“...Sir Knight, what a coincidence.”
Rosie sheathed her short sword at her waist, carelessly wiped the wet wolf blood from her face, and tried her best to keep her voice steady.
Her heart was pounding, though, terrified that he was here to arrest a killer.
“A coincidence indeed. I didn't expect to meet you again in the wilderness, Miss Rosie.”
Lucius spoke in a low voice from atop his tall warhorse.
The warhorse beneath him let out a soft snort.
“On my very first adventure, I was unlucky enough to run into a pack of snow wolves. Thank goodness you arrived in time, Sir Knight.” Rosie put on a grateful expression.
Lucius shook his head, his expression faint behind his visor:
“Those snow wolves were already preparing to leave. I only killed them to eliminate a potential hazard.”
“However, your strength seems far beyond what's needed to deal with a few thugs.”
Rosie grinned. “Not at all, not at all! Compared to you, Sir Knight, I still have a long way to go!”
This wasn't mere flattery; it was a genuine compliment.
A subtle smile flickered across Lucius's sharply chiseled face. “You're very interesting, Miss Rosie.”
“Captain!”
A knight trotted over on horseback from a short distance away.
Bringing his mount to a halt beside Lucius, he murmured, “It's time to move out.”
Lucius nodded, his gaze falling back onto Rosie.
His sharp-chinned face looked calm and cool under the moonlight.
“Miss Rosie, congratulations on becoming an adventurer. However, I advise you to stay away from Stratholme for the time being.”
With that, he pulled down his visor, concealing his angular features once more.
With a gentle nudge of his heels against his horse's flanks, the warhorse turned and galloped cleanly to the south.
The knight who had spoken glanced at Rosie, his gaze pausing briefly on the bloodstains covering her leather cuirass, before spurring his horse to follow.
The other knights followed close behind.
The thunder of hooves merged into a single roar, quickly fading away at the edge of the wilderness.
Only Rosie was left behind. The night wind swept past her, laden with the stench of blood and the cold chill of damp earth.
The wilderness fell quiet once more—so quiet she could hear the heavy rhythm of her own breathing.
Rosie opened her mouth, remaining silent for quite a while.
“...They seriously just left a beautiful girl out in the middle of nowhere? And they call themselves knights...”
She couldn't help but mutter under her breath.
Under normal circumstances, shouldn't they ask something like, “Miss, where are you headed? I can give you a ride”?
To just dump a young girl in the middle of nowhere surrounded by dead wolves and leave...
Is this really standard operating procedure for a hero saving a damsel in distress?
Well, at least they didn't arrest her as a murderer.
Still, Rosie took Lucius's warning to heart.
Stay away from Stratholme?
She combed through her original body's memories. Stratholme was the largest city in the southern region of the Kingdom of Norman, serving as a hub for commerce and transportation.
Did something happen there?
A plague? A rebellion? Or something else entirely?
Rosie stood in place and pondered for a moment, coming up with no answers.
With so little information, a single sentence wasn't enough to piece together the whole picture.
Since the knight had made a point of mentioning it, that place was definitely off-limits in the short term.
Then, she suddenly realized something else.
Throughout such a dangerous battle from start to finish, the Adventure Guide hadn't given any reaction whatsoever.
No quest triggered.
No quest prompt.
Not even a single damn pop-up.
“Adventure Guide,”
Rosie called out mentally.
The quaint book with a crossed sword and shield on its cover materialized before her eyes.
“Why wasn't there a quest?”
The pages of the Adventure Guide flipped open automatically, and a line of text surfaced between them.
【Adventure quests must involve intelligent creatures to trigger.】
Rosie stared blankly for a second.
Intelligent creatures.
In other words, it had to be a human or a humanoid creature with equivalent intelligence to trigger a quest.
“...So I can't just grind quests by farming monsters.”
Rosie went silent for a moment and let out a long sigh.
This meant that in the future, she would genuinely have to act like a witcher, running from village to town asking around: “Has anything strange happened lately?” or “Is there any work that needs doing?”
