* * *
‘No, that doesn’t seem right.’
Zerbin took meals seriously; if that were the issue, he’d be more assertive about getting food.
Maybe he’d even have sent me to demand service.
So, why was he watching them?
“How did it go?”
The elderly man’s question was met with a deep sigh from the middle-aged man, who slowly shook his head.
The table sighed in unison.
“As expected, our funds aren’t sufficient.”
“It seems impossible to hire a reputable adventurer with our budget,” the middle-aged man added.
Hmm, an adventurer request?
That caught my attention.
Adventurers chase money at the risk of their lives, so a lack of funds usually turns them away.
Was Zerbin, as a devout hero, inclined to help people in need because of his faith?
I hadn’t heard of that before my regression.
“Then we only have one option left.”
The old man’s voice was weary, and the middle-aged man nodded gravely.
Whatever their “last option” was, they seemed to regard it as a desperate measure.
“His reputation isn’t great, but he is skilled. And he’s the only one we can afford.”
Who are they talking about?
A troublesome adventurer with a bad reputation who charges less because of it?
Adventurers like that were a dime a dozen, and they were universally unreliable.
If he’s truly skilled, why would he charge less unless he frequently broke contracts or took requests lightly?
Neither possibility inspired confidence.
Still, I shouldn’t meddle if I’m not planning to offer my own services.
Who knows?
Maybe they’ll luck into a decent adventurer.
Even so, I couldn’t help wondering why Zerbin was interested in such an ordinary conversation.
Could it be because the meal was taking so long?
“Should I call someone to ask what’s available?”
There wasn’t even a menu posted.
Maybe this inn just cooked with whatever ingredients they had on hand that day.
In a small village like this, getting fresh supplies regularly was a challenge.
Zerbin remained silent.
Was that conversation really worth his attention, even at the expense of food?
Wait…
“Do you know the adventurer they’re talking about?”
Though I hadn’t paid much attention earlier, my ears had caught fragments of their discussion.
The adventurer in question seemed to be solving odd jobs in nearby villages.
An adventurer handling odd jobs?
Suspicious.
Maybe Zerbin knew the guy’s reputation and didn’t want them hiring him?
What was the name again?
It was so common I’d already forgotten.
“No.”
Fortunately, Zerbin answered me without requiring me to elaborate on who the “mentioned adventurer” was.
That meant he had been listening to the conversation with considerable focus.
On top of that, his normally calm—nearly monotone—voice carried a hint of intensity.
Others might not notice, but I could tell his tone was different from usual.
This wasn’t a simple “not at all.” It felt more like, ‘I know them well, but I’d rather not talk about it.’
Fine, then. It’s probably best to drop it.
But.
‘I can’t stop wondering!’
Zerbin, putting off his meal to dwell on someone?
How could that not be intriguing?
Curiosity isn’t always rational.
My heart raced, eager to know just how this person was connected to Zerbin, the way you anticipate something extraordinary—or perhaps disastrous.
If I poked too hard, this excitement might turn into the pounding of sheer terror.
For now, directly asking was out of the question.
Maybe I could draw it out a bit.
“So, are you worried you’ll hire some lousy adventurer and end up getting scammed?”
“Lousy…”
Zerbin muttered the word as if testing it out.
I wasn’t sure why he latched onto “lousy” out of all I said.
Was it because the adventurer in question really was that bad?
Or was it the opposite—because they weren’t lousy at all?
The two possibilities were so contradictory that I couldn’t glean much from his reaction.
“If they’re an adventurer with a bad reputation who has to take cheap requests, you can probably guess what kind of person they are. I’d feel a bit uneasy hearing about that as a fellow adventurer.”
“True.”
This time, his answer came without hesitation.
One thing became clear: Zerbin did not like this “mentioned adventurer.”
When people have a positive opinion of someone, they usually feel compelled to clarify or defend them if they’re lumped into disparaging comments.
If he wanted to maintain distance from them, there would’ve been at least some sign of hesitation.
‘Though, it’s hard to tell if they’re actually lousy or not.’
If Zerbin remembered them, they might even be exceptionally strong—beyond what I could imagine.
For someone that skilled to have to take low-paying requests, they’d have to be living recklessly.
That’s fascinating in its own way.
How were they connected? Could this somehow be the seed of true love?
If he really didn’t care for them, he’d just ignore the topic altogether.
But the fact that he’s dwelling on it—doesn’t that mean there’s something there?
Ah, now I’m even more curious!
But if I ask recklessly, Zerbin might think I’m being rude and send me flying—again.
“So, were you listening because it bothered you? Should we take care of it for you before we leave?”
Regretfully, I set aside the topic of the mysterious adventurer and shifted the conversation elsewhere.
Even though curiosity burned inside me, pressing further now might expose just how interested I was in “that adventurer.”
When people realize someone’s fishing for information, they usually become defensive.
And Zerbin, who’s already wary of others, would be even more so.
Considering the miracle of how I got close to Zerbin in the first place, I had plenty of time to figure things out subtly.
There’s no need to rush and provoke his suspicion.
After all, we’ll be traveling together for several more days!
“That wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Wait, really?
He’s actually suggesting we help?
For free?
That’s a heroic thing to say, but…
There was the sound of a heavy stomp as if someone was leaping into the room, and the door swung open.
“I’m back!”
A young girl with long, braided red hair burst in, carrying a basket overflowing with potatoes.
Judging by the ingredients, she’d probably been out gathering supplies.
Energetic as she was, she slammed the door shut behind her and caught my eye.
Her round, youthful eyes widened.
“Dad! We have customers! What are you doing?”
The girl—likely a server—shouted, and finally, we were treated as guests.
“Oh, sorry about that! Didn’t even notice you’d come in…”
The man, grinning sheepishly, froze the moment he spotted Zerbin.
Even if he didn’t recognize him as Zerbin Batista, he could tell he was dealing with a formidable adventurer.
“Oh, I-I didn’t realize you were here. My apologies!”
With trembling hands, he passed over a wooden board.
Even beyond his good looks, Zerbin could be intimidating.
The board, it turned out, was a menu.
That was unexpected.
Having a set menu meant they had a stable supply of ingredients, which implied they dealt with merchants.
But this rural village didn’t seem like the kind of place where traders would bother stopping.
Apart from me and Zerbin, there was just one elderly woman in the dining area.
Zerbin, unfazed, calmly studied the menu.
That was just like him.
“Wait a moment!”
The red-haired server hurried over to our table.
“I need to explain the menu properly. Most of the items aren’t available right now because we don’t have the ingredients. What we do have is over here—just these.”
Pointing them out one by one, she swiftly eliminated most of the already limited menu options.
What was left?
Dishes without a single scrap of meat.
The reason became clear quickly: ingredients that required gathering outside the village or hunting were currently unavailable.
Seriously?
Zerbin would collapse without a hearty meal!
How was he supposed to survive on just greens?
* * *
