“Lord Ronan, good morning.” The village chief walked slowly up to Ronan, a polite smile on his face, greeting him softly, “I trust you rested well last night?” “That child Frieren didn’t disturb you, I hope.” Ronan shook his head, his expression calm and open: “Village Chief, there’s no need for such formal titles.
I slept very well—if anything, I’m the one who imposed on her.” “Is there something you need?” Showing up for a visit this early in the morning clearly wasn’t just to exchange simple greetings.
That much was evident from the chief’s hesitant, somewhat conflicted expression.
However, what the chief said next didn’t quite confirm his suspicions.
Instead, he spoke with a touch of hesitation: “Well, there is something, though it’s not terribly important.” “I’m not sure whether that child Frieren mentioned it to you—I was so overwhelmed yesterday that I completely forgot about this matter.” As he spoke, the chief gave his own forehead a light tap, seemingly annoyed with himself for forgetting.
Having done so, he turned his gaze back to Ronan and spoke earnestly, “I came today to give you a reminder.” “The Hero’s Sword originally resided near the Village of the Sword.
Ever since the goddess bestowed the Hero’s Sword upon them, the Village of the Sword has devoted itself, generation after generation, to guarding it.” “Now that you’ve obtained the Hero’s Sword—if what you said is true, that you simply came across it by accident…” “Then those guardians in the Village of the Sword might well be in a rather…” The chief placed particular emphasis on the word “accident,” and everything left unsaid in his sentence made clear just how troubling the matter was.
Ronan’s thoughts paused for a moment, then he nodded, realization dawning.
The Hero’s Sword actually had guardians?
That was something he’d never considered before.
Because at the time, he hadn’t seen a single trace of any so-called guardians.
If that was true, it meant he’d unwittingly walked off with something these people’s very livelihood depended on.
At the thought, Ronan’s brow furrowed, and he asked in return: “So, should this be reported to the guardians in the Village of the Sword now?” “Or do you need me to return the Hero’s Sword?” Hearing this, the chief startled and quickly waved his hands: “No need for that.
The Hero’s Sword isn’t something just anyone can wield.
What’s yours is yours, in the end.” “After all, ever since the goddess created the world, no one has ever been able to lift this sword.” “The fact that you were able to pick it up proves you’re the true Hero—that’s the rule the goddess herself set down.” A rule?
Ronan didn’t think this so-called rule carried any absolute authority.
Because he genuinely wasn’t any kind of Hero—being able to lift the sword probably just came down to his own nearly limitless strength.
Wait…
a thought suddenly occurred to him.
What if this “Hero” wasn’t a matter of character or virtue at all, but simply a matter of raw power?
If that were the case, then everything would make sense.
This goddess had quite the foresight, it seemed.
The corners of Ronan’s lips curled upward into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, and he was about to say something more.
The chief stepped forward, raising a hand, and spoke first: “Lord Ronan, there’s truly no need to worry.” “Just to be safe, I already sent someone to the Village of the Sword two hours ago.” “They should be back in about a week.” “At that point, someone qualified will verify the authenticity of the Hero’s Sword, and they’ll also explain to you its proper method of use…” “Though I’ve seen the Hero’s Sword myself before, that was several centuries ago now.” “Time passes, and memory inevitably grows hazy—it’s entirely possible I misremembered something.” “They are the true authority on the matter.” “Until then, please stay here and make yourself at home.” There was a note of sincerity in the chief’s tone.
This wasn’t purely to set his own mind at ease—more than anything, he hoped to get Ronan moving as quickly as possible.
As elves, it wasn’t their place to meddle in matters concerning the Hero.
But once the people from the Village of the Sword arrived, the situation would change entirely.
Even if it turned out the Hero’s Sword was a fake, it wouldn’t matter.
Ronan was human, after all—there was no way he could stay for long in a village of elves.
No human could endure decades—or even centuries—of the same unchanging life; for someone used to a rich and varied existence, it would feel like a prison, and would inevitably drive one mad.
Unless, of course, the other party was also a long-lived race.
Which obviously wasn’t the case here.
Ronan had no idea what thoughts were running through the chief’s mind, assuming instead that the man was simply looking out for him, just in case.
He nodded lightly: “Well then, I’ll leave that in your hands.” “By the way, I heard yesterday evening that your village’s food supply isn’t quite sufficient.
Did something happen?” “It doesn’t feel right, eating for free without contributing anything.” “I might be able to help out a little.” Hearing this, the chief lowered his head slightly, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes.
He hesitated for a couple of seconds before finally, slowly, explaining the truth of the matter.
—It had all started around five years ago, when the Demon King’s Army pushed steadily southward, cutting off trade routes through parts of several kingdoms.
Though elves lived remarkably long lives and were deeply devoted to farming.
Even so, seeds were limited in number, natural disasters and man-made calamities never ceased, and their population remained constant, all of which led to their food supply gradually dwindling.
Recently, they’d had to purchase most of their food from a nearby town.
The town was mostly populated by humans, who also needed to eat; food demand outstripped supply, and prices kept climbing higher and higher.
To make matters worse, elves loved art and were passionate about magic, but they had never placed much value on wealth, always living a life of taking only what they needed, as they needed it.
At the same time, human kingdoms rose and fell constantly, and currencies changed just as frequently.
Over thousands of years, this meant the amount of genuinely valuable currency the elves had on hand might amount to no more than a coin or two…
There was little to be done about it—elves had never gone out to work for wages; no elf had ever done such a thing.
But the food shortage was a problem staring them right in the face, one that couldn’t simply be ignored.
So the chief had originally planned to expand into the surrounding forest, spending ten years, even several decades, to find a new, stable source of food.
Several decades might seem an unbearably long time to a human, but to an elf, it was little more than the blink of an eye…
Having learned all this, Ronan nodded, roughly grasping the difficulties this village currently faced.
It was a rather absurd situation, when he thought about it.
If things continued on like this, in a few centuries, they’d all starve to death…
This…
Ronan couldn’t help but silently marvel at just how vastly different the world looked through human eyes versus elven eyes.
He let out a sigh and raised his head: “Well, if it’s a matter of food, that’s easy enough to solve.” “When it comes down to it, food is just wealth, and wealth is just money—and I happen to be fairly well-off.” “If you don’t mind, why don’t you leave this matter to me?” Ronan didn’t simply hand the chief a pile of gold coins outright.
His experience from his past life had taught him that people never treasured what came to them for free.
At the same time, this world wasn’t a game—if things went wrong, there’d be no restart, no loading an old save.
Besides, though elves’ temperament differed from that of humans.
Respect earned through genuine effort and respect gained purely through some natural advantage were undoubtedly worlds apart.
Besides, he’d been wanting to see more of the outside world anyway.
Stumbling across an antique in some human town, selling it off for an outrageous price by sheer chance, and then bringing back a huge haul of food by pure coincidence…
That shouldn’t be too much of a problem, surely.