Suteko Ni Narimashita 35

Guided by hazy memories, I ventured deep into the forest. I had wandered these woods countless times, yet this was my first journey in the southeast direction.

The hut, as I recalled, lay distant from the city, nestled downstream of the river that meandered from north to south along the city's eastern flank.

Invisibility could have been my easy shield; unseen, even on crowded streets, I'd be undetectable, save for another with the gift of fighting spirit.

But evasion wasn't my sole intent. This journey, though difficult, wasn't without meaning. I sought solitude – a space secluded for study.

A puzzle lingered in my thoughts. During a past search by hunters, how did Denner locate me despite my invisible state and without the aid of fighting spirit? A mystery indeed.

Reaching a familiar landmark, a colossal tree, I remembered: the hut should be midway between this giant and the river.

Yet, it was absent.

I combed through underbrush and between trees, finding no trace of the elusive hut. Had I misinterpreted the map?

A note of guidance would have helped, but then, the essence of a hideout is its secrecy, its clues scarce and cryptic.

This must be the reason Gustav withheld the map from me. Taking to the skies, I soared upward, hopeful for a clear view. But even from above, the dense canopy of the forest veiled what lay beneath. It was a cunning location for Gustav's hideout, indeed.

The thought of returning to the store flickered through my mind. Perhaps I could request a map. Yet, the idea of retreating, admitting defeat in my search, seemed unbearably pitiful. No, I decided, I would persist and search with greater care.

I extended my magical senses to their fullest, feeling every leaf and branch as if they were under my fingertips. This sensory expansion wasn't for appreciating nature's intricacies but a means to an end. I was unfamiliar with the specifics of a hut, but I understood the fundamentals of a dwelling. Indeed, I would recognize it once I found it.

Gliding through the forest, my flight was erratic, reminiscent of a cloth dancing whimsically in the wind. I scrutinized every anomaly — a large rock, a wooden structure — but none were the hideout I sought.

And then, almost unexpectedly, I found it. Hidden beneath the sheltering arms of the towering trees, a stone building blanketed in ivy revealed itself. It was ingeniously situated, too low to be spotted from a distance, and perfectly concealed from above by the thick branches.

At first sight, the hut's walls blended seamlessly with the forest, their green hue masked by overgrown ivy. It resembled a large mossy rock more than a dwelling. Yet, on closer inspection, the true nature of the hut revealed itself — complete with a window, chimney, and door.

"Ooh, what a nice place…" I marveled, unable to suppress my admiration.

Inside, the hut was surprisingly well-maintained. Layers of dust cloaked everything, but there were no signs of neglect like leaks or cracks. It made me wonder if someone had been tending to it regularly.

Shutting the door plunged the interior into darkness. The window offered some light, but I noticed another wooden sliding door behind the glass, likely used to prevent light from escaping at night. Settling into a chair beside a random table, my fingers brushed against its surface, and were caked with dust.

The thought of cleaning the entire hut crossed my mind. I fetched a pail from within and headed to a nearby stream. The water, chilled by the onset of cooler temperatures, was perfect for cleaning. With the pail now rid of dust, I soaked a rag and began wiping down the visible surfaces. The cold water numbed my hands, turning each wipe into a chilling endeavor. Each rag dip turned the water black, necessitating frequent trips to the stream.

It was only after several repetitions that a realization struck me — I could simply conjure water with magic. A moment of clarity followed: I didn't need to create water. I could moisten the rag with magic and even cleanse it the same way.

The water I conjured with magic had a unique property — it vanished as soon as I ceased supplying magical power. This meant that even if I flooded the hut with water, it evaporated, leaving no trace behind. I realized I could use a high-pressure water flow for cleaning, rendering the rag unnecessary.

With a flick of my finger, water jetted out, washing the walls and table. It was mesmerizing to watch the once grimy corners brighten and then instantly dry. After disposing of the washed-down debris, my cleaning task was complete.

"Maybe I could start a cleaning service," I joked, looking around the now spotless hut. It wasn't brand new, but the transformation filled me with a sense of accomplishment. 

"This is great. It would've been a perfect hideaway back in the slums," I mused aloud, though no one could hear me.

With the hut now tidy, the next task was to secure food. Gustav had offered to sell me provisions reasonably, but I had declined, confident in my ability to forage in the forest.

