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The otherworldly version of potato fries, made as a gift from the Tree Spirit, vanished in an instant. There was no special reason for this.

It was simply because they were crispy, savory, and delicious. That was all.

And just like the two days without any attacks prior, the journey towards Baron Bolton’s Territory continued without a hitch.

In other words, it was boring.

“Just three days to go.”

Of course, Karem did not succumb to boredom. Anticipating this, he prepared the optimal solution through prior experiences.

Rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle—

Peeling nut shells.

This time, he prepared pistachios.

“It feels like it’s too peaceful, doesn’t it?”

“Wasn’t there an attack from the mob of Lower Undead drawn to the caravan sometimes?”

“True, but…”

However, the Lower Undead in Iceland were such insignificant minions that even a farmer wielding a hoe could deal with them if they were few.

In a journey with a current B-Class Adventurer party, an A-Class Adventurer, and a Former S-Class Adventurer, such nuisances were hardly regarded as work.

“You seem to be mumbling as you get tired of peeling.”

“Oh? Karem, is that so?”

Catherine, lounging halfway in the seat across, rolled up her scroll while Mary, tidying up her hair that spilled onto the floor, sparkled with excitement.

“It’s nice to see the scattered powder on the floor is being taken care of.”

“No! Those are the pistachios I brought to peel.”

“It’s been a night since we cleaned the wagon anyway. We might as well get it done!”

As expected, true to her nature as a house fairy, Mary tried to forcibly snatch away the energetic shell peeling for herself despite Karem’s rejection.

Not a chance.

“No, you little house fairy! I don’t want to!”

“Um… no. Karem, leave it to Mary.”

“See? Even Sister Catherine—huh? Sister?”

Could it be betrayal?! But Catherine on the opposite side was just tapping the spot she had been lounging on upright.

“You come here and sit down?”

“Pillow? I can still do that while peeling—”

“Are you planning to scatter nut crumbs all over my face and hair?”

Well, even for a moment of boredom, that would be crossing the line.

As Karem placed the pistachios and the empty shell basket down, he sat in the vacant spot across, and a golden tuft plopped onto his thigh.

“Hmm, this side feels a bit more comfortable—”

Just then, Mary’s neatly arranged hair returned to disarray, prompting a protest from her, who was focused on the pistachios.

“Contractor. Now my hair, which I just arranged—”

“There are others who can tidy up besides you, so it’s fine.”

“Um, is it me?”

“Yes, you.”

Under the silent pressure to hurry, Mary was bewildered while watching Karem, now quite skilled, as she wondered at the same time.

His hand moved with the deftness of fine, close-knit silk threads as he organized her blonde hair, and while it might not be as skilled as hers, it was adequate.

What’s this? How come he’s so good at this?

And then Mary hit her realization.

During their shared moments, Karem often brushed and tidied Catherine’s hair without interfering, cunningly avoiding detection.

Of course, Mary knew Karem had excellent craftsmanship.

When one was capable of vividly recreating dishes from a past life, they wouldn’t be lacking in skill—ah, what a blunder.

Finally, the reason for his proficiency dawned on her.

Excelling at practical skills, he could solve problems that arose from different fields with mere time and technique.

Then who, pray tell, was the foolish house fairy who unwittingly facilitated this time for only Karem to get accustomed to sprucing up Catherine’s hair?

That would be none other than foolish Mary! Silly Mary!

Of course, if she didn’t go back and play it cool then, the forced leave of absence would only extend.

In any case, it was a choice with no good options.

Mary had to refresh her memory of the early days when she had been robbed of kitchen duties with a dull stare.

*

*

*

Towns of considerable scale typically either pass through or are in proximity to a route leading to the city.

Cities are fundamentally dense congregation centers of people optimized for consumption.

Merchants, adventurers, peddlers, criminals, nobility, and many others frequently stop by the towns, which serve as thoroughfares to the cities, to scatter money.

That money inevitably becomes the foundation for growing the town.

“However, the towns in Baron Bolton’s Territory have been devastated by large-scale Grizzly Beaver rampages.”

“Then stopping by wouldn’t be an option.”

“Right. There’s no way to pass through a town currently in the midst of reconstruction.”

This fact had been communicated beforehand, so Jurin and his crew, along with Sigurd IV, thought they’d be camping for quite a while.

“What? The town looks fine.”

Eirika, who was guarding the wagon, was mistaken. The town was far from thriving under reconstruction.

In fact, it was questionable to even label it a town.

“Sister, Sister! Come and take a look.”

“Hmm?”

Catherine, though reluctant, stood up and quickly grasped the situation.

“At a glance, it looks like a forest to me.”

“…It may seem that way at first, but it’s definitely a town.”

Hearing that, Karem turned his head back sharply again.

Beyond the stockade surrounding the town, the townsfolk were busily tilling the fields. Beyond the palisade were thick, short trees with lush leaves and stems.

“The Elves of Bersengzeto cultivate the trees like that and live within them.”

“Oh, is that so? Huh? Bersengzeto?”

“That’s right. Even from a distance, those green leaves are exceptionally well-tended.”

At Karem’s statement, who leaned out of the window, Eirika nodded in agreement, impressed.

“I never imagined someone would tend to the Elven woods so well in this desolate land.”

“If only those sturdy trees could be cut down for firewood, that would be fantastic.”

Aindelf, feeling embittered by the thought of the elves prospering, abruptly riled Eirika up.

“…So that barbaric cave dwarf can only think in such destructive terms regarding nature.”

“Are the ones who burrow into trees like squirrels normal?”

“That’s normal in Bersengzeto, right? Other races sometimes have different homes.”