Taking commissions, bargaining over pay, solving problems... a whole mountain of hassle.
Looking on the bright side, at least she hadn't come out empty-handed this time.
Though there were no quest rewards, her proficiency had increased.
She glanced at her skill panel: 【Level 2 Swordsmanship: 6/200】, 【Level 1 Heroic Strike: 12/200】.
That battle just now had gained her some proficiency in both Swordsmanship and Heroic Strike.
It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
The proficiency gain from actual life-and-death combat was somewhat faster than dull, dry practice swings.
Besides, it wasn't a total loss either.
Rosie looked down at the wolf carcasses on the ground.
Snow wolves were common magical beasts in the North, and their pelts could fetch a decent price in the market.
Especially the alpha wolf—its fur was a silvery white tinged with blue, far superior in quality compared to an ordinary snow wolf's pelt.
The fancy knights might look down on these, but she wasn't about to waste them.
She walked over to the alpha wolf's corpse and squatted down.
Feeling around the wolf's belly with her short sword, she flicked her wrist, slicing an opening along the centerline.
Skinning was meticulous work; a slight slip could tear the pelt and ruin its value.
She had never skinned a wolf before, but she had seen it done.
The night wind howled as Rosie squatted on the ground, cutting, tearing, and pulling slice by slice.
Her movements gradually smoothed out from clunky to practiced.
After half an hour, she finally managed to skin the entire alpha wolf pelt intact.
The inside of the pelt still bore the warm reek of blood. She rolled it up, tied it securely with a few strips of flexible bark fiber, and strapped it onto her backpack.
Just as she was weighing whether to skin one or two more pelts...
A roar echoed from the wilderness.
“Roar!—”
A new predator was approaching, marking its presence in advance to check for competitors.
Rosie took a look at the remaining snow wolf corpses.
“Greed will get me killed. Better not push it.”
She hoisted her pack, lengthened her stride along the dirt road, and quickly left the wolf corpses behind.
...
The moonlight was cold, the wilderness vast and still.
“Sigh, if only I had a mount.”
As she walked, Rosie suddenly let out a sigh of longing.
The imposing figure of the knight's mighty warhorse instantly popped into her mind.
Supposedly, the mounts of Norman Knights weren't ordinary horses, but specially bred steeds carrying the bloodline of magical beasts.
Their stamina, speed, explosive power, and agility far surpassed normal horses, each worth a fortune.
And then there was that set of silver armor.
That was high-grade armor an ordinary person couldn't afford in ten lifetimes either.
“I'm not picky. Just having a set like that would be enough for me.”
Rosie muttered as she walked, her imagination running wild with visions of herself clad in gleaming armor, riding a tall warhorse in majestic splendor.
She couldn't help but chuckle.
As the night wind blew past, she drew her neck in, buried her chin in her collar, and kept her head down to press on.
Perhaps because her bad luck had finally run dry, the rest of the journey was remarkably peaceful.
No pursuers, no wolf howls, no strange noises.
Only a few late-returning night birds on the wasteland were occasionally startled, fluttering up into the air before settling back down in the distance.
Relying on her Tireless Marcher trait, Rosie walked through the entire night.
When the first sliver of pale gray light began to tinge the eastern horizon, she finally caught sight of the outline of a town.
Dawn crept over the horizon behind the town, bathing the low rooftops in a warm orange-red glow.
Wisps of cooking smoke rose from chimneys, ascending straight into the windless morning air.
Mountain Wood Town.
If Hawk hadn't intercepted her, she should have arrived here yesterday afternoon.
Rosie stood at the entrance of the town and let out a long sigh of relief.
The exhaustion of staying awake all night finally washed over her, making her steps feel a bit light and unsteady.
The guard at the town entrance was a middle-aged man clad in worn leather armor with an iron sword hanging at his hip, yawning as he leaned against the wooden fence.
Seeing someone approach, he perked up and inspected the newcomer.
