10. The Traveler Who Sets Off

You can probably tell by now that I whole-heartedly adore my First Village full of lovely people and happy memories. So, while I’m not so much surprised, I’m definitely sad to learn that I’d be leaving Kanata after just three days.

From what I can gather, Leto Iriden isn’t a permanent fixture in the village of Kanata. This definitely wasn’t her first visit, and the people love her like their own, but it seems she’s got an itinerant lifestyle that’s tied to her job? Duty? Creed?

The word I keep hearing is “Malika”, which I would assume means ‘adventurer’ or ‘Mage’ or something along those veins.

In any case, it’s time for her to lifestyle her way to the next item on her itinerary, and the expectation from all involved is that I tag along. I mean, that’s what I’d hoped for myself, but I’m still touched to learn that Leto sees me as a valuable traveling companion. I’m a people-pleaser; it feels good to be wanted.

The night before our departure, the villagers throw us another party. The Elves of Kanata have enough good sense to keep things considerably tamer this time around, especially on the alcohol front. They know a hangover is one of the worst status effects to have when hitting the road.

And even though I’ve only known these people for all of three days, the feels hit me pretty hard and without warning.

The worst (best) is when the children come up to me with their wooden swords to show off the moves they’d been practicing. Even with my novice eyes, I recognize them immediately: [Glock Strike], [Glock Parry], [Spin to Glock], and even the weird reverse-grip thing I do with [Flamethrower].

Of course, no actual guns materialize from the kids’ wooden swords, but they don’t care. They’re having the time of their lives, and I’m sitting here trying to hold back tears of gratitude and remorse—remorse for having imparted these useless techniques to a whole generation of aspiring swordsmen.

When was the last time I had such heartfelt goodbyes with anyone? I’d have to go back almost a decade to high school graduation—to those then-sincere promises of ‘keep in touch’ and the corny messages we left on each other’s yearbooks.

I can’t believe it’s taken getting Isekai’d to remind me what it means to make meaningful connections with people, but there it is. I can only hope that I keep these reminders with me when or if I go back to my ‘real life’.

One last surprise awaits me in the morning as Leto and I get ready to depart. And… I have to say, I still don’t know how to feel about this one.

Let me paint the picture. I’m standing there at the main road that leads out of the village, packed and ready to go, with a leather bag slung over one shoulder and the STSG gripped in both hands and resting across the other.

A sidebar, real quick. What I’ve discovered in my short time with the claymore-sized sword is that there’s no easy way to travel with it on foot. If I sheathe it on my back, it makes it nearly impossible to pull out without dislocating my shoulder. If I keep it on my hip, it drags against the ground.

No scabbard + over-the-shoulder grip is the only set-up I’ve found that works. I’m a little surprised, because I’ve always pictured fantasy swordsmen with scabbards, but I guess these are the little practical things you learn when you’re in the thick of it yourself.

Anyway, so I’m standing there ready to go, watching Leto go through her final hugs and farewells with the villagers. That’s when a highly distinctive figure emerges from the crowd and heads straight for me—distinctive for her bent back and grumpy glare.

It’s the trinketeer that did the thing with my gemstone! I didn’t see her at the party last night, but I’m glad to see her now, because like I said, she’s in my good books for doing the thing with my gemstone.

I offer a weak smile and what I intend to be a friendly wave, but the trinketeer ignores all that and gets right in my face, needling me with narrowed eyes. At this point, my friendly sentiments have already turned to alarm as I wonder just what’s got this old woman so worked up.

She then says a few words in Quebecois High Valyrian, with a harsh tone that makes me think they’re not very complimentary. She repeats the same words several times, enough for me to hear them as: “Reliken Nadira Apados”.

The lack of Isekai Duolingo means I’ve been very slow to pick up on the local language, and this phrase is no exception. The only thing that registers at all is the first word, Reliken, which sounds suspiciously like ‘Relic’, which is what I’ve assumed the STSG is, at least in the setting of this world.

Leto notices the commotion and rushes to my aid, cajoling the trinketeer with her trademark smile and words of diplomacy. The old woman is having none of it, though, and she even turns her glare to Leto as she repeats the phrase ‘Reliken Nadira Apados’ while pointing a bony finger in my direction.

Upon hearing this, even Leto turns to me with an uncertain expression, brow furrowed and eyes slightly narrowed. This is when my alarm turns to genuine discomfort as I wonder just what this old woman has said that’s got even Elf Girl rattled.

What does the trinketeer think she knows about me? Is any of it true? And does it even matter? I mean, her shop is filled with all kinds of weird stuff. Maybe some of it even has to do with travelers from another world and their Swords That Shoot Guns?

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Regardless, the discussion doesn’t last for much longer, as Leto manages to fend off the trinketeer and her words of… warning? Accusation? In the end, the Mage turns to me with her usual smile and says “Sammo!”, which is the local word for what I understand to be “come on”. Behind her, the trinketeer continues to glare straight at me while the gathered villagers look on in mild confusion.

