pheasant Claire down with her toe as well.
“Yes, is there somewhere to stay in the village?”
“I’ll take you to our inn.” An old woman smiled kindly, the wrinkles on her face gathering like a blooming sunflower. Rita led the carriage behind her, following the stone-paved path into the heart of the village.
Though it was evening, there were still plenty of people about. Whenever they saw Rita and her party, they all put down their work and greeted them with friendly smiles.
The village was small, but well-equipped for its size—not only a tiny chapel, but even an Adventurers’ Guild.
The Adventurers’ Guild was just a public quest hub in the Game, so every safe zone had one. But after crossing over, Rita obviously couldn’t go around doing quests for rewards anymore. So to her, it was just another building.
Before long, the old woman led Rita to a small inn.
The inn was modest, just two floors, with maybe three or four rooms not counting the owner’s, and none of them very large.
But as a place to rest, it was good enough.
“Here we are, dears.” The old woman pursed her lips, her smile widening. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. If you like it, you’re welcome to stay as long as you wish.”
The innkeeper, eyes narrowed to slits, hurried over: “Granny, don’t be in such a rush. They won’t decide to stay forever right away. We need to show them our village’s charm first.”
No, something really does feel off.
Rita couldn’t say exactly why, but everything she saw just felt a little too abnormal.