“Instances of Earth-like information from the world’s noosphere includes mentions of the state of California, pizza, and television,” said Artyom, reading the contents of the dossier aloud. “While these are the most common references to concepts from Earth detected, various other references too widespread and numerous to list in this report were also detected-”


    Artyom shut the folder closed and shoved it back into the knapsack.


    “Could have at least added the list as an addendum or something, how am I supposed to find this kid with only three things to go off of? Were there actually any other substantial references? I’m really starting to believe this might all just be some big coincidence. Why has everything today been so annoying?”


    Thankfully Artyom didn’t get much time to ruminate on his additional frustrations, as he soon came upon the first real signs of civilization.


    Wooden fences erected on either side of the dirt road separated and sectioned off large swathes of arable land. At this point, all Artyom could see was still grassy plains, but a herd of sheep grazed on the field to the left. They had medium-sized coats that looked to be still growing, but bizarrely, were all different colors. As in, a single sheep was made up of multiple colors in a striped pattern. Most of them were a mix of pinks and greens at the moment, with a few also sporting yellow or dark red.


    Among the herd was the vague outline of a person. They were also dressed in linens, but wore a wide-brimmed hat and carried a wooden crook. Upon seeing Artyom, they waved, and the man from Earth decided to return the gesture.


    As Artyom was about to pass the herd, he did a double take and looked more closely.


    “Hold on, are those patterns moving?”


    Curiosity gripped him, so he stood still for a minute more and carefully observed one of the sheep. Time passed, and soon Artyom confirmed that the pattern was in fact changing, even if extremely slowly. While curious at how it biologically worked, he didn’t think that a random peasant would be able to sate his thirst for knowledge at a technical enough level. So he chose to continue on.


    The grassy field only stretched on for about a mile longer. Beyond that were golden fields growing wheat and barley, and thoroughly tilled swathes of soil cultivating a variety of vegetables. Cabbage, turnips, broccoli, pumpkins, and some other unrecognizable stalks were all present.


    “Hello there, traveler!” exclaimed one of the farmers working the field. He was walking past rows of pumpkins, putting his ear to each one as he knocked on it. If it made a particularly deep sound, he clipped it off the vine and carried it to a small cart.


    Artyom waved and shouted a similar greeting back, but didn’t bother to start a conversation when he saw that the man was more interested in getting to his work than chatting him up.


    As the road became well worn, Artyom knew he was close to the village proper. The fields themselves, rather than growing seasonal crops, were now entirely devoted to orchards. Almost all of the trees grew cherries, with a smattering of citrus and peaches thrown in the mix. However, the deep red fruits and vibrantly pink flowers overshadowed everything else. Their sweet smells guided Artyom to his destination.


    The village before him was a quintessential farming town, with its planning obviously made to fit the farms rather than the other way around. The buildings were made of mostly whole, bark-stripped logs, likely belonging to the trees that were cleared away to make room for the orchards. Newer looking structures on the outskirts incorporated cut stones and bricks in addition. More care was put into them, so chances were they were constructed after the town was properly established.


    Rather than paved roads, the entire floor of the village was made of dirt and gravel, with bits of grass and weeds poking out occasionally. The better paving materials were reserved for buildings, it seemed.


    Artyom unconsciously took a deep breath and soaked in the rustic atmosphere with a sense of appreciation. Most of his missions had taken him to fancy throne rooms that smelled of suffocating perfumes or battlefields that reeked of blood. It had been a while since his assignments had brought him anywhere so… peaceful.


    Now that he was here, he needed to get oriented. However, the village looked near-deserted, with only a few people out and about. That was no surprise since it was high noon; all the farmers would have been out in the fields or relaxing far away from the open sky.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Artyom made his way down the main dirt road and past an outer ring of houses into the village center towards one of the few people walking around. He was a man with a dark farmer’s tan and somewhat muscular build. While he looked enough like any other human, his facial shape emphasized the cheekbones and jawline in a way divergent from any particular group back on Earth. Beyond that, the man wore thick linen overalls over a woolen shirt. Unlike the sheep from before, the wool was perfectly white.


    When he noticed Artyom, he looked over and waved. “Why hello there, stranger! I take it you’re new in town?”


