Chapter 1

Provisions

*Mataru*

Mei and I push ahead on tired feet through the night, with only the light of the moon to guide us. We don't dare use lanterns, though we have one with full oil. We may be following the road, but we can't afford to stop at a waystation inn for fear of being recognized again, either.

Perhaps we've finally been gone long enough to rouse our uncle's concern, or maybe someone from that rabbit village alerted him to what we had been doing. Either way, missing posters with our likenesses have gone up at every waystation and village up and down the imperial road.

We thought we'd be in the clear once we were out of the province, but we were immediately recognized and detained until an escort could be arranged. Fortunately, those that found us were ill-equipped to contain nobles and underestimated us, making possible our escape.

Ever since, though, we've been hiding from every traveler we see coming and avoiding every settlement. We sleep in the lofts of barns outside the walls or in what shelter we can manage for ourselves. I'll admit, it has made me wish I paid more attention to our huntsmaster, instead of assuming things like foraging and simple shelters would always be someone else's job.

Mei stumbles, and I'm by her side in a moment. The girl never complains despite how much harder it all must be on her, with her younger age and lower stamina, so I always try to accommodate her when I do realize she needs it.

"Mei, are you alright? Come on, let's get off the road and we can rest for a while." I get an arm around her waist and help her off into the tree line before setting her against the trunk of a large oak.

I hardly recognize her as I look down at her. We were never heavy-set like some nobles get, but endless travel has stripped us lean. We rarely get a chance to wash, so her face is dirty and her once-silky raven-black hair is starting to mat.

And gone are her elegant dress and other fineries. Not only were they getting worn by travel they weren't meant for, but once we realized people were looking for us, our noble attire became too risky. One of the last times we passed by a village, I stole a cloak off of a farmer's clothesline and slipped in to buy us more common clothes.

The same probably applies to me. The simple linen clothes we've switched to are starting to wear, too, and we smell like sweat, road dust and hay. Perhaps by the time we wear these out, too, we'll be unrecognizable enough to indulge in some of the more basic advantages of civilization again. After we scrub ourselves out in a river first.

As I'm considering all of this, my sister has clearly been traveling her own line of thought, and she says something utterly incomprehensible.

"We should have stayed with Remmi."

All I can think about is my poor sister. Have I been pushing her too hard? Have I been focusing too much on moving forward and forgotten to pay enough attention to her well-being?

"How can you say that?" After a long moment, such a stupid question is all that can leave my mouth.

Her own lips frown in thought and discomfort both. "Her carriage was really comfortable, and her food reminds me of Mother's. She was very nice, too. She wanted to help us."

I shift the pack on my back as I consider her points. Really, that foreigner woman has already helped us a great deal. She was the one who gave us the backpack. It was originally filled with a variety of delicious meals she'd made, all kept perfectly fresh by the bag's enchantment that made it so time didn't pass while it was closed.

I can't imagine how a bronze-rank adventurer could afford to just give away such a treasure, but the food is long gone. In its place are much more mundane provisions that I'll readily admit aren't nearly as satisfying.

I never imagined myself as a picky eater. I actually kind of like the smoked meat and dried cheeses we got, and the backpack means we could go for actual bread instead of tack. There's nothing wrong with the food, but I understand what Mei means. There was just something ... more about Mother's cooking, and about the foreigner's, too.

And her carriage! I'd seen its physical likeness in the capital, but even royal carriages, I'm sure, don't ride so smoothly. It was like riding on a cloud compared to the endless impacts of the ground against our feet. Our own carriage we took from the village was only rented, making it an unacceptably clear trail to any who wanted to find us, so we'd abandoned that method of travel after a single day.

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Further, I've never known Mei to speak so glowingly of anyone. She is normally very selective of her praises and insular by nature. For Remmi Lee to have made such a strong impression on her in such a short time, it's a greater light on her character than a throne admission.

But there's something my normally intuitive little sister isn't considering, and I kneel down next to her to remind her of it.

"Mei, the people that destroyed our family are Heroes. That foreigner may have had the best of intentions, but nobody is going to support us when they find out our enemies are those ..." I growl as I find the words to spit in disgust. "... sacred bastions of light they grovel over."

Her frown deepens. "Maybe because she is a foreigner, she wouldn't be so against it."

I sigh at the thought. It's a temptingly real possibility, and the loneliness lures me greatly, too. "Maybe, but we can't risk it. The odds of her turning on us would be too great."

