Chapter 2 — The Smell of Trouble
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Year 29 of the New Era, Gill Village.
After returning to Hans's home, the hunter's wife—an attractive woman with waterfall-like purple hair—had already prepared dinner. It was stewed beast meat cooked until tender, accompanied by a few chunks of black bread.
At the dinner table, Lain made a request to Hans.
"Uncle, I'd like to stay here for a while."
"Staying is no problem at all!"
Hans gnawed on a bone and agreed readily. "But I don't keep freeloaders."
"I can work," Lain smiled. "Also, I'd like to ask the village blacksmith to forge two swords for me. As for lodging and weapon costs, I'll pay them back in other ways."
Hans set the bone aside and looked him up and down with curiosity.
"What do you need swords for? You don't look like a warrior."
Compared to Hans—a burly man who hunted year-round—Lain's build did indeed look rather slender.
"One has to learn how to protect oneself," Lain replied.
"Alright."
Hans didn't ask further, wiping the grease from the corner of his mouth. "I'll help you put it on credit with the blacksmith. But how do you plan to repay it?"
"Hunting a boar should be enough."
Based on his understanding of prices in the original work, Lain had already made his calculations.
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The next morning, before the mist had fully dispersed, Hans tossed over two sheathed longswords. The leather on the scabbards was already peeling.
"These are two swords old blacksmith Geralt had in his collection. Five silver coins total. Geralt said that's already a discount for my sake."
"Thanks."
Lain crossed the twin swords and hung them on his belt, then turned and headed out of the village.
Early that morning, he had already asked around about the surrounding area and knew clearly that there was a kind of beast nearby called a Tusked Boar. Its meat was delicious and sold well—and for his current level, it was a decent trial opponent.
"Be careful out there!"
Hans shouted from behind.
Lain waved his hand, and his figure quickly vanished into the morning fog.
After inheriting the Southern Hero's physique, his five senses and physical abilities had increased dramatically. The chaotic smells and sounds of the forest were automatically sorted in his mind, crystal clear.
So this is the perception of 'the strongest human'… it really is something.
Before long, following hoofprints and overturned soil, he found a boar's nest.
Roar!
A Tusked Boar the size of a small calf burst out of the bushes, rancid saliva dripping from its sharp tusks.
Lain sank his legs slightly and adopted a combat stance.
In his mind, an image flashed by—the dual-blade warrior slaughtering across a battlefield.
This is it. This feeling.
At the instant the boar was about to crash into him, Lain shifted his body to the left, his longsword slashing out in one smooth motion.
The boar's massive body continued forward from inertia, charging several more meters before slamming into an old oak tree with a thunderous crash, shaking down countless leaves.
It twitched twice. Blood sprayed wildly from its neck. Soon, it lay still.
Lain flicked the blood droplets from his blade, forming an initial assessment of his own strength.
"About… early-game strength of two Tomato Warriors."
Chuckling, he dragged the several-hundred-pound boar corpse step by step back toward the village.
With the Southern Hero physique, hauling something this heavy was effortless.
When he dumped the entire boar at the blacksmith's entrance, the blacksmith and passing villagers were stunned.
"Y-You killed this… by yourself?"
Geralt the blacksmith stared wide-eyed. Inside the forge, an elderly woman—possibly Geralt's mother—also poked her head out in surprise.
"Yeah. This should cover the debt, right?" Lain said.
Looking at the clean, decisive cuts on the boar's body, the blacksmith nodded repeatedly with a grin.
"More than enough."
After settling all expenses with the boar meat, Lain's life temporarily stabilized.
Next, he needed to figure out how to join Frieren's party.
To deal with Frieren, he'd need some bargaining chips.
Fortunately, the opportunity came quickly.
The next day, a voluptuous married woman from a neighboring house came to him, her face full of worry, asking him to gather a medicinal herb called Moonlight Grass deep in the forest.
It was said to be a miracle cure for her husband's rheumatism.
"Please, Mr. Lain. That herb grows on a cliff guarded by magical beasts. No one in the village dares go there. Since you can defeat a Tusked Boar, you should be able to handle those monsters."
She pleaded pitifully.
"No problem."
Lain agreed without hesitation. For him, it was killing two birds with one stone—training and boosting village goodwill.
The commission went smoothly. When he handed the Moonlight Grass to the woman, she thanked him profusely and, somewhat mysteriously, stuffed an old magic book into his hands as a reward.
"This is something I obtained by chance when I was young—a magic that makes women fuller and more charming. Think of it as a thank-you gift. Though its effects only last one hour."
Lain accepted the magic book with a smile. To a certain elf, this spell would be a dream come true.
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More than a month passed in the blink of an eye.
Every day, Lain fought monsters and beasts in the forest, his dual-blade techniques growing increasingly refined.
At the same time, he didn't forget his real objective.
To enter the Northern Plateau, a First-Class Mage qualification was a mandatory pass.
Although the Southern Hero physique leaned toward a warrior build, his perception and control of mana far surpassed ordinary people. Thus, he spent some time learning basic offensive and defensive spells from the village church's priest.
That day, he bid farewell to Hans's family and headed to the nearest city—Grear—to take the Mage Rank Examination.
Grear was the largest city in the surrounding region, with the Mage Association located at its center.
