Vol. 2 Ch. 9: Camp Activities

Author’s note:

Recurring Characters:

Peter: Protagonist of this novel.

Mariah: Mother of Peter. Currently suffering from mental ailments due to Deathknell's skills.

Recap:

‘Could it have something to do with my reincarnation?’ The question tugged at Peter, igniting a quiet but relentless curiosity inside him. A quick flick of his eyes to the status screen made him grimace. He only had enough mana for emergencies. Nothing more. ‘I should study stats as soon as possible. Maybe in the morning.’

...

“Regardless,” Mariah said, snapping Peter back to reality. He shifted his gaze to her. "Having such a high spirit stat at your level will undoubtedly draw some scrutiny, but that doesn’t justify this behaviour."

“You’re acting paranoid,” she remarked, her eyes narrowed. Her voice had as much curiosity and concern as there was accusation.

Peter stared at his palms, rubbing them together. “That’s not the only secret I’ve been keeping close to my chest,” he said, breathing deeply. His shoulders dropped, his lips pressed thinly. His eyes were filled with great agony.

Mariah felt an urge to hug him when he appeared so lonely and feeble. She shook her head, not understanding where such thoughts were being sprouted in her mind.

“Some very dangerous secrets,” Peter continued, his lips trembling. “There will be a day when I will feel brave enough to tell you all of them,” he said, shaking his head. His lips twisted into a self-ridicule smile as he said, “Not today.”

He sighed, “For now, just assume that it’s because of my summon.” As he spoke, his eyes flicked toward the ground. His shadow twitched in response. Then it stirred, like a puddle rippling beneath the weight of a falling leaf.
Mariah froze, her breath caught. She scrambled backwards, her feet dug into the dirt, pushing herself away from the abnormality, her eyes wide in alarm.
Peter frowned, and the shadow stilled.
Mariah sighed in relief before turning her gaze back to him. “What in the gods’ name is that? It sets my teeth on edge,” she muttered, jaw clenched.

“My summon—” Peter said, his lips pressed in a grim line. “—is a spirit of chaos, named DeathKnell. Had Orvandel been chosen as the witness, he would have surely felt its presence.”

“Why do you have a creature of the abyss as your summon?” Mariah asked, her face twisted in disgust. “Are you a cultist?!” she demanded feeling her blood run cold.

Peter closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his face. A long breath escaped him. He dragged his palm down, slow and heavy, before lifting his gaze to hers. His eyes carried a silent pleading. “This isn’t what I wanted” he insisted, gritting his teeth. He leaned forward. “I had no choice. I was unprepared for the attack, and you—,” his hands trembled, “– you would have died.”

“What? What are you talking about?!” Mariah stammered, her shoulders trembled from the rawness in his voice.

Peter cast a brief glance at the sky. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “The sun’s going down—we need to make camp.” He stood up and started to walk toward the horses.

Mariah watched his back with a confused gaze and a wide-open mouth. She closed her mouth and gritted her teeth. “Don’t try to run away from my question?” she yelled at his back, standing up.

“I’m not,” Peter replied without turning around. “You can have your answers once we have enough firewood for the night and we have something to eat for dinner.”

“Fine,” she said, stomping on the ground before she walked into the forest to collect some dried branches.

…

Peter walked to the horses, unbuckled their harness and yoke before giving their hooves a once-over.

Peter had always been interested in taking care of  animals. They’re  pure-minded, a quality most humans lack. Having learned a couple things from a travelling merchant last year, he knew how to take care of carriage horses.

‘The man was quite passionate about his teaching,’ Peter mused, a grimace on his face as he looked for stones, cracks or damage inside the hooves. Once he was satisfied, he walked to the leading carriage and brought a clean cloth and a bucket full of water with him.

Peter wetted the cloth and started to diligently wipe their bodies to get rid of any sweat or dirt to prevent sores. The horses neighed in satisfaction at the attention he was giving them. After cleaning, he inspected each horse for limping, uneven gait or hot spots in the body. He found none.

‘It’s better to be extra careful not to burden them during travel,’ he thought, allowing them to graze but keeping them lightly tethered so they didn’t wander off. ‘They should be given plenty of rest each day after travelling.’

Peter watered them before turning his focus to the sheep. They had been kept inside the carriage for the whole day. ‘It’s time to let them out,’ he mused, allowing them to graze with the horses outside. With a thought over their soul bond, he instructed Deathknell to keep the animals from wandering off. He walked forward, opened the cage to let out the hens to peck at the ground for grit and bugs briefly.

Peter sighed as they rushed out the door the moment it opened. Left alone, he glanced around, his nose wrinkling at the stench. Lifting a hand to pinch it, he set to clean the carriage, scooping up the filth and tossing it outside with a grimace.

“Is this enough?” Mariah enquired, her arms cradling a bundle of dry branches as she walked out of the forest.

Peter turned and nodded at her before entering the carriage again to check for any eggs in the cage. ‘No luck,’ he shook his head, finding it empty.

