The first thing Patrick did was process the herbs he’d gathered.
“Heave!”
“Why are you building another hearth?”
“Because it’s hard to boil and steam all of these with the one in the kitchen.”
“What exactly are you making?”
“I’m preserving them.”
“But why boil and steam them?”
“Some herbs aren’t just dried––you have to boil them, steam them, and sometimes even roast them before storing.”
“Ooh—”
“Sir, you really seem like a wizard!”
“Well, of course I’m a real wizard. Did you think I was fake?”
Watching Patrick deftly sort the herbs, the children all rushed in to help.
“Pull off any withered leaves.”
“Yes!”
Patrick took charge, chopping the peony roots into small pieces.
‘There really weren’t many rare ones.’
Given that the forest had yielded precious mushrooms and elementals, he’d expected something more special, but most of the plants were so ordinary that an untrained eye would call them weeds. That didn’t mean they were ineffective, though.
‘They do smell strong.’
Even in their raw, unprocessed state, these peony roots were more aromatic than he remembered from his time at the Tower. If that much scent came through now, the effects after drying would be even stronger.
“Maybe it’s because the air is clean?”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Is the water boiling?”
“Yes, I think you can start adding the herbs now.”
“Good.”
The processing took nearly a week—far longer than he’d expected, thanks to the children spreading the word:
—“They say the teacher is sorting and storing herbs.”
—“Some will be made into reagents, the rest emergency medicine.”
—“We don’t have a healer on the island, so he said he’d make them just in case.”
Heaps of leaves, roots, and berries arrived as grateful villagers hurried to contribute what they could.
‘My work just exploded. Of all the lucky breaks, why did I get buried in work? I could’ve been rich, had kids, had a good life…’
Patrick grumbled as he hauled sack after sack, but most of what the villagers brought didn’t even appear in his reagent recipes.
“I’ll dry these first and sort them later.”
Even if they weren’t prime ingredients, at least they’d be usable. Every apothecary dried everything first, right? He’d spread them in the shade with good airflow, making sure no mold grew, then stowed them away for future use.
“Sir, are you here?”
“Chief?”
Early one morning, before the children arrived, the village chief appeared with his usual friendly smile.
“You’ve been busy since dawn.”
“I think I’ve finally got things under control. The sacks people bring are much smaller now.”
“I worry I’ve burdened you too much.”
He placed something on the table.
“I found this book a while ago. It seems better suited to you than to me.”
Patrick blinked at the medical text the chief handed him.
“How did you get this…?”
The chief scratched the back of his head.
“As you know, I’m just the chief of a tiny island. I worried what we’d do if someone got sick in an emergency, so I picked up a medical volume. But no matter how much I read it, I couldn’t understand it… ha.”
“Is that so?”
Patrick flipped it open and nodded as he recognized the mix of archaic language, foreign terms, and continent-spanning magical jargon.
“Right. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”
Most books here were like that. A “bestseller” for commoners would require simple clarity—and simple books sold poorly. Tomes were status symbols, not practical manuals.
‘No wonder there are no bestsellers.’
‘Books cost so much for a reason.’
He shook his head but accepted the gift.
“Thank you. But are you sure I should take this?”
“It’d just sit on my shelf unused. You’ll put it to better use.”
The chief rose, smiling.
“Make sure you eat well, sir.”
After he left, Patrick peeked into the sack the chief had also brought—and covered his mouth in delight. Inside were thick slabs of bacon and a bag stuffed with white sugar.
“I shouldn’t have accepted that sack.”
A few days later, Patrick’s eyes were sunken as he chided himself. Ever since the chief delivered the book and the sack, villagers had started dropping by his house several times a day.
—“Sir, my father’s been coughing badly at night. Could I take some of your herbs?”
—“Just a moment. I have some dried ones here… grind these up and mix twice a day. He’ll improve within three days.”
—“Oh, thank you so much!”
Before long, they treated him like a healer.
Of course, they paid him in kind: bread, fish, or even weeding his plot if they were poor.
“Maybe I should start charging money?”
He shook his head.
“No—what if someone has a bad reaction? Better this way.”
He relied on a single medical text, after all. Villagers didn’t expect miracles, but if something went wrong, no one would know where to point fingers. As long as he wasn’t charging, he remained safely blameless.
“Wow, you’ve got a conscience.”
“I do, kid. Didn’t take any money.”
“Isn’t that a strange reason? Usually people say, ‘I’m not skilled enough to charge yet.’ Sounds like you’re just avoiding responsibility.”
“That’s life wisdom for you. What do you know?”
“I don’t really want to know that.”
“Have you checked yet?”
Ben, who’d sidled up beside him, challenged him—but he wasn’t the right target.
“Not yet…”
“Tsk tsk. Good job. How long have we been at this contract, and you still don’t know your spirit’s element?”
Ben’s face fell.
“He says he doesn’t even know himself.”
“So I told him to try different tasks. Low-level spirits usually don’t know their element until they’re asked to do things. He has to discover it like I helped you find your aptitude.”
Patrick watched the boy nod, even if something sounded off.
“So today we’ll play with soil.”
“Oh, good idea. See that pit beside the field? Dig a hole there.”
“A hole? What for?”
“Everything has its purpose. About a hand’s depth.”
“All right!”
Pointing to his waist, Patrick gave instructions and Ben darted off to summon his spirit.
‘I’ve sent away the distractions. Now, let’s see. Today I’ll tie the tomato stakes… damn this field, there’s always something to do!’
His plot was now a vibrant patchwork of crops. Lettuce and other leafy greens regrew overnight like magic—so much so that he was tossing extras to the chickens.
“Cluck cluck—”
“But seeing them makes me happy.”
It hadn’t even been a month since he brought in the hens, and already he heard chicks cheeping. The eggs the hen had been sitting on had finally hatched.
“So adorable! Grow big and become a goat!”
His delight wasn’t born of reverence for life but from the hope that, once the chicks grew, he might actually afford a goat. People need hope.
“Sir, sorry to bother you when you’re busy!”
Ambling around the plot, Patrick heard an unfamiliar voice.
“Who is it? Oh—Maxim. What brings you here?”
A young man around Patrick’s age—unlike Patrick, Maxim had married earlier and was something of a success.
“I was wondering if I could get some peony root. The chief said you might have some…”
“Ah, peony root? I have some well-dried ones. Muscle aches?”
“No, it’s Mary. She’s been exhausted lately and having digestive trouble. The heat’s getting to her.”
“You must be worried. One moment.”
Patrick fetched peony root and some sage leaves from his storeroom.
“Steep the peony root and sage in tea and have her drink it.”
“Thank you, sir!”
Maxim beamed; even he could tell these looked far superior to the scraps they’d been drying themselves.
“I hope Mary recovers quickly. She’s been irritable and sleepless. I should bring her some meat from the mainland… I’ll pick up something for you while I’m out!”
“...Wait.”
“Huh?”
Patrick cut him off.
“Give it back.”
“Eh? If it’s payment, I’ll definitely—”
Maxim froze and tried to hide the herbs behind him.
“Give them to me, quickly. Those aren’t good for a pregnant woman.”
“What?”