Chereads / A Boring Office Worker's Isekai on a Quest to Feel Meaningful / Chapter 3 - Chapter 2 - Who’s in the village?

Chapter 3 - Chapter 2 - Who’s in the village?

After securing the materials I had gathered in a makeshift pack I begin to head to the village. Taking note of everything I came to this world with I notice, it's not much. The clothes on my back, a bit of burlap used for the sack, a single days worth of rations and water, and the beast materials are all I have to my name. 

The name Valeforge sounds noble to me. I should see if anyone in town has ever heard of my family, or if I even have one at all. 

After walking for a bit, the meadow's tall grass gradually gave way to a dirt path, and before long, I began to see signs of civilization: small farmsteads, fields of ripening crops, and a winding smoke trail from cozy hearth fires.

Arrival at the Village

A wooden sign, bearing faded lettering, read "Welcome to Briarfrost Village." The settlement looked modest—mostly timber and thatched roofs—but there was a comforting warmth to the sight of townsfolk going about their daily routines. A few villagers paused to stare at me, but their expressions carried more curiosity than fear.

As I made my way along the main road, several points of interest caught my eye:

A Local Inn called "The Ember Hearth," with a sign depicting a crackling flame. It seemed like a promising place to rest, gather rumors, or meet travelers.

A Modest Market Square with stalls selling produce, basic goods, and perhaps an opportunity to trade my newly acquired materials.

A Shrine dedicated to some local deity, where an older woman knelt in prayer.

A Notice Board displaying various requests and postings for adventurers or mercenaries.

People cast curious glances in my direction but kept a respectful distance. I could choose to blend in quietly if I wanted, or I could announce my presence more boldly—either choice would likely shape how they reacted to me in the future.

I strode into the Market Square, where a cluster of wooden stalls encircled a small fountain. Villagers bustled around me, their murmured conversations mingling with the calls of vendors hawking fresh produce and modest wares. It wasn't a grand bazaar by any stretch, but for a small town, it carried a lively charm.

Naturally, my Celestial Dragonborn appearance drew attention. I noticed a few wary stares, but most were simply curious. A handful of merchants seemed particularly interested, perhaps at the prospect of something rare or exotic passing through their sleepy village.

I spotted a middle-aged man with a shrewd gaze and a neatly trimmed beard tending to a stall filled with rolled hides, tanned leather, and odd bits of bone and fur. Above his booth, a sign read "Fendrick's Fine Furs & Leather." If anyone would be interested in my beast materials, it was likely him.

He greeted me with a respectful nod, though I caught the unmistakable flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

Fendrick: "Well, now, I wasn't expecting such a… unique customer today. Welcome to my humble shop. The name's Fendrick. Looking to buy some quality wares, or do you have something to sell?"

"I have some materials I would like to sell and you seem like the man who would know the most about them" 

"Aey it seems you have a good eye for talent" 

I carefully unwrapped the cloth bundle containing the Sparkfur Mane, Lightning Fang, and Runic Hide Shards I'd harvested from the thunderous wolf-like beast. Fendrick's eyes widened as he took in the sight, his expression a mix of awe and businesslike calculation.

"Good heavens, these look like rare materials indeed. Where did you find something like this?"

I offered a vague explanation, mentioning my travels and the dangerous encounter in the meadow. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, occasionally testing a tuft of the Sparkfur against a small static discharge device at his stall. Then, he examined the Lightning Fang, tapping it against a piece of metal and watching tiny sparks dance.

"No doubt about it, these are high-grade materials. I might not see their like again for months, maybe years. You'll want to find a specialty craftsman in a big city for top coin, but… let's just say I'm prepared to make a fair offer."

When he reached the Runic Hide Shards, his fingers traced the faint, glowing runes with practiced precision. His brow furrowed.

Fendrick: "Huh… these markings. They're beyond me, but I've heard traveling mages or enchanters pay a premium for arcane rarities. I'll offer what I can, but you might get more from a mage's guild. Then again, that's at least a week's travel from here."

After a bit of mild but earnest haggling, Fendrick scribbled on a small ledger, arriving at a final figure for the materials. 20 gold for the fang, 30 for the fur, and 50 for the runic hide. 

