CHAPTER 303: HERB QUEST AND TOWN PURSUIT ( 303 )

Hazuki knelt down lazily in front of the same patch he’d disturbed earlier, one hand brushing the dirt aside while the other reached casually toward the pale green stem poking out of the ground.

He yawned, still holding the cigar between his lips, and muttered, "Let’s get this over with."

"Oi! Watch out—!" Ridan shouted too late.

Poof!

Another puff of pale mist burst from the base of the Hidun Grass.

Hazuki inhaled it without even realizing. A soft breath in. Then out. He blinked once, scratched his neck, and plucked the stalk clean from the soil.

Nothing.

No wobbling. No collapsing. No bubbles on the mouth this time. Just a slight shrug.

Ridan froze mid-air, eyes wide. "...The hell?"

Hazuki pocketed the grass into a side pouch, then turned to look at Ridan with half-lidded eyes. "Something wrong?"

Ridan floated a little closer, inspecting him. "You inhaled that again. Directly. And you’re fine."

Hazuki scratched his head. "Kinda smells better this time. Less like old socks."

Ridan hovered in silence for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. Did his body... develop resistance? Already? That fast?

No. That wasn’t normal. Not even remotely.

This herb was meant to debilitate minds, shut down willpower, plunge its victims into hallucination and mental chaos. Yet Hazuki—without any spell protection, tools, or divine resistance—just snorted the stuff again like it was herbal tea vapor and looked annoyed about the smell.

Hazuki stood, adjusted his belt lazily, and walked to the next patch without a care.

He didn’t resist the herb.

He didn’t try to resist.

He simply... didn’t care.

Ridan floated silently, arms folded as he watched Hazuki crouch down again, digging into the earth with his bare hands like a lazy farmer who didn’t even bother with tools.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, tone dry.

Hazuki didn’t glance up. "Hmm? Gonna get another two or three of these. Just in case. Backup or maybe to sell later."

Just in case, Ridan repeated in his mind.

A special herb, rare and volatile, that could fetch a fortune.

And this guy treated it like dried beef jerky at a back-alley stall.

"Just like that time with the Chusi Flower..." Ridan muttered quietly to himself.

Hazuki hummed a tune, shoving a newly plucked Hidun Grass into his pouch without even looking at it.

What a weird human.

No greed. No fear. No reverence for dangerous magic or rare treasure. He just... did what he wanted.

Ridan narrowed his eyes slightly, spinning slowly in the air above Hazuki.

This environment... the pressure, the magic... the way his steps grew heavier but then normalized... this whole area... it’s like it’s training him. Conditioning him. Preparing his body and mana to adapt.

And yet he didn’t even realize it.

Ridan’s gaze lingered longer. Not with confusion, not with amusement—but with quiet suspicion.

This human wasn’t just weird.

He was evolving.

And the world didn’t even realize it.

Hazuki dug his hand into the earth again, his fingers brushing against the soft roots of another Hidun Grass.

"Oh!! Found one, Ridan!!" he called out with a lazy grin, gripping the stalk and yanking it free like it was just a stubborn weed in a backyard.

A jet of greenish-white steam burst upward, shooting straight into his face.

"Eww!! Damn this steam is annoying," Hazuki groaned, waving his hand in front of his nose as he stumbled back a step.

Ridan, floating behind him with arms crossed, stared in disbelief. "You just took that full blast to the face... again."

"Yeah, and it stinks."

"That’s toxic vapor, Hazuki."

Hazuki rubbed his face with one hand while slipping the herb into his pouch with the other. "Yeah, well, it’s not doing much. Just makes my eyes sting for a second."

Ridan sighed, floating above with his arms crossed. "Dumbass..."

"Hmm? Who are you talking to, Ridan?" Hazuki asked, glancing around with a confused look, as if Ridan had been chatting with someone else.

"No one!!" Ridan snapped, his face twitching. He quickly floated upward, clearly annoyed and slightly flustered.

Hazuki didn’t push it further. He casually slipped the third Hidun Grass into his pouch, sealed it shut, then gave a small, satisfied nod.

"All right, three is enough," he muttered. "Now I’m hungry, and the only food I have is beef jerky and liquor."

He stood, stretched his arms lazily, then dusted the dirt off his pants and shirt with a few swipes.

"Yep... that’s all for now." He looked at Ridan, then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Ridan, let’s go."

The spirit hovered silently behind him for a moment longer, eyes narrowing at the human who was strolling away like he’d just picked up groceries instead of yanking deadly magical plants out of cursed soil.

Meanwhile, in a certain dwarven town...

