Chapter 12: A Great Harvest
Early the next morning.
Not long after Kurtz and Serie had departed the village, Amuro's modest forge received an unexpected visitor.
"Father, I've come to say goodbye."
Somo stood outside the familiar doorway, a travel pack at his feet and his ancestral battle axe secured across his back. His voice carried a gravity that made him sound far older than his forty years.
Amuro didn't lift his head from his work, focusing intently on the glowing metal he was shaping. The rhythmic hammer blows continued without pause, as if he hadn't heard his son's words at all.
The deliberate silence forced Somo to clear his throat and repeat himself.
Finally, Amuro set down his hammer and sank heavily into a worn wooden chair, his broad back still turned toward his son. His shoulders sagged with inevitable disappointment.
"I heard you the first time," he said quietly. "I understand what you're saying. You still won't listen to me, will you?"
As early as the previous night, he'd sensed something different in Somo's expression when the young dwarf had regained consciousness.
There had been a new determination burning in his eyes, a resolution that hadn't been there before.
Amuro had hoped that witnessing Serie's overwhelming power would make his son recognise the harsh realities of the outside world, convincing him to abandon these dangerous fantasies.
Instead, the demonstration had only strengthened Somo's resolve.
He couldn't stop him, just as he had been unstoppable a century ago when he'd stood before his own father with identical declarations. Only now their roles had reversed, and he'd become the one left behind.
For the first time, he truly understood what his father must have felt during that confrontation.
"You wouldn't listen to my explanations anyway," Somo replied, his tone gentle but firm.
The truth was that he'd harboured dreams of adventure for years. Whether he'd fought Serie or not, this departure had always been inevitable.
He needed to prove through his own journey that he was a genuine dwarven warrior, worthy of his village's respect rather than their pity.
After finishing his brief farewell, Somo shouldered his pack and turned toward the door. He paused on the threshold, not looking back.
"Take care of yourself, old man."
Only after his son's footsteps had faded completely did Amuro finally turn around. Despite everything, a smile tugged at his weathered features.
He made no attempt to call Somo back, just as his father had made no such attempt all those years ago. Some journeys had to be taken, regardless of the pain they caused to those left behind.
…
On the other side of the village, Kurtz and Serie walked along a narrow dirt path that might have been carved by any number of races over the centuries.
Or perhaps, as a certain writer from his previous world had once observed, there had been initially no road here at all; it had simply appeared when enough travellers chose to walk the same route.
Glancing at Kurtz's heavily laden form, Serie couldn't suppress her curiosity any longer.
"Why are you carrying so many things?"
During their previous adventures together, they'd travelled remarkably light. She hadn't brought anything at all, relying entirely on Kurtz to handle practical necessities like food and shelter.
Back then, he'd carried only a small, well-crafted bag that had caught her attention with its unusual design and apparent durability.
According to him, he'd been adventuring for almost a year, and that mysterious pack had shown only minor wear despite constant use.
Now, however, Kurtz was burdened with a dwarven-made bundle that looked like a patchwork nightmare compared to his previous equipment.
The rough stitching and multiple repairs were obvious even from a distance.
Anyone familiar with dwarven craftsmanship understood their philosophy: functionality over form. The pack Kurtz now carried embodied that principle perfectly, covered in patches and crude stitching that spoke of purely practical construction.
In Serie's blunt assessment, it was "extraordinarily ugly."
For Kurtz, though, as long as it worked, aesthetics were irrelevant.
"Nothing too exciting," he replied cheerfully, adjusting the straps across his shoulders. "Just some blankets and proper cooking equipment. I have to admit, these dwarves are quite skilled at practical craftsmanship."
Coming from Kurtz, this qualified as high praise.
After all, one couldn't reasonably expect the same massive hands that forged weapons and armour to produce delicate embroidery or fine textiles.
Even so, he felt genuinely satisfied with his acquisitions.
