Ron had barely gotten a good night’s sleep since being transported to this world. This night was no exception.

Except this time, it was out of sheer excitement.

Learning Magic in this world was no more difficult than studying a specialized field in his previous life. The incantations weren’t any harder to learn than Latin, nor were the symbols any more difficult to memorize than structural formulas. As a systematic discipline, everything followed a clear logic.

Moonlight spilled across the window frame, casting the shadow of a figure. It was the Tiffling, wrapped in a blanket and making do on the windowsill for the night.

The next day, the group spent most of their time nervously preparing for a potential battle. Ron went out and bought an ordinary notebook to use as a temporary Spellbook, along with some other materials.

"Those guys from the Ocher Tribe are still downstairs," Ron reported to his companions upon his return. "And I saw people from other northern tribes on the street, too."

"The Horror Wolf Tribe?" Aive could barely conceal her disgust for them.

"I don’t know. I didn’t see Harlek," Ron said, shaking his head. "But no matter which tribe they’re from, Quest was right. It doesn’t look like tonight is going to be peaceful."

This tension lasted right up until the start of the mayor’s banquet. Long tables were lined up in the town square, with vendors selling food and wares dotted around the perimeter. In the crowd, Ron spotted the blacksmith, the tailor, and also Lavinia and Buni.

The latter two, however, weren’t there as vendors but as invited guests.

"Oh, hi! Ron, and Aive! I knew you’d be here!" Today, Buni was dressed with particular solemnity. She wore a set of pure white Priest Robes, clutched an oaken Magic Staff with both hands, and had even embellished her appearance with Bright Light Magic. The moment she saw Ron and the others, she grabbed Lavinia’s hand and hurried over.

But because of the Half-Elf’s short stature, Ron couldn’t sense much of a Priest’s sacred dignity from her. Instead, she looked more like an adorable doll.

’If you dare say that out loud, I’ll never give you another discount.’

Lavinia glanced up at Ron. A Ghostly Half-Elf could communicate with any creature within nine meters as if using Telepathy, and her voice instantly echoed in Ron’s mind.

Apparently, she felt the same way, otherwise she wouldn’t have warned him.

"Ah, Buni! Lady Luck (Taimola) must surely look kindly upon her faithful, for you look so devout today!"

Ron immediately launched into an exaggerated performance, but he likely lacked proficiency in the skill, as Buni didn’t seem any happier for it.

"Thank you, and may the Smiling Goddess bless you all as well." Buni gave a small smile. "She is fondest of those with great skill and courage. I only wish to listen to Her teachings and gospel."

Taimola wasn’t a strict goddess, and her faith was similarly tolerant. So Ron hadn’t committed a major faux pas; he just sounded like an amateur.

"To preside over Her church in such a remote place, and as a Half-Elf at that—you are clearly one the Lady watches over." Aive smiled, nudging Ron with her elbow as she quickly smoothed things over.

The Half-Elf Priest considered this for a moment, then finally nodded, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

As they were chatting, Ron heard the deep, booming voices unique to the Northern Barbarians ring out from nearby.

"This is boring as hell!" Sera complained to her tribesmen. "When is this stupid banquet going to start already?!"

"Yeah, my stomach’s already growling!" the bald Olaf chimed in. "The food and wine are right there on the tables! Why can’t we just eat now?!"

"Barbarians," an Elf muttered, glancing at them with a tone full of disdain. "You could at least learn some basic etiquette. The host has yet to make an appearance!"

Ron and his companions had seen this Elf before; he was staying in room 203 at the inn. It seemed he was also planning to join the Pioneer Corps.

"Shut up, you beanpole!" Sera growled threateningly. "Or I’ll rip your head from your shoulders!"

"That’s one of the people Quest told us about yesterday," Aive whispered to Ron, pretending to stretch her arm as her armor scraped. "Like Quest, he’s from the other side of the Delusional Land."

"Quest said he’s likely representing the interests of other Lords."

Just then, a retinue of guards escorted a short, stout man onto the main platform. "Quiet, everyone! Quiet!"

"I am delighted that you could all attend this banquet I’m hosting. It is a great honor! Please, allow me to express my gratitude to you all once again!"

The stout man was ornately dressed. On his right hand, he wore a massive Gemstone ring, which he habitually fiddled with as he spoke.

"I am the twelfth mayor of the town of Fromm, Victor Fromm. By our tradition, each successive mayor must take the town’s name as their own surname, to show their determination to serve the town and its people with all their might. I dare not boast, but I truly have striven to do just that."

"That ring on his hand is an amplification Magic Item. The volume can be adjusted manually," Lavinia explained quietly to Ron.

He was probably one of the few people here with whom she could find common ground.

"However," Victor’s tone shifted, "as much as I hate to admit it, I must regretfully inform you that my own capabilities are reaching their limit. As you all see and hear every day, we have far too many refugees gathered here. The town of Fromm’s resources are finite, and we cannot support this many people."

A clamor immediately erupted from the crowd below. Many here were from the refugee camps and naturally had strong reactions to Victor’s words, ranging from bewilderment to outrage.

"Quiet! Please, quiet down!" Victor’s voice boomed, much louder now, finally quelling the noise below. "But I will never abandon you! The town of Fromm has never had such a tradition, not since the day it was founded!"

"That is why I’ve held this banquet and invited you all here tonight—to discuss the path forward. I have a proposal!"

"If the town of Fromm is too small to hold so many people, then we must acquire more land! To our south, there is just such a place. It holds abundant resources and complex terrain, and it has never been truly conquered. For that reason, those who have traveled there gave it a name: the Delusional Land, to mock the foolish pipe dreams of anyone who would try to claim it."

"But from this day forward, I want to shatter that absurdity! We must fight for more room to live, not be paralyzed by rumors and tales! I am willing to fund the formation of a Pioneer Corps, made up of you all, to conquer the Delusional Land!"

"And all of our problems will be solved in one fell swoop!"