And with that terrifyingly powerful weapon she uses, that's not a prospect I would want to gamble over even with good odds.

It's a pity. The elf wanted to treat us like children, but not only did Remmi put a stop to that, she gave good advice on where Mei and I were lacking. We've already started trying to come up with ways to implement her suggestions, but I can't help but feel it would be easier with her guidance.

... Why am I so certain that she is some sort of teacher or trainer? I don't know. I just got a sense of great knowledge from her that I can't really explain in words. She would have answers to problems we haven't even realized exist, I believe that, yet it comes from only a feeling.

Worse, like my sister, I feel an innate trust toward the foreigner. As stupid as it would have been to even try, some fiber of my being keeps insisting that she really would have listened and helped.

"Alright," I finally say, helping her back up. "We'll make camp early tonight. Let's go find a nice spot far enough out of sight."

We make a cold camp, of course. I can't make a proper campfire, but even if I could, the light would draw attention from the road. Stations are common enough along the main roads that a camp would draw curiosity from travelers at best, and suspicion from armed guards or adventurers at worst.

We eat our meat and cheese in cold silence. Mei wraps hers in her bread in a sad imitation of the sandwiches that had been common when we left Dabun, and I don't know which is louder, my heart breaking at her actions or my stomach crying out in sympathy.

The vegetables must have been as foreign as the woman who made the sandwiches, or so I assume. Perhaps a master gourmand could have said differently, but I'd never seen or tasted their kin. The sauce, too, was tangy and rich. Though the meat was mere common horned rabbit, the whole sandwich was sure to satisfy even a king with its varied tastes and textures.

There is no dessert now, either. Where once we enjoyed candied apples and the sweetest, softest cakes even our noble lips had ever touched, we chase our meal with waterskins filled with day-old river water.

"I miss Remmi," Mei sighs again.

"How could you miss her?" I ask in denial of any possibility I might feel the same. "You knew her for less than half a day."

Her eyes are already drifting shut. We really have been traveling too hard. "Yeah, but she's really nice."

I sigh again, but softer this time than I did the last time she said it, and on my lips is a gentle smile at the already-dozing face of my beloved little sister.

Just as we have no campfire, we have no tent, and for the same reasons. It is both because I cannot assemble one, and because it would be a larger object that someone could more easily see.

This journey has highlighted my shortcomings in many ways I never expected, and not just in combat. It has been, not just humbling, but humiliating how unprepared I really am. And every night, my sister pays the price for it.

And yet, though it's been over a month since we first slipped away from the estate, this is the first time she's come anywhere close to complaining about it.

I'll set a slower pace tomorrow, I decide, and I'll come up with a way we can stop hiding like this every night. We're far enough away, maybe we could get away with registering as new adventurers, under new names, and join a group that could teach me the crucial skills that I'm lacking. So long as they don't use a soul stone, it should be doable.

In lieu of the protection of a fire, I get to my feet and run a long string around the small clearing. I wrap the string a couple times around each tree I use as an anchor, and tie it off with a simple knot at the end. The string sits about shin-height when I finish the circle, and I go back and hang a small bell from each length in the circumference.

It's not even really a clearing, I note when I stand up to examine my work. Not technically, anyway. It's really just a patch of bare ground less than five arm spans across, sheltered by towering evergreens. The scent of the needles that form our bed has become a familiar, soothing aroma from how many times we've bedded down in a place just like this.

In lieu of the shelter of a tent, we share a single blanket and bedroll, our bodies the only source of heat through the night. I get the pad unrolled, canvas side down, and spread it out so there are no lumps and making sure it's not over any rocks. Only once that's finished do I untie the blanket from the other side of the backpack and sweep it out over the bedroll.

I rouse my little sister to get her to settle into bed properly. If she stays against the tree, she'll wake up chilled, covered in dew and crawled all over by insects. We made that mistake early on, and neither of us have any particular desire to repeat it.

But once we're settled in, I hesitate a bit longer, one last concern resting on me. Even if I go slower, even if we're able to get into the guild and get new identities, am I selfish for dragging Mei along with me?

"... Mei," I venture.

"Hmm?"

"You don't have to do this," I suggest gently. "You could have a safe, easy life back at Uncle Ettia's estate. Tomorrow, we could stop at the next waystation and--"

"No."

I blink at the abrupt interruption. "... What?"

"No. Go to sleep."

I grin awkwardly in the darkness under the pine trees. I should have known better than to question her. She really is the best little sister one could ask for.