This was one of the major advantages of encountering developed civilisations during travel: you could leap from primitive survival conditions to relative comfort in a single transaction.
Kurtz had arrived in this world during what should have been a simple hiking trip in his previous life.
At the time, he'd carried only a small daypack with some snacks and water, completely lacking useful survival tools.
Fortunately, his smartphone had contained extensive wilderness survival information, and he'd managed to absorb crucial knowledge before the battery died and his magical abilities awakened.
He'd survived this long primarily through creative spellcasting, while his phone had become nothing more than an expensive paperweight gathering dust in his pack.
'I should have brought a solar power bank,' he thought wistfully.
"What would you like for dinner tonight?" he asked, already anticipating the possibilities. "How does mushroom soup sound?"
The prospect of finally cooking a proper pot of soup filled him with genuine excitement. Before acquiring decent cookware, he'd been limited to roasted mushroom skewers and other primitive preparations.
Even boiling water had been challenging, forcing him to gamble on drinking from questionable sources most of the time.
Though there had been occasional strokes of luck, finding hollow plant stems that could serve as makeshift kettles, and discovering leaves that made acceptable tea substitutes.
Those small victories had provided brief moments of civilised comfort during months of rough living.
Thinking about it now, Amuro really had been remarkably generous.
Not only had he provided substantial supplies, but when they'd departed that morning, he'd tried to press a handful of gold coins into Kurtz's palm. Kurtz had politely refused the monetary gift.
Few creatures in this era recognised gold as standard currency; Serie's elven people certainly didn't.
Besides, metal coins were heavy, and he had no interest in adding unnecessary weight to his already substantial load.
It was strange how perspectives changed. Before his transmigration, discovering such a pile of gold would have sent him running marathons in pure excitement. Now it represented nothing but inconvenience.
Still, for safety's sake, he'd accepted a single coin. If they encountered someone who did recognise its value, it might prove useful for trading.
"Acceptable," Serie replied with characteristic brevity.
She wasn't particularly choosy about Kurtz's cooking; everything he prepared turned out surprisingly delicious.
"Doesn't carrying all that equipment seem burdensome?" she asked, watching him adjust the pack's weight distribution.
"No choice, these are necessities," Kurtz explained patiently. "Look, we need blankets for sleeping, right? The nights get so cold that we can't rely entirely on campfires for warmth."
Serie opened her mouth to object, then found herself acknowledging the logic of his argument. Having proper bedding would indeed make their travels considerably more comfortable.
"What about those iron cooking implements? They're quite heavy. Why not discard them?"
"Absolutely not!" Kurtz's response was immediate and passionate.
"As wise people have always said, good food represents one of life's greatest pleasures. We can't live like savages, never knowing when our next decent meal might come."
"I could teach you elven photosynthesis magic," Serie offered matter-of-factly. "It eliminates the need for food for approximately one month per casting."
Kurtz stared at her with dawning realisation. "You don't mean you've been using that technique regularly, do you?"
He seriously suspected that his diminutive ancient companion had been surviving primarily through magical photosynthesis rather than conventional eating. After all, he couldn't imagine her foraging for ingredients or preparing meals independently.
The most likely scenario was that she occasionally cast the spell on herself and called it sufficient.
Serie's silence confirmed his suspicions entirely.
Kurtz sighed with the patience of someone explaining fundamental philosophy to a particularly obtuse student.
"Serie, sometimes food isn't just about filling your stomach."
He patted his oversized pack affectionately. "Tonight, I'm going to introduce you to an entirely different culinary experience."
Serie tilted her head thoughtfully, golden hair catching the morning light as it fluttered in the gentle breeze. Her expression suggested mild curiosity rather than enthusiasm, but she didn't dismiss the idea entirely.
"If you insist."
She made no further objections, and Kurtz could tell that despite her aloof demeanour, his elven companion was genuinely curious about whatever culinary surprises he might produce that evening.
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