Chapter 170: Everything Is Fine at Home

That night's camp was located another mile north of St. Anne's Spring.

It was a flat patch of grass surrounded by hills on three sides, with a ring of stones piled into a fire pit at the center.

Jenkins taught everyone how to pitch a tent.

Richard pitched his quickly and securely. Jenkins walked over, took a look, and nodded.

"Done this before?"

"A few times."

"Not bad."

Once the camp was settled, Jenkins pulled a Hunting Rifle from his backpack.

"Who wants to go hunt rabbits?"

Richard raised his hand, and so did the wool merchant.

The three of them walked east along the hillside for about half a mile until they reached a patch of low shrubs.

"The rabbits are in the bushes," Jenkins said, lowering his voice. "They don't come out much this time of year. We have to flush them out with special hunting shells."

He pulled a few shells from his ammo pouch. They were much smaller than standard hunting ammunition and coated in a layer of red paint.

"Sound Bullets," he explained. "Shoot them into the bushes. They make a loud bang when they go off, but they have almost no lethality. Once the rabbits are spooked into the open, we shoot them with regular shells."

He handed the Hunting Rifle to Richard.

"You shoot."

"Me?"

"Your hands were steady pitching that tent. You need to be steady to hunt."

Richard took the Hunting Rifle.

It was heavier than he expected, and the stock felt foreign pressed against his shoulder.

"Aim for the middle of the bushes. Don't aim too low; Sound Bullets need to detonate in midair to be effective."

Richard adjusted his stance and leveled the muzzle about two feet above the shrubs.

He pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The Sound Bullet fired into the shrubs. Half a second later, it detonated among the branches with a sharp whistle.

The bushes instantly rustled with frantic movement.

Three gray rabbits darted out and bolted.

Jenkins already had a second gun ready.

"Bang!"

A rabbit tumbled head over heels and collapsed on the grass.

"Bang!"

The second one went down.

The third ran too fast and disappeared into another patch of shrubs.

"Two is enough," Jenkins said, lowering his gun. "We'll roast them tonight."

The wool merchant went to retrieve the rabbits while Jenkins taught Richard how to clear the chamber and engage the safety on the Hunting Rifle.

"How did it feel?"

"More recoil than I expected." Richard rolled his right shoulder.

"Always like that the first time," Jenkins said, patting his shoulder. "Shoot a few more times and you'll get used to it."

It was nearly dark by the time they returned to camp.

Jenkins skinned the two rabbits, skewered them on iron spits, and propped them over the fire pit to roast.

The firelight reflected on everyone's faces, and the smell of roasting meat filled the air.

"Turn them, turn them," Jenkins instructed as the wool merchant rotated the spits. "Don't let one side burn."

Richard sat by the fire with his notebook open on his lap, but he wasn't really reading it.

His body felt relaxed, and so did his mind.

The tension that had built up over the past few days melted away little by little in the warmth of the fire and the laughter of the people around him.

No seals, no evil creatures, no veil.

Just fire, wind, stars, and a group of ordinary people.

"Meat's done!" Jenkins pulled the spits away from the fire. "Come on, one leg each."

Richard took a rabbit leg and took a bite.

The outside was roasted crisp, and the inside dripped with steaming juices.

He took another bite.

After chewing a few times, he frowned. The center of the meat was still pink.

"Mr. Jenkins," he said, holding up the leg. "Is this... cooked?"

Jenkins leaned over for a look.

"..."

"It should be."

"Are you sure?"

"It had enough time on the fire. It's definitely cooked." Jenkins nodded with absolute confidence.

Richard looked at the patch of pink meat again.

After a moment of thought, he finished the rest of the leg anyway. Undercooked meat was exactly what he needed to fulfill the advancement condition for [eating] Lv3.

Besides, his current sleeping environment was a little too safe. He needed to introduce an "unsafe" factor.

Tonight, he planned to complete the unlock condition for [sleep] in his tent.

The next morning, Richard jolted awake in his sleeping bag, woken by a sharp pain in his stomach.

Fully conscious now, he kicked off the sleeping bag, pressed one hand to his stomach, and scrambled for his shoes with the other.

He dashed out of the tent without even grabbing his coat.

