Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World - Volume 6 - Chapter 6

Postface

Ending

As a story goes on, PCs may find their goals diverging and say their farewells. But take heart: the paths of life are ever intertwining. New roads may bring new faces, but so too may they come with old friends.

Against the hustle and bustle of a busy year, winter’s arrival was ever cold. The little canton had seen off wagonfuls of taxes, carefully packed into carriages; it had been merry during the jewel of its year in the annual harvest festival; it had quietly finished its preparations for the end of the year.

Throwing wood into hearths and stuffing cotton into clothes, the people of Konigstuhl huddled in their homes and awaited the spring season. With little to do but hole up, the bulk of them busied themselves with secondary, indoor occupations.

The Watch was the exception. Their busiest time of year stretched from the first yellowing of autumn to the first bloom of spring: raiders looking to poach the harvest came during fall, and the sparser imperial patrols during winter left mercenary groups free to muscle in on their own quarter. For the folks of a rural town, these were the greatest threats they could imagine.

As a result, Lambert had never once forgone his winter rounds in all his years as captain; so long as his legs could hold him upright, he wouldn’t skip one in all the years yet to come. No matter how frigid the weather or how loud the moans of his men, the canton garrisons were always manned. Even today, when a rare sheet of snow blanketed the village, the watchmen were at their posts.

Just as cold and snow were not enough to end a war, villainy would not be impeded by icy conditions. Rather, the ever-refreshing blanket of white would wipe away any tracks. Now was when they needed to be most vigilant, jealously guarding their homes as a bear does its cave.

And when the Konigstuhl Watch needed help, it was the place of reserve watchmen to help them.

On this snowy day, the future huntsman of the canton was in charge of keeping an eye out, and woke up earlier than usual to do so. She stuffed her clothes tight with cotton: those with arthropod ancestry weren’t as comfortable in the cold as their mensch peers. Most bug-like demihumans found themselves cooped up every winter whether they meant to or not, and it was always a wonder to them how humanfolk went about their lives like it was any other season.

But even as her body cried and begged to stay by the fireplace, the huntress picked up her bow and left her house. Braving the elements despite the creaky pain setting into her stomach and joints was for the good of the canton, of course, but today, there was another reason.

Curiously enough, her favorite earring had been very talkative yesterday. Despite there not having been any wind to speak of, it jingled and jangled at every turn.

The huntress walked along the same patrol route she always did, on the lookout for the occasional broken branch, the odd pile of ruffled leaves, or a footprint in the snow. Unlike the denizens of the forest, people were so very eager to leave a trail. Whether humanfolk, demihuman, or demonfolk, they all may as well have pranced around while singing at the tops of their lungs.

Today, she discovered nothing strange in the canton. The closest thing to a new development was the rumor that someone had already caught the first winter cold. The roads were the same as ever, and she found no evidence of anyone trying to sneakily survey the lay of the land.

The gods were in Their heaven, and all was truly right with the world.

Taking perch in a tree for a lunch break, the huntress tilted her head: perhaps her hunch had been off. Personally, she was confident in her intuition, and the times when her earring jingled were practically guaranteed to mean something.

But I suppose everybody has off days, she figured. With her afternoon schedule free, she decided to hunt for a small bird or hare and make a little extra coin before heading home—when suddenly, her sharp senses began to tingle.

Aided by the vantage of her treetop perch, her keen eyes could barely make out the movements of a silhouette just beyond the horizon. The slow, leisurely bob making its way toward her was that of someone on horseback.

Strange. The huntress’s mind shifted gears. Obviously, this was not a forgiving season for travelers. Any southbound merchants trying to race the cold were long gone; this was no scout for a mercantile caravan.

Then perhaps the vanguard of a mercenary band looking for homes to hijack?

Yet that, too, seemed unlikely. There was only one jockey without any backup, and the steed was bulky with luggage—no advance scout would weigh themselves down like that. Furthermore, they lacked both the large weapons synonymous with mercenary warfare and even armor. But most of all, one could search up and down the world over and never find a lone mercenary traveling with two horses, one relegated to carrying cargo.

That left either an eccentric vagabond, a wandering knight, or a courier on urgent dispatch from some noble or another. Whatever the case, there was no more need to worry. Yet just as she let her guard down, the huntress’s earring made a sound.

