Naofumi grunted, though his hand instinctively went to the pouch of medicinal herbs he’d been brewing. He played the part of the cold-hearted merchant, charging for his services and scowling at the world, but the weight of the Shield on his arm wouldn't let him just walk away.
Raphtalia smiled softly, knowing him better than he knew himself. "Of course, Master."
Naofumi sighed, tracing a finger over the weathered parchment. "It’s not the distance. It’s the rumors. They say a plague is rotting the northern pass. Crops dying, livestock falling over in the fields. The Church says it’s a curse, but I bet it’s just another mess the other 'Heroes' left behind."
"Master Naofumi?" Raphtalia’s voice broke the silence. She looked up, her raccoon ears twitching. "You’ve been staring at that map for an hour. Is the next village really that far?"
"We go at dawn," Naofumi said, closing the map. "But we’re not doing it for free. We need better materials for your armor and better feed for Filo."
The campfire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows against the rocky walls of the cave. Naofumi sat apart from the others, his Shield glinting in the low light. He watched Raphtalia and Filo—the former sharpening her blade with focused precision, the latter happily munching on a roasted monster bird leg.
They were a strange trio, a "Shield Hero" and his demi-human companions, wandering the edges of a kingdom that wanted nothing to do with them.
"If people are hurting, we have to help!" Filo chirped, her blue eyes wide.