Before she left, Miya grabbed the hem of Roland’s dress, hoping to go with her.
But how could Roland possibly feel at ease? She couldn’t guarantee that she’d be able to watch over Miya’s safety every moment; bringing her along might even arouse suspicion. The safest option was to let her stay at home.
“Wait for me at home, all right?”
Miya took out her notebook and wrote: “No… Miya is scared alone.”
“This is your home. How could you be alone? There’s still Sebas and Nasha, and if that’s not enough, you can go find Cheryl. She won’t be mean to you anymore.”
The girl wrote again: “But… Mama always leaves for so long every time. I feel so lonely.”
“Don’t be naughty. It’s just staying at home—there’s nothing much to worry about.”
After saying that, Roland didn’t hesitate any longer. She steeled herself and turned away, leaving immediately. The matter at the mine was urgent; she didn’t want to waste even a moment.
Though doing this would hurt Miya’s feelings, Roland believed she’d understand. Everything was for a peaceful life.
While Roland thought this, she had no idea that Miya, left behind, was still unwilling to let go of the hand that had been pulled away. Her expression struggled; her body wanted to move, but the shackles of her mind held her like a bog, keeping her in place.
If only she could speak, she truly wished she could voice her desire: “Mama, don’t go…”
On the road, Roland’s mind kept replaying what had just happened.
Was it really okay to do that?
Was Miya crying right now?
What if no one was there to comfort her?
Her unceasing worry was already seriously affecting her thoughts, so, out of rationality, she chose to distract herself in other ways.
“System, how is my relationship with Miya now?”
[You’ve just broken through 10%! Your relationship has gone from strangers to a budding affection. Keep it up, and strive to reach mutual understanding soon!]
10% was pretty much what Roland had expected. There was still quite a distance to the next reward milestone at 25%.
“I remember you said Motherly Love Points can be used directly to boost attributes, right?”
[Yes, darling.]
“Don’t be so gross… How much Motherly Love does it take to increase Magic Power Cap by 1 point?”
[The conversion ratio is 10:1, and the result is irreversible.]
“Why is it so expensive? Doesn’t 1 Motherly Love Point replenish 10 points of magic?”
[There’s a reason for the high cost. Raising your cap and replenishing spent magic are two different things. Most mages in this world have a limit to their magic power growth. The Host does not.]
“Fine.” At least that was good news for Roland. “What about other attributes? Is the ratio the same?”
[Mhm, mhm.]
“I really can’t think of a way to use this little Motherly Love to get stronger.”
[Don’t worry. As the number of daughters increases and your emotional bonds deepen, the amount of Motherly Love the Host can get each day will increase as well.]
After ending her conversation with the system, Roland tried to clear her mind.
The scenery outside the window flashed by in a blur, leaving only indistinct shadows. The irregular clatter of hooves and wheels sounded by her ears, adding an annoying edge to her already chaotic thoughts.
“So noisy.”
Clearly, in her previous life she wasn’t this sensitive, and her emotions were more stable. Why was she now so troubled by something so small?
It must be the excess secretion of female hormones after turning into a woman. Women’s bodies are just troublesome. If only there were a spell to change gender.
“Miss Roland, we’re almost there.”
Hearing Grem’s voice, Roland realized quite some time had passed. The magic mine was at most half an hour’s ride away. She needed to be ready before then.
She put her hand on the seat beside her, where a set of rather old-fashioned work clothes lay. Sebas had prepared them for her—they were called the Songseeker’s uniform.
When the mine came into view, Grem quietly stopped the carriage, hiding both the horses and the carriage on the far side of the mine.
Roland got off, but her appearance had changed. The pristine white long dress was gone, replaced with a coarse brown linen jacket and canvas trousers. Her hair was tied up high, and she wore a floppy wide-brimmed felt hat. At her waist hung a small satchel.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” It was the first time Grem had seen a noble willing to lower herself and disguise as a commoner just to get to the truth.
“As sure as I could ever be,” Roland replied firmly.
“Then I’ll wait for you here. Please come back safely.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a mage now, after all.”
As she spoke, Roland suddenly realized her disguise was missing something. She bent down, grabbed a handful of dust from the ground, patted it hard, then smeared it over her face and arms.
“Perfect.”
Once everything was ready, she walked alone toward the mine, first climbing up the slope, then descending step by step along a spiral staircase.
The magic mine was mainly located in the pit. From above, she could see all the facilities and people at a glance. Workers in miner’s garb pushed minecarts in and out, the carts piled with translucent, pale blue ore. Some workers coughed from time to time, spitting out thick blue phlegm from their mouths.
Aside from the miners, the most obvious figure was the man napping in the lookout tower. He had his legs propped up, both heels on the tower’s edge, and his one remaining right hand held a whip. The whole time, his eyes stayed shut, snoring away.
Unless she was mistaken, this man was the overseer of the mine, Vance Pierce.
“Sleeping on the job? I’ll remember that one for later.”
Roland made a mental note, preparing to settle accounts later.
She walked along a man-made path down into the pit. Along the way, miners noticed her, but because of her unremarkable—almost pitiful—appearance, no one realized the sudden visitor was actually the owner of the mine.
After looking around, Roland finally chose an old miner who was resting as her target for conversation. The more senior, the more he’d know.
She walked up and, feigning curiosity, asked, “Um… Hello, I’m Lanro, a Songseeker traveling the world, collecting songs and stories from different regions. Could I trouble you for a chat?”
The old miner slowly opened his eyelids and glanced at Roland, then closed his eyes again and lay back down. “I’m just an old man about to die. Leave me alone, would you?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not here for official talk—just the kind you’d tell in a tavern. You look like you know this place well, so please, you must tell me.”
“You mentioned a keyword. If you had something to wet my throat with—like a bottle of good strong liquor—I might be willing to sit up and say something.”
Roland caught the hint in the old miner’s words. She turned and walked to a building, bought a bottle of cheap liquor from the clerk, and came back to hand it to him.
When he opened his eyes again and saw the bottle in front of him, the old miner accepted it without hesitation. He sat up, pulled out the wooden stopper, and took a big swig, not forgetting to wipe his mouth afterward.
“Now that’s refreshing. You’re sharp, aren’t you? Then let me tell you all about the crap that goes on in this dump.”
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