As the adventurers bickered in their accustomed manner during the journey, the wagon approached the town.

“More importantly, this seems to be Druid magic.”

“Hey, was it you named Jurin? Break me off a branch from there.”

“Here you go.”

Catherine examined the branch Jurin broke, turning it this way and that before nodding.

“Indeed, it’s Druid magic.”

“So, all the trees here… Do they all grow thanks to the Druid?”

“Yes. If it’s grown to this scale in such a short time… It would be tough without a sage.”

“Could it be that they hired someone?”

“That’s unlikely.”

Catherine shook her head as she sat back down again.

“Even though he’s a baron, he’s a newly appointed noble. He wouldn’t have the funds—”

“Your Grace did say she’d finance the restoration project.”

“Hmm… in that case, there could be a likelihood.”

Afterward, they stopped at the town along the main road one day apart, but every town they passed looked the same apart from size. They were alive wooden houses with doors and windows that any elf would be inclined to enter.

Catherine and Jurin, both convinced it would be hard without a sage, modified their words to indicate it was more likely a sage-tier Druid at work.

With clusters of thick tree homes merging into one another, it looked nothing but a forest until they entered through the stockade gate.

And as they got closer to their destination, Baron Bolton’s Territory, a curious sight drew their attention.

Thud, thud, thud, thud—

“…That’s a Tree Spirit, right? Not a monster.”

“Yes. I can feel the spirit power even from this distance. It’s definitely a Tree Spirit.”

A Tree Spirit, somewhat larger than the one that had previously stolen an entire pot of goulash, was slowly walking at the same pace as the group from a distance.

In total, there were ten Tree Spirits, including the thieving one they had encountered in Baron Bolton’s Territory.

“Is that also the doing of the Grand Wizard-level Druid you mentioned, Sister?”

“No, that’s unlikely.”

Catherine nodded, as if she understood Karem’s sentiment for asking.

“While the Druidic school specializes in plant manipulation, there is still a clear distinction from Spirit Magic. Spiritists draw upon the powers of spirits, they cannot create spirits themselves.”

“What about all the Tree Spirits we’ve seen until now?”

“I’ve mentioned it before. Tree Spirits originally don’t dwell on the barren Seophone Island.”

Catherine said this, glancing outside at the distant walking Tree Spirit. However, seeing those Tree Spirits right in front of her was a first for her too.

“I’m just saying this on the off chance…”

As Jurin outside scratched his chin.

“Is there a chance they’re interconnected?”

“Interconnected? You mean that the Grand Wizard came here drawn by the Tree Spirits?”

“If they specialized in plant magic from the Druid school, that would make some sense, wouldn’t it? Especially if Tree Spirits appeared here on this island; it would indeed be a topic for research. And more than that.”

Jurin gestured towards Eirika walking ahead of the group.

“The Grand Wizard is likely to be an elf from Bersengzeto.”

“In that case, it makes sense. Only the skilled hands of the elves from Bersengzeto could create such delicately crafted wooden houses.”

Aindelf, who had been drinking beer with Sigurd IV from the back, shuddered.

“Ugh! Good gracious. Just one elf is bothersome enough, and now there’s another? Good heavens.”

“Aindelf, try to get along with Eirika.”

“Do you think a dwarf could refrain from beer?”

“I’d rather leave the meat to a troll.”

“At least you know it’s hopeless!”

Listening silently to their banter, Karem immediately shut the window as it became noisier outside.

“I don’t mind if you continue to chatter.”

“It seems to be getting noisy.”

“In that case, just sit back down here.”

Karem followed Catherine’s words and sat down, gently laying her back on his thigh.

“By the way, it seems that Druids have several specializations, right?”

“Yes. The hallmark of the Druidic school is their ability to empathize with nature’s flora and fauna and cultivate nature while borrowing its power. Their magic is broadly divided into plants and beasts.”

“Oh, rather than being strictly categorized like fire or ice, it covers a broader scope.”

“Nature is comprehensive; if you break it down, there are even more types than this.”

Catherine said this while creating and dissipating a small chunk of ice with her hand repeatedly.

“Perhaps that’s why there are notably fewer sages in the Druidic school. Even those are mostly elves.”

“Hmm.”

She felt she somewhat understood the reason.

The wizards at the Wizard’s Tower in Winterhome also focused intensely on one type of magic at a time, as none delved deeper into more than that.

In a past life, it felt similar to the difficulty of pursuing dual majors in a doctoral program—too challenging to achieve excellence in just one subject while cramming multiple.

The two primary specialties of the Druidic school were similarly arduous.

It was clear that reaching the level of sage or adept would take significantly longer than other magical studies.

“So, if we met Porong, that wizard would likely be quite flustered.”

“Porong…? Ah.”

Catherine finally remembered Flora’s Porong and snapped her fingers.

“More like, it would be amusing to see him roll around and ask to be treated like a dog, lying down on the floor.”

“Oh, surely not…”

Suddenly, Karem recalled how Corvus had once presented a plant encyclopedia from the Druid’s stronghold in the greenhouse.

A promised enormous reward for providing information on extinct species.

What if one of them learned about the Dryad, akin to a spirit of nature revered in the past, that had significantly contributed to the might of the Palatino Empire?

Particularly since Catherine, Jurin, and Eirika had practically concluded that the wizard responsible for the wooden houses was definitely a Druid from Bersengzeto.

Could it really be crawling around on the floor?

The proud elves of Bersengzeto and their remarkable Druid magic.

As Karem mused over these thoughts, he shook his head.

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing at all.”

It was likely a hasty judgment.

 

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