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Translator: uly
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: The Old Man Carving Stone (1)
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My breathing settled calmly.
Suuuuh -
The wind's direction was perfect too.
The taut bowstring thrummed with tension, ready to loose an arrow at any moment.
'Now!'
The moment I drew back to shoot at the deer drinking water ahead, its guard completely down.
Ting -
The bowstring snapped.
"What the hell..."
It wasn't me who did it, but in my memories, this string had never broken—not even once.
It was the one thing poor Chris had splurged decent money on in his destitute life.
At the sound of the snapping string, the deer whipped its head toward me, body tensing up.
"Frurrk?"
Spotting me, it bolted away in a flash.
But I'd already anticipated it fleeing.
I'd set a trap beforehand right where the deer would run.
"I can catch it!!"
I dashed after it to drive it toward the trap.
"Frurrk!!"
"Frurrk my ass—you're dead."
Tatata - !
The deer bolted exactly where I'd herded it.
'There!'
Just as it reached the trap I'd laid.
A fruit dropped right in front of the deer.
Plop.
"Frurrk!!"
The already spooked deer veered off course immediately, leaving my trap empty and forlorn.
"Son of a..."
The curse slipped out on its own.
This was the third time today.
The third time the world conspired against me, letting the deer escape like this.
"This is bullshit!!!"
Want to know what pissed me off even more?
"No way, again?"
Heading toward the trap, I soon beheld the devastation.
Ever seen a rat from a fantasy world?
No joke—it was as big as a man's thigh.
"You little rat bastard..."
This massive rat pup was wrecking my third trap of the day.
Gnawing through the vital ropes with its teeth.
"Couldn't catch the deer anyway..."
I'm becoming a pretty decent hunter.
At least according to my memories.
Traps didn't get wrecked like this except in rare cases.
Maybe once a month, if that.
"But today!!!"
"Of all days!!!!"
The third one.
And it wasn't just the hunt failing.
The herbs that usually popped up sporadically? None today. Not a single one.
I scoured the area with eyes wide open—nothing.
"Should I wash my eyes again?"
Digging through memories to find herb spots...
"Damn it..."
They'd been dug up by wild beasts.
"Empty again today..."
All I'd eaten the whole day? A few tree fruits.
Ones even smaller than my fist, and unripe at that.
And a few sips from the mountain stream.
"I'm starving..."
My stomach burned.
Master had said it.
'A shaman can only do shaman things—nothing else. Don't even think about it.'
Ever seen a shaman with a day job?
Or one doing manual labor?
No one has.
That's what being a shaman is like.
You can only do what the gods permit.
"Hunting's my job! I gotta eat to live!"
Keep hunting like this, and I'll catch nothing.
The whole world will pull its bullshit to free the deer again.
"It's filthy. That's why I don't."
Turning toward home, I grumbled endlessly.
"Others get isekai'd into noble houses and live it up..."
"If not hunting, what the hell do I do to eat?"
I'd thought there might be shamans in this fantasy world.
Gullak had mentioned shamans among orcs, after all.
But against my hopes, no shaman-like jobs existed.
There were soul-handling classes, sure.
"Dark mages... or necromancers..."
Classes reeking of villainy at first glance.
I didn't even want to touch them, and I didn't know the first thing about casting spells anyway.
"Fucking fate."
If not hunting, maybe mercenary work.
But that's not for just anyone, and a newbie like me? I'd die screaming on my first outing.
Probably get screwed by the world there too.
"Guess I gotta open a fortune-telling shop..."
Fortune-telling in a fantasy world? Would that even fly?
"Jeez..."
I'd come pretty deep into the mountains, so getting home would take a while again.
My stomach, empty since yesterday, kept signaling.
Grrrowl.
"Any ripe fruit around...?"
The moment I turned to scan for fruit, something felt off.
Trees thick with foliage, grass overgrown.
A typical mountain scene.
What was prickling my nerves?
"Hmm..."
I followed the unease with my steps.
"Here?"
Visually, tactilely—it matched the surroundings perfectly.
But from that spot, something twisted.
