Every joint in his body screamed, but he couldn’t stay lying down any longer.
‘There’s so much to do…!’
He still had to finish pulling the weeds in the field, and he needed to start getting seedlings soon.
If he didn’t go down to the village and greet the residents before long, they’d surely call him rude.
“Ugh―”
With a laborious groan, he hauled himself up and shoved a sweet potato—plenty boiled last night—into his mouth.
“I’ve eaten this three meals in a row and I’m sick of it.”
Sweet potatoes really called for kimchi, though.
‘That’s too far to go.’
Cabbage, chili peppers, salted fish, salt, pear and radish for sweetness…
Just thinking about it, making kimchi would take more work than he could imagine.
‘But I’m doing it this fall no matter what!’
Not out of some innate Korean soul that couldn’t be exorcised, but for practical reasons.
‘I refuse to eat boiled potatoes all winter.’
And he definitely wasn’t about to survive on nothing but fermented vegetables salted in brine.
It only took Patrick two days to realize that that idyllic rural life existed only on TV.
The village was a good twenty-minute walk from Patrick’s house.
He crested the hill, and in the bright sunlight dozens of homes clustered below came into view.
‘I thought “small village” meant ten households, but it’s more than that.’
Quaint little houses huddled together.
“Hello, Mister! Wizard Mister!”
As he reached the village entrance—wondering how to introduce himself—a helpful figure came running toward him.
It was Ben.
“Hey, little one!”
“Ben!”
“That’s right, Ben! Why didn’t you eat sweet potato yesterday and just leave?”
“Oh, I thought you were really only giving out sweet potatoes.”
“…There were potatoes, too.”
“I had sausage for lunch yesterday.”
“Is that so.”
Patrick felt genuine jealousy at a child proudly sticking out his belly.
‘I don’t even remember the last time I ate meat. Hmph.’
Just yesterday he’d been thrilled by a handful of sweet potatoes he’d found while weeding, but the human heart is fickle.
“You here to greet the villagers?”
“You’re sharper than I thought. Do you know where the chief’s house is?”
“Of course. But the chief went to the mainland early this morning.”
“Oh, really? Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No. Who tells kids that sort of thing?”
Ben shrugged.
‘This kid is surprisingly grown-up.’
Are all the children here this mature?
“Well, you made it this far—want to go see the processing workshop?”
“Processing workshop?”
“Today’s the day they clean the fish.”
Patrick’s eyes lit up at Ben’s words. He’d caught the scent of protein.
“Fish? Let’s go!”
Ben said the workshop was near the seaside. Naturally, if they were cleaning and processing fish, that was where it’d be.
“Ben, is this the wizard that man mentioned yesterday?”
“Yes! He wanted to see the workshop, so I’m guiding him!”
“I want to go, too!”
“Me, too!”
On the way from the village entrance to the workshop, one child, then two, then some seven children had joined them, surrounding him.
“Mister! Show me magic, please!”
“Me too!”
“Can you fly in the sky?”
“I can’t. That’s a really difficult spell.”
“Wow! If you learn it, you can do it? Amazing!”
“I said I can’t.”
The children chattered endlessly. Ben puffed up among the village kids.
“Mister can make a water ball!”
“Water ball? I want to see!”
Surrounded by bright, eager eyes, Patrick finally spoke the incantation.
“Water Ball!”
Whoosh—
“Whoaaa!”
“Woooaaah!”
The children burst into delighted exclamations, raising their hands overhead and circling around him.
“He really is a wizard!”
“It’s real, it’s real!”
Feeling unexpectedly proud, Patrick strode on with growing confidence.
‘This is nostalgic. At the Tower I was just doing chores, never treated like a wizard.’
Even a first-circle spell lacking in power or practicality delighted these children so.
“Grandma! The wizard’s here to say hello!”
After showing Water Ball several times, they arrived at the workshop. Ben darted ahead and clung to the back of the grandmother who was working there.
“Wizard, hmph. You look like you’re feeling better.”
“Oh? Were you the one who came when I collapsed…?”
“I heard the noise, I guess.”
“Thank you so much for that!”
The voice was familiar—it was the grandmother who’d come with the chief and left before he even opened his eyes.
“But even if you ate whole top shells, a young man shouldn’t faint like that. Weak as a kitten?”
She clicked her tongue and shook her head as she circled him.
“No muscle on your limbs, face as pale as someone who’s never seen sunlight. Tsk tsk. Dark circles under your eyes, too…”
“Oh, ma’am! He’s a wizard from the capital. Where would he have time to train his body?”
“You say so?”
“Ha ha, ha ha…”
At her words, the younger workers standing by began telling her about the wizard, but Patrick could only manage an awkward smile.
“But now there’s no Tower, no research or anything—how can you be so frail?”
“I’m going to try farming. If I tend the land every day, maybe I’ll build up some strength? Ha ha.”