At five forty-five on a winter morning in the Osborne Hills, the temperature hovered around negative three degrees.

He squatted behind a dead tree at the edge of the camp, pale-faced.

By the time he returned, others in the camp were already awake.

The middle school teacher poked half his head out of his tent.

"Young man, are you alright?"

"...I'm fine."

Even after thoroughly emptying his stomach, Richard still looked a bit green.

Jenkins, looking entirely guilty, boiled him a pot of ginger soup.

"Drink this. It'll warm your stomach."

"Thanks."

"I'm waiving your activity and tent rental fees," Jenkins said, rubbing his hands together. "Call it an apology."

"You don't have to."

"No, I insist." Jenkins was firm. "I've been a guide for years, and this is the first time I've given someone food poisoning. It's embarrassing."

The middle school teacher next to them laughed so hard he bent double.

"Jenkins, I will never forget that 'it's definitely cooked' look on your face as long as I live."

"Shut up."

The three retired railway workers were laughing too.

"How many trips did you make this morning, lad?"

"Four," Richard said weakly.

"Hahahahaha..."

"Stop laughing!" Jenkins's face flushed bright red. "It was entirely my fault!"

Richard finished the ginger soup, and his stomach felt a bit better.

He silently opened his Panel and took a look.

The unlock condition for [eating] was complete.

He closed the Panel, unsure whether he should thank Jenkins or curse him.

The unlock condition for [sleep] had also been fulfilled over the course of a restless night spent tossing and turning from the dull ache in his gut.

Stone Reading had said "there will be bumps in your relationships with travel companions," and it sure was a bump.

The second day's itinerary was shorter than the first, and the group looped back to Osborne along a different route.

Along the way, Jenkins stayed right by Richard's side.

Every now and then, he would ask "You holding up alright?", "Need to take a break?", or "Want some more water?"

Richard suspected the man's guilt was probably more agonizing than his own stomach.

"Mr. Jenkins, I'm really fine now."

"You still don't look too good."

"That's just from walking. It's not my stomach."

"Really?"

"Really."

Only then did Jenkins relax slightly.

At two in the afternoon, the group arrived back in Osborne.

The Panel showed that the advancement condition for [walking] had also been met.

As they disbanded at the entrance to the club, Jenkins vigorously shook Richard's hand.

"Young man, look me up next time you're in Osborne, and I'll take you out again for free."

"Alright."

"And I definitely won't be roasting any rabbits next time."

"...Good."

The middle school teacher came over to shake Richard's hand as well.

"You're an interesting fellow, young man."

He pulled a business card from his pocket. "My name is Joseph. I teach history at Saint John's Middle School in Manchester. If you ever have free time in Manchester, come find me for tea."

"Thank you, Mr. Joseph."

The three retired railway workers came over together, each giving Richard a pat on the shoulder.

"Get your health back in order, lad, and come out for a walk more often."

"Jenkins is actually a good guy. He just sucks at roasting meat."

"I'm perfectly fine at roasting meat! You all ate it!" Jenkins yelled from behind them.

"Last night was just a single mishap!"

Richard waved and bid everyone farewell.

While packing up his things back at the inn, he checked his Panel again.

[walking] — Completed.

[sleep] — Completed.

[eating] — Completed.

He had cleared the advancement conditions for all three [Body] skills in just two days.

On the afternoon of January 5th, Richard returned to Briston.

Carrying his backpack, he walked down the familiar streets, flanked on both sides by red-brick terraced houses and small gardens enclosed by iron railings.

In the middle of winter, there were no flowers in the gardens—only a few bare rose branches and clumps of holly remained.

As he neared Slag Alley, the air smelled of coal smoke mixed with the yeasty aroma drifting from the bakery next door.

Standing at his front door, before he even had a chance to pull out his keys, the door opened from the inside.

Evelyn slipped out from behind the door.

She was wearing a checkered apron dusted with flour, and her hands were completely white.

His sister looked him over from the top of his head all the way down... hair, face, neck, shoulders, arms, hands, legs, shoes. She inspected him from head to toe.

"You've lost weight."

"I haven't."

"You have," she said firmly. "Your cheeks are sunken in right here."

