บท 95: Chapter 94
Chapter 94: Fern: Didn't I wash all your underwear? ·Men Likes younger
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Even though they had known each other for a long time—practically for as long as she could remember—Fern couldn't help but feel a strange sense of grievance at how many secrets Ash had kept from her. She tilted her head, staring at him intently as though trying to unravel the truth herself. After a long silence, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke slowly:
"Master Ash."
"Hm?"
"What else are you hiding from me? Can you tell me everything?"
Ash hesitated, then offered a sheepish smile. "Well... generally speaking, isn't it normal for men to have some secrets?"
Even as he spoke, he realized how many secrets he truly had—so many that even he couldn't keep track of them all. And far more of them were things that couldn't be shared than things that could.
His mind wandered to those who had taught him magic or martial arts. People like the corrupt sage Qual, the bloody war god Rivale, the omniscient Schlacht, and now Solitär. Their teachings were steeped in mysteries that weren't meant for others to know.
But when Fern puffed her cheeks in obvious dissatisfaction and glared at him, he sighed and quickly adjusted his tone.
"Actually... it's not that exaggerated. Just a few minor secrets here and there. It's not like you'd go as far as taking off my underwear to study me thoroughly, right?"
Fern's glare intensified. "Aren't I the one who washes all of Ash's underwear? I also buy them!"
Ash froze, caught completely off guard by her retort. "...Well, when you put it that way..."
Realizing he had walked himself into an awkward situation, Ash covered his face with one hand, trying to gather his thoughts. It wasn't just that he had taken care of her in the past—now she was the one handling parts of his life. The "underwear situation" was just another example of the odd dynamic between them.
After a long moment of internal debate, he finally lowered his hand and looked at her tentatively. "Can we... set this aside for now?"
"Why?"
"Just look behind you."
"Behind me?"
Ash had initially planned to find Frieren to help diffuse the situation, but now he simply gestured for her to turn around. Fern hesitated, half-skeptical, but eventually glanced back.
What she saw genuinely startled her.
The villagers.
Dozens of them stood nearby, openly watching the pair. Their curiosity was palpable, their eyes locked on the young man who had defeated the village chief with his bare hands—without even dirtying the chief's cloak.
In this village, where strength was deeply revered, Ash's display had left a significant impression. Yet despite their interest in his combat prowess, what they overheard was... less heroic.
Instead of tales of glory, they had listened to a conversation about underwear—Fern complaining about washing it, and Ash patting her head in an attempt to comfort her.
The juxtaposition between their actions and their words left the onlookers utterly baffled. To them, the pair didn't look like a simple master and disciple. No, their dynamic seemed far more intimate—closer to that of a disgruntled wife and her husband.
Even though Ash had claimed to be over ninety, the villagers were still struggling to reconcile his youthful appearance with such a claim. It simply felt too absurd to process.
When Fern turned back to face them, the villagers quickly realized they'd been caught staring. Awkwardly, they averted their gazes, pretending they'd merely been passing by, dispersing in a clumsy attempt to save face.
Realizing she had made an embarrassing statement in public without thinking, Fern froze on the spot, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red at a speed visible to the naked eye. She stood there, rigid as if struck by lightning, utterly mortified.
Once the crowd had dispersed, Frieren—who had been hidden among the villagers due to her small stature—was revealed. Unlike the others, who seemed to grasp the awkwardness of the situation, her face was filled with confusion.
"What's wrong? Is this something to be ashamed of?" she asked, glancing around before focusing on Fern, who was still covering his face. Observing the strange atmosphere, she eventually turned to Ash, tilting her head in confusion. "Why is Fern shy? Isn't this a very common thing?"
Ash let out a resigned sigh. "In the past, Heiter and I had our clothes handled by women hired from the suburbs. Now it's Fern doing it. It wouldn't seem strange if we were really father and daughter. But consider the contrast between my appearance and Fern's actual age. It's... complicated."
"Hmm? It seems normal to me. What's the problem?" Frieren stared at his face, her head tilting slightly. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't understand the issue.
Ash stared at her for a moment, then sighed again. "...Just pretend I didn't say anything."
Forced to accept Frieren's complete lack of understanding in this regard, Ash decided to ignore her entirely. He grabbed Fern by the arm and gently led her away from the corner of the building, leaving the perplexed elf behind.