This earring had been with her for nearly three years now. She’d pierced her ears many more times since then, adorning herself with accessories, and even earning her first tattoo as she came of age. Yet of all her ornaments, this one alone never left her side; in turn, there were only two occasions when it made its presence known.

The first was when she found herself in grave danger.

The second was what she had felt this morning...

As the figure approached, the rider came into clear view and set the huntress’s heart aflutter. He was small for a mensch, but the ease and grace he displayed atop his saddle was the unmistakable carriage of a warrior.

The frosty winter daylight gleamed a bright gold off his hair. Lit like the sun on a comfortable spring day, she had a feeling that the strands of blond belonged to someone all too familiar.

No, she knew they did. The huntress knew the horseman—she was sure of it.

Before her earring could spur her on any further, she’d already jumped to the next tree over. Unable to contain herself any longer, she sprinted across the forest canopy. She would recognize that figure anywhere, even if the heavens themselves came crashing down to earth.

Zipping from branch to branch with footwork incomparable to her juvenile form, the huntress erased herself from the woods. As of late, even her own mother had trouble sniffing her out; she was at the level where she could catch flighty pheasants with her bare hands.

Oh! I knew it! Perfectly upright, like a pole was propping up his spine, the boy was the same as ever. He’d grown in the months and years of his absence, but she wouldn’t mistake him for the world.

Bringing her full sprint to a stop, the huntress found the perfect spot to hide.

There, she waited—still and silent. Letting instinct take the wheel, she was prepared to unleash the polished methods of her people.

He was only fifty paces out now. This was surefire range with her bow, but a projectile wouldn’t do. A plain arrow would be cut down in an instant.

No, she would wait for the perfect opportunity: leaping down from twice the height of an average mensch, she would end things in one strike.

The huntress had no doubts. Ordinarily, falling from a place like this would mean risking serious injury—especially when landing on a mark without solid footing. If her prey swatted her away, she could even lose her life.

Yet the possibility of hesitation did not even cross her mind: after all, not once had he ever failed to catch her.

[Tips] Travelers tend to coop themselves up in inns and cantons for the winter just like other lay folk; that, or they migrate south to avoid snow. Out for work in the quiet months, adventurers and mercenaries are much the same.

Snowfalls were few and far between in the southern parts of the Trialist Empire. Yet the first flakes had begun to flutter just one day after we’d settled the engagement fiasco, and it had begun to stick the day after that; the gods were clearly in a strange mood. No matter how well people could bear the cold, shoveling snow off roads and roofs was surely a novel challenge for everyone in the region.

I hadn’t set foot outside the canton before being whisked away to Berylin, so I didn’t quite get that nostalgic fuzziness of slowly coming across familiar sights. But if nothing else, the uncommon weather had me feeling a bit excited. Don’t tell my family, though: they were probably cradling their heads right about now over how much firewood they’d burn through this winter.

Exhaling a puff of smoke, I soaked in the feeling that my beloved Konigstuhl was close. In the two months since my rainy departure from the capital, a lot had happened. Too much, even.

After dodging an impromptu mercenary recruitment drive, I’d found myself adopting a zentaur warrior and using my old employer’s parting gift to get out of a sticky situation. But just as I’d patted myself on the back for setting a dumb kid back on the right path, I’d stumbled into a bodyguard arrangement that was secretly a noble lady’s “elopement” all along. That about sums things up nicely, I think.

In the end, the girl got home safely, nobody died, and in spite of one young man’s broken heart, the experience made for a good story...right? It was a good story... I mean...right?

Yeah, never mind. That was some bullshit.

That had to have been in my top ten worst experiences of all time. I wasn’t charitable enough to promote this absolute clusterfuck into a “good story.” If the GM didn’t tip something in my favor in recognition of my fruitless labor, I was convinced the gods would look the other way while I beat them silly.

Back when I’d said my farewells to Dietrich, I’d thought to myself that it hadn’t been all that bad. Looking back again, no. It had been all that bad. Why’d I have to endure this onslaught of chaos just to get to my damn hometown?

Thinking about it rationally, the last one had been godsawful in every way. The retainers who’d stayed behind to buy time were surely dead, the ones waiting in Innenstadt were out of a job, and poor Rudolf was heartbroken. Basically the only person with a happy ending was Miss Helena.

