Midmorning found them well away from Mokkelton, trudging up the northern road on their first official adventure.

Tiarraluna had donned a hooded cloak, as the day was cooler than had the previous few been. Brightly colored and bedecked with flowers and baubles, much as her robes were, and of similar hue.

For his own part, Jack was freshly garbed and armored from the skin out. With the added funds supplied by the old woman, they’d acquired for him better boots, undergarments, leather trousers, a more substantial tunic, and a legitimate arming doublet and cap.

In addition to the fresh clothing, and after scouring the market, they’d purchased a rank five mail hauberk and coif with only a little rust, which he wore beneath the blue rank six brigandine he’d been looking at the previous day.

He’d also found some steel rank four shoulder cops painted mostly black and not too dented. Banded leather bracers and greaves of a dull red were now strapped to forearms and shins. The sallet he’d found would need a good bit of TLC when he got the chance, but was as solid as it was a particularly ugly shade of yellow. He looked like a walking yard sale, and none of the new gear bore any enchantments or upgrades, but they’d done the best they could and he was decently protected from anything they should encounter in the area.

Atop it all, he’d found a cloak of his own, much more subdued than Tiarraluna’s and of roughspun wool. Long, hanging well below his knees to conceal the armor beneath, and dyed a dark forest green. It was just a cloak, though, and offered protection only from the weather.

Trudging along beside her, hood up, he gave the appearance of a servant. An appearance buoyed by the pack he bore. The larger one they’d brought from Rosaluna’s cottage.

The recurve bow lay unstrung against the pack’s side, not readily apparent as a weapon. At least, not at first glance. Nor the thick quiver of arrows lashed to the opposite side. It was a risk, carrying them this way, as they’d not be readily accessible should an immediate need for them arise. But they were still close to the town, and strolling along the road with a strung bow at the ready seemed sort of impolite, leaving aside the inadvisability of trying to juggle both the bow and staff together.

Worst case scenario, he could hurl FoeSmite at any ambushers they might encounter with some hope of calling it back in time to do any good. He’d done it once, right? He could do it again, he figured.

He might also be able to use the sling he’d rigged for it, but he hadn’t practiced with it at all. Not here nor back home. It was only something he’d seen once in a video on the internet and decided to try.

They’d spent the morning scouring the market for goods and items the old wizard had advised they lay hand to and which they could now afford. Along with those things they’d known from the beginning they should have, but had lacked the wherewithal to acquire. Basic traveling gear for him for the most part, as Tiarraluna already had her own. A bedroll and such.

Some of the other items Jack understood, some were a complete mystery. He clung to the hope with some small part of his mind that, at some point, Tiarraluna would let him in on their secrets.

The greater part of his mind, however, was involved in other pursuits, and he was in a bad mood for it. Beyond even the pain of the so-called protective broach he could still feel burrowing into his flesh like a giant blood sucking tick.

He’d finally gotten a look at the pack the previous night, after their discussions with the old wizard. Tricky bit of business it was, too. Bigger on the inside than the outside sort of tricky. Much bigger.

He’d found his personal day pack inside, somewhat the worse for wear. Stuffed into an inner pocket that may as well have been a small shed. All his books were there. His micrometers and other instruments as well. Homework, laptop —which had somehow, miraculously, survived the bus’s impact, along with his subsequent and precipitous arrival on Mund— the works. Everything he’d had on him or in the pack, right down to the empty gum wrapper he’d had stuffed into a pants pocket. With five glaring omissions.

All by itself, his pack weighed as much as the entirety of the larger pack did, so the inner pocket not only made size vanish, it did the same for weight. What did they call them again in the RPGs? Portable hole? Wait... was this an RPG or an isekai? If the latter, it’d be, what, a dimensional box? He’d heard it called dimension home, Item box, bag of holding, inventory box— wait... that one had been an isekai about an RPG. That seemed most common, but didn’t really seem to fit a physical object. In any case, and for so far as it went, all good news.

But then there were those five glaring omissions. The main reasons for his foul mood of this morning. The nagging question eating at his mind. Where in hell was his G20? Or its holster, the mag holder, and spare magazines for that matter. He’d been trying for the better part of the day thus far to remember what he’d done with them, but to no avail. Between the attack, the shift in worlds, and the time elapsed, it just wasn’t as clear as it could have been.

He’d been using the machine shop that night, hadn’t he? On such occasions, he traditionally stuffed the holstered pistol and mag holder into the lockbox behind the seat in his pickup. But he also usually put them back onto his belt after he was done. Had he this time? He could swear he had. But even if he’d just grabbed them out of the box, stuffed them into the pack, and headed straight home, the pistol should still have been in there, right? If not... if he’d put the holster and mags on his belt upon leaving the shop, he should still have been wearing them when the bus came calling. But he hadn’t seen them since awakening here. The old woman had returned his Leatherman early on. His folder and flashlights he’d found in the pack. No pistol, no ammo.

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So where was it? Had he taken the holster off and set it on the end table beside his chair? If so, why this time of all times? So used was he to having it on him after so many years, he didn’t really even feel it anymore, so why take it off? And if he hadn’t, he circled around, where the hell was the damned thing?

Tiarraluna was watching him as they strolled up the road, noting his grim face. Was he still worried about those people who would perish without his aid? Or was this something else? Traveling with him should this prove his default mood would be difficult. Eventually, it would become impossible. Perhaps this was why so many of the old sentinels had traveled alone. None other could stomach them over long periods.

They stopped for their midday meal late into the afternoon, having gotten such a late start. Light fare only, for they had a ways to go and didn’t want to have their bellies too full.

