Chapter 3:
We’ll Find Happiness
JUST SEEING THE VILLAGE after all this time brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to this ol’ part-timer’s heart.
It must’ve been around May when I set out from the village, and I was away for about a month. It felt so much longer. Compared to when we left, the village trees were in full leaf. They stretched their fresh green boughs up to the sun, each jostling to get ahead of the competition. I expected summer was right around the corner. With my poncho on, the sun was strong enough to get me sweating.
The long train of settlers took in the scenery, peering at all the houses as we started heading toward the village chief’s manor on foot. Nishka and I, who lived on the outskirts of the village, led the way with Camulla, the adventurer who was dispatched from Bulka and who kept our caravan organized.
Behind us came the immigrants, then the goblin laborers and the slaves pushing carts. The lone hunter and the other adventurers were positioned protectively around the group, acting as our escorts.
As soon as we reached the village proper and began making our way to the village chief’s residence, the villagers set aside their farm work and began trickling in to watch us. They made a wide circle, watching and whispering to each other in low voices, but they didn’t show any particular reaction outside of a vague suspicion, trading sidelong glances between themselves. The worst we got was some people rushing back to their homes.
“So much for a warm welcome,” the dashing Camulla huffed, faint displeasure shadowing his otherwise gorgeous features.
“The village chief’s stepson Gimul told me this village has been somewhat clannish for a long time. They don’t trust outsiders,” I offered.
“Then why would they invite so many to come settle here?”
The villagers would get over it with the eight families sooner or later, I was sure. The real problem would be the goblin laborers and slaves. The kid with the animal ears might be hard for them to swallow too, regardless of gender.
“I’m sure time will solve that problem. And hey, you’re a knockout. A guy like you is way too charming to have any issues.”
“Bah. Handsome! Then why am I still single, at my age? Don’t tease me about such things. But of course you wouldn’t think twice about it, since you’re still such a young buck.”
“Are you sure about that? I’m actually going to turn thirty-three this year.”
“What, really? I don’t believe that!” Camulla regarded me with incredibly stylish shock. How old did he think I was? “I was convinced you were younger than me. To think, you’re actually older!”
“I am?”
“Are you one of Nishka’s kind? One of the long-ears like her? Or maybe you have some of their blood in you?”
“Please, no, I’m completely unrelated to her brand of unwashed barbarian. But, uh, if I might ask…how old are you, Camulla?”
“I’m thirty-one.” He cracked a Photoshop-perfect grin. “Should I start calling you ‘big brother’?”
“No, no. That’s all right.”
The hunk and I were murmuring to each other, but with her keen hearing, Nishka must have picked up our conversation. She stuck her face between us. “Hey. Did one of ya just say something about barbarians?”
“Oh no, no, of course not. I was saying how you’re…barbed, like a rose!” Careful, Shooter. Nishka was squinting hard at me, but when I called her a rose, her face softened.
“A rose may have thorns,” Camulla added, “but it also has a gentle beauty. Such a passionate flower is the perfect way to describe someone as vivacious as you. That’s what Shooter and I were saying.” The heartthrob flashed a smile at her, gesturing dramatically.
Well, that blouse of hers might pass for a yellow rose. I think I read in a book once that yellow roses don’t have a particularly good meaning in the language of flowers. Jealousy or shallow affections, if I remember right.
If you’re wondering why I know something like that, it’s because I gave some yellow roses to the granddaughter of my old karate teacher in Okinawa for her birthday. Guys don’t pay any attention to the language of flowers, so I looked it up before giving them to her. The thing I read said they meant something like “unwavering friendship.” But nope! As soon as I gave her the roses, my teacher’s high school-aged granddaughter immediately looked the meaning up on her phone and damn was she angry!
A lot of dictionaries just make up their own meanings for that kinda thing, so checking beforehand hadn’t helped me at all. The stupid flower shop should have warned me!
“Th-that’s true, my beauty is pretty vivacious. And anyone who falls for me is gonna get some bruises!”