Frieren, still puzzled, stood there for a moment before deciding the matter wasn't worth further thought. Shrugging off her confusion, she quickly caught up with the pair.
---
Meanwhile, the village chief, Eustace, had initially harbored a deep dissatisfaction with Ash. However, after suffering a decisive defeat in their duel, he quickly swallowed the bitterness of his loss. Though the experience was deeply humbling, he recovered from the shock with surprising speed.
Eustace had to admit that Ash lacked the pride and dignity traditionally associated with warriors. The young man didn't even consider himself a warrior and treated the villagers' insistence on keeping their pristine white cloaks spotless as though it were a trivial game. While Ash didn't openly mock their customs, neither did he show them any particular respect.
And yet, for all his quirks, Ash's overwhelming strength demanded acknowledgment. Eustace realized that, even in his younger years at the height of his abilities, he would have stood no chance against Ash. Compared to the strongest warriors Eustace had ever known—like the dwarf warrior Eisen, who had once passed through the village—Ash seemed like a force of nature, almost untouchable.
Given these realizations, Eustace's thoughts naturally turned in a different direction.
After ensuring that the table was laden with delicious food and fine wine, the village chief shed his earlier harsh demeanor. He became uncharacteristically enthusiastic, treating Ash with great deference. While pouring wine for him, he leaned in with a smile and began to hint at his true intentions.
"Master Ash," Eustace said, his tone carefully measured, "you mentioned that you're over ninety, correct?"
"For the time being," Ash replied casually, raising his cup.
"Do you have any disciples?"
"None," Ash said with a slight shrug.
Eustace's eyes lit up with determination. Clutching Ash's hand earnestly, he made his proposal with the passion of a man who had carefully thought it through. "Why don't you consider settling down in our village and retiring here? A warrior of your caliber would be invaluable. You could teach our children a few of your techniques. It would be a tremendous contribution to our village, the kingdom, and even humanity as a whole! You could ensure the legacy of the Southern Hero lives on and prevent it from being forgotten."
Eustace toasted him with fervor, holding Ash's hand firmly, as if he wouldn't let go until the young man agreed.
As expected, whether human or demon, attitudes toward strangers were ultimately rooted in the other party's strength. The only difference lay in the values they upheld—where the 21st century revered wealth, this village seemed to worship brute force. It wasn't surprising, but Ash found himself unsure how to evaluate the village chief's words.
After all, even if everyone in this village aged and passed away, he wouldn't die.
Even if the village's heritage were lost and the nation it belonged to vanished from history, he would remain. In truth, he didn't believe this village or its country would still exist in a thousand years.
Faced with the chief's enthusiastic invitation, Ash's expression became subtly awkward.
Frieren, meanwhile, was busy enjoying her meal. Between bites, she suddenly spoke up. "Ash doesn't have that kind of righteousness. Instead of tempting him with lofty ideals, you'd have better luck offering him a decent, beautiful girl."
"Beautiful girl? A beautiful girl?" Eustace repeated, nodding at first. But soon his thoughts tangled. If Ash really was a man in his nineties with unparalleled martial arts prowess, wouldn't it be somewhat insulting to tempt him with something as simple as a girl?
His gaze shifted back to Frieren, uncertain. She seemed like Ash's companion, though perhaps more like a bad influence. He couldn't help but question her suggestion in his mind.
Seeing his hesitation, Frieren calmly set down the chicken leg in her hand. After wiping her mouth, she said, "He said it himself. When the half-century shooting star appeared over seventy years ago, he didn't ask for a beautiful girl. He just wanted a normal one—a girl to watch the shooting star with him."
"Ah, ah... I see. More than seventy years ago," Eustace murmured in realization.
Fern, however, was shocked by the statement. Her violet eyes widened as she turned to Ash, who continued drinking as though unaffected by the discussion.
"What? Is there something strange about this?" Ash muttered awkwardly, averting his gaze. He had no intention of delving into the subject further, especially not here and now.
But Frieren, recalling how he'd once been mocked for liking younger women, couldn't help but add, "Exactly. There's nothing strange about it. Isn't it normal for someone in their nineties to like younger than himself? After all, men always like younger than themselves. That's what Ash said."
