“If Beresdral wants to keep growing,” Belamus muttered to himself, “trade will be essential.”
Belamus crossed his arms, focus tightening his expression. He sat alone in his home, deep in thought, unraveling the puzzle of how to take his burgeoning town to the next stage of development. The answer had come to him gradually, but now it was clear: the resources within the Great Frazes Forest alone wouldn’t be enough. To truly enrich Beresdral, the town would need to forge trade routes with cities, nations, and anyone willing to exchange goods.
Right now, there were too many areas where the village was lacking. Most pressing of all was the state of Beresdral’s weaponry and armor. Though the town’s inhabitants technically used iron, the quality was abysmal: poorly forged, brittle, and barely holding together in a real fight. Iron, while abundant and easy to work with, was hardly the pinnacle of martial craftsmanship. There were far superior metals in the world, like mithril and orichalcum, to name two.
Those rare materials were notoriously hard to mine, let alone forge. Only high-ranking mages could manipulate them properly, so they were both rare and expensive. But weapons and armor made from them were vastly superior in every respect. And Belamus happened to have a significant advantage: he possessed the magic to work both mithril and orichalcum. If he could get his hands on enough of the raw material, he could craft weapons that would put anything currently in Beresdral’s arsenal to shame.
Unfortunately, there were no known veins of either metal within the Great Frazes Forest. In truth, Belamus figured that importing both would be far more realistic.
Maybe the art of forging mithril and orichalcum has declined so much that they're actually cheaper now. If that’s the case, I might be able to buy them in bulk and give everyone top-tier gear…
It was a hopeful, convenient notion, but not entirely out of the question. Beresdral had plenty to offer in trade: ripe Merune and Arla fruits, plus other unique resources that might fetch a reasonable price. If the rare metals really were within reach, Belamus would make sure to gather as much as possible.
But to trade, they’d need a trading partner first.
That was where the challenge lay. Humans, as a rule, despised monsters. Opening relations with a human kingdom would be… difficult.
Still, humans weren’t the only race with civilization in this world. There were other nonhuman groups, more open-minded, who didn’t view monsters with the same disdain. Belamus sifted through the vast well of knowledge from his previous life, searching for the best possible candidate. Somewhere out there was a society willing to look past appearances. One he could talk to. One he could build a bridge to.
He just hoped that the bridge would be strong enough to carry Beresdral into a new era.
I’ve heard the elves to the southeast don’t harbor hatred toward monsters… Belamus mulled it over, arms still folded as he sat deep in contemplation. But the elven kingdom isn’t exactly known for its large-scale mining operations. Do they even have access to orichalcum or mithril?
It was possible, he supposed, that a new vein had been discovered in the years since his last life. But even if that were true, establishing a trade route that far would be no small feat. They’d have to construct proper roads, which would take a major infrastructure effort. If Belamus was going to pursue trade with the elves, he’d need to conduct thorough research first. Rushing in would be reckless.
For now, though, no other suitable civilization came to mind. Frustrated but resigned, Belamus decided he’d at least begin research into the elven lands. And just as he resolved to take that first step, the door slammed open with a bang.
“Belamus! It’s urgent!” Ugo’s voice was tight with panic as he rushed inside.
Belamus shot to his feet. “What happened?”
“There’s something strange at the gate,” Ugo said, catching his breath. “I’m not sure what it is. Could be a monster, but it’s injured, and it’s talking. Or trying to. I can’t understand a word it’s saying.”
“A monster?” Belamus narrowed his eyes, his tone heavy with caution.
“Well, I thought it was a monster,” Ugo admitted, scratching his head. “But now I’m not so sure. It… kinda looks like a human. Small, too. Probably a kid. Actually, there are two of them.”
Two children. Belamus’s expression darkened.
It didn’t add up. The Great Frazes Forest was vast and perilous, no place for unaccompanied human children. For them to reach Beresdral on foot, they’d have had to cross terrain even adults struggled with. That alone made the story suspicious. But Ugo’s confusion over the language made it stranger still. Since Liza had come to Beresdral, the villagers had learned at least the basics of the human tongue. Ugo, for all his brawn, was a quick study and could understand more than one would think. For him to be completely baffled by these new visitors’ speech meant something was off.
While it was true that the citizens of different human nations spoke in different dialects, the regions surrounding Beresdral all used the same language as the Astorius domain and Liza’s homeland. Unless the children in question came from an extremely distant land, this wasn’t just a dialect issue. Belamus was beginning to suspect these children weren’t human at all.
He headed toward the gate, senses alert.
As he approached, a voice rang out; it was strained and urgent, but unmistakably that of an adult woman. Ugo had called them children, but this voice held the weight and urgency of someone far older. Belamus didn’t recognize the speaker’s face, but he recognized the language, and in that instant, he understood everything she was saying.
That’s… the halfling tongue.
The moment Belamus recognized the language, everything clicked into place. It belonged to the halflings, one of the lesser-known demi-human races of this world. Halflings stood at less than one-tenth the height of an average human, and their combat abilities were notably weak. Their heads were smaller in proportion, yet their intelligence rivaled that of any scholar. Many halflings refrained from using magic because they had little innate mana, though others used it just fine.
That was everything Belamus remembered about them. But one detail nagged at him: halflings weren’t known for having loud voices. Their speech shouldn’t have carried from the gate all the way to where he’d been standing. Something didn’t quite add up. Still, he set that thought aside and scaled the lookout above the gate to confirm what he was dealing with.
And then he saw them.
Two figures stood just beyond the gate, both female, neither of them halflings. Not quite. One was about the height of a toddler, the other, closer to that of an eight-year-old human child. But even the smaller one was far too big to be a halfling. They didn’t match the profile at all. And yet… they were speaking Halfling.
That was the part Belamus couldn’t explain. He knew of no other race that used the halfling tongue.
In any case, there was no hostility in their postures. The older girl—assuming she was a girl—knelt protectively over the smaller one, holding her close. Her expression was tense but determined, her arms shielding the child from harm. She was the size of a child, yes, but her face told a different story—it was sharper, more mature.
She wasn’t a little girl. She was a mother.