"Not a ghost prank..."
The energy flowing there was too pure for ghostly mischief.
Like nature itself had been excised?
The feeling I got when Taoist cultivators did their thing.
"Hmm..."
No spirits visible nearby.
No grudges either.
"Strange."
As I pondered, my hand naturally drifted to my waist.
The cold touch of the rattle at my fingertips.
Like an old habit, I fiddled with it, then gripped and drew it out.
"What trickery is this?"
Ting -
Just holding the rattle shifted my speech.
"A path that's no true path—what oddness."
Ting -
The rattle's chime calmed my senses.
Can't see with normal eyes? Use other eyes.
Spiritual Eyes transcend the five senses.
Sometimes visible, sometimes felt on skin.
Heard as sound, or even tasted.
A sensation beyond words.
Ting -
And Spiritual Eyes revealed more than just souls.
Ting -
Another shake of the rattle, and the scene shifted.
The wind sharpened, trees breathed audibly.
Nature's life force pulsed.
"Twisted and warped it is."
I extended the rattle on its stick toward the spot.
My mouth opened on its own, words spilling out.
"Open."
Ting -
In that instant.
Whoosh -
The space before me split, revealing a new path.
Like drawing back a curtain.
The grassy spot warped, unveiling another scene.
"Tsk tsk..."
Hadn't even entered, and already sorrows filled the inside.
"Who harbors such resentment...?"
My body moved on its own, stepping forward soundlessly.
Swish.
Like walking on clouds—no trace left behind.
Deeper along the revealed path, spirits wandered into view.
Not one or two.
Dozens, at least, standing dazed.
"What are these seasoned elders doing lingering here?"
A bit further, statues lined the area.
A statue gripping a sword.
One holding a spear.
One astride a horse.
Carved with evident care, growing more intricate along the path.
And from within, sounds echoed.
Clang -
Scraaape -
"No wonder these folks can't move on, with this nonsense going on."
There, an elderly man chiseled stone with hammer and chisel.
Clang -
Every motion brimmed with devotion.
Each hammer strike carried myriad emotions.
Sorrow, joy, pain, love-hate.
Entwined so thickly it overwhelmed just watching.
"Tsk tsk... Carving arms for the armless—what good does it do?"
"Hm?"
The old man turned, face hardening.
He eyed my sudden appearance with heavy suspicion.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?"
Regardless of his words, my mouth kept moving.
"Must be cold. Froze to death in the snow... tsk tsk..."
I nodded at a statue, and the old man's eyes slowly widened.
Like a secret only he knew had been exposed—panic and wariness mixed on his face.
"I'll ask again. How did you enter? And how do you know that?"
"Old timer, gonna swing that?"
I nodded at the hammer; his expression stiffened further.
"If need be."
He looked ready to smash me with it any second.
Undeterred, I pointed at another statue and spoke.
"Fell to your death."
Glancing at yet another.
"This one..."
I sensed the karma binding the spirit beside the statue.
"Died by your hand, old timer."
Not just this spirit.
Many seemed slain by the old man's hand. Others were deeply tied to him.
"Doesn't look like they resent you..."
As if agreeing, the spirits nodded.
"Eased their suffering? Ah, I see."
At my question, they nodded again in confirmation.
With each word, the old man's face grew rigid.
"What is this madness?"
"Hold on, old timer."
Reason for stopping him? Simple.
The spirit beside him was trying to speak.
As if knowing it couldn't vocalize, it gaped wide and shaped its mouth for me.
"...Bile...nov?"
"How do you know that name...!"
Dissatisfied, the spirit flailed before a statue mirroring itself perfectly.
"Mm... Sword shape? Oh... So that's it."
"I asked how you know that name!!"
Ignoring the shouting old man, I relayed the spirit's message.
"This guy's sword isn't shaped like that."
The statue's sword hilt bore a shield emblem at the end.
"Shield beside... grass?"
The old man's eyes bulged wide.
A voice echoed in his mind.
- Captain!! When the war ends, I was gonna ask for laurel leaves on it.
"How... do you..."
The hammer slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.