Helping with Adventurer Party Management

When I asked the Church priest to "introduce me to someone who might be in trouble," he was to be able to guide me to a small farmer outside the village.

With the Church priest at the forefront, in addition to the seven great bands of me, Sarah, Kilik the escort, and three midwives, Sarah brought with her the loba she used when she came to the village.

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Outside the village, there was the cabin.

In the past, it may have been called a house, but the stones on the exterior walls have collapsed, repaired with bricks of dirt, and the leaning roof prevents them from coming down with sticks poking at each other with trees. The roof, rubbed with straw, is half rotten, with grass growing.

It was a strange substitute for not being an abandoned house.

"This family lives with the help of a field, but my husband was injured last fall. I couldn't work when I made the best money. I had trouble holding my wife and two kids, so I did everything I could, too... My parents came from outside the village, so I couldn't get help from my relatives."

With that said, the priest called inside from the entrance to the house.

"It's me, someone wants me to talk to you for a second."

Then a woman who looked middle-aged with a nasty appearance from the inside turned up.

"Uh, priest, what does it look like?

Unsurprisingly, my voice is young. Maybe dirty, undernourished faces and hair are just making women look older and younger, too.

"The young midwives of the Church are asking me to listen to you. Could you help me out a little bit?

"Ha... but my husband is in the field..." he replies, looking back inside the dark room.

"If you're a kid, you'll be fine because I'll see how it goes!

and Sarah speaks up.

"Hey, boys, come out. Together, can you help me cook dinner? There's meat, too, right?

"Really!?" "Yay!

When I shouted like that, two little shadows, trying to slip through my mother's arms, popped up.

"Um... but we have firewood (maki) money..."

and his mother says reluctantly.

"I brought firewood, and I'm pumping water, so it's okay. Thanks for letting me talk to you."

Thinly dirty and energetic children around, Sarah answers with a smile.

In the village, firewood is not free (free). There is a limited range of firewood that can be safely picked up in the woods, and some people are making a living out of it, so you can't cut down raw trees on your own. In the first place, logging rights lie in the churches that dictate the land.

Water and domestic wells are common, but the effort to draw is significant, as is the burden of carrying heavy water bottles.

Sarah, who cares about the details around it, is still the only farmer's daughter. Besides, I feel safe at the hands of my young brothers. Now, while unloading the firewood from the loba and making the impromptu (kamadu), I take the hair lice (smudge) in order with the wood.

Yeah, the thing is, I can't imitate it.

Since the festivals had completely lost their hips for the first time in the poverty of more peasants than I could have imagined, it was up to me to interview the peasants.

She was looking middle-aged, but says she's just over 20. The brothers, because they looked five or six years old, are a very young mother. In the countryside of this world, maybe it's not even early marriage.

In the village where I lived, my parents opposed my marriage, and my husband was coming to earn a small fortune, saying he moved to this village.

Since then, they have rented fields in villages to make wheat, and in the agricultural breeding season they have made their living by helping other fields.

But since the Demon Wolf got lost near the village last fall and her husband, who was farming in a hidden field outside, was hit in the left arm, life has been broken.

Because during the most earned autumn harvest work of the year, labor was no longer available. Although my arms have healed to some extent now, the missing income does not come back.

So, we're in total trouble, which seems to be the situation.

"So the church didn't do anything for me!

Clemente Auxiliary asked in momentum, even though there were church priests nearby.

The farmer showed the church priest's complexion, but told him that the priest nodded slowly.

"My husband couldn't get any assistance from the village because he was injured outside the village. Anyway, if you were injured defending the village fields, it seems to be because you were outside the village enclosure. The priest, sorry for that, gave our house the right to pick up the fallow and to clean the tax warehouse."

For the sake of the aides and me, who are oblivious to the customs of the countryside, the priest gives a commentary.

"The right to pick up the fallow is the right that when you harvest a wheat field, you get a harvest called the fallow, so you can pick it up and make it your own. In tax warehouses, wheat grains may fall zero when transferring from scales to bags collecting taxes. Clean it up, so you can grain the wheat. If the villagers feel sorry for them, they will deliberately do more falling ears and zero out of the scale."

As I listened, I was impressed to hear that it was one form of welfare, albeit primitive.

It is turning the waste that is likely to inevitably arise in farming into a dispute over ownership into the welfare of the Community.

"... and still not enough income. This year, you might have to sell one of the kids. Hopefully we'll figure it out next year..."

That's what I said, the farmer turned down.

The Festivals had lost their word.

The voices of the children who raised their shaky voices to the meal Sarah behaved were heard slightly louder.