Elmira brushed her long hair back and spun on her heels after leaving the merchant hall, her expression filled with energy.

"Hans! Let’s find that old dwarf man again!" she declared.

"The name is Girem, my lady," her butler Hans corrected politely, walking just behind her with a tired sigh. "Why would you need to find him again?"

"I want to see the strong uncle!" she said with a spark in her eyes.

Hans’s brow twitched. "My lady, it is not proper for someone of your status to chase after unknown men.

"No! Let’s go! I want to see him again!" Elmira pouted, stomping off ahead with firm determination.

Behind her, Hans could only follow along, shaking his head. Two guards trailed behind them, struggling to keep up with the noble girl’s sudden sprint through the market streets.

Inside Hans’s mind:

That dwarf—Girem, was it?—surely left town by now. We didn’t hire him, and he wasn’t obligated to wait for us. He likely departed the moment we were out of sight yesterday. This is pointless.

Hans approached the row of dwarven wagons lined up near the outer gate, flanked by gruff-looking coachmen. Most had already begun their morning smokes or maintenance, the scent of herb cigar and grease hanging in the air. He adjusted his cravat, trying to appear as proper as he could—despite the dust—and called out.

"Excuse me. I’m looking for a certain dwarf... an older coachman. He goes by the name Girem."

One of the stocky dwarves with a wide beard and soot-stained vest glanced up, snorted, and puffed out a thick cloud of smoke.

"Aye, ye mean that cracked old knucklehead Girem, eh?" he said with a grin. "Hah! That fool already rolled out yesterday. Long gone, lad."

Another dwarf, leaning against his wagon wheel, laughed while fixing his harness straps. "Why d’ya want him, eh? Girem’s the only stubborn mule-headed coot usin’ a beast that ain’t no horse. His ride’s a feckin’ lizard-bull cross! Big, ugly thing—snorts like it’s been drinkin’!"

The rest chuckled.

"Aye, can’t mistake that wagon," another chimed in, wiping his hands on an oily rag. "It creaks like my knees in winter, and it stinks of ale an’ cheap smoke."

Hans cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "So... he didn’t leave any indication of where he was heading?"

The first dwarf raised a brow, then spat to the side. "Not rightly. But heard ’im mutterin’ ’bout takin’ some human lad to a nasty place. Monster zone. Herb gatherin’ or some mad quest like that. Said somethin’ like: ’Drop him there, then I’m off fer a drink.’"

Hans remained quiet, his thoughts racing.

The black-haired human... he remembered clearly. Rank B+. Calm, strong, and oddly casual—even when monsters attacked their rest stop. He was the one who stepped in and saved them. No hesitation, no theatrics. Just... did it.

And after that, Girem—on the human’s request—gave them a lift to the town, while that man continued alone on foot.

So that means...

Hans’s eyes narrowed as pieces began to fit together.

"He’s not just on some errand," he muttered under his breath. "Girem must’ve gone back... to pick him up."

Elmira’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Well!?" she crossed her arms. "Are you gonna just stand there like a statue, Hans?"

Hans turned toward her, expression serious. "My lady. That human adventurer—the one who saved us—he’s the one Girem went to fetch. He’s currently on a high-risk herb quest. A very dangerous one."

Elmira’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "So he’s close?! Let’s go find him!!"

Hans nearly stumbled. "No, no, my lady, absolutely not. That place is not meant for nobles or civilians. Even trained adventurers hesitate to go near it."

"But he’s there!" Elmira pointed. "And I didn’t get to thank him properly yet!"

Hans sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, my lady. We must wait for a new wagon—and we still need to hire adventurers to guard us on the return journey to the human kingdom."

"But—" she puffed her cheeks.

"Pardon me, my lady," Hans cut in, soft but firm. "Your father gave me clear orders. Ensuring your safety comes first. If we’re lucky, perhaps we’ll see him again on the road."

Elmira crossed her arms, clearly not satisfied. "Still! I should’ve at least given him a thank-you gift or something..."

"Perhaps," Hans nodded. "But it seems that adventurer prefers quiet gestures over grand ones."

Elmira pouted but said nothing. She knew her father was strict—especially when it came to her safety.

"Fine..." she muttered.

"Good. Now, please follow me, my lady," Hans said as he turned with a polite gesture.

"Yes, yes..." she grumbled, dragging her feet as she followed him.

The two guards trailed behind silently, exchanging a quick glance but saying nothing.

As they made their way down the stone path between merchant stalls and wagon lines, Elmira looked over her shoulder one last time, toward the road Girem had taken. Her lips pressed into a line.

( End Of Chapter )