Fendrick's expression is polite, but I sense he won't budge much higher on price—small-town merchants have limited capital and specialized demand. Still, 100 gold would more than cover a comfortable room at the inn. 

I take his offer for 50 gold to sell the fang and fur but I hold onto the runic hide, perhaps someone will be able to decipher the rune that may hold a clue to my origin on this plane.

"A pleasure doing business with you, friend. If you ever come across more of these… exotic materials, don't hesitate to visit. I'd be more than happy to trade." 

I stashed my new pouch of gold securely, feeling the satisfying weight of the coins. Though Fendrick's gaze lingered on the runic shards a moment longer, he appeared content with the deal we'd struck, his expression a mix of curiosity and satisfaction.

Taking my new funds I head to the inn to secure a room for the night. It's got a wooden construction with a thatch roof. Some men sit out front one strumming a guitar like instrument while the other recounts a story to tune. 

"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red,

Who came riding to Whiterun from old Rorikstead

And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,

As he told of bold battles and gold he had made.

But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red,

When he met the shield-maiden Matilda, who said;

"Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead,

Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"

And so then came clashing and slashing of steel,

As the brave lass Matilda charged in, full of zeal.

And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more-

When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"

A strange song no doubt but it somehow carried a comforting familiarity.

Entering the inn I am immediately hit by the warmth of the hearth and the smell of meals enjoyed by those who well deserve them after a long day's travel. 

A modest crowd of locals and a few travelers occupy sturdy tables, sipping on mugs of ale or chatting quietly. The warm crackle of a large fireplace anchors the room's mood, and I notice the carved mantel depicts swirling flames and dancing dragons. Seeing the image brings a sense of pride though I'm not sure why. 

At the far side of the counter stands a broad-shouldered woman polishing a glass. Her graying hair is tied in a loose bun, and her sharp, discerning eyes flick to me the moment I step inside.

The innkeeper greets me warmly as I approach the bar.

"Welcome to The Ember Hearth. Name's Maridel. What can I do for you this evening?"

I slide a couple of gold coins across the counter and request a room for the night. Her eyes linger on me briefly—no doubt curious about my draconic features—but her smile remains warm.

"We don't see many of your kind here. But gold is gold, and everyone's welcome under my roof. I'll get you a cozy room upstairs. That'll be 4 gold for the night, which includes a hot meal and breakfast."

Without hesitation, I hand over the coins. Maridel pockets them with practiced ease and places a simple iron key on the counter in front of me.

Maridel:

"Room 3, top of the stairs on the right. Make yourself at home."

With lodging secured, I decide to ask about any local rumors, particularly concerning the war I'm supposed to tip the balance of. Maridel's jovial demeanor fades slightly at the mention of conflict.

"You've got a good ear for trouble, don't you? Folks 'round here don't talk about the war much—it's all happening far from Briarfrost. But travelers say the Kingdom of Elysira and the Draegnarian Empire have been on the brink of open conflict for months. Some say it's more than just politics—talk of dark magic and otherworldly forces is on the rise."

She leans in closer, lowering her voice to a near-whisper.

"I've also heard rumors of a looming threat from the Shattered Range—an inhospitable region said to be crawling with demons and foul beasts. Supposedly, both kingdoms are racing to control it, or at least keep the fiends from pouring out."

She shrugs, a subtle gesture that tells me she's shared all she knows.

"If you're looking for more than rumors, you might speak with Professor Lindel. He's an old scholar who stays here whenever he's passing through. Right now, he's in the corner there, reading. He's spent decades studying ancient prophecies and the shifting alliances of our realms."

Maridel gestures toward a table in the corner, where an elderly man sits hunched over a thick tome. His scholarly robes bear a faded emblem on the sleeve, and wispy white hair frames the spectacles perched on his nose.

Maridel leans in slightly, her tone light but knowing.

"Professor Lindel has been known to enjoy a cup of mulled wine on cold evenings. If you're aiming to win his favor, that might do the trick. And it's a bit chilly tonight—even with the hearth blazing."

"Then I'd like one of those and an ale please" 

She moves to fetch two mugs: one filled with a fragrant, spiced wine and another with ale. The combined cost is a single gold coin.

With both drinks in hand, I weave through the common room, navigating between tables until I stand before the scholar. Up close, his timeworn face is illuminated by the warm glow of the lantern overhead. He looks up from his tome, an inquisitive smile forming as he takes in my appearance.