“And it just so happens that in the language of flowers, a yellow rose means unwavering friendship,” I added, smiling. “Isn’t that simply the perfect way to describe us adventurers in this village? Don’t you think so, Camulla?”
“It certainly is. We should get all the adventurers together and have a drink or two.”
Had Camulla observed Nishka well enough on the journey to know she’d take any excuse for a drink? Whatever the case, Camulla’s intervention saved us and put Tipsy Nish in a great mood.
“Anyway, we’re almost to the village chief’s manor. How about ya duck in there and let her know we’re here, Shooter?”
“Why do I have to do it? Have one of the slaves go.”
“Okay, then go, buddy,” Nishka said with a snicker. “Get in there! You don’t wanna get a barbarian angry, do ya?”
“Kweekwee pthhbb!”
There went my delusions of her good mood; apparently Nishka could see right through us.
It felt like even Basil, who was tucked between her massive boobs, was taking a shot at poor Uncle Shuta. Woe is me, abandoned by my own scaly little baby!
The village chief looked down at the travelers gathered around her manor, positively dripping with her typical casually regal air.
“You’ve done well, Shooter. You didn’t manage to bring us many hunters, but I’m grateful for the adventurers that are here instead. And I ought to thank you for bringing this many settlers in the first group. Be ready to hear from me again soon.”
“Thank you so much, my lady. Thank you.” Half naked, I groveled before her.
“Now, as for you, Nishka the Scalesplitter.”
“Y-yes!”
“It came to my attention that you slipped out of the village and went to town without permission. What, exactly, did you do there?”
“I j-just wanted to get some new hunting tools, so I had to go to town to buy some.”
“Hunting tools, is it? Do you include slaves among those ‘hunting tools’? Yoi’hady tells me you bought one from her.”
“Heh…heh…um, yes. That happened too.” Nishka looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.
The village chief glanced at my belly-button piercing, frowning. We had only given her a brief overview of things with our messenger bird, but apparently Yoi had seen fit to include a thorough message of her own. “I see. Surely you were aware, Nishka, that private ownership of slaves is forbidden in this village. And surely, you wouldn’t be upset if I confiscated said slave. Unfortunately, you’ll have to find more ‘hunting tools’ elsewhere.”
“Wh-what?!” Nishka stammered.
“Thank you, your magnificence. Oh thank you, thank you!”
Nishka was scowling, but I heard her mutter, “Oh well. Fine. I only bought Shooter so I could bring him back to the village. I’m perfectly happy to have you free him.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have any slave traders in town, but I can assume ownership by fiat. I can’t imagine what people would say if they heard a man with a new bride was enslaved by a different woman.”
Struck mute in surprise, I watched Nishka and the village chief begin to debate.
Still, even if the village chief wasn’t freeing me after all, I figured her taking charge of me meant that she would be acting kind of like a guardian. “Th-thank you, ma’am,” I said. “This means so much to me.”
“You’ve done good work, I’ll be expecting good things from you in the future, too.”
Now that I knew “Dricia” was Yoi’s auntie, I could see a slight resemblance. It was hard to point out any specific features, but they looked similar around the eyes, as well as in their plump lips. Would Yoi grow up to be like her Auntie Dricia? I shook the thought away and glanced around. Gimul had been standing to one side of the village chief, and was now engaged in a detailed conversation with Studmuffin McHollywood and the other adventurers.
“All right, Shooter. Your wife is inside with my servants, preparing some food for these settlers. Perhaps you should go say hello.”
“A-as you wish, madam.”
“Mm. Don’t get too lovey-dovey in front of everyone, now,” the village chief said with a little wink.
I stood up and bowed once more, then turned toward the manor entrance.
Gimul was busy running through the instructions for the settlers’ lodging for the night, but he spared me a glance and jerked his chin toward the manor, gesturing for me to go in.
“That belly-button piercing looks good on you,” he said.
“I never could have gotten it without you.”
“Heh. You’re about to get very busy. Better take good care of that wife of yours.”
“And I hope the settlers brought you a nice girl you can marry.”
“Hey, shut it! Although…”
I smirked at his reaction, then headed inside the village chief’s manor.