"Master Ash…!"
"Don't look at me like that. It's a fact, isn't it?" Ash replied nervously, his voice trailing off as he met Fern's piercing stare. Desperate for an escape, he glanced at the village chief for support.
Despite his disapproval of Ash's impudence, Eustace reluctantly stepped in. After all, he still had favors to ask. "Well, yes, yes, men are… normal like this. Even I… uh…" He faltered mid-sentence, his words catching as he noticed the horrified expressions of his two sons standing nearby.
A strict father by nature, Eustace couldn't bring himself to continue. His face flushed crimson as he swallowed his words. Even if he needed Ash's help, he couldn't bring himself to say something that would earn his sons' disdain.
The awkward silence that followed made Frieren chuckle. Taking another bite of her chicken leg, she said casually, "See? Compared to others, you're truly something else. I finally understand why Heiter called you shameless before his last moments."
"That was mostly because I used to hold Fern in my arms just to annoy him," Ash replied without hesitation.
"As expected of you… You always manage to exceed my imagination," Frieren remarked, momentarily stunned.
"Lord Ash… is truly terrible." Fern glared at him, her disdain palpable. However, the depth of her anger didn't seem entirely tied to his history of using her late master to shield himself in his antics.
Ash, however, ignored his companions' criticisms. Instead, he turned to the hesitant village chief, placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and spoke with solemn conviction:
"Don't concern yourself with others' opinions or rumors. Remember, Eustace—you're a man! A man should never be constrained by the judgment of others, nor by age! And as a warrior, you especially shouldn't let yourself be shackled by unnecessary formalities."
"...Soldiers shouldn't care about formalities?"
"Exactly! Take your obsession with the white cloak, for instance. If you're too fixated on keeping it spotless, doesn't that mean you're only capable of fighting opponents who are far beneath you? That's not honorable—that's just bullying children. And if you're not bullying, then you're being bullied like one. Such rituals are completely pointless!"
Ash patiently tried to reason with the village chief, linking their rigid adherence to the cloak's cleanliness with broader ideas about freedom, the irrelevance of age, and even the idea that men always prefer younger womens.
Watching this exchange, Eustace's younger son, Hugh Turk, wore a baffled expression. "Brother… what this man is saying to Father seems to make sense, but at the same time, it feels like nonsense. Should we stop him?"
"Haha… stop him? You know as well as I do that Father only listens to strength," replied Hugh Toltz, Eustace's eldest son. His immaculate white cloak—his father's pride—gleamed under the firelight. He offered a strained smile as he patted his younger brother's head, but his eyes remained fixed on Ash. Clearly, he had already set Ash as a target to surpass.
Though he was near his peak as a warrior in his twenties, Hugh Toltz knew he'd begin to decline in just a couple of years. But at least one part of Ash's speech resonated with him: the idea that "men should not be bound by age."
---
After the feast, Eustace, seeming to have had an epiphany, led Ash and his companions to the village's guesthouse.
Though the adobe house was similar in design to the others in the village and carried an antiquated charm, it was solidly constructed. Its unique materials and structural features ensured it stayed warm in winter and cool in summer, making it far superior to modern concrete homes in Ash's view.
The roof was supported by carefully arranged horizontal and diagonal beams, topped with thick thatch that provided excellent insulation.
Eustace lingered in the corner of the house, speaking earnestly with Ash for some time. When Ash agreed to something the chief had requested, Eustace thanked him profusely before taking his leave.
Even after the village chief departed, however, Fern's mood showed no signs of improvement. Her cheeks puffed out in frustration as she turned her back on Ash, making it clear she was still upset.
"...Hmph. I'm angry because of you. You figure out how to fix this on your own—I'm not helping," she muttered sharply.
Meanwhile, Frieren, who had already changed into her pajamas, sprawled across the bed. She flipped lazily through a book, occasionally swinging her legs or munching on biscuits gifted by the village chief's wife. Clearly, she was making the most of this rare moment of comfort, relishing the free food, warmth, and soft bedding.
Watching her carefree demeanor, Ash couldn't help but smirk, a mischievous glint in his eye. Suddenly, without warning, he exclaimed:
"Fern, look! Frieren is eating on the bed!"
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