6. The Village That Welcomes Me

As I follow Elf Girl out of the cave and back through the forest, I can’t decide if I want to be a hotblooded young male or a bumbling Isekai adventurer. Right now, ‘both’ isn’t really an option.

Elf Girl, for her part, is content to let me choose. I think she’s kind of given up on the idea of trying to talk to me, but she does occasionally turn to smile at me over her shoulder.

Rational, cognizant-of-social-customs me understands she is just being polite and friendly with a colleague of sorts. Too-far-gone simp me, though, is busy ascribing deeper meanings to her smiles. Which is made all the crazier by the fact that my current attire consists of a grand total of three items: my sword, my boxer briefs, and my hospital photo ID that somehow survived the fire.

Thinking about Elf Girl is causing me too much anxiety that will only lead to disappointment later on. As such, I decide my current headspace is better allocated to bumbling through my Isekai adventure. Right now, that starts with trying to figure out what exactly to do with the loot I’d just earned from my first boss fight.

As far as I can tell, the glimmering-red, strawberry-sized gemstone is inert on its own. I’ve already chanted a few words in English to no avail (then promptly felt dumb doing it). Elf Girl has tried her Elf Mage thing, and even that didn’t produce any discernible effects.

Is it a crafting material, maybe? Or maybe it just… doesn’t do anything? Maybe I just have to bring it to a merchant or something, and they might give me a good price for just how pretty and rare it is?

I find this last notion quite reasonable… and also rather sobering. I know I shouldn’t get greedy. Having any tangible reward at all is something to appreciate.

But I just killed a Dragon! I feel like that should net me something—I dunno—with a little more oomph than financial compensation.

Having quickly run out of ways to inspect the gemstone, I turn my attention over to my sword. It occurs to me that, with one thing or another, I haven’t had the chance to properly look at the STSG.

Upon closer inspection, I find nothing that’d convince me to retract my earlier statement about the STSG looking like a ‘claymore’. Well, if not a claymore, it’s at least something you’d call a ‘greatsword’.

A polished, double-edged blade that runs about a meter long, sharp enough to draw blood at the slightest touch (I know; I just tested it). The keenness of the blade, while impressive, honestly feels like a waste, considering how it’s been used (more my fault than the sword’s!).

The—uh, what do you call it?—crossguard is of dark steel and juts out on either side in this wing-like shape. The tips of the wings end in a diamond-shaped ornament that matches the pommel for a bit of an aesthetic touch. Pretty cool-looking, even to my fairly sword-agnostic eyes.

As for the hilt, it’s wrapped in sturdy leather and—that’s when I notice it for the first time. And no wonder it took me this long to see it, because I’d just been gripping the hilt for dear life all this time, thereby hiding one of the STSG’s key features.

Four shallow depressions that run the length of the hilt. Each of them is carved with care and precision to form recognizable shapes: three strawberries and one near the bottom of the hilt that looks more like a lemon.

In fact, one of the strawberry-shaped depressions—the topmost one—is already filled with a smooth gunmetal-colored stone. The exact color of the [Glock] that shows up with my techniques! Then does that mean…? Are these… gem slots?

Holy shit. This could be a game-changer.

Right away, I try to push the gemstone I got from the Dragon into one of the empty slots. Wouldn’t you know it? It’s a perfect fit! Except it won’t stay in the slot. Keeps slipping out as soon as I let go.

I have to assume that the gemstones confer some kind of upgrade to the STSG. The one that’s already in there is probably what allows me to use the [Glock] series of techniques. I’m deathly curious to find out what the new gemstone does, but there’s clearly an extra step required for installation.

I share this discovery with Elf Girl. She looks even more excited about it than I do, and I love her for it, but she’s also at a loss as to how to make the gemstone stick.

She thinks about it for a second, though, then she looks up with a bright smile and an index finger pointed to the sky—the universal signal for: “I’ve got an idea!”. But apparently, it’s not an idea that’s easily communicated via pantomimes, and all I can gather for now is a word she keeps repeating: Kanata.

Kanata… wait. Canada?

The coincidence feels too on-the-nose to be believable, but I’m reminded of something I learned in middle school. The name ‘Canada’ originally came from the Iroquois word ‘kanata’, which means ‘village’. Granted, ‘Kanata’ in Elf Girl’s language could mean anything, but I end up picturing an Isekai village of some description anyway.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

At the same time, I’m also reminded of how I got here in the first place. From Canada to this fantasy world via my version of Truck-kun—an Elf Gunslinger that looked exactly like my Elf Mage companion.

