The Road to Windren
After my promise with Rein… time passed, and the day finally arrived. It was only a short trip, but it was my first chance to leave the village. “I’m not great with kids…” At my parents’ request, the traveling merchant grumbled with a hint of worry, yet still cleared a corner of his wagon for me. As if to warn me not to cause trouble for such a kind merchant, Father raised a clenched fist where I could see it and said, “If I hear you didn’t listen while you’re gone, you’re in for it when you get back.”
“…Yes, sir.”
In the end, my first clumsy adventure began under the protection of adults. Setting everything else aside, I figured I should at least listen to the merchant. …If only to avoid getting beaten by that fist.
Before long, I left Pardin Village for the first time. A faint tension mixed with the steady thump of my heartbeat. Was this childish excitement for adventure? Or anticipation for the items I might find in a new place? I couldn’t tell, but the corners of my mouth stayed stubbornly curved upward.
Sitting in the front corner of the wagon bed, I watched the horse’s broom-like tail sway while gazing at the passing scenery. Then a voice called out.
“Hey, kid.”
“Yes?”
Startled, I straightened my back and turned toward the sound. Given the situation, I was clearly the only one here who could be called “kid.” The voice belonged to the male mercenary riding alongside the wagon for protection—the kind of person who took on requests, guarded caravans, or hunted monster parts in this world, filling the role adventurers played in most fantasy stories.
When I turned with a short reply, the mercenary grinned at me. “Must be boring as hell living in a remote village with nothing but grass, right?”
He casually badmouthed Pardin and waited for my reaction, assuming any boy my age would feel the same. Maybe he was projecting his own past onto me.
“It’s not that bad…”
“Sure it is. I felt the same way.”
My half-hearted denial only made him more certain. Harvesting crops does give a sense of accomplishment during the season, though. Still, there was a reason these people were called mercenaries. None of the jobs he mentioned sounded particularly adventurous—they were just employees carrying out contracts. Not exactly the kind of work that pulled at the heart.
“I’d rather be a traveler than a mercenary.”
“What?”
My firm answer made him pull a face, stretching out the word in disbelief. He clearly thought I had no grasp of reality yet. In this world, people who would be called adventurers in other games were lumped together under the single label of “traveler”—whether they explored caves, searched ruins, or simply wandered without destination.
Traveler. It had a nice ring to it.
“A traveler, huh… That’s a great way to starve to death.”
He stopped short of spelling out the harsh truth, probably because he was talking to a dreamy child. From his perspective as a working mercenary, it made sense to prefer steady contracts over the uncertain life of a traveler. But that left no room for romance or adventure.
The wooden wheels rolled steadily along the flat dirt road. As dusk settled over the boundary between forest and field, my first night camping in the open began in the middle of a wide plain.
Ugh, it’s cold…
I scooted closer to the flickering campfire, shivering. This was real adventuring, learned through the body. Only now did I understand things that had never made sense when I played the game. Why merchants always hired guards. Because without them, players and monsters alike would turn the caravan into a late-night snack. Why you had to light a fire when camping outside. Because if you didn’t, you’d freeze to death before you could enjoy the ingredients you’d gathered.
Every inconvenience I once complained about suddenly felt painfully realistic. I finally understood why skipping firewood during a camp led to a maximum health debuff of -35% the next day. How did my characters even survive? Sorry for never packing wood, guys…
People only understand pain after they’ve been hit by it themselves.
The dark night slowly gave way to a pale dawn. I never truly slept, only closing my eyes on the uncomfortable, uneven ground. Breakfast was eaten without knowing whether it went in my mouth or nose. Afterward, I half-dozed in the swaying wagon until the talkative mercenary spoke again.
“So, how was your first night camping, kid?”
“My back hurts…”
I rubbed my lower back and complained. I’d tried my best to clear the pebbles behind me before crawling into my bedroll, but the ground was still hard and cold. A young child’s soft body had no business surviving that.
“Hahaha! You’ll have to get used to it fast.”
The mercenary laughed heartily, clearly enjoying my suffering. He’d probably gone through the same thing himself. His relaxed attitude was a little irritating—like a frog forgetting what it was like to be a tadpole—but if I really planned to call myself a traveler, I’d have to get used to it too.
We finally arrived at the outskirts of a city. When the long road came to an end, the mercenary let out a short sigh and relaxed his tension. “Whew, we’re finally here.”
The problem was, I had no idea which city it was. There was no convenient name floating in the corner of my vision like in the game. Even though I’d enjoyed it, the map hadn’t been burned into my memory—especially not after several years since my last playthrough.
While I was thinking, the line at the checkpoint steadily shortened. “Thanks for your work.”
Once the wagon reached the city gates, the merchant handed the mercenary his payment, as if the job were now complete. With a heavy clink, the coin pouch passed from hand to hand. The mercenary shook it empty over his palm, then returned the pouch to the merchant.
“Whenever I hire guards, monsters never even show their faces…” the merchant muttered, clearly annoyed. It was a result-based complaint—if he’d known, he wouldn’t have bothered hiring protection at all.
“Hey, no news is good news, right?” the mercenary replied cheerfully, having earned his pay without lifting a finger. From a logical standpoint, it was true, but the one paying couldn’t help feeling a little cheated.
As we approached the gates, armed soldiers standing on either side walked toward the wagon. “Three people total?”
The soldier’s voice was polite yet imposing. The merchant answered first. “Yes, merchant Esmar.”
“One merchant, one child, and the man beside you is the guard?”
“Mercenary Bars.”
The mercenary introduced himself with a casual wave. Come to think of it, this was the first time I’d heard either of their names. Children apparently didn’t need to be identified, so I was treated as barely present.
After a short wait, the guards finally stepped aside. “You may enter. Enjoy your time in Windren.”
Amid the clatter of the soldiers’ metal boots, the city’s name reached my ears. It stirred something in my memory. Hidden items in cities—at least two per city. I couldn’t recall the complicated names, but the effects of the useful items were crystal clear.
Right, behind the abandoned house… in the trash bin.
I remembered a pair of boots that boosted movement speed when health was high and evasion when it was low. All I had to do was sneak over and grab them. Easy.
“Come one, come all! These won’t be here tomorrow~”
When can I go?
The issue was that my guardian in this city was still the merchant. My parents had asked him to watch me, so he couldn’t just let a kid who’d never been to a city run free. What do I do?
If I just took the boots, someone would definitely ask where I got them. I had no excuse ready. At best, I’d be accused of stealing. If it had been something small like a ring, I could’ve just pocketed it, but this was turning out to be more complicated than expected.
While mulling it over, I glanced around. The merchant was selling crops from our village. He usually sold goods from nearby towns, so we must have traveled farther than I thought. When I checked the price tags, I couldn’t help but be shocked.
“Whoa, the prices…”
The merchant’s fivefold markup was just as brutal in reality as it had been in the game. No wonder players always wanted to rob passing merchant wagons. From the player’s perspective, it was completely understandable.