"That's just the lighting."

His mother's voice called out from the kitchen.

"Is Richard back?"

"He's back!" Evelyn shouted into the house, stepping aside to clear the doorway.

She took his suitcase and set it by the stairs.

Richard stepped inside.

The house was warm and toasty, a fire roaring in the hearth.

The air smelled of stew, onions, carrots, and a hint of thyme.

His mother walked out of the kitchen holding a steaming clay bowl.

"Drink some soup first," she said, pressing the bowl into Richard's hands. "It must have been cold on the road."

"It wasn't too bad."

"What do you mean, 'not too bad'? Your lips are pale." His mother looked him up and down. "You really did lose weight."

Richard decided not to argue the point any further.

He sat down at the dining table with the bowl and took a sip.

It was a thick mushroom stew with diced potatoes, carrots, and a few slices of tender lamb.

It was hot, salty, and savory, and he drank half the bowl in one go.

His father came out of the study.

Rogers was wearing his old wool vest, holding a newspaper in one hand.

He glanced at Richard and nodded.

"You're back."

"I'm back."

His father didn't say anything else, turning around and heading back into the study.

Evelyn had already crowded over to the table, leaning both flour-covered hands on the edge.

"Brother, what gift did you bring me?"

"What's the rush?" Richard set down the bowl and slowly wiped his mouth. "Let me put my bag down first."

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!"

Richard hauled his backpack onto a chair, but he wasn't in any hurry to unbuckle it.

First, he took off his scarf, folded it twice, and draped it over the back of the chair.

Then he took off his coat, shook off the melted snow on his shoulders, and hung it on the coat rack.

He even made a point of smoothing out the collar as he hung it.

"Brother..." Evelyn dragged the word out.

"Why are you dawdling so much!"

"I was gone for over a week, can't you let me catch my breath first?"

"...Fine." The little girl bit her lip, fetched a rag from the kitchen, and wiped up the two white handprints she had just left on the edge of the table.

Once she was done, she obediently shuffled back to the table and continued to wait.

Richard gave her a sideways glance. He smiled slightly, but didn't let his sister see.

He finally undid the buckles on his backpack.

Reaching inside, he rooted around for a moment, frowning slowly.

Evelyn immediately locked her gaze on his hand.

Richard switched to another compartment and dug around some more, his expression growing increasingly serious.

Finally, he simply grabbed the whole bag and tipped it upside down over the chair.

Out tumbled a few changes of clothes, his frayed notebook, a tin lunchbox, and a chewed-up stub of a pencil.

Nothing else.

The eager anticipation on Evelyn's face collapsed completely.

"Brother!"

"Where is my gift?"

Richard slowly looked up, his expression troubled.

"...Oh no."

"What do you mean, 'oh no'?"

"I think... I left it at the inn."

The entire living room fell dead silent.

His mother, holding a glass, poked half her head out from the kitchen, took one look, and silently ducked back in.

Evelyn blinked twice.

"Left it at... which inn?" Her voice was noticeably smaller.

"The one in Osborne," Richard said, looking completely sincere.

"When I was packing up on the last night, I put your gift on the nightstand so I wouldn't forget it the next morning.

But I woke up with a stomachache at the crack of dawn and had to make four trips to the bathroom. Then I was rushing to catch my train when I left, and I completely forgot about it."

"..."

Evelyn slowly pouted.

She wasn't actually going to cry, but her grievance was real. Well, maybe she looked even more wronged than if she had actually started crying.

She pulled her hands back from the edge of the table, not knowing what to do with them, and ended up resting them on her apron again.

"Then... how long will it take to mail it back?"

"A parcel from Osborne to Briston usually takes a week."

"Plus, I didn't write down the inn's address."

"Brother!"

Evelyn stood up straight and planted her hands on her hips.

"When I packed your luggage before you left, I even counted your socks! You come back and all you have to say is that you forgot it?"

"It couldn't be helped."

"And what about that..." She reached out and poked the notebook that had spilled from the bag. "You filled it with dense writing. How come you didn't forget that?"

"This is for work. It's more important."

"So my gift isn't important?"

Richard stared at his sister for a moment.

The little girl was flushed red to the tips of her ears.

