A Dual Crest Summoner In Infinite Summoning World

The village of his was anything but simple. The notable structures—if one could call them that—other than the simply structured stone houses with large wooden support beams and roofs sometimes, with interiors mostly made of wood for the middle-class folks—were a large stone statue placed on a stone platform, one tavern on one side of the crossroads, the smithy of Elder Tamun, a simple well, big barns and granaries, and a single watchtower on the opposite side of Auren's own house and the forest.

The nearest town was in that direction too. Actually, they were the last village in this region. Behind them stretched a long forest for some seventy to eighty kilometers. After that began the region called the 'Tempest Coast,' ruled by the head of the Storm family—the Storm Lord.

They weren't alone, though—the town was just a day's ride away in a wagon, and there were three more villages within half a day's walk in both directions from their own. The name of the village was Rootfast. It had to be meant in total sarcasm because the villagers he had seen took their time to do every task. The belief of the people was simply in living a life of peace and quiet. Work was always going to be there—rest was important.

The statue was barely twenty meters tall—it was a creature that he was sure existed, but Auren had no idea which one. The only thing he knew was that his Grandma and Sable called it Sylvarun—a god worshipped in their region of Greenvale.

The statue of Sylvarun was coiled in three spirals at its base, its green-colored inlaid scales etched with leaf-like veins. A noble, draconic head—part serpent, part stag—rose watchfully, its thorn-root fangs bared in a calm, wise expression. Tree-branch antlers crowned its head, dotted with carved flower buds where real birds nested. Amber eyes glowed like living sap, while its forked tongue curled outward, inscribed with ancient script—perhaps a blessing, perhaps a warning. No one in the village knew for sure, at least.

The villagers offered food and alcohol to the god once in a while—the harvest festival started only after they offered a part of their feast to the serpent god.

It had to be a spirit beast summon of some ancient king or something—that's what Auren believed. He had not seen anything of worth to believe in such a figure. Even in his past life, he was not much of a believer.

A family of four owned the tavern—a man who could summon wooden cups, his wife, a spoon summoner, and their teenage daughter and small boy a few years older than him. He had only visited that place a few times. When he passed by there today, the woman gave him a green fruit with a smile. He had eaten the fruit before—it was sweet and sour.

He watched Elder Tamun make iron tools in his smithy for a while. Then he moved on to the open barn inside which many crops were stored, and a few horses stood on one side eating hay. The man called Carmen owned the barn and the horses within—he let others rent the barn in exchange for stuff, and his two female horses produced a horse baby once a year, which he took care of and sold in the town. He was able to summon a straw hat.

The watchtower was manned by a few youngsters and an old archer. A retired hunter whom the village paid in food and other things for doing the job—he could summon arrows, and those fetched quite a good price, having iron-sharp tips. His son had been lost in the war; the widow and a grandchild had been supported by him for years now. It was Dante who gave the few youngsters wanting to become archers and hunters this job, saying they needed to learn before going into the forest. Auren remembered that day.

This was his first time roaming around the village without Sable, Dante, and Granny. People kept handing him items to eat. He had too much stuff, especially the sweet ones, and had to refuse most of the things. Everyone knew him by name—well, the ones who were social and came to the Sunday meetings regularly. Auren also saw many houses that were occupied by single men or old women—those who weren't much into socializing. Then there were the injured and too-old-to-move-around people who couldn't visit. They at least knew him by name from when he came to visit with his family.

He wasn't just wandering around without purpose, wasting time. Auren was checking out the condition all these villagers lived in, just getting the general feel as to what a simple village in this world would have. He had seen some things today that his family had always sheltered him from.

There were two wooden houses connected at the far end of the main street that always had men visiting at all hours of the day—he had seen it from afar and was curious, but his family never went near it. Today he found out the reason—it was a brothel.

If a village as small as theirs had such a place, then it was fair to assume it was quite a big industry in this world. There were places Auren smelled alcohol being made with rotten fruits and such. Even though small, their village had almost all the things a person might need to live—or at least live a life where he or she could forget all their pain and live out their last days at a very low cost.

Most of the men he walked beside in the streets had at least one weapon—a rusty sword, a spear, mostly an axe, and some even had a machete. They had all partaken in at least one or more border skirmishes on behalf of their lord. A region may be under one family's rule, but the smaller lords and knights in charge of their areas seemed to always be at odds with each other.