"Ah, a Celestial Dragonborn. We don't often see your kind in these parts. How may I help you, my draconic friend?"

With a slight bow, I offer him the mulled wine before taking the seat opposite him. He accepts the drink with a gracious nod, adjusting his spectacles to get a better look at me.

"Thank you. This is quite kind. It's been a while since someone offered me a drink purely out of courtesy—especially when they're about to ask for my expertise, I imagine."

He chuckles softly and sets his open tome aside. The pages are filled with handwritten notes and arcane sketches, their contents hinting at historical events or magical phenomena.

"So tell me, traveler, what's on your mind tonight?"

I take a moment to gather my thoughts. This is my chance to learn more about the war, the dark rumors surrounding the Shattered Range, and how it all might tie into the destiny that's begun to unfold before me.

I introduce myself with a slight bow, keeping my poise steady and composed.

"Professor Lindel, it's a pleasure to meet you. I… woke up not long ago with barely any memories. All I know is that a war is brewing, and I'm somehow tied to it. If there's anything you can tell me about what's going on—or why I might be involved—I'd be grateful."

The professor tilts his head, his gaze thoughtful as he studies me through his spectacles. His eyes flick to the faint, silvery scales on my forearms and the subtle glow in my eyes. Taking a small sip of his mulled wine, he seems to weigh his words carefully.

"Well now, that's quite the predicament. Not many find themselves in the midst of a war they know nothing about. Let's start with what we do know:

The Kingdom of Elysira and the Draegnarian Empire have been rivals for centuries. Elysira, a land of proud knights and devout clergy, upholds honor and tradition above all. Draegnar, on the other hand, carries a reputation—often whispered rather than spoken outright—for ties to darker magics. Whether that's truth or mere propaganda is hard to say.

This latest tension seems far more dire than simple border disputes. Rumors suggest that demonic forces—or something close to them—are seeping in from the Shattered Range, a desolate and corrupted region said to be crawling with forbidden magic and foul beasts.

The conflict is escalating rapidly, with both sides scrambling for allies and power. And at the center of it all, there's talk of a prophesied hero—or perhaps multiple heroes—who might tip the balance."

He pauses, studying my reaction, and his expression grows more serious.

"You're a Celestial Dragonborn, which in itself is remarkable. There's a legend that comes to mind:

'When the twin suns meet in an eclipse of flame,

A descendant of sky and scale shall stand at the crossroads of fate,

Wielding both blade and spell to decide the world's course.'

Mind you, prophecies are rarely literal. But it's curious, isn't it?"

He taps the spine of his tome, as if the answers I seek might be buried somewhere in its weathered pages.

"The truth is, a thousand stories speak of chosen warriors, ancient draconic bloodlines, and cosmic powers in motion. Whether you are this prophesied champion or merely a wanderer destined for a significant role, I can't say for certain. But if your memory is hazy, and your instincts tell you this war matters… well, doesn't that sound a bit like destiny?"

A quiet moment settles between us, broken only by the crackling of the hearth and the low murmur of the tavern's other patrons. Professor Lindel regards me kindly, his eyes inviting me to ask more if I wish.

My thoughts race:

Elysira vs. Draegnar—an age-old rivalry now shrouded in darker threats.

The Shattered Range—a region seemingly infested with demonic and corrupted forces, fueling the rising tension.

A legend—one that might hint at my connection to a greater purpose.

I feel the weight of these revelations pressing on me, and yet, I sense that this is only the beginning.

"If you were me, where would you start? What would you do? Does the name Valeforge mean anything to you?"

Professor Lindel exhales slowly, folding his hands over the pages of his tome as he considers my question with deliberate care.

Professor Lindel:

"If I were in your scales, I'd begin by understanding where the two kingdoms stand on the brink of war—each side's motives and true strengths. If you are tied to some prophecy, you'll need allies, and it's hard to make the right friends without knowing who stands for what.

Next, I'd investigate the Shattered Range—not necessarily by venturing there immediately, of course. That place is said to devour the unprepared. But gather what knowledge you can: speak with travelers, scholars, perhaps even mercenaries who claim to have faced its horrors firsthand. Whatever stirs in that region, it's powerful enough to set entire kingdoms on edge.