And that’s how we depart Kanata, slightly behind schedule and with some unexpectedly weird vibes.

Thankfully, Elf Girl is mood-maker extraordinaire on top of being an all-around superstar, and it doesn’t take long for the vibes to improve considerably. By the time we hit our first rest spot on the day—a pleasant creekside clearing under the shade of a big tree (I wanna say… oak?)—we’re both all smiles and ready to dig into some snacks.

We packed lightly for the trip, with just the essentials and enough food to last us for two, maybe three days tops. As such, I have to assume our next destination isn’t that far from Kanata. Maybe I could even visit from time to time!

As we happily much on biscuits slathered with a generous helping of pre-workout honey, it occurs to me that this trip is the perfect opportunity to get to know my Elf Crush, language barrier be damned. It might be just the honey talking, but I’m feeling bolder than is typical of me, and besides, I’m genuinely curious about the local culture.

“Malika,” I parrot one of only a few words I’ve managed to pick up so far, pointing at Leto as if to seek confirmation. She hastily swallows her bite before pointing at herself.

“Malika,” she says with a nod, along with a somewhat sheepish smile that’s adorable but also a little odd. What does she have to be embarrassed about?

Looking to test my theory, the next thing I point to is the tattered book—the catalyst—that pokes out of Leto’s satchel. I assume this is a ‘weapon’ that’s specific to the Mage class (assuming also that there’s a class system here at all). I ask with an exaggerated upward inflection, “Malika?”

It takes a second or two for Leto to cotton onto the nature of my question—the connection I’ve made between her ‘class’ and her ‘weapon’. Once she does, however, she points at the book and shakes her head.

“Nur Malika,” she explains, then points back at herself. “Malika. Eàsas Malika ras.”

OK, so ‘Malika’ doesn’t mean Mage? Then maybe just ‘adventurer’? I can test this by pointing at myself, then repeating, “Malika?”

At this, Leto bursts out in uproarious laughter—of the tears-in-eyes variety! A super adorable reaction, but even odder than her earlier embarrassment. I just kind of stare with a stupid grin of my own, waiting for her to calm down enough to offer further counsel.

“Malika,” she says again, pointing back at her face that’s still red from laughter. She then stops and thinks for a moment. I can hear her gears churning: how do I explain to this idiot what a Malika is?

Leto stands up and does a kind of sweeping gesture, one that appears to indicate and include everything around us: the trees, the flowers, the rocks, and even the skies above. She then caps off this gesture with one word, murmured softly and with obvious reverence.

“Malikor. Malikor Eàsi.”

She then brings her arms in and places both hands on her chest. The slightly embarrassed smile is back as she says one more time, “Malika.”

I nod slowly and wordlessly, not entirely confident with my interpretation.

Even a dumbass like me can see the similarities between ‘Malika’ and ‘Malikor’. Leto must’ve indicated some kind of collective with the word ‘Malikor’, before introducing herself anew as its individual representative, ‘Malika’.

Forest? Nature? The Great Outdoors? Does that make her a… what? A druid? Maybe some kind of guardian? Or a park ranger?

I crack myself up with this last thought, which draws another laugh from Leto, who seems to be in a somewhat giddy mood. She wouldn’t have laughed if she actually knew what I was thinking, but I can’t let this opportunity slide. Gotta strike while the iron’s hot.

Now that we’ve ‘established’ what Leto is, it’s time to give my whole deal its own moniker. So I point back at myself and at the STSG that sits at my feet, then shrug—the universal signal for: “who—nay, what—am I?”.

To my surprise (and chagrin), the bubble bursts in an instant. Leto’s expression is all serious again, and even a slight frown returns to her brow as she considers what I’d thought was a perfectly innocent question.

The pause is long—uncomfortably so. Enough to make me regret asking at all. I’m just about ready to change the subject (“So, what about that Malikor, eh? Man, what a great day to enjoy us some Malikor.”) when Leto sort of nods to herself—as if she’s come to some decision.

“Reliken,” she says, then adds after another, much shorter pause, “Téo Reliken. Reliken Loftas.”

Well, that shuts me up.

The weird exchange with the trinketeer is still fresh on both of our minds. And even though Leto didn’t use the exact same phrase to describe me, it’s obvious that just the word ‘Reliken’ carries with it an ominous weight.

I wonder at this. I’ve already assumed that the STSG is a ‘Relic’ in this world, and I guess that makes me ‘Reliken’—the Dude That Uses a Relic. But so far, I don’t have enough clues to even speculate on why that could be cause for concern.

For the next little while, I’m content to let the mysteries lie undisturbed. Instead, I point at and learn about trees, flowers, rocks, and the skies above. You know… the safe topics that are much more conducive to getting to know my Elf Crush.