That wasn’t even to mention how much Sir Bertram had lost, nor did it touch on the debt Sir Wiesenmuhle now owed to a future count from now till the end of time. The girl had managed to cause trouble for literally everyone. Worst of all, my heart went out to the poor soldiers following orders to participate in a wild goose chase, only to be cut down by me and Dietrich.

Handling incidents like this one week after week had left me exhausted and convinced that I was, indeed, cursed. Back when I’d first set off, I’d thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, I’d have a nice and boring trip home. If I could pen my past self a letter now, it would simply read, “Oh, don’t you worry.”

The constant stress of my trip had gotten me very used to the sensation of smoke in my lungs. Right now, I was puffing on a remedy for sore throats: the dry winter air had gotten to me last night, and I was feeling a bit raspy.

I’d come across far too much action in the time since I’d hacked up my first drag of the pipe in the madam’s atelier, but I digress. For now, I wanted to look forward instead of backward: I was finally approaching Konigstuhl. The spring of my twelfth year was far, far away now. As short as my retainership was compared to the tenure of the average indentured servant, three years of my youth was a sizable commitment. Time just flows so differently when you have little of it under your belt.

The last of my leaves turned to ash and my throat regained its usual vigor—the counterintuitive effect of soothing my throat by smoking still messed with my brain—so I put my pipe away. At last on familiar roads, I straightened myself up...only for a faint tingling sensation to dance on my neck.

I could hardly even perceive it. In my time running errands for Lady Agrippina, I’d crossed paths with many an experienced assassin. Their ill will had been as silent as it was heavy, nigh unnoticeable without keen intuition; yet this feeling was even harder to grasp than Miss Nakeisha’s presence.

For a second, I thought that perhaps a wild animal was looking my way. I reached back to cover my neck—when a familiar, comforting shiver ran up my spine to meet my hand.

Ahh, I know this feeling...and I know what comes next.

I pulled at the reins as quickly as I could, but I’d been just a few beats too slow. A foreign hand clasped my neck, pulling me into a tight grip from behind: my neck was locked in by an arm, and lithe, carapaced legs coiled around my torso.

I was dead. I’d fumbled my reaction and my vitals were open for the taking.

But you know what? That’s fine.

“Got you!”

Because there’s only one person who’d greet me this way. And if she already has me under her thumb, then what’s the point in resisting?

“I wonder how many losses that makes,” I said.

“Dear me, you certainly have gotten better at playing the fool. Don’t pretend you’ve lost count, now.”

I sighed and rattled off a number; she read my timing to count the same number at the same time.

“I’m home, Margit.”

“Yes, you are. Welcome home, Erich.”

Taking the small hand on my neck into my own, I announced my return with the whole of my heart; she answered with a tone that lingered long in my ear. She then wriggled around to my front side, masterfully scuttling for purchase without poking me where it would hurt.

Still round, her face had hardly changed at all. Her two hazel eyes gleamed with life, and the spidery ones by the bases of her pigtails practically twinkled. The entirety of her small frame was covered in a dark and fluffy set of traditional hunting wear reserved for tested arachne; yet she herself was the same as ever.

“You’ve gotten so pretty while I was away.”

“My, what a silver tongue you have. And you have become a splendid man.”

Yet for all that remained the same, Margit felt more mature, somehow. Regardless of how at home she would look in a grade school, the air about her was that of an independent adult. She, like me, had come of age in these three years, and I had no doubt she’d proven herself an asset to her family trade; there was a confidence about her that could only come from experience.

Her earring let out a small clink. Though her ears were now covered in accessories, seeing the one conspicuously girly pink shell shine bright among its steely peers threatened to melt my heart.

I pushed up my long hair to show her my own; that must’ve made her feel the same way, as she nuzzled into my chest just as she’d done all those years ago. I was worried the rugged flax of my shirt would scratch her squishy cheeks, but she didn’t have a care in the world as she merrily rubbed up to me with a wide grin.

“But you know,” she said, “I’m glad to see that neither of us has changed.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I am too.”

Our sappy little interlude was interrupted by Castor, who whinnied as if to say, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing back there?” I fixed my posture and scooted back, opening up some space for Margit to sit too.

“What splendid horses you have. I might even mistake you for a noble.”