“Farming’s not for everyone. Do you even have seedlings or seeds?”
“Well…”
“Goodness, ma’am. Exiles arrive empty-handed. You need something to buy seedlings!”
“Then what do I do?”
“…”
Patrick’s spirits sank, and he sniffled. The grandmother pointed with her hand.
“See the blue-door house over there? Next to it is a field.”
“That… yes! That one?”
“Right. Plow that field, young man.”
“Huh?”
“See the shed next to it? Rakes, shovels, everything’s there. Clear the brush first. If there are weeds, pull them. Then turn the soil with a hoe.”
He’d come to greet them and ended up with unpaid labor on his hands. His head spun.
‘I thought this was an island village of kind people. Now I’m just an unpaid farmhand?’
He wanted to protest, but the exile conditions bound him to this island for life. He hesitated, unable to act.
“When you’re done plowing and it’s mealtime, come back here. We don’t have much, but fish is plentiful. Grilling a few for you is no trouble.”
“R-really?”
“When it’s time, we’ll ring the bell. You come on back.”
“Yes, yes! Thank you, ma’am! Thank you!”
Any complaints vanished in an instant. He bowed repeatedly at the mention of fish dried by the sea breeze.
‘If I work well, maybe they’ll give me extra fish? Three a day means one each meal…’
Unaware of it, he felt a small happiness and satisfaction.
“Ben, you go help too.”
“Me? Help?”
“If you don’t know how to detoxify top shells and you get bitten by a snake while plowing, what then?”
The grandmother clicked her tongue at how absurd it was, and Patrick’s face burned red. He bowed and headed for the shed to grab some tools.
“But Ben, is that field Grandma’s?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh? Well…”
He reminded himself that though Ben sometimes spoke like an adult, he was still a child and couldn’t know everything.
Arriving at the field, he said, “This one has fewer weeds.”
“It’s because this field isn’t neglected like yours.”
“Right, right. Heave-ho! Can I leave the brush piled anywhere?”
“If you pile it to one side, they’ll use it for kindling.”
He cleared away the dry brush to reveal what looked like proper tilled earth, unlike his own plot.
“It still has weeds, though.”
Compared to his knee-high, up-to-his-waist jungle, these were just small green sprouts.
“I’ll pull them out quickly…”
“Wait! These are edible!”
“Huh?”
“You don’t know about this? When food is scarce, you can’t just pull things willy-nilly.”
“…Sorry.”
He reached to pull a weed as he had yesterday, but Ben stopped him.
“This is nettle, didn’t you know?”
“Nettle?”
“If you chop it up, mix it with eggs, and bake it in a pie, it’s really tasty.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Then do you know evening primrose root?”
“What’s that?”
“What do you even know?”
“…You’re good at magic.”
“Oh!”
Though his answer was evasive, Ben lit up and began explaining as they walked.
“This is evening primrose—roast the root or make pickles. This is dandelion—eat the leaves. There’s chives, too. You can sauté these wild greens into a salad, but my mom makes frittata or pesto to spread on bread.”
Listening to Ben, Patrick realized something.
‘People’s lives are the same everywhere—they eat wild greens here, too.’
He peered at the ground and recognized familiar plants.
“Oh? This is mugwort? And shepherd’s purse!”
He wasn’t an expert on spring greens, but he knew mugwort, shepherd’s purse, and garlic chives—common on cooking shows and featured by YouTubers showcasing rural life.
“Maybe I’ll make mugwort cakes. I have flour, so I just need sugar…”
“You’re actually going to eat that?”
“Huh?”
“This is burned leaves for insect repellent.”
“It tastes good, though.”
“Really?”
Ben’s face betrayed no attempt to hide his doubt, and Patrick grinned.
“It’s a state of mind. We have work today, so tomorrow after lunch bring your friends. I’ll make snacks.”
“Wow! Really? But do you have sugar? You said you needed sugar.”
“That’s true…”
“Shall I bring some?”
“Really?”
“If I take too much, Mom will notice, but a little should be fine.”
“Sure, just a bit.”
Even as he spoke, Patrick felt a twinge of self-deprecation.
They spent hours pulling weeds, stacking edible plants to one side. By the time the bell rang, the small field was tidy.
Ding— ding— ding—
“I can finish plowing after lunch.”
He straightened up; despite the chill in the air, sweat dripped down his back.
Back at the workshop, Patrick couldn’t take his eyes off the hearth, swallowing his saliva repeatedly.
Thick fish the size of forearms sizzling on the fire, a soup brimming with shellfish, and pasta tossed with wild greens.
“You there, young man, did you pick those wild greens?”
“Huh? Oh! Yes!”
“Ben’s as sharp-eyed as any adult. Heh heh.”
The grandmother, who’d put him to work without warning, approached and spoke.