Chapter 20: Hunter Bernie

It wasn't that Old Allen was worried about the demon hunter; rather, he had come to view Lane as the village's key to financial stability.

Honestly, he was more concerned about Lane than his own son!

The young man's ability to align his interests with those of the village had a tremendously positive impact.

Back inside the house, Allen's wife was busy at the stove.

She was a typical country woman, stout, with a face as weathered as Old Allen's, her hair neatly wrapped under a scarf.

She had been taken aback by the presence of a demon hunter in her home the night before, often pulling Old Allen aside to whisper her concerns.

Her eyes frequently darted toward Lane.

But those whispers were mere background noise to a demon hunter.

Lane listened for a while, then tuned out.

It was just an old woman misled by rumors.

Her worst intentions were merely to prepare an extra meal in the future.

Breakfast consisted of reheated fish stew from last night.

The pot was filled with potatoes, onions, and various berries picked from the garden.

The vibrant berries dissolved in the liquid, turning the stew an eerie blackish-purple.

Lane had grown accustomed to the lack of fine dining in this environment, so he accepted it quickly.

He was not at all shy; he took a wooden ladle, stirred the pot, and filled his bowl.

Old Allen and his wife exchanged glances, puzzled by his brazen behavior.

"You just scooped up the berries and took the whole thing?" they seemed to ask.

Lane smiled apologetically. "I've developed a bit of a sweet tooth lately."

"A bit... Wow," Mentos commented in his mind, unhurried.

Lane found it odd but chose to ignore it. After all, for the sake of that sweetness, he let Mentos run calculations no matter how he stirred the ladle!

What was wrong with a sweet tooth?

A modern person accustomed to cheap, excessive sugar suddenly thrust into a world where white sugar and honey were prohibitively expensive might react similarly.

He'd gone hungry for too long under his mentor's training!

It was a minor stress response; so what if he overindulged a bit?

Even Old Allen seemed unconcerned, merely eager for Lane to finish eating and get to work.

"Everyone is waiting. What's your plan for today?" Old Allen asked, sipping his soup.

"Actually, my work doesn't involve most of you," Lane shrugged. "Ultimately, I'm the only one doing the work. All you need is to send a good guide familiar with the hydrology and topography, and I can get started."

The village elder was relieved to hear this.

He had feared he'd need to pull villagers from their tasks to assist.

This would save a lot of manpower.

After breakfast, Old Allen led a man with a crossbow to Lane.

The young man had been waiting at the village entrance.

"Pata-pata," Old Allen said, slapping the man on the shoulder with a broad smile.

"This is Bernie, the best helmsman around. There's no spot on Lake Fyke he can't navigate."

He gestured to the bow Bernie carried. "He also hunts, and when you asked for help, he was the first person I thought of."

Lane and Bernie exchanged nods of greeting.

Bernie was not particularly strong, dressed in a puffy linen shirt and trousers secured with strings for farming.

The only things that set him apart from the other villagers were his bow and oversized leather gloves that extended to his elbows, tied tightly with string for protection.

After introducing Bernie, Old Allen departed.

Don't let his title as village elder fool you; he worked the land daily to make a living.

Without a word, Lane and Bernie walked to the small pier where Oredan's fishing boat was docked, climbed aboard Bernie's boat, and set sail for Lake Fyke.

The lake, unnamed until Sir Wiserad built a tower on the island within, took on the name of Fyke Island.

Lane planned to start from the edge of the original fishing grounds and gradually expand outward.

A demon hunter didn't need to plunge into the water to confront water demons and swamp witches; that would be foolish.

Water demons and swamp witches could maneuver freely in the lake, but they were amphibious.

Their nests were generally built on the mudflats.

That was Lane's target.

"We need to sail out of the fishing grounds and close to the shore, where the waters are abundant with fish."

He sat at the bow, explaining the details to Bernie, who was steering at the stern.

Bernie merely nodded, his hands busy with the boat while his face betrayed his displeasure.

Sensing this, Lane spoke up.

"Are you dissatisfied with me? If so, we can turn back and ask Old Allen to reassign you. It's better to address it now."

Lane sat with his hands folded, sincerity in his tone.

He wanted no one around him with unresolved issues during a combat mission.

Even an inattentive crew member could be a liability in high-stakes situations.

Faced with Lane's directness, Bernie sighed heavily.

"Please don't misunderstand, Master Demon Hunter. You're here to implement compensation for two farmers and to develop fishing grounds for us. Regardless of how I feel, you're undeniably a noble and respectable person. I respect you."

Though his brows remained knitted, Bernie seemed open to conversation.

"But honestly, I'm the best fisherman and hunter in this village. I should have been out today, returning with a boatload of fish or some rabbits."

"Now, instead, I'm tethered to you all day, with no catch to show for it."

"I understand this is for the village's future and potential profit, and I will certainly benefit in the long run. But while others fish for their families, here I am... Don't worry. I will not slack off in my duties."

Lane scratched his cheek, taken aback.

With Bernie's evident frustration, further persuasion felt pointless, and he didn't want to delay his workmate.

"Well... won't Old Allen compensate you for the time lost today?"

"Of course he will; otherwise, why would he be the elder?" Bernie replied, surprised. "But as I said, I'm the best fisherman, and he can only compensate me based on average yields."

Lane shook his head, choosing not to argue further.

Future benefits were substantial, but conflicts would inevitably arise when immediate interests were sacrificed for potential gains.

Moreover, future profits were communal, while current losses were personal.

Even if the goddess of mercy intervened, she couldn't sort out such matters. He was just a demon hunter; it wasn't his place to get involved.

As long as Bernie's performance wasn't compromised, that was all that mattered.

As they sailed, the planks of the boat bumped against the waves until they touched the muddy flats.

The boat swayed slightly and then came to a stop.

The demon hunter was ready to begin his work.