The Stone Soup Scheme
Gregory gathered his companions and slunk away. Ian glared at his retreating back before speaking up.
"What the hell was that prick doing here?"
Gunnar jumped in quickly. "That's Gregory the hunter! Richest guy in the village, but narrow-minded as they come!"
Gregory the hunter was the top dog among the Sky Claw tribe's hunters. In the North, where most food came from hunting, being a hunter was a job everyone envied. In the original world, you'd have doctors, lawyers, and judges at the top. For barbarians, it was hunters.
That's right. When you thought about it, hunting was a pretty fake-ass job too...!
"Ever since he got stranded in the snow mountains as a kid and survived, he's been a devout follower of Hrun Dal."
"Hrun Dal?"
"The ice god's name. Celestial Church folks don't say it lightly."
No wonder he hated the Celestial Church. As someone tied to hunting, Gregory worshipped Hrun Dal, the North's ice god. There was a superstition up here that the ice god sent game your way. Piss off the ice god, and good luck finding prey—that kind of thing.
'Who knows, maybe it really does send game.' Ian nodded as he listened to Madagal's story. If the ice god the northerners worshipped was the same kind of being as the Celestial Church's god—a kind of mystery—then it wouldn't be weird if it actually looked after them.
"As you probably heard from Gunnar... the Sky Claw tribe botched the Great Hunt Festival."
"That thing about stocking up on food?"
"Yeah. You need to stockpile enough during the Great Hunt to survive winter safely. But they blew it..."
That explained why Gunnar had brought up war. Both southern and northern tribes had screwed up their hunts. If winter hit like this, they'd all starve—so why not snatch food from the others first?
"Gregory thinks the Celestial Church messed up his hunt. But that doesn't make sense."
"Right! The Church has been around for thirty years! If Hrun Dal was gonna punish us, it'd have happened ages ago!"
The Sky Claw tribe originally liked the Celestial Church. Monk Isila had come proselytizing once—filmed a real mad movie vibe and left. But time passed, things got tough, and villagers started eyeing the ice god faith on the sly. For Gregory, who already believed, it was a golden opportunity.
"...I see."
Ian figured out why Gregory had come threatening them. With the North in dire straits and an imperial mage showing up—a Celestial Church follower, no less—it was nothing but bad news for an ice god fan like him. He wanted Ian's group shipped back to the Empire ASAP.
If Ian had been a pushover, he'd have caved to the barbarian threats and fled. But Ian was a veteran traveler who'd weathered all sorts of bizarre adventures. Gregory probably never imagined getting fleeced in return.
"The knight handled him well, but I'm worried about retaliation."
Belenca said it without changing expression. "No regrets. I just did what I had to."
Ian chuckled. Belenca's (physical) brand of upright justice was always reassuring.
"Gregory's got no friends anyway! He won't try revenge."
"No friends, but he might have followers," Madagal sighed heavily. "Ian, sorry to hit you with this right away, but... could you head back to the Empire?"
"Hm. Because of Gregory?"
"Partly. But not just that. War might break out soon. Your life would be at risk."
War. Ian had been through one already—to make Lucy a baroness, he'd slaved away in Talian lands. War itself didn't scare him. The problem was it would blow his northern expedition to hell.
He hadn't crossed the Empire by sea just for some chicken delivery... er, phoenix delivery, right? Ian had a ton on his plate. Check if Takarion was alive, investigate the Arcana card from Isila. He wasn't some damn courier who'd bounce after one drop-off.
"I'll keep it in mind. But I can't leave yet—the monastery asked me to find someone."
"Ah, the monk you're looking for?"
"Yeah. Takarion, ever heard of him?"
Gunnar answered. "Takarion of the Golden Finger! Author of the Gospel of Saint Marcus!"
"Oh, really?"
"You know it! Got a copy right here!"
Gunnar proudly showed off the gospel. Madagal grumbled beside him. "Full of weird nonsense... who even likes that stuff?"
"What're you saying! You just don't get how awesome this gospel is!"
Ian was quietly impressed. Even in this remote barbarian land, Takarion's light novel—er, gospel—was circulating. Good for him. Successful author life.
"But why are you looking for Monk Takarion?"
"Heard he got dragged off by northerners. Know anything?"
Madagal crossed his arms seriously. "Not sure. Too many raiding tribes to pinpoint."
"Mm. Figures."
Ian hadn't expected much. No leads was fine. But Madagal's next words shocked him.