The exam itself wasn't complicated—basic magical theory and practical operations.
After passing, Lain held a piece of parchment stamped with a gilded emblem.
A Fifth-Class Mage Certificate—the entry ticket to take the First-Class Mage exam.
However, the Southern Hero physique wasn't suited for deep magical specialization. Passing the First-Class exam on his own was a slim hope.
That was why, from the very beginning, his plan involved relying on Frieren's party.
More precisely—on Fern.
As long as he traveled with them, using Fern's First-Class Mage status, he could pass through the northern checkpoints and reach the Northern Plateau.
Truthfully, he hoped to reach the Land of Rested Souls together with Frieren's group, but that position was reserved for Sein, so he won't insist.
Another ten-plus days passed after he returned to the village.
Lain sat beneath the shadow of a large tree near the village entrance, wiping down the twin swords he had just had the blacksmith re-polish.
In the two months since his transmigration, he had fully adapted to life in this world. He also discovered that aside from synchronizing abilities by touching the Southern Hero's statues, he seemingly couldn't synchronize with other legendary figures—such as Himmel.
Perhaps he needed to fully synchronize with one legend before moving on.
And judging by the timing, Frieren's group would arrive at the village today.
Sure enough, three small black dots gradually became clearer on the horizon.
The Radish Elf, the Eggplant Mage, and the Tomato Warrior.
Lain put away his swords, brushed the grass off his pants, and stepped forward.
"Greetings, great Mage Frieren."
Frieren stopped. Her bright eyes swept over him, then she blinked.
"And you are…?"
"My name is Lain. A traveler."
Lain maintained a polite smile.
Frieren stared at him for three seconds, then whoosh—she slipped behind Fern, only half her head peeking out, her expression filled with faint disdain.
"Fern, this person smells like trouble," she said at a volume that was not quiet at all.
"Let's hurry and leave. It feels like we'll get dragged into something weird."
Lain's smile stiffened slightly.
Being openly disliked didn't feel great.
"Ms. Frieren,"
Fern sighed and looked helplessly at her teacher.
"That's very rude. And this gentleman doesn't seem malicious."
"It's not malice. It's trouble. I hate trouble."
Frieren shook her head stubbornly.
Lain looked straight at Frieren and said,
"Lady Frieren, I only hope to travel with you for a short while."
"Rejected."
Frieren answered instantly.
"Only as far as the Northern Plateau."
"Rejected."
"I'll pay compensation—an extremely rare magic."
Lain calmly threw out the bait.
Frieren's ears twitched. The disdain in her eyes instantly turned into curiosity.
"What kind of magic?"
The corner of Lain's mouth curved upward.
"A magic that makes you more feminine and charming. Though it only lasts for one hour."
Fern's gaze immediately turned icy, her staff held horizontally in front of her.
"Ms. Frieren, this guy is definitely dangerous. Let's go!"
Frieren, however, immediately jumped out and shook Lain's hand.
"Deal!"
"Ms. Frieren!!"
Fern was furious enough to explode into a giant mushroom.
"So, does that mean we're companions now?"
Lain withdrew his hand.
"Give me the magic first."
Frieren curled her finger impatiently.
Lain immediately handed over the magic book.
Frieren snatched it away, moving like a food-guarding cat.
She carefully opened the book, completely ignoring Fern's gaze beside her—which was cold enough to freeze a person solid.
Nearby, Stark scratched his tomato-colored hair and leaned in, whispering,
"Um, Mr. Lain… how do you know Ms. Frieren?"
"Because I've seen her statue," Lain replied.
"You can recognize her just from a statue?" Stark blinked.
Before he could ask more, a hand suddenly grabbed the back of his collar.
Expressionless, Fern dragged the Tomato Warrior three meters away from Lain, looking at him like he was some kind of contagious disease.
"It's getting late,"
Lain didn't mind Fern's hostility and glanced at the sun sinking behind the mountains.
"There's only one inn in the village, on the west side of the plaza. I'll show you."
"Mm, thanks."
Frieren replied without lifting her head, fully absorbed in the magic book.
Fern let out a heavy sigh, tugging along her hopeless teacher toward the inn. As she passed Lain, she shot him a fierce glare.
The group soon arrived at the inn.
Not wanting to interfere too much in Frieren's party's internal life, Lain chose to continue staying at Hans's home instead of joining them at the inn.
Maintaining proper distance is the foundation of long-term cooperation.
That evening—
Fern, her face dark, knocked on Frieren's room door with a tray in hand. Moments later, Fern's voice could be heard from inside, suppressing her anger.
"Ms. Frieren! Please do not experiment with that kind of magic on the inn's bed!"
Downstairs in the common hall, Lain listened to the commotion above. After taking a quiet sip of ale, he returned to Hans's home.
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Early the next morning, Lain packed his belongings and waited at the inn's entrance.
Before long, Frieren's group came down as well.
Frieren looked energetic, even humming an unfamiliar tune.
Fern was puffed up with anger, clearly still sulking.
Stark trailed behind, looking utterly drained—apparently collateral damage from the two mages' "war" the night before.
"Good morning,"
Lain greeted them.
"Morning,"
Frieren nodded.
Fern only glanced at him without speaking, obviously still angry about the magic.
"Let's go."
Lain didn't mind and took the first step forward.
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