Chapter 55: Alton

"Clang!"

The bottom of a metal pot collided with a small stone in the soil, producing a crisp sound.

The iron pot, radiating the savory aroma of food, landed heavily upon the grass.

"Dig in! I've been simmering it for ages, it's bound to be delicious!"

Appearing before Xanan at this moment was a short figure whose height barely reached his waist.

A pair of hazel eyes shimmered softly in the twilight of the evening sky; his skin was fair with a rosy flush, and atop his short, curly brown hair, he wore a pointed soft hat adorned with a feather.

His attire was the neat and practical garb of an adventurer, yet the color combination was striking and vibrant. Upon closer inspection, tiny, delicate decorations could be seen, such as a clover pattern on his shoes.

Alton.

A halfling, and one of Xanan's companions for this mission.

Unlike the "dwarves" he had seen, who looked as though they had been flattened and stretched horizontally, built solidly like tree stumps; nor was he like those gnomes with oversized heads and slight bodies.

Though equally short, reaching only three or four feet in adulthood, the halfling's bodily proportions were much closer to those of humans.

At the same time, his limbs were covered in brownish-brown down, much like a small animal.

However, the Alton before him appeared to be a "lightfoot halfling" of their race.

Consequently, the down all over his body was far sparser, remaining fuzzy only on his two legs—though given he wore thick linen trousers, Xanan was merely guessing.

"Turnips, honey, and even a pinch of secret-recipe pepper I brought from my village."

"You definitely haven't tasted a flavor like this before!"

Alton held the pot lid in one hand, placing the other on his hip, his smiling face brimming with a look of smug pride.

Xanan quickly took two bites of the dried meat in his hand, feigning the appearance of someone who was nearly full, while mentally recalling the information he had gathered from various sources regarding "halflings" during this period.

Unlike dwarves, who had numerous sub-races such as "hill dwarves," "mountain dwarves," and "duergar" depending on various factors like living environment and natal clan,

the halflings of the continent of Aefala were primarily divided into two kinds: "stout halflings" and "lightfoot halflings."

The former possessed denser hair and slightly stockier builds.

Passionate about comfortable domestic lives, they tended to choose a place to settle down and live for a long time.

Harmonious neighborly relations, a warm fireplace, and a freshly baked walnut pie were what stout halflings pursued.

In contrast, lightfoot halflings were far more enthusiastic about distant journeys.

They did not deliberately pursue a specific goal, simply enjoying everything interesting along the way.

In the vast majority of cases, the only ones willing to leave their communities and become adventurers rushing between various tasks were of the "lightfoot" variety.

It is worth noting that, unlike the love-hate relationships among the various "sub-races" of the continent's major peoples, the relationship between lightfoot halflings and stout halflings was exceptionally good.

Though conflicts sometimes arose due to their differing pursuits, given their extended-family style of interaction, it amounted to no more than the daily bickering of brothers and sisters, nothing serious.

Ultimately, he could not escape it.

When Alton gazed at Xanan with those sparkling, wide eyes, wearing a look of immense anticipation and longing for approval,

he still agreed to taste a single spoonful.

Hiss—

The taste was unexpectedly good.

A diverse variety of seasonings blended together, neutralizing their conflicting flavors to a certain degree, leaving only a gentle and comforting fragrance within the orange-red broth.

Coupled with the chunks of meat—tender, well-cooked, and with a perfect ratio of fat to lean—alongside radish slices that had soaked up every drop of the broth...

With a hint of surprise in his eyes, Xanan gave Alton a thumbs-up and praised:

"The taste is genuinely fine, hardly any worse than the food in a tavern."

And in response to Xanan's praise, Alton fulfilled his racial trait to the absolute maximum, providing immense emotional value.

Laughing happily and heartily, he said:

"Hahaha, thank you! It's not really *that* good, though."

As he spoke, he ladled two more spoonfuls into Xanan's bowl.

It wasn't that Xanan held any prejudice against Alton, but over the past two days, the personality displayed by the fellow had been simply too "vivid."

Like the vast majority of lightfoot halflings, his disposition was easygoing and open. He was filled with curiosity about everything encountered along the journey and keen to try all sorts of novel things.

Whether it was the specific operational mechanics of wagon wheels or the daily forage cost of packhorses...

From the front of the caravan to the back, he had enthusiastically buttonholed almost everyone for a chat.

He had tried driving a wagon, and had learned the art of setting traps from a somewhat amiable adventurer, though the final results rarely met expectations.

He was even slightly superstitious—

Xanan had witnessed firsthand as Alton removed his hat and bowed to an inconspicuous clump of bushes by the roadside.

According to him, this was to pay homage to Yondalla, one of their halfling deities, the natural goddess who held dominion over agriculture and climate.

All in all, though he seemed a bit eccentric at times, Alton, at least for now, turned out to be a good sort.

Gurgle—

His Adam's apple bobbed.

Xanan swallowed a couple of spoonfuls of the stew, casually chatting with Alton by his side.

"So, the one you worship is the agricultural goddess of your race?"

The continent of Aefala boasted a multitude of gods, with pantheons intricately complex and no shortage of overlapping domains.

The halfling race alone was under the protection of seven deities governing different spheres.

They were referred to by their people as the "Heyrin" pantheon.

——"Heyrin" was what halflings called their own race, originating from rural slang and gradually spreading across the continent.

Xanan was therefore somewhat curious about how halflings themselves viewed these direct deities, who were as affectionate as parents yet so difficult to approach.

To Xanan's puzzlement, however, Alton simply shook his head.

The extended-family community ties of the halflings led them to treat the deities protecting their race as members of the household.

Under such circumstances, expecting halflings to offer absolute, pious devotion in the manner of external priests was hardly fitting.

"So, you..."

Just as Xanan assumed the fellow was like himself and had no religious faith to speak of,

Alton suddenly offered a slight smile.

He drew a coin radiating a metallic sheen from his waist pouch.

Ting—

With a flick of his fingertip, the coin was tossed high into the air.

Spinning, falling.

Alton opened his hand. In his palm, the coin landed face up.

Revealing the pattern engraved upon its surface:

A long-haired woman with blurred facial features, yet whose lips carried a faint hint of a smile.

The "Smiling Lady,"

The Goddess of Luck who holds dominion over "Destiny"—

[Tymora]