A young girl with dark circles under her eyes so heavy it looked like she'd been punched twice in the face, carrying a pelt roll on her back, her leather cuirass covered in dried, blackened blood, and several small scabbed cuts on her face.
“Girl, what happened to you...?”
The guard's tone carried a hint of uncertainty.
Rosie paused, raising a hand to rub her dry, scratchy eyes. “Chased by snow wolves all night. Slain a few along the way.”
The guard's eyes widened. “Snow wolves? By yourself?”
“Just good luck. I ran into a squad of knights passing through who lent a hand.” Rosie had no intention of elaborating.
The guard gave her a thumbs-up. “Walking the roads at night alone and making it to town alive after running into snow wolves is impressive enough.”
He warmly pointed into town. “Go straight in until you hit the crossroads. You'll see an inn there—the sign has a candle drawn on it, very easy to spot.
On the east side of town, there's a blacksmith shop. The smith's wife runs a fur store next door, and she buys pelts. Have a pleasant stay.”
“Thank you.”
Rosie nodded to him and stepped into Mountain Wood Town.
The town in the early morning had not fully awakened yet.
Most of the shops lining the streets were still shuttered.
Rosie followed the directions given by the guard to the crossroads, and sure enough, she spotted the inn.
A candle was painted on the sign. Though slightly faded at the edges, it was clearly well-maintained.
The steps before the inn door were worn smooth and glossy from heavy foot traffic, and warm light trickled through the gaps in the door.
She pushed the door open.
A warm breeze scented with ale, toasted bread, and hearth firewood rushed to greet her, washing away much of the lingering bloody reek and cold night chill clinging to her.
The inn lobby wasn't large, but it was tidy and clean.
The fireplace burned brightly, bathing the entire room in a cozy orange glow.
Behind the counter stood a plump, middle-aged woman wiping a wooden mug with a rag. Seeing someone enter, she raised her head with a warm smile.
“Looking for a room, lass? A single room is fifty coppers a day, plus ten coppers if you want breakfast included. Hot water's available too, but that's two coppers.”
Her eyes swept over the bloodstains on Rosie's clothes and the rolled wolf pelt on her back, but she showed no surprise or disgust.
Innkeepers had seen plenty of weary, travel-worn travelers.
“Just one day for now, and I'll take the hot water. I'll worry about food after I wake up.”
As Rosie spoke, she reached into her tunic, pulled out a silver coin, and placed it on the counter.
“Alright then! Second room on the left, second floor. I'll have hot water sent up shortly.”
The landlady took the money and handed her an iron key from behind the counter.
Rosie took the key and headed up to the second floor, the wooden staircase creaking under her boots.
The room was small, containing a wooden bed dressed with coarse cloth sheets, a nightstand, a wooden stool, and a small window.
Through the wooden louvers, one could see the town's rooftops and the gray-green fields in the distance.
The furniture was simple but clean, and the bedding carried the fresh scent of sun-dried fabric.
She shut the door, putting her shield, backpack, and the wolf pelt roll in the corner.
Then, she shed her leather cuirass and unbuckled her short sword.
Just then, footsteps approached.
The landlady brought up a wooden tub filled with hot water.
“Here's your hot water, lass.”
“Thank you.” Rosie opened the door and took the water.
She set the basin on the nightstand and wedged the wooden stool under the door handle.
Then she stripped off her clothes, dug out a piece of linen from her pack, and began wiping herself down with hot water.
After cleaning herself, she fought off her sleepiness long enough to wipe away the bloodstains on her leather cuirass.
With everything taken care of, she finally succumbed to her body's deep fatigue, collapsing face-first onto the bed.
The bed frame was hard as a rock, but for someone who had walked all night through the wilderness, it was absolute luxury.
Outside the window, the morning sun grew brighter, and the cries of morning market vendors began echoing through the town.
None of it mattered to Rosie, however—she was already softly, evenly snoring away.
Rate on N.U.
