His question took me aback. I had thought that all misunderstandings had been resolved earlier.
"As I've mentioned before, I'm just a regular human like everyone else."
"The Ancient language is a lost art. These inscriptions have been handed down through generations, but while I can transcribe them, deciphering their meaning eludes me."
"The only conceivable explanation would be if you were an emissary of Hecate."
He explained that emissaries are humans bestowed with the favor of the gods. They possess a fraction of the deities' powers instead of conventional blessings.
Hecate, the goddess of curses and hexes, is often associated with hounds and possesses the ability to comprehend all languages.
"The fact that you can command Hellhounds and read Ancient is already proof of your extraordinary abilities," he added.
I was lost in thought for a moment.
Akrys, Nox, and now, Hecate. It seems I've been granted not a blessing but rather a portion of her divine power. What exactly are they attempting to mold me into?
"Furthermore, your mana capacity is remarkable. It would take a team of court mages an entire day to imbue this axe to its full potential, yet you accomplished it in just over a minute."
"I won't probe any further, and forgive me for stating this so casually, but I sincerely hope your intentions are genuine."
I assured him that there were no hidden agendas on my part and that my sole aim was to assist them in any way I could.
Returning to the axe, I asked him to test it by cutting down a tree. With surprising ease, he sliced through the trunk. He seemed to assume I wanted a new weapon for myself, but in reality, it was intended for the residents' use.
I then requested that he craft several more axes and other tools for the residents. He assured me that the antler powder was more than sufficient to upgrade all their current equipment, including the guards' weapons.
With that matter settled, I turned my attention to constructing individual houses. A lottery took place to determine which families would receive homes first.
As days passed, progress accelerated. Equipped with the new tools, the residents quickly adapted to cutting and collecting trees on their own. They even began plowing fields with the horses, expanding their self-sufficiency.
With housing construction streamlined, I found myself with more time for other tasks, such as checking traps and hunting.
Winter had finally descended upon us. Despite the passing months, the goddess Neso remained absent, perhaps under the assumption that I was well-settled and no longer in need of her companionship, especially with the arrival of the Eastonians on the island.
During this season, our activities dwindled. I found myself mostly indoors, delving into the mysteries of the Ancient language. While I devised several potential applications, I knew I'd have to wait until spring to fully explore them.
On days when the weather permitted, I ventured outside to check my traps, hoping for an additional catch to supplement our supplies. Although our provisions were ample, more wouldn't hurt.
Accompanied by Majka and Otac, along with their offspring, these outings took on a familial air. Perhaps they sought to educate their young about the ways of the woods, or maybe they aimed to foster a closer bond between us.
Reflecting on our bond, I couldn't help but acknowledge the role of the goddess Hecate in shaping our relationship with these hounds. I could've been dog food back in the cave.
The cold season's icy grip finally relented, making way for the gentle embrace of spring. With the budding of branches and the return of birdsong, the season of planting arrived.
When I was about to start on one of the projects I'd been planning since winter, I found myself drawn to the fields where residents were already preparing for the sowing season. Unable to resist, I joined in their efforts.
Planting has always intrigued me. The idea of nurturing seeds, witnessing their growth day by day, and ultimately reaping the rewards of a bountiful harvest was an experience I longed to partake in.
As Lucia lent a helping hand, she offered me some seeds to sow. Though uncertain of the plant they would yield, my excitement outweighed any need for clarification.
We paused for a brief lunch break at noon, then resumed our labor in the fields until dusk began to settle. To mark the beginning of spring, a hearty feast awaited us for dinner, a celebration of the season's renewal.
"It's a shame we don't have any liquor," I remarked to Lucia in jest.
Though she remained silent, a mischievous grin played upon her lips, hinting at some hidden plan. Whispering something to her father, she elicited a similar grin from him, which only fueled my curiosity.
Anxiety crept in as I observed their exchanged glances. Suddenly, Eogan rose from his seat, commanding silence from the crowd.
"Everyone, it's time for Egil to experience our cherished treasure," he announced.
All eyes turned to me, mirroring Lucia's enigmatic expression. What had I unwittingly stumbled into?
With a flick of his wrist, Eogan summoned a wooden barrel from his Storage ability. A servant promptly filled a cup with its contents and offered it to me, amidst the eager anticipation of the onlookers.
Their valued treasure must be some form of liquor, I surmised, given their prideful demeanor.
Closing my eyes, I downed the drink in one gulp, savoring its unique flavor—a blend of familiarity and novelty that defied explanation.
"It's exquisite," I declared, prompting cheers from the crowd. Some even broke into spontaneous dance, while Eogan continued to dispense the beverage from his seemingly endless supply.
Lucia revealed that Eastonian ale was a prized product of their country, crafted with herbs unique to a specific region in Easton. It was a source of pride for them, as its distinct flavor couldn't be replicated by any other nation.
A tinge of melancholy flickered across her expression as she acknowledged their inability to recreate the ale on the island.
"Why don't we create a new ale exclusive to this island?" I suggested lightheartedly, aiming to lift her spirits. Her smile in agreement hinted at a newfound sense of purpose.
The revelry carried on into the night, gradually winding down as residents retreated to their homes or succumbed to slumber induced by the potent brew.
Eventually, only Lucia and I remained awake.
Despite her efforts to match my pace, it was evident that Lucia had reached her limit. I, on the other hand, continued as if engaged in a silent competition until unconsciousness claimed me.
When I awoke the next morning I was already in my bed, my head throbbed mercilessly. It's been a while since I had a hangover. I tried to get up but I found myself ensnared, a constriction around my chest was stopping me.
Panicked, I assessed the situation, only to realize the source of the entanglement—Lucia's arm draped over me, our forms unclothed. Shock immobilized me as I grappled with the awkwardness of the situation.
How had we ended up in such a position and how am I supposed to explain this?