What’s their connection? Twins? The same person? Two completely unrelated Elves who just happen to look identical to each other? Or could that Gunslinger have been a version of this Mage from a separate parallel world?

I quickly decide that there’s literally zero point to my wild speculations. The answer isn’t going to somehow reveal itself, and I don’t even know how to begin to ask the question. Right now, I’m content to think of Elf Girl simply as just that. Competent, kind-hearted, and freaking adorable Elf Girl who’s just about the best First Local I could’ve asked for.

Actually… I’m not content with that, am I? Not quite.

Acting on a sudden rush of confidence that’s entirely inappropriate to my current appearance and comportment, I sidle up to Elf Girl to get her attention. I then shove my lanyarded photo ID in her face while pointing at my own face at the same time.

“This is me. See? Mars Carver. Mars. That’s my name.”

Only then does it occur to me that the photo ID is completely redundant in this situation, given that I have my own face to point at anyway. It’s too late. I’ve committed to the bit (yeah, it’s a bit now; sue me). I keep repeating ‘Mars Carver’ like a dumbass even as my real face grows hot with embarrassment.

After seconds that feel like years, Elf Girl’s expression shifts from one of innocent bemusement to a smile of tender warmth.

“Mars Carver,” she parrots in a perfect Vancouverite accent while pointing at my face. Then she points back at herself with the words, “Leto Iriden.”

Lyrical gravitas tempered by a rustic rhythmicity. I know you’re sick of hearing about it, but my heart melts anew at learning Elf Girl’s Elven name. Leto Iriden.

Now, before you go trolling in the comments, no, it’s ‘Leto’ pronounced like the Greek goddess and not the Hollywood actor, thanks very much. Or ‘Leto Atreides’ from Dune, if you require a more contemporary reference point.

Either way, the name is beautiful to my simp ears. A stupid grin spreads across my face as I softly repeat the name several times to myself. Only when Leto glances at me with one eyebrow raised do I come to my senses and clam up, red-faced.

And I’m still in my boxer briefs at this point. I can’t stress that enough. I need to get a hold of myself!

For the rest of our walk out of the forest, I manage to conduct myself with some semblance of decorum. Which is to say I stopped talking, lest I make a bigger fool of myself than I already have.

But then my social anxieties skyrocket to new heights as soon as I see what Leto Iriden has led me to.

It’s a village. Of course. Baby’s First Village on the outskirts of baby’s First Forest. And I have a sneaking suspicion I already know what the village is called.

Kanata is about what you’d expect the First Village to look like, with wooden houses, idyllic gardens, and a bustling market. As I might’ve expected, everyone here is an Elf like Leto: to a one tall and slim (men, women, and even the children, from the looks of them), with elf ears that point sideways out of flowing long hair.

All that to say I, a round-eared human from 21st-century Earth, stick out like a sore thumb. And that would’ve been true even if I weren’t dressed only in my boxer briefs.

It seems Leto’s arrival had been a long-anticipated one. One of the Elf children spots her, yells out in excitement, then goes running into the village to spread the news, stopping only long enough to gawk at me before he does.

I immediately turn to Leto and begin furiously pantomiming something about clothes, but it’s too late. News spreads fast, and the Elves move even faster. Before I know it, Leto and I are surrounded by a large crowd of excited villagers.

The villagers are far more interested in greeting (and congratulating?) Leto than they are in me, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling self-conscious as fuck. I kind of shuffle over and try to stand behind Leto, using her slender frame to cover my half-naked ass. But this only puts me directly in the center of attention.

In the end, I just stand there half-naked, still raw from Dragon-fire and holding a greatsword in this awkward manner only an absolute novice can. I stand and wait for Leto to finish chatting with her villagers, hoping against hope that I’d be allowed to scrounge for some new clothes as soon as this is over.

The hope is short-lived because, of course, Leto turns to me in the middle of her conversation to gesture at me like she’s an auctioneer showing off the marquee item. All Elven eyes are on me now as Leto rattles off an introduction in Quebecois High Valyrian, and by this point, I’m numb to the horror.

This is my life now. I let everything wash over me. The unintelligible Elven speech. The elders’ dubious eyes. The children’s snickering. I let everything wash over me, until…

… Until I notice the elders nodding at me with kind smiles and the children looking up at me with admiration. Until I notice that I can, in fact, understand at least some of the words in Leto’s speech.

And before I know it, the whole crowd breaks out in a cheerful chant. Eyes bright with shared triumph, fists raised in celebration, and Elven mouths all uttering one very familiar phrase in perfect Vancouverite accents.

“Mars Carver! Mars Carver! Mars Carver!”