As for your name… 'Valeforge.' Hmm."

He flips through a few pages in his tome, his eyes scanning for references. After a moment, he taps a faded inscription, squinting to read it.

"There's mention in some archives of a 'Valeforge' clan or lineage—rare, draconic bloodlines said to be touched by the Celestial Realms. Unfortunately, the details are sparse. Most records involving them date back centuries and are cloaked in myth. The name occasionally surfaces in old ballads or legends about heroes wielding swords wreathed in dragonfire, though I've never seen it referenced in modern times."

He meets my gaze, his expression a mix of sympathy and intrigue.

"I'm certain more could be found in the Royal Libraries of Elysira or among the Arcane Guilds of the Draegnarian Empire—if you can earn their trust. Either may hold fragments of knowledge that could unlock your past.

If I were in your position, I'd seek companions with complementary skills—someone who knows the land, someone who can decipher old runes, and perhaps a skilled warrior to guard your flank. Strong allies can make all the difference if prophecy and war weigh on your shoulders."

He pauses, his smile warm and genuine.

"Regardless, you've already taken the first step: seeking knowledge. That alone sets you apart from the usual brash adventurer. Be cautious, but don't shy away from taking risks. Fate doesn't wait for the timid."

A comfortable silence settles between us, broken only by the soft crackling of the hearth and the occasional shuffle of patrons. The professor takes another sip of his mulled wine, his calm demeanor inviting me to ask anything else that might be on my mind.

"I wish to know who to side with but I fear the royal libraries may hold biased information." 

Professor Lindel nods, his expression thoughtful as he places his mug down gently on the table.

"Ah, yes… the question of bias. Any kingdom's royal archives will inevitably reflect its own perspective, and Elysira is no exception. Their scholars are proud, and the monarchy's deep ties to knightly traditions and religious orders shape much of their recorded history. You'd find valuable information about draconic bloodlines and prophecies there, but if you're hoping for an unbiased account of the war, I'm afraid you may leave disappointed.

On the other hand, the Draegnarian Empire's Arcane Guilds are equally known for their… selective truths. Their pursuit of knowledge has led them to explore depths—both moral and arcane—that Elysiran scholars wouldn't dare touch. They might provide a more 'practical' perspective on the war and the forces at play, but you'll need to tread carefully to avoid being used for their own purposes."

He pauses, his gaze steady as he considers his next words.

"As for where to begin, I'd suggest starting with the people—travelers, refugees, even soldiers on leave. Speak to those who've witnessed the conflict firsthand. Gather their stories from both sides. That way, when you finally stand before the carefully curated tomes of a royal archive or a guild library, you'll already have a sense of which accounts hold truth.

Ultimately, the side you choose—or whether you choose a side at all—might hinge on more than who started the war. It may come down to which kingdom's values resonate with you, whose leadership earns your trust, and how they treat the common folk caught in the crossfire."

He lifts his mug, his gaze warm yet filled with quiet resolve.

"If you decide to start with Elysira, approach with respect for their traditions. Seek an audience at court, perhaps through a lesser noble or a knightly order. If you lean toward Draegnar, prepare yourself for a land brimming with arcane wonders but steeped in intrigue. To access their libraries, you'll need an inroad with one of the Guilds."

He leans back slightly, patting the tome on the table with a sense of finality.

"My best counsel is this:

Gather unofficial stories from travelers and soldiers to see the war's real face.

Compare those stories with the official records—whether in Elysira or Draegnar.

Only by testing each side's words against reality can you decide which kingdom, if any, truly deserves your loyalty."

His gaze meets mine, his voice calm but firm.

"And remember this, young Valeforge: rarely does the truth rest entirely in one place. Keep an open mind, trust your instincts, and your path will reveal itself."

A comfortable silence settles between us, broken only by the steady crackle of the hearth. His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning yet offering direction.

I thank him for his time and bid him farewell. Returning to the innkeeper I inquire about getting to the kingdom of Elysira. 

Maridel advises me to seek out the stable master in the morning to ask about a caravan that is passing through on its way to Elysira. Alternatively she suggests I check the notice board as well as there may be someone looking for an armed guard to escort them to my destination. With that I bid her good night and retire to my room with much to think about.