A word of warning, since I’ve caught up to the previous translator, I’ve lost my, how shall we say, cushion… so the accuracy of the next translations (although I didn’t always agree with him) may take a dip, as I have no tape measure to compare. (Even Arifureta had summaries). So, don’t be surprised… I guess.
The elevation we sit at on the mountain is about 800 meters, but the slope down is gentle and the sun hits it well.
There are no tall trees, as it is a meadow, so you could probably call our residence a plateau.
I have to go down this mountain to reach the mountain where there are trees to cut down, so when I go to cut down trees I need to prepare for a three-day trip.
Of course, there are huts where several people can sleep while they visit the area to cut trees down, and a path that wagons can easily pass.
Well, as to that, the convenient mountain where we live which contains the mountain village is called sunny mountain, and the mountain where we cut down trees is called the felling ground.
I don’t need to hear any comments about the naming. It’s been named that for a long time now. It’s easier for people to understand and agree to.
Dad was the fourth son born to a different village. Mom was a second daughter of a farmer who was born in this village and had been there since the pioneering era. It is unusual for an outsider and a second daughter to marry, and close to a miracle for them to get their own house. Father worked as an adventurer from the age of ten and used hard work and talent to obtain his fortune. After meeting mother and falling in love, he purchased the land in the middle of the village mountain (the older families generally stuck to lower lands).
Though I say it’s the mountainside, it is a one-kilometer distance away from the village if you traveled in a straight line. A shortcut would cut the time down a lot, but from wagon, it’s about three kilometers.
On this mountain sits twelve families, with almost all of them using pasture to raise animals. As a result, the road formed an s-shape that extended the distance.
Well, while traveling this road, a single girl stood in front of me.
Granddaughter to one of the village elders as well as a grandchild of Onji, she was eleven years old.
Since Onji’s house consisted of four generations and 26 people total, there was some room for the kids to finish daily work early.
Saribari was the youngest from the family, therefore having no job at the moment. Just like Sepuru, she was able to use magic and could cook. From field work to looking after the animals, as an ordinary eleven-year-old girl she lacked the ability. And so, she played by herself and was now standing there waiting for a playmate to show up.
“… Ah, more trouble…”
It would be nice to call her a childhood friend, but when I think of that neighborly brat, only bitterness comes out.
Though she’s eleven, a girl is a girl. Whenever she speaks, she speaks eloquently. Although she’s only a year older than me, she tries to act like a big sister. However, she acts more like a nanny.
Ordinarily, I’d like big breasts (past life). Flat chested girls are – from anywhere, seem to always be out for – Cough. Oh, that’s it.
“Well, Saribari. How are you doing?”
A nanny is a good job, yes.