Chapter 7: The Landowner’s Daughter

After a short wait, Olivia approached carrying a basket. She looked somewhat surprised to see Leo standing among the children, but paid him no mind. Instead, she took out a set of keys, unlocked the truck’s cargo compartment, and brought out a bundle of long loaves of bread.

These baguettes were just as dark and mysterious in their ingredients as before, but at least they were well-risen and soft enough to tear. Olivia broke each loaf in half and handed out a piece to each child.

Having finished distributing the bread, Olivia opened her basket again and gently announced, “Today, everyone gets an extra egg.”

Cheers erupted as she handed out eggs no bigger than ping-pong balls, carefully instructing, “The adults will all be busy for a while. You must be obedient, help out more at home, don’t wander away from the camp, and absolutely do not go fishing in the river. If I catch anyone misbehaving, you’ll go hungry!”

The chickens the convoy kept barely laid any eggs in winter—barely a dozen had been saved up, originally meant to be traded for coarse grains at the next market town. But since they had missed the last town, Olivia decided to reward the children with them for making it to their destination.

The relentless cold and hunger had left many of the children gaunt, their faces hollowed out. If they didn’t eat something better soon, they’d barely be able to stand.

Little Mouse was last in line for food. She held her soft, dark bread and eyed the egg in Olivia’s hand, hesitating, not daring to reach for it.

The little girl keenly sensed that the people in the Pioneer Camp didn’t like her— even the kind-hearted Olivia was no exception.

In truth, in the frigid north, no one liked stray children. When a family could barely feed its own, giving even a mouthful to a vagrant child meant a higher chance of their own kin starving.

“Does she get one too? She’s not even one of us!”

“That’s right, she’s a stray—her father doesn’t even work. She shouldn’t get any food!”

A few children shouted indignantly at Little Mouse.

“Do you want to die?” Leo raised his arm, fist clenched, the muscle coiling like steel cables. The group of children fell silent in fear.

Leo snatched the egg from Olivia with one hand, gripped Little Mouse’s jaw with the other, effortlessly forcing her mouth open, and popped the egg in.

“Done.”

With her mouth stuffed with the egg, Little Mouse gently pushed Leo, nudging him toward Olivia.

She had survived this long on daily half-loaves of black bread. Such a chance at survival had to be shared with Leo.

Big Sister Olivia was so kind—surely she’d give Leo a share of food as well.

Olivia and Leo locked eyes. Protective, she shielded the cargo behind her and scolded him, “Are you really going to steal from the children?”

Leo hadn’t intended to take any food, but his argumentative streak kicked in. He glared back, “Who isn’t a child here? How old do you think I am?”

Olivia rolled her eyes at him, then turned and fetched a piece of wild bison jerky, scarcely bigger than a pinky finger, and pushed it into his hand. “Here, something special for you.”

Leo took the jerky and chewed, feeling as if he were gnawing on tree roots.

As he chewed, he watched Olivia’s back as she bent over, searching through supplies at the front of the truck.

She wore a pale yellow fitted jacket over a coarse linen dress, patched in several places. It was a common outfit among village women, the only difference being the black fur draped over her shoulders for warmth.

Yet her well-developed figure made the outfit look especially striking—her every gesture, every smile, like a heroine straight out of some game or anime.

Compared to the other villagers who scraped in the dirt for a living, Olivia, the daughter of an Imperial soldier, seemed almost like a landowner’s child.

Her educated mother had cared for her well before passing away, so she’d barely worked the fields, and her figure was nothing like the stout, burly women of her age.

Her nature was gentle and kind, never uttering the sort of coarse words that would make men blush.

Literate and numerate, she’d naturally become her father Ulyan’s right hand, managing the expedition’s assets and resources.

During Leo’s injury, Olivia had been the one tending to him—washing, changing his dressings, feeding him. Thanks to her spoonfuls of hot porridge, he’d recovered enough to survive.

He couldn’t deny a sense of gratitude, but the memories he’d inherited from the original Leo were so familiar with her that their way of interacting was constant bickering. Expressing thanks was simply out of the question.

In those deep childhood memories, there were many times he’d made her cry, running home to her mother—who would feed him and scold him over dinner.

What? You could get dinner for teasing someone? Amazing.

Olivia finally gathered all the supplies she needed and turned to find Leo staring at her for some time. She blushed, angry. “Why are you still here?”

“Is that it?” Leo was dumbfounded, only then realizing the “special treat” was that tiny bit of jerky he’d just swallowed.

“Hmph! That’s bison jerky! I don’t even let myself have it,” Olivia huffed, feeling her kindness wasted.

Honestly, a stick of spicy gluten would’ve been better.

Leo was annoyed too, having waited so long for nothing. He turned to leave, spotting Little Mouse clutching her bread and hurrying after him. He tore off a large chunk and stuffed it into his own mouth.

Little Mouse mournfully eyed the missing corner of her bread, then spat out the egg she’d been holding in her mouth for ages and offered it to Leo, trying to please him.

Leo looked at the egg, saliva dripping from it, and barked, “Get lost!”

After eating a meal meant for the adults, Leo felt the hardship of his situation more keenly.

When he’d been lying in the truck, drinking nothing but barley porridge for days, his mouth had nearly lost all taste. He’d thought that once he was well, he’d finally get a decent meal.

Only after biting into that rock-hard bread did he realize that what he’d enjoyed before was actually a luxury.

He hogged a large pot, rummaging with a spoon for ages but failing to find any decent soup at the bottom.

That night, Leo lay inside the tent, staring at the ceiling in a daze.

Fragments of knowledge from his past life and this world’s survival experience flickered through his mind, trying to combine into some solution for their dire straits.

“If only I had some sort of encyclopedic search—like a cheat code,” he thought. “Let’s see, Baidu: First episode of Wilderness Survival—how do I get a camp full of the old and weak fed?”

Little Mouse crept in, curled up on the pile of ragged fur at his feet, and inched closer to his legs, bit by bit.

Every few minutes, she’d edge closer still.

After a while, closer yet again.

Feeling the chill at his feet, Leo sighed inwardly and, lifting his leg, rested it atop Little Mouse.

She happily hugged his leg and stopped moving.

Even with sleepwear that seemed almost magical, it wasn’t nearly enough to ward off the late winter and early spring cold.

And Little Mouse, weak and undernourished, couldn’t provide much warmth at all.

With his leg wrapped in her arms, it was as if Leo had stuck it out of the tent—only after ten minutes did his strong body finally warm it up.

“Leo, can I call you Dad?” came Little Mouse’s barely audible voice in the dark.

“Why?”

“They say, only if you have a dad do you get food.”

“Alright then.”

“Dad?”

“Mm.”