“What was that rabid comment on the listing about, by the way? I swear humans make up the dumbest shit. Anyone would go nuts if you killed their friends, stole their food, and invaded their home”.

I think to myself out loud as I rummage through the late adventurers’ bags. These things are so convenient. Not only does every adventurer have one, but they’re all magically enchanted to hold more than they would initially appear to. The weight of each bag is also set to feel as if they were empty, so they don’t get any heavier. They seem to have some sort of limit, but I never reach said limit with the purposes I use them for.

I have a ton of ‘em at home, but generally, they’re pretty customized to the adventurer that owned them previously. This is completely ignoring the fact that they’re all serialized. Only Gaia knows how guilds use that info. In any case, it’d be a dead giveaway to be walking around in town with a dead man's pack.

It’s late afternoon now and getting dark. I’ve already chopped up each adventurer’s remains and stuffed them into the pink mage’s bag, after removing their armor and clothing, of course. That stuff’s invaluable. Though I don’t have a huge amount of use for the heavy gear, light plate armor is always welcome. The swordsman took care of that quota for the week, not that it did him any good.

The pink mage didn’t have anything in her bag except candy, so I didn’t even bother dumping it out. There was an abundance of useful items in the other two bags though, so I decided to leave them as is until I reach a safer place. I sling the bags over my back and make my way home.

After some time, I spot the mark I left in the old cedar. I step through the illusion and find my decrepit old hut just as I left it. I pull open the straw flap, and Ma’s lying asleep in bed. I gently shake her awake.

(Ma, it’s time to eat. I’m back, safe and sound.)

The promise of food and the news of her son returning safely is more than enough motivation to awaken her. She pulls off her sheets and greets my return with a wide, toothy smile. Even in her old age, and missing an arm and a leg, her beauty glows through.

(Welcome home, my Sun. You sure stayed out late today, I was worried sick. An old cucuy can only wait for so long.)

I smirk at her.

(Sure, Ma. The only old cucuy I know is you, so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.)

I reach into the pink bag and pull out a thick calf. I hand it to her, and she begins to dig in.

Watching my mom finally have her fill, my whole body relaxes. I really lucked out this time. Since the D-rank quests are so easy, it’s not uncommon for there to be only one adventurer undertaking them. For us, a 3-man party is a banquet and two weeks’ worth of food if frozen and rationed properly. That’s not even counting whatever goodies they have on them.

I count my blessings and begin to organize the items in the other two bags.

The most important items to note would be basic antidotes, ointments, bandages, and a good amount of rubbing alcohol.

Gotta hand it to that axe lad, he really came prepared for injury.

What I find next strikes me as strange, though. There’s an abundance of labeled poisons in the swordsman’s pack. All of them are neurotoxins of varying potency. What strange things for a swordsman to be carrying. Other than that, he had a half-eaten ham sandwich wrapped up in the boar listing, and his coin purse. There are a couple of silver pieces in here. Certainly, nothing to scoff at.

I decide to keep the poisons in their original bag. Not certain what to do with those quite yet, but I’m sure they’ll be useful in some manner.

I throw all of the medicinal items into the designated medical bag in my corner of the hut.

Having finished organizing the new loot, I unstring my short bow and hang it back on the hook, alongside my cloak. I plop down next to Ma and chow down on a forearm. I’m starving.

The fresh meat tastes like heaven on my tongue, and my empty stomach thanks me. I take my time with my meal. I’ve earned at least that much.

After dinner, I chant a basic freezing spell into the pink bag, and pull its drawstring tight. That should do it. Convenient, I tell you.

I get up to check the hut’s perimeter before bed, a precaution that I adopted from my mom. She was always extra careful about these things, even if I thought it was somewhat tedious as a kid.

(Ma, I’m doing my check. Give me a minute.)

She had laid back down since finishing her dinner. Facing away from me, she grunts to acknowledge my statement.

(Don’t forget to renew the circle), she nags.

She rolls onto her side and tries to sleep while she’s still comfortable from her meal. Sleeping on an empty stomach must’ve been hard for her over the past few days. Warmth fills my body as I recognize her comfort.

‘I hope we can stay like this for as long as possible.’ I leave the hut.

I walk outside to see a thin membrane surrounding our encampment. It’s basically a visual indicator of where the illusion ends that’s only visible from the inside. We can still see the outside world from within, but the vision is a tad glassier than it would be usually. On the ground before the membrane, a line is drawn in the dirt forming a circle. I walk around the edge, tending to where the circle is starting to fade.

After mending the circle, I reach into my cloak and pull out another scroll. I drape it over the roof of our hut, and it melds with the material. I get a sense of satisfaction from using the scrolls for its intended use, no matter how many times I do this. There’s a feeling of efficiency that I don’t get if I’m using them on myself. They last significantly longer if the subject of invisibility is stationary and inanimate, so using them for battle is generally pretty wasteful in terms of time consumption. That’s all situational, though. If they’re being useful, they’re serving their purpose.

I hover my hand over the writing in the middle of the scroll, and the words begin to glow with a blue light. The characters fly from the paper, meshing with the mana in the air. Their light glitters and reflects off small puddles, creating small flashes of turquoise along the trees. At the end of their short and bright lives, they dissipate into the air with small sparks of bright green. My eyes train on the last few sparks, and then they’re gone.

I prefer this much better after all.

With my job finished, it’s time to hit the sack. I reenter the hut and throw myself into my sheets.

(G’night, Ma.)

As soon as my eyes shut, I succumb to a night of deep sleep.