Old Allen doesn’t really feel sorry for the Demon Hunter; he simply already sees Lann as a main pillar for the village’s economic growth.
Honestly—he never cared for his own son as much as he cares for Lann now!
That whole business of young people tying together their interests with that of the village has indeed proven effective.
Returning to his house, Old Allen’s wife was already finished with her work at the stove.
She was a typical village old lady, solidly built, her face heavy with weathering like Old Allen’s, her hair tightly and neatly wrapped under a scarf.
She was startled when she saw a Demon Hunter at home last night and occasionally pulled Old Allen aside to murmur something.
Her eyes kept darting toward Lann.
But to a Demon Hunter, those whispers are as loud as talking right by his ear.
After listening for a while, Lann stopped paying attention.
After all, she’s just an old woman misguided by rumors.
The worst malice from her is probably having to cook an extra portion of food in the future.
Breakfast was reheated last night’s dinner.
It was a pot of assorted fish broth stew, divided so everyone had a bowl.
It had potatoes, onions, and various collected berries and raspberries.
The various berries rich in pigment and easily soluble in water had turned this pot of soup into a strange black-purple color.
Lann had long adapted to the fact that he couldn’t expect to eat anything fancy in this environment, so he accepted it quickly.
The young man wasn’t bashful at all; he scooped with a wooden spoon in the pot and ended up with a full bowl.
Old Allen and his wife stared blankly at Lann’s bowl and then at him.
Apparently a bit puzzled by how someone could be so impolite.
"You just scooped twice... and took all the berries?"
Lann smiled sheepishly, "I’ve been liking sweets lately."
"’A bit’... wow~" Mentos’ smart voice chimed in leisurely in his mind.
But Lann felt it was speaking sarcastically.
Yet the young man pretended not to hear it; after all, for a bit of extra sweetness, he even had Mentos calculate how to scoop with the spoon!
What’s wrong with loving sweets?!
A modern person who used to take in cheap excess sugar every day coming to a world where sugar and honey are absurdly expensive.
Starving under the mentor for such a long time!
What’s wrong with having a stress response and going overboard?!
What’s wrong with it?!
Old Allen, not dwelling on this, hurried him to finish eating and get to work.
"Everyone is waiting; how do you plan to proceed today?"
Old Allen took a sip of soup and asked the young man.
"No, my work really has nothing to do with most of you." Lann shrugged, "In the end, it’s just me taking action. You only need to dispatch someone familiar with water topography and good at tracking as a guide, and I can start working."
The village elder was overjoyed upon hearing this.
He initially thought he’d have to have villagers drop their work to assist.
Now a whole lot of manpower could be saved.
After breakfast, Old Allen brought a man with a bow on his back to find Lann.
The young man was already waiting at the village entrance.
"Pa-pa—" Old Allen slapped the man’s shoulder with a broad smile.
"This is Bernie, our area’s best helmsman, and there’s nowhere on Lake Fick that he can’t navigate."
Raising his hand, he pointed at the bow on the man’s back, "He also does hunting generally, and when you mentioned your requirements, he was the first one I thought of."
Lann and Bernie sized each other up and nodded in greeting.
The man wasn’t burly, dressed in a frayed linen shirt, with pant legs tied tightly with ropes for farming convenience.
The only difference from ordinary villagers lay in his bow and gloves.
They were a pair of wide leather gauntlets that reached up to his forearms near the elbow, due to their width, Bernie had them tied tightly with rope to his arms.
Consider it a kind of armor.
After bringing Bernie, Old Allen didn’t linger, turning to leave.
Despite being the village elder, he still had to do farm work daily to sustain life.
The two men exchanged no words, heading straight to Auridon’s fishing dock, boarded Bernie’s fishing boat, and set out for Lake Fick.
This lake originally had no name, only because Sir Viserad built a tower on the island in its heart, the island got named Feike Island.
Thus the lake itself was named Lake Fick.
Lann planned to start from the edge of the existing fishing ground and slowly expand outward.
Demon Hunters, when hunting Water Ghosts and the Swamp Witch, don’t need to enter the water for combat.
Fighting in monsters’ habitats is too foolish.
Water Ghosts and Swamp Witches might freely move in the lake but are, at heart, amphibious creatures.
Their nests are usually built on tidal flats.
That’s Lann’s target.
"We need to sail out of the fishing ground and approach the shore where fish are abundant."
The young man sat at the boat’s bow, giving details to Bernie at the stern.
The man merely nodded, steered, and adjusted the sails, hands non-stop, though his expression clearly showed displeasure.
This situation prompted Lann to speak further.
"Do you have something against me? If so, can we turn back now and find Old Allen to adjust personnel? It’s better to clarify this now."
Lann sat at the bow, hands outstretched, sincere in attitude.
He didn’t want anyone with mental barriers when executing combat missions.
Even if there isn’t malice toward him but merely a lack of focus, it’s very dangerous given the high-risk nature of combat.
Faced with such straightforwardness from the Demon Hunter, Bernie could no longer keep silent.
Thus with a deep sigh, he spoke.
"Please don’t misunderstand, Demon Hunter Master. You came to carry out compensation for two farmers and develop fishing grounds for us. Whether willingly or not, you undeniably are a noble person worthy of respect. I hold gentlemen like you in high esteem."
Bernie’s brows remained furrowed, but at least now there was an intention to communicate.
"But honestly, I am the best fisherman and hunter in this village; today I should have been able to return home with a boat full of fish or a few hunted rabbits."
"But now, all day long, all I’m doing is carrying you around, with no harvest for myself."
"I know this is for the village’s great future benefits, and surely I’m part of that, but... Everyone else is fishing for their children and women at home, but I’m just here... Please, don’t worry. For your work, I won’t slack or be perfunctory at the least."
"Wow—" The young man scratched his cheek.
Faced with a partner who outright stated his displeasure yet wouldn’t be swayed further and still wouldn’t impede work, Lann found himself momentarily at a loss for words.
"Um... Won’t Old Allen compensate you for today’s delay?"
"Of course he will; why else would he be the elder?" Bernie gave the young man a surprised look. "But as I said, I’m ’the best fisherman,’ so he can only compensate me with an average share."
Lann shook his head, opting for silence.
The future benefits might be grand, but when asked to sacrifice current ones, resistance is inevitable.
What’s more, the future benefits belong to everyone, while the current loss is personal.
Even the Meretelli Goddess wouldn’t untangle this situation clearly; he’s just a Demon Hunter, he can’t involve himself in these matters much.
As long as Bernie’s work state remains unaffected, that’s good enough.
During the voyage, the wooden planks at the ship’s bottom collided with waves, eventually meeting the muddy tidal flats.
The boat gently rocked, finally settling.
The Demon Hunter was now to get to work.