"But... for a monk kidnapping, maybe the Red Bear tribe's chief commissioned it."
"The chief? Why would a chief...?"
Ian couldn't fathom why a chief would trek to the Empire for a holy man.
"The Red Bear chief's bedridden with a serious illness. Might need a monk for that."
Ian nodded. Aha, prayers! Religion aside, Takarion's a famous cleric—must figure he'll pray good!
"For prayers, huh."
But Madagal shot it down. "Nah. As medicine."
"??? What medicine?"
"You know tonics from vital organs? A holy man's heart invigorates the body."
"..."
The barbarians shattered Ian's expectations like glass. Prayers? What prayers? We're gonna boil and eat the damn thing!
Ian reeled in shock. If the chief really nabbed Takarion, it was to rip out his heart and brew it into medicine!
These crazy savages!
"Gotta head to the Red Bear tribe!"
"No, Ian, time to go back to the Empire..."
It was just a possibility. But Ian felt a gut certainty from it. A mage's intuition. And that was never something to ignore.
"Red Bear's a belligerent bunch. They like isolation, and the path's treacherous—you'll need prep!"
"Ha. Food again?"
"Yeah. Ask the village for travel rations? No one's thrilled."
Ian pulled out gems just in case. "You said Gregory's rich. Buy food with these...?"
"Doubt he'll sell."
"Even for gems?"
"...What, something special?"
"..."
Gems were pretty. That was it. In a land without bustling trade, they were just shiny rocks. It wasn't the barbarians being weird—most of this era's lands barely grasped commerce. Only the Empire's southern city-states near the Coral Sea did it right.
"...Got it."
To keep operating up North, he needed proper backing. Madagal the Celestial priest welcomed him, but that was it. A poor priest's help wasn't enough; he needed real support.
'Gotta find a way.'
Otherwise, boat people ending—stuck sailing back to the Empire.
Ian scanned the village, pondering how to befriend the Sky Claw folk.
"Hm?"
That day, he spotted something odd.
"Hey! Gregory! Got any spare food...?"
"Another beggar. Buzz off, don't hassle me!"
"Beggar? This gentleman's your distant in-law's..."
"Damn it, then he's nobody to me!"
A scuffle at Gregory's house. Ian watched quietly. Knowing Gregory was loaded, desperate villagers begged for food. He shot them down every time.
'Stingy neighbor.'
Ian watched at first without much thought. He knew Gregory was a jerk. Stingy folks who ignored pleas? Dime a dozen everywhere.
"Filthy cheapskate! Live fat and happy alone!"
Villagers cursed him. Gunnar's words echoed: no friends. That's why he hadn't mustered a real protest after Belenca's beatdown.
'Rich loner jerk...'
An idea hit Ian.
Gregory was stingy and petty. But maybe use that stinginess... to score food?
'Worth a shot.'
Ian was Empire-born, Celestial faithful, and a mage. In this info-skewed society, no one would clock his plan.
He immediately huddled with his companions.
Ian's plan was simple. "See, Gregory's got wealth but zero popularity."
"So?"
"What if we win over the villagers first, then squeeze food outta him?"
Hoover the sucker, basically.
Made sense. But how?
Belenca asked, "Win them over how...?"
She figured Ian wasn't talking nonsense. Mages had weird tricks. But his answer floored her.
"By sharing food."
"...Sharing what?"
Belenca thought she'd misheard. Share food with villagers? Weren't we broke and starving?
Didn't add up. If we had food, we'd eat it first!
Understanding their confusion, Ian explained calmly. Of course, he had zero food. So the "food" he'd share was...
Fake food. A scam, plain and simple!
"Give 'em fake food, then get real food as thanks."
"You trash—"
Belenca nearly cursed. Fake food? Too far!
But Ian cut in quick. "Hold up! The food they eat is real!"
"???"
What bullshit was that? Belenca's brain froze. She gave up thinking.
Sigh. Typical Ian scheme...
"No clue what you're on about. How do you turn fake into real...?"
Ian grinned. "Magic, probably?"
Yeah, magic. You're a mage. Belenca grumbled inwardly but went along.
Ian led them up a nearby hill. There sat the big boulder visible from the village entrance.
He pointed to a child-sized rock. "This one."
"What about it?"
"Let's make soup with it."
...I'm losing it. Belenca stared at distant mountains.
The food Ian prepped to win villagers' hearts... was stone soup.