Mariah set the bundle of wood down beside the campfire, then gathered the soiled utensils. Without a word, she scooped a handful of ash into a pan and carried it over to a nearby boulder. Settling onto the stone, she began rubbing the fine grey powder over the metal, scrubbing it clean with a worn cloth. In the absence of a stream, ash made a fine replacement. It was surprisingly effective at lifting grease and scraping away food residue, leaving little need for precious water.

Mariah smiled contentedly as she looked at the cleaned cooking utensils before her, noting that she had used just half a bucket of water. Picking them up, she walked back to the campfire.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, watching Peter manoeuvre the carriages into a wide triangular formation around the campfire. He spaced them far enough apart to leave ample room within the triangle for both humans and the animals to move around freely.

“It’ll be easier for us to keep an eye on the hens and the sheep like this,” Peter said, scattering a handful of cracked corn for the hens, staring into her eyes. “After being kept in an enclosed space for so long, they should also get some fresh air.”

Peter tipped his head back to scan the sky, “It’s pretty clear tonight. We don’t need to camp under a cover” Walking nearby, he asked, “Do you have anything planned for dinner, or do you want me to cook?”

“Well…I’ve already offered to help,” Mariah said with a shrug.

“In that case,” he nodded before pointing at a carriage. “You can find all of our food supplies in that carriage.”

Mariah followed his advice and walked toward the carriage with a relaxed gait. Now that she had something to do, her mind was less likely to wander off. Reaching the rear entrance she climbed inside.

Mariah looked around with a searching gaze. The carriage was full of essentials a traveller might need. Her eyes traced the inside from the front. The first things that stood out to her were the beddings, nicely folded in the front corner. Nothing too fancy, just two bedrolls, coarse blankets and a straw mat.

Besides the beddings were two waterskins, both were filled with water. Feeling thirsty, Mariah extended her arm and grabbed one. She opened it, brought it to her lips, and took a few sips of cold water. Putting it aside, she continued her exploration of the carriages.

On the left, there were three bundles filled with spare clothes. Besides them, a bunch of tools—a hatchet, a rope, a sewing kit, a small shovel and some repair tools like a hammer, whetstone and a bunch of nails.

Mariah turned around, looked to her right and finally found the food supplies. She crouched down, brushing aside a hanging cloth as she began rummaging through the supplies. She grabbed an earthen bowl from nearby and filled it with rice from the sack. Then, taking the small wooden pots of salt and spices, she placed them at the back of the carriage alongside the bowl. Mariah placed them near the entrance—within reach, so she wouldn’t have to climb back in. She gathered some smoked cheese along with wild herbs and vegetables, then stepped down from the carriage.

After two trips back and forth, Mariah had all the supplies laid out near the campfire. There were still things in the carriage she hadn’t had the chance to look at properly, including a pouch full of coins.

‘They can wait,’ Mariah decided, after her stomach grumbled in protest. ‘He must be hungry too,’ she mused, looking at Peter. He was sitting some distance away from the campfire, his eyes glowing blue with mana. A serene expression on his face as he tirelessly sharpened his sword. A wide range of weapons lay scattered on the ground beside him, some already tended to and others still in need of polish.

Mariah looked at the ingredients available to her, including the boiled bird meat that she found near the campfire. ‘Hmm… a warm stew seems like a nice choice,’ she mused, picking up a kettle that she had recently washed. She filled it with water and put it over the fire. While the water heated, she peeled the wild garlic and onion, then chopped them finely along with sprigs of thyme and sorrel leaves. As bubbles began to rise to the surface, she poured in some broth, the scent already shifting from plain to promising.

Mariah smiled to herself as she rinsed the rice, fingers swirling gently through the grains. There was something comforting in the rhythm, a quiet joy in the simple act of cooking. She shook her head when memories of her home tried to dampen her mood.

‘He took the oath,’ she told herself, ‘he cannot take it back now. Just a month and I will be home,’ She added, her lips pursed in a thin line. The words provided much-needed comfort as she focused on the task at hand.

The liquid started to simmer, so she quickly added the chopped aromatics and vegetables, stirring them in with a wooden spoon. Mariah waited for a few minutes before adding the rice, that scattered into the kettle. Her hands moved with practised ease, slipping the meat chunks into the kettle, which sank beneath the surface with a soft splash.

Mariah finally added the salt and the spices before giving it a final stir. She covered it with a lid, letting the fire and the time do the rest. While the dish was being cooked, she turned around in her seat and decided to observe Peter.

He stood tall, angled sideways from where she watched, gripping a sword with his eyes narrowed in steady concentration. His chest moved with rhythmic breathing, legs slightly apart. He stood still, gaze focused in front as if an enemy would emerge from the woods to duel him.

When he finally moved, Mariah’s eyes widened in fascination. His body performed deadly forms, his sword dancing in the air in a beautiful display. It glowed blue, partially illuminating his face in the moonlight.

His movements were slow enough for Mariah to easily follow the sword as it flowed from one technique to another. Yet as she imagined herself standing against him, Mariah couldn’t find a single flaw in his movements.

‘I must be too unfamiliar with combat,’ she reasoned. Her surprise only deepened as Peter switched from one weapon to the next, showing the same effortless skill with each. Her lips pressed into a grim line.

...End Of Chapter...
A nice slice of life chap.