“Why do you stop so often?” Jack wondered around a mouthful of travel cake. “It’s like every half mile.”

She gave him an eye, at once relieved that he seemed over whatever ill wind had been blowing between his ears the day long, and nettled that he’d need such a simple thing explained to him. “I am freshening the wards, Jack san,” she said simply. “As part of the duty of my class.”

“Wards?” he wondered.

“The protection wards which make the roads safe to travel,” she said. “Have you truly not seen them? Or wondered how the ungifted may travel the roads at all without being accosted by roving beasts or monsters?”

He hadn’t, truth be told. The fear he’d seen in the faces of the few citizens they’d encountered on the way to Mokkelton had led him to believe that the roads weren’t all that safe. “You didn’t do it on our way to Mokkelton,” he pointed out.

“Along Grandmother’s road?” she laughed. “A dragon could not burrow its way through her wards!”

“The jaegers didn’t seem to have much trouble.”

“No,” she frowned. “they did not, did they?” She gave it a few moments thought as she munched on her own travel cake. “Perhaps,” she ventured then, “it has something to do with their not being from Mund.”

“Possibly,” he shrugged. “So this is something you do wherever you go? This business with the, what, ward stones?”

“Very good, Jack san,” the frown vanished. “Yes, they are called ward stones. And yes, wherever I go, should the wards need strengthening, I do so. Really, it is the duty of every adventurer, but particularly mages and priests.

“This road,” she waved a hand, “is not so well traveled as the East or South roads, nor has it had Grandmother to lay powerful spells upon it for three quarters of a century. So I will do what I may as we travel.”

“How’s it work for bandits?”

“Not well, I am afraid,” she admitted. “Men are not fooled by uneasy feelings. Or most men are not. And being human, the wards are not directed specifically at them.

“Perhaps elsewhere,” she suggested. “But this part of the country has not traditionally been beset by evil humans, and so there was never a need. I will try and remember to ask Guildmaster Jonkins upon our return if there are other wards that may be used.”

They made camp well after dark, having pressed on into twilight against Jack’s protestations. Despite his newfound powers, which he didn’t understand and wasn’t able to apply terribly well, he was firmly opposed to wandering down dark roads in strange territory without backup or, at least a good set of NVGs. Anything might be out there in the deep shadows, waiting to pounce. Tiarraluna, meanwhile, insisted that there would be a waystation up ahead, roughly a day’s walk from the town. One which they’d already have reached had they left first thing rather than spent the morning shopping.

In the end, it was there. A wide spot in the road, cobbled and circumscribed by a low wall. There were rails to tie horses, had they managed to purchase horses, and a small spring from which to draw clean water. Once, according to Tiarraluna, long ago, there had been a small inn here, though only vague outlines of its foundation remained.

At present, there was a fire ring, although there was no wood anywhere about. It would be a cold camp.

Tiarraluna freshened the wards around the circle, showing Jack the way of it. He was supposed to have some magical ability through his class, and it was time to start exploring the bounds of that ability.

Of course there were problems. Weren’t there always? Tiarraluna used her crook staff as a focus, as her grandmother used her very deceptive cane. Jack had no such focus. There was FoeSmite, but Tiarraluna quailed at the thought of focusing mana through it. A focus must be neutral, which FoeSmite was most definitely not.

This was, in retrospect, something they should have addressed prior to their departure from town, but had not. It was something a master or teacher would most certainly have understood. Tiarraluna, however, was herself yet more student than instructor, and so she hadn’t thought to secure one.

They tried without. Having Jack focus through a hand, holding it out and attempting to funnel mana through it. While he was able to produce a small flow, and might be more successful with experience, he was unable to provide enough mana to power even the low level ward. No surprise, really.

Very few could provide sufficient mana flow without a physical focal point. And the larger that point, the better. Which was why Tiarraluna’s shepherd’s crook staff was so large, and why grandmother’s was... well... what it was. Jewels were best, at least alone. Living wood next, and the combination of them, particularly with the bridging capabilities of certain metals, was best overall. Jack would need a jewel or properly prepared wand at the least to realize even his basic potential. Which they were not going to find out here in the woods at night.

They would have to settle for Tiarraluna’s explanations of how the wards were accomplished until such time as they could procure for him a proper focus.

Dawn found them once more northbound, with Jack only mildly grim. He’d given up, finally, on wondering about the pistol. He didn’t have it, wasn’t likely to get hold of it, and that was that. Fretting over where it might be was pointless, and he had worries aplenty already without adding more.

They were well into the area where the troubles were supposed to be, based on the bounty details. Jack was once more wearing the hooded green cloak, but he’d strung the bow and the quiver of arrows lay low along his right hip, opposite the jaeger sword.

The bow lay still alongside the pack, but was now secured with a slipknot in the leather thong that held it in place. With a yank from his right hand, he could release the bow and slide it down and around with his left. He hoped. He’d tested the rigging to make sure it worked, but hadn’t exactly had hours to practice the move. He gave one last, fleeting thought to the G20, which bore the potential of far more power, and double or triple the range. Then he put it away. Wish in one hand, right?

The sun was nearing zenith when he paused, holding a hand out low and to his side, halting Tiarraluna.

“What is it, Jack san?” she wondered.

“Crows,” he chucked his chin in their direction of travel. “Good sized murder of them up ahead circling something dead.”

“How do you know it is something dead?” she asked.

He looked back and then forward again. “Seen a lot of crows,” his voice was low but harsh. “I know what they’re like.”