Chapter 43: Please Wait

An Ominous Premonition

This wasn’t a good sign. A rising unease stirred in her heart. Wenger gazed out the window, sensing something was about to happen. She couldn’t seem to stop, despite all the time she’d spent slacking off. There was still a feeling of being pushed forward.

The brief solar eclipse had caused some panic in the village. But Maple Whisper Village was safe, and Wenger wasn’t worried about a beast outbreak. She took the longsword from her inventory, her hand gently tracing its surface. Stepping into the fourth tier might bring a different sensation. In truth, she felt no change—the silver sword remained utterly ordinary.

If those vines that once grew were a curse, she hadn’t suffered any harm. Would anyone actually like a prop with no detailed effects written in the text? Wenger wasn’t impressed. Even if the boost was significant, pure numbers felt lacking.

Considering the magic-sealing runes, she decided to visit the deep mountains. With her current speed, the round trip wouldn’t take a day. Whether for preparation or reassurance, it was necessary. As she stepped out, a little girl rushed toward her. Viyi’s expression was excited, almost like she was fishing for praise. “Teacher, did you see the eclipse? It was just like you said!”

The girl recounted it dramatically. Wenger felt again that sharing knowledge with ordinary people could at least reduce unnecessary panic. “…I calmed everyone in the village down. Pretty impressive, right~?” “Very impressive.” Wenger patted her head, suddenly feeling that being alone might make her lonely. She couldn’t understand her past self, complaining about picking up responsibilities. It wasn’t so bad.

Fate turned like a wheel, life and death unending. What she’d done in the past would eventually bear fruit. She wanted to praise more but worried Viyi might get too full of herself. “I’m heading out for a bit. Please look after the village.” “Huh—?” Viyi puffed out her cheeks, deflating when Wenger pinched them. “Teacher, why are you always going out lately? Is it dangerous?” “Not dangerous. I’ll be back soon.” “Then… take me with you?” “…”

A trap. Wenger didn’t know how to refuse. “It’s actually quite dangerous,” she said after a pause. The cursed sword was taken from the great hall. Last time’s safety didn’t guarantee this time. The Nameless Sword might be the key to a dungeon—she couldn’t risk taking her student or anyone else. This was her burden alone.

“Can’t you not go? What will everyone do without you?” “Can’t you think of me for once?” She teased, but Viyi’s eyes still held expectation. Wenger struggled to refuse this girl, so similar to her younger self. Back then, she had no one to confide in, her words spoken only to herself. But no meant no—unless… someone else went along.

If she set conditions, it was out of her hands. The only capable fighters left were Kailos and Vick. She wasn’t sure how long it’d take to beat the former, but the latter could probably crush her with one finger. Who Viyi could convince would still rely on Wenger’s influence. Besides, she probably couldn’t even find them.

Wenger realized she should prepare a contingency. If something happened, the village needed time to react. But on second thought, there was no need to leave immediately. Even if the sky fell, time wouldn’t speed up, nor would people walk more peacefully. Each day still had to be lived slowly.

The magic-sealing forest was still there, the Nameless Sword already drawn. Whatever was meant to happen had happened. From the moment she grasped the sword, a faint connection formed. She could sense its presence, but it vanished when stored in her inventory. So, she’d keep it there for now—no major issues should arise.

Sending Viyi off, Wenger headed toward the mines. Near the small cabin she’d built, she’d planted flowers. Focused on her advancement, she hadn’t checked on them in a while, unsure how they were growing. Flowers needed care, but wild ones in the outskirts had a fiercer vitality. She’d planted them for a purpose, but many things could now be set aside.

A Quiet Path

Walking the valley trail, she noticed it hadn’t been maintained in ages. At night, without lights, it’d be tough to navigate. She wondered if the workers complained. She could reach the mines with magic in an instant, but she chose to walk slowly. Her mind was empty. A ten-minute journey stretched to twice as long.

In the sunlight, foxtail grass bowed to her, swaying in waves with the breeze. She’d once raised one. Not before crossing over, but a yellow puppy that came with her to Maple Whisper Village. Lazy like her, it loved lounging in the grass under the sun. She enjoyed afternoon naps, its fluffy tail often brushing her face. Later, she buried the puppy in the mountains. Later still, she planted flowers on that hillside.

She didn’t visit daily, but the puppy would’ve been sad not seeing its owner for a day. The foxtail grass swaying in the wind seemed to hold glimpses of times long gone. Memories were an endless reel, eroded by years, then forgotten entirely. She remembered much but forgot plenty, until an anchor pulled scenes from the sea of time.

So it was. She hadn’t kept ordinary pets since. But the moments echoing through time were daily sparks of anticipation. A century for ordinary people was long yet fleeting. Their dragged shadows bore the weight of a lifetime, even fleeting memories too heavy. No one could easily find what they wanted in a stuffed bag. It was heavy enough.

Wenger often sat aside, quietly watching others rummage, quietly watching old friends leave. She’d read many stories in those shadows, but farewells needed no words. Those departing figures all said, Let me leave quietly, never to appear in your life again. She couldn’t console others, nor herself.

Reaching the small flower field, she found they’d grown better than expected. Lowered expectations became an unexpected gift. But it’d be a while before they bloomed. Muttering to herself, as if the plants could understand, Wenger tidied up and strolled back, this time to the fields outside the village.

The once golden wheat fields were now a vast cornfield. Green faded, replaced by yellowish-brown leaves, curling and dry, with corn cobs drooping their golden heads. The fields surged with warm golden waves, unlike the wheat’s. In the post-autumn season, harvests seemed to come faster.

Wearing her black robe, she wandered through the fields. The cornstalks towered over people, hiding most figures. She only greeted farmers when she saw them. At a wider dirt path, a sudden gust lifted her silver hair from beneath her robe. In the wind’s waves came tidings of joy.