She glared at him with gray eyes, but halfway through, her fighting spirit deflated.

"I thought..." she mumbled quietly, "I thought you would give me my gift the moment I opened the door."

Seeing his sister looking so pitiful, Richard really couldn't bear to keep it up.

But he also couldn't resist drawing it out just a little longer.

"Although..." he said, pretending he had just remembered something.

"I did pick up a supplement of the Daily Mail from the transfer station. Do you want it? The front page is all about the Sheffield Steel Factory strikes..."

"I don't want to read about strikes!"

"What about the horse racing results from the Imperial Capital?"

"I don't want that either!"

"Then..."

Richard looked at his sister's puffed-up, angry face.

"Alright, alright." He finally laughed.

Evelyn froze.

"...Alright what?"

"I was just teasing."

Richard walked over to his suitcase, popped it open, and pulled out a small Cloth Bag.

"...You!"

Evelyn stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed, before freezing right where she stood.

She had crashed from hope into disappointment, and plummeted from disappointment into feeling deeply wronged.

Just as she thought the thing she'd been looking forward to most this new year was ruined, the very next second, there was the little Cloth Bag being brought out, perfectly intact.

Evelyn charged over, raising a hand to pinch his arm.

But she suddenly remembered the flour on her hands. Her hand hovered in midair, trembling twice, before she finally squeezed out a sentence:

"I was about to cry!"

"Then I'm sorry."

Richard held the little Cloth Bag out to her with both hands.

"A peace offering."

Evelyn harrumphed, rubbed her hands fiercely on her apron to clean them, and reluctantly accepted the bag.

Undoing the drawstring, she found a small booklet inside, its cover printed with plump Yorkshire puddings.

"A book of traditional local Yorkshire pastry recipes. Bought it at the town bookstore."

Evelyn opened to the first page, already engrossed.

As she flipped to the second page, she muttered softly, "...I still haven't forgiven you."

"Mhm."

"I'm not letting you have any of the pie I'm baking tonight." She flipped to the third page.

Richard waited until she had turned a couple more pages before digging a little scented sachet tied with a silver ribbon out of his suitcase.

He had picked it up on a whim while passing the entrance to the town of Osborne.

"Here." He stuffed the sachet into Evelyn's hands.

"And what's this?"

"Made from wildflowers around the Maiden Spring in Osborne," Richard explained. "Legend says it keeps you safe, and it's especially effective for unmarried girls."

"Are you serious?"

"...It's a legend."

Evelyn turned the sachet over, inspected it, and shoved it straight into her apron pocket.

His gift for his mother was a small bundle of dried flowers wrapped in cotton paper.

"Lavender from the Gaelic Highlands, hand-prepared by the landlady of the local inn. It smells better than what you get at the florist."

His mother took the dried flowers and lifted them for a sniff.

"Mmm... it really does."

She decided she would keep them in her bedroom.

Richard walked to the study door and knocked.

"Dad."

He handed a small tin can inside.

"A tobacco tin from the Sheffield Steel Factory."

It was something Captain Field had recommended, and he'd been able to buy it near the transfer station.

His father took the tin and turned it over to check the factory's hallmark on the bottom.

"Sheffield's. Good steel, indeed."

Richard went back to the dining table. Evelyn had already made it to the fifth page of the recipe book, muttering to herself.

"Hmm... Yorkshire Froment Crisp is made with a thin crust. The flour should be sifted twice, and the butter can't be too warm when it's added..."

She had plunged headfirst into her baking notes.

"This Froment Crisp needs black treacle. Do we have any black treacle at home?" she looked up and asked their mother.

"There should still be half a jar in the cupboard."

"Is half a jar enough for two batches?"

"It's enough, it's enough."

"Then I'll try it tomorrow." Evelyn lowered her head again. "And this parkin, it needs oatmeal and ginger powder..."

Their mother was cleaning up the table next to them. She cleared away his empty bowl and returned with a cup of hot tea.

She set the teacup down in front of Richard. "Dinner will be another hour."

"Alright."

The fire in the hearth crackled.

Outside the window, the sky had grown dark, and the streetlamps had flickered on.

He was back.

Everything was fine at home.