Traps were Bloodaxe's crowning expertise. To subdue a magical beast of third - level combat potency, the resources expended were bound to be of no trifling cost.

Nonetheless, it mattered not, for the recompense would not only recoup the outlay but yield a handsome profit.

After several days of painstaking tracking, upon identifying a target that met the criteria, and following a few more days of meticulous planning, she finally managed to hunt down this formidable magical beast.

After a brief respite, Bloodaxe rose to her feet, approached the carcass of the magical beast, ruminated on its valuable parts, and then retrieved her tools to commence cutting and collection.

Once her carried backpack was filled to capacity, as she was on the verge of departing, a faint glimmer of red light caught her attention the instant she turned.

She wheeled around, crouched down, and commenced a meticulous search for the origin of the red glow.

The cutting implement in her hand resumed its operation, and ere long, a hard, crystalline - like substance materialized in Bloodaxe's blood - smeared hand.

"What could this be?" Even Bloodaxe, with her extensive hunting acumen and familiarity with various magical - beast raw - material parts, was entirely at a loss to discern what the object in her hand was.

Deeming it no great hindrance to carry this additional item, she stowed it away, then left behind the now - useless carcass of the magical beast and took her leave.

...

With the departure of the little maid, Glen found that his leisure time had diminished significantly. He was now obliged to cook and clean for himself.

Consequently, of late, he had sought anew a helper capable of managing the household affairs, including sanitation, accommodation, and meals. It was a forest elf.

Certainly not Gotaya; she was ill - suited to such tasks.

The one who supplanted Tia's position was a female elf named Drell. It was rumored that she was a paragon at handling logistical matters within their community.

Initially, Glen had posed the question to her on a whim, never anticipating that she would consent without a moment's hesitation.

This significantly altered his perception of the character of these elves.

Subsequently, Glen imparted some of his culinary skills to this elf. The latter was highly gifted, grasping the techniques with ease. She was deeply appreciative of Glen's tutelage, proclaiming that without him, she would never have fathomed the vast array of knowledge inherent in cooking.

In the ensuing days, Drell managed all affairs with such proficiency that there was little for Glen to find fault with.

One day, subsequent to practicing the dispelling magic, Glen proceeded to the farm for an inspection.

The moment his eyes fell upon the farm, he was rendered immobile, transfixed.

He beheld that his farm had undergone a veritable transformation. Not only was the air noticeably fresher, but the formerly disorderly layout had also been reconfigured.

It was as though he had stepped into a veritable idyllic retreat.

Some of the workers who had just commenced their shift had a reaction similar to Glen's, suspecting that they had arrived at the wrong place.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Glen scanned the surroundings, and at length, he identified the likely perpetrator of this transformation.

The high priest, attired in a white robe, was at that moment intoning some incantation, exuding an air of profound piety.

"What... are you doing?" Glen inquired in a hushed tone.

The high priest did not respond immediately. Instead, having completed the incantation, he opened his eyes, regarded Glen, and with a faint smile, said, "In recent days, due to my physical condition, I have not had the opportunity to express my gratitude. I am indebted to you for rescuing my daughter and for the care you have extended to her these past days. As I have little else at my disposal, I have sought to enhance the environment here."

"I have long harbored the intention of rectifying the disorderly layout here. You have rendered me a great service," Glen remarked.

"It is my honor, sir," the high priest said, emulating human etiquette.

Why is he showing me such deference? Glen pondered, a hint of bewilderment in his thoughts. Combining this with the way the elves had been regarding him of late, he could not help but surmise that Gotaya must have divulged something to them. He resolved to inquire of her later.

"How has your health fared? Is there no serious ailment?" Glen asked solicitously.

"Thanks be to the great forest mother here, I have recovered considerably. My ability to wield magic now stands as testament to this," the high priest replied.

"Yet, it is only to this extent. I can perceive that you remain rather weak. You would do well to take more time for rest," Glen advised.

"Thank you for your concern. I shall bear it in mind," the high priest responded.

Observing the high priest's deferential demeanor, Glen felt a sense of unease. He waved his hand and took his leave of the farm.

A worker responsible for transporting livestock had informed Glen yesterday that Sheriff Dogli wished to speak with him. Now, he was on his way to attend to this matter.

Upon arriving at the Dude Police Station, many of the officers recognized Glen. As he entered, they greeted him variously, either verbally or with a nod of acknowledgment.

Having ascertained from the officers that the sheriff was in his office, Glen rounded a corridor corner within the station and rapped on the door of Dogli's office.

"Come in," came Dogli's resonant voice from within.

Glen pushed open the door and entered.

Upon seeing who it was, Dogli set aside his work, rose to his feet, and said with a smile, "Glen, do you have connections in high places? Yesterday, I received an anonymous document from above. It contained the deed to a house and a set of keys, along with a note indicating that they were for you."

"What?" Glen's eyes widened slightly, an expression of complete ignorance on his face.

Indeed, he was thoroughly perplexed as to who could be gifting him a house.

"Are you unaware? Surely, you must know of a close friend or relative employed in the officialdom?" Dogli attempted to prompt Glen.

However, Glen shook his head resolutely. Neither his memories subsequently to his time travel nor those of the original owner included anyone with such an intimate connection who was also employed in the upper echelons of the officialdom.

"That is most peculiar. The sender is anonymous, evidently desirous of remaining unknown," Dogli remarked, gesturing for Glen to find a seat. He himself then resumed his seat to deliberate on the matter.

"Where is the document? May I have a look?" Glen asked.

"Right here," Dogli said, handing Glen a file - bag from the table. "I have already perused it. It is a house in the main city of Battersea, in a rather bustling locale. It is a rather fine, large abode, as one can infer from the set of keys."

Glen had already opened the file - bag. Inside were indeed a house deed, a set of keys, and a sheet of paper inscribed with a few lines of text.

The content on the paper stipulated that all items were to be delivered to an individual named Dylan Nibankru.

Glen had previously apprised Dogli of the original owner's name, so the sheriff knew that the items were intended for him.

Despite scouring the original owner's memories, Glen could not identify anyone who had both the motive and the means to undertake such an action.

"Are you truly without any suspects?" Dogli inquired softly, observing Glen's furrowed brow as he continued to deliberate.

Glen merely shook his head slowly.

"So, what do you intend to do with these items?" the sheriff queried once more.

After a moment of silence in the office, Glen turned to face Dogli and counter - questioned, "How much might these items fetch if sold?"

The sheriff was taken aback, then couldn't help but chuckle. "I am not well - versed in such matters. It would be advisable to acquaint yourself with the market situation before contemplating a sale."

He had no qualms regarding Glen's approach. After all, the items were Glen's, and he was at liberty to do as he pleased with them.

"Quite right... Oh, by the way," Glen seemed to recall something. "Is the editorial department of the White Bird Publishing House located in the main city of Battersea?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"A matter of copyright dispute."