My daily routine remained largely unchanged. The idea of catching fish from the nearby river for a grilled feast crossed my mind, but by then, the sun had already descended.

As usual, it was time to sleep. Waking up with the sunrise, I maintained a healthy lifestyle, attuned to the rhythms of nature.

Stretching my back with a deep breath, I heard a symphony of cracks from my body, likely a protest against the unfamiliar bed. Despite its comfort, which surpassed my usual resting places, my body seemed to disagree.

What should I have for breakfast?

After a quick face wash with cool water, I exited the hut. The forest stretched endlessly around me, its morning chorus of birdsong reaching my ears without effort.

‘Birds for lunch it is,’ I thought. But first, breakfast.

I scanned the surroundings for a fish or bird, but none were in sight. Approaching a nearby tree, I noticed the absence of fruits that should have been ripe for the picking. Dismantling birds felt too cumbersome for a morning task, and there were no nuts.

It seemed fishing was the only option left.

Just as I turned to leave, something at the corner of my eye caught my attention. On the leaves of the tree, something clung precariously. There was a hole in the leaf, and above it wriggled a small, white entity.

A caterpillar.

Upon closer examination, I discovered white clusters scattered throughout the leaves. In my previous world, silkworms had been wholly domesticated, no longer existing in the wild. But here, in this world, they thrived in nature.

‘Good,’ I thought, relieved at the prospect of not having to resort to fish for breakfast again.

It had been a day since I started this new way of living. As I savored grilled chicken, methodically burying the leftovers, an unexpected visitor arrived.

"Hey, it's you," I greeted Nyxie, who appeared silently in front of the hut. He returned my greeting and handed me a small package.

"Hello, is this what you ordered?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, accepting the package and pulling a piece of paper from my pocket. 

"Please sign here to confirm receipt. Do you have something to write with?"

"Uhm…" I paused, searching my memory. Just yesterday, while cleaning the hut, I came across bamboo pens and an ink bottle.

"Please wait here for a moment. I'll go fetch it," I told him. As I spoke, I realized it would be rude to leave him standing outside. Besides, his timing was advantageous. There were many questions I wanted to ask Nyxie.

"Nyxie, never mind, please come in. Fair warning, though, I can't offer any grand hospitality."

"I will remain here. The hut's design ensures it remains hidden from the outside," he replied, indicating his preference to stay put. But I needed his help.

"Please, I need to ask you some questions, and I require a table to write on," I urged him. With a brief sigh, Nyxie relented and slowly entered the hut.

Finding the bamboo pen, I dipped its pointed end into the ink bottle, watching it absorb the ink. But then, I hesitated.

What should I write? I remembered creating a name for myself a while ago, but I faced another hurdle.

Catching Nyxie's skeptical gaze, I voiced my dilemma. 

"I want to write 'Crow,' but I'm unsure about the spelling."

Reading and speaking the language was one thing, but writing it, especially spelling, was a different challenge.

Although I had a rough idea of how to spell 'Crow,' I was anxious about making a mistake. Nyxie, noticing my hesitation, snorted and extended his hand.

"Let me show you," he said, taking my pen.

He effortlessly wrote on the desk, demonstrating the correct spelling. To my relief, it matched what I had in mind. I had guessed correctly.

"Thank you," I expressed my gratitude and once again dipped the pen tip into the ink. Mimicking Nyxie's style, I tried to replicate the spelling.

However, mastering the ink proved to be a challenge in itself. Writing too quickly resulted in faint, barely visible strokes, while a slower pace caused the ink to bleed excessively into the paper. Writing my name became a delicate balancing act, a struggle that persisted until the end.

My first go at writing 'Crow' was a bit awkward, but in the end, I managed to get it right.

"Done," I said, feeling a slight sense of achievement.

Nyxie neatly folded the receipt I handed him and slipped it into his pocket. 

"So, what's on your mind?" he asked, his voice steady.

"I've got some questions about Mr. Gustav," I said. The name seemed to strike a chord with Nyxie; his posture stiffened slightly, a subtle change that didn't escape my notice.

It was a small detail, but I couldn't shake off the need to understand Gustav's stern attitude towards Haman and the others. To me, unraveling these mysteries was crucial for making sense of everything around me.