    “That’s right,” said the man from Earth. “Is this Freeacres?”


    “It is indeed, sir. The only free village in the kingdom! That’s our catchphrase, you see.”


    “Catchphrase?”


    “Our wonderful king had this great farmland he wanted to make a village out of, but there weren’t any nobles who wanted to move so far away to govern!” exclaimed the man with an acrid tone that quickly disappeared. “So we petitioned him to let us move out and govern it ourselves, and he said yes! And rather than having one of the kingdom’s lords bossing us around, we chose who among us would be the best leader and made him our alderman.” He shined a proud smile as he finished.


    Artyom nodded along to the story while simultaneously judging how legitimate each part of it sounded. At least until he realized he wasn’t gathering intel; he was making smalltalk.


    “Yeah, that’s really interesting,” he said, trying his best to sound invested in the story. Thankfully, something about the way the man spoke made his attitude contagious, and Artyom mustered all of that happiness and pride into a quick flash of his own smile. “Thanks for sharing!”


    “Oh, no problem sir. Now how about your story? What brings you to Freeacres?”


    “I’m just a traveler on vacation, and happened to be where I ended up,” said Artyom, trying his best not to sigh or scowl at the word “vacation.”


    “The kingdom is definitely a beautiful place, sir.” the man replied.


    “You don’t have to call me “sir” by the way, the name’s Artyom.”


    He wasn’t a big fan of being referred to as something so deferential. Usually, it was by someone who wanted something from him or was trying to get close enough to perform a backstab. If Artyom was going to be stuck around here for a month, he didn’t want the locals to get on his nerves every time they spoke to him. Besides, getting on their good side would get him information about the supposed Earther sooner.


    “Ah, how humble! Very unlike the other travelers who arrived today,” said the man, his mind somewhere else. “Anyway, you can call me Chey!”


    “Nice to meet you, Chey. So who are these travelers?” If they were the same bandits Artyom chased off or their friends, then chasing them off once more would save him time in the future while putting him in the village''s good graces. "Are they giving you all any trouble?"


    “Trouble? They’re supposed to be getting rid of it! That adventurer team is holed up at Ruba’s inn, trying to get rid of the rat problem. I don’t see why they bother, all of the other teams that have tried in the past year have never succeeded.”


    While Artyom wasn’t a fan of gossip and the trouble it tended to bring, the utter shamelessness of delivering the rant to a traveler who would have likely gone there made Artyom crack the faintest smile. “Who knows? Maybe this team will get it right?”


    “Hah, I’d love to see that! No truly, I would, for poor old Ruba’s sake. If you want to take a look at them and make a judgment for yourself, the inn is right over there.” Chey pointed to a two-storey building with a small sign hanging from it. “Besides, it’s lunch time and you don’t look like you’ve eaten. Ruba’s making barley soup today, the best in town!”


    “Why not,” replied Artyom with a shrug. “I guess I’ll give it a try.”


    Rural cooking was a total coin flip when it came to quality; it could be some best or worst food imaginable. And with a whole month ahead of him, Artyom felt that taking such gambles would at least fill in some of that time and his stomach.


    “Anyway, nice talking to you,” said Artyom as he turned around and began walking towards the inn.


    “Likewise! Oh, Bram, there you are!”


    Artyom looked over his shoulder to see Chey address a young boy, probably in his early to mid teens with a head of straw-colored hair and face full of freckles, leading a donkey while holding a basket full of wheat.


    “It’s a two day’s trip to the next town over, you have everything packed?”


    “Yes sir, Mr. Chey!” said the boy with a peppy cheer. “Used my new Skill to make sure I have everything I’ll need!”


    “Atta boy, and don’t put too much weight on the donkey when you’re riding it.”


    The teen nodded and got onto the donkey’s saddle, where the older farmer then took the basket of wheat and fastened it to Bram’s back.


    “That should do. Good to give the old animal an easier time, I’m sure you’re strong enough to carry all that wheat.”


    Artyom couldn’t help but stare bewilderedly at the scene. Thankfully neither of the two noticed, and as the two separated and Bram headed out of town, the man from Earth made his way towards the inn.