“I doubt you’d ever find a noble dressed in travel wear as cheap as this.”

“Really? But when the minstrels sing of wellborn heroes touring the lands, they’re always dressed like you are now. I think you look marvelous.”

Being praised so overtly nearly drew out a very unbecoming smile. Pulling myself together, I cradled my childhood companion in my arms and chatted away as we slowly rode toward the village.

“You know, I feel as if you’ve really grown up, Erich.”

“You think?”

Happy as I was to hear that, the truth was that it wasn’t the result of a purely natural process.

Since I’d been on my own again for the last leg of my trip, I’d preemptively taken a few social skills to avoid being picked on. The miscellaneous incidents on my way home had given me a little bit of leeway, so I’d figured it was worth hedging against any future trouble.

I’d started off by bumping my Negotiation skill to Scale VI, and then picked up cheap traits like Lingering Timbre and Nightingale’s Resonance to improve the carriage of my voice. With this, I was hoping I’d be able to come off as a smooth talker.

For when things skipped discussion entirely, Overwhelming Grin would let me scare off small fry without having to resort to a more physical kind of negotiation check. I was particularly pleased with this purchase: I could pick and choose when to activate the skill, and despite being rather pricey, it came with the wonderful feature of allowing me to use my proficiency in different skills that might induce fear in others to determine its effectiveness. What this meant for me was that I could just shut up and smile to power my intimidation attempts with Divine Hybrid Sword Arts.

But a smile that could kill someone in the right situation hadn’t been enough for me. I’d splurged on the high-level, always-on trait Oozing Gravitas. Like the last, this let me use my strength in battle to affect my charisma. Put in TRPG terms, I received a flat bonus to negotiations that scaled with my overall level as an adventurer.

Putting everything together, I’d managed to throw out the weak parts of my image. Now, I wasn’t going to make the average thug flinch just by standing there like Sir Lambert, but I doubted I’d have random goons treating me like a naive kid.

“I really do,” Margit said. “Though, I must admit, I’m pleased to see you haven’t gotten as big as I’d feared. You’re the perfect height to jump on as you are now.”

“Urk...”

Man, she went there... I knew Ursula had fidgeted with my physical build, but I was still way shorter than I’d planned on. Back in my childhood, I’d invested enough experience to get me at least past the 180 centimeter mark, and I could’ve sworn I was supposed to be more muscular.

Why was I so small? Was the system bugging out? This blessing of mine came from the future Buddha himself; how the heck was a mere alf toying with things from within the system winning? Or perhaps that was exactly it: maybe this otherworldly power was defaulting to the values given to it by the world or something, and that was what fairies could tweak.

I was overthinking things. At fifteen, I would’ve still been in my third year of middle school—I’d make up the difference by the time I turned eighteen. Yup, there was nothing to fear. Or at least, I had to keep telling myself that for now.

“I’m sure everyone will be shocked to see you.”

“You think? Well, to be honest, I did kind of want to surprise everyone. That’s why I didn’t send a letter beforehand.”

“If nothing else, I was very surprised, and I’m sure everyone else will be too. In fact, I suspect you’ll set off a second harvest festival.”

Laughing at Margit’s hyperbole, the town finally came into sight. Fields packed up for the winter, guard posts towering above the empty countryside, and little houses sparsely dotting the land—how many times had I longed for this view in the time that I’d been gone?

I’ve done it. I’m finally back.

“Now that we’re here, let me receive you again. Welcome home, Erich.”

“Yeah... I’m home.”

To have somewhere to return to was truly a bliss like no other.

I’d come home to my beloved Konigstuhl.

“Sniff...”

“What’s wrong?”

Yet in the midst of hugging to celebrate my long-awaited return, the little arachne in my arms began to sniff at me. Not only did her people not have any established culture of communicating through scent, but their noses weren’t even particularly good: I didn’t know what she was doing.

“I smell quite a few unfamiliar women on you... I take it you’ve been enjoying yourself in the capital?”

“Bwah?! N-No, I just made a lot of friends!”

And so, the first tale I shared of my life away was not a display of valor or heroics: it was the sorry excuse of a stupid man.

[Tips] There are guarded checkpoints at each of the borders between administrative states within the Empire. In order to check for criminals and contraband, these traffic stops impede on individual liberties—that is, if you don’t have a noble’s writ of passage.