It must have been mana depletion.
‘No matter how simple the spell, firing off that many took its toll.’
The power had been modest, but Patrick’s skill was even more so—he couldn’t blame anyone.
“Still, thanks to you we have oil, so how about frying some potato pancakes?”
The village chief—moved by Patrick throwing himself into saving the workshop despite collapsing from mana exhaustion—had gifted him an assortment of seasonings and kitchen tools. Probably what he needed most.
Ssssss—
In the kitchen, which until now had only ever echoed with the sound of boiling water, the sizzle of real cooking rang out. This was why you listened to life’s seniors.
With no grater, Patrick thinly sliced potatoes as best he could, mixed in a little flour to bind them, and fried them like fritters. From breakfast on, that savory aroma spread everywhere.
“Mister, are you staying home?”
Just as Patrick raised a pancake to his mouth, Ben appeared, sling-back bundle on his shoulders.
‘That kid really lucked into some good eating.’
Patrick smiled as he welcomed him—and sure enough, Ben sat opposite and asked, “May I have one?”
“It’s hot, so let it cool a bit before you eat.”
“Yes!”
Watching Ben, it was clear he’d polish off the entire pancake in one sitting. Small as he was, he certainly had an appetite.
“But why are you here so early?”
“Early? The sun’s overhead. Oh—this. My mom told me to bring this to you. She said thanks for yesterday.”
Ben unfolded his bundle and pulled out two bottles.
“What’s this?”
“Sake. And this is sugar. I snuck the sugar—because you said you’d need it.”
But Patrick barely noticed the sugar. For a worldly adult, a drink meant more than sugar.
Pop!
He twisted off the cap, and the crisp ring and sweet scent stung his nostrils.
“Soju?”
“Yes. Made from sweet potatoes. Traders buy it on the mainland, so it’s tasty.”
“Traders come here?”
He snapped the cap back on with surprising restraint.
“When I arrived, I heard no regular traders visited.”
“They don’t come on a set schedule.”
“But they do come?”
“Yes. The villagers gather what they want to sell, and then the traders exchange it for money. They even bring pre-ordered goods. Oh—this time a fortune-teller is coming! I heard the chief went out yesterday for that.”
Ben stowed the last pancake in his mouth and patted his belly with satisfaction.
“A fortune-teller?”
“Well, weird things have been happening a lot lately.”
“Weird things?”
“Sudden gusts of wind, boulders rolling down, flowers blooming in winter—”
“Reaaaally?”
“Yes! All in the past few months. Even yesterday’s fire was odd—it shouldn’t have happened there.”
“A bit of a stretch, no? Flames from cooking must’ve spread.”
“No, they’d already put it out before dinner.”
“…Is that so?”
“So they’re calling a fortune-teller to see if the village is cursed.”
“At least I hope they’re competent.”
Listening to Ben, Patrick agreed it did sound strange. A single freak gust or a stranded boulder could be a random event, but repeated anomalies over months? That wasn’t coincidence.
‘Usually such anomalies point to earthquakes or volcanic activity…’
That would be bad.
Patrick glanced at his own ceiling.
‘If a big quake hit, this place would collapse even if a stray cat climbed up.’
If he was to live here long, the house would need repairs eventually.
Thankfully, no earthquakes came. Over the next ten uneventful days, Patrick became a full resident of Dunbrook Village.
His reputation soared thanks to the magic he’d shown during the fire. The simplicity of a wizard from the capital who enjoyed cooking potato pancakes only boosted his likability.
He helped other villagers plow fields for proper farming, processed seafood at the workshop, and even foraged spring greens with the children. He learned the best fishing spots using the fish traps he’d been given.
“Our pantry’s looking quite full now,” the chief remarked.
Thanks to the ingredients Patrick lent a hand collecting, he now had enough variety to choose his meals.
“Mister! Mister! The fortune-teller’s arrived!”
“Is that so? Did the traders come, too?”
“Yes!”
He was about to have a late breakfast when the mainland boat—long promised—appeared.
Ben, excited to see a fortune-teller for the first time, bounced at Patrick’s side. But Patrick was thinking of a different reward.
‘How much can I sell to the traders?’
He gathered clams, top shells, and abalone over the days, following the advice of the workshop women.
‘Plenty to eat, but money’s what matters.’
Since no one could leave the island, he supposed there’d be no need for cash—but life wasn’t that simple. With fewer than a hundred households, almost everything had to be bought from the mainland. There was no smithy or cloth merchant here, so to buy a sickle for farming he’d have to take the boat. When someone went to the mainland, they’d gather neighbors’ shopping lists—and if the order was large enough, the shopkeeper might deliver the goods on the next boat.
—So you can get almost anything?
—Of course. If you have the money.
—Ah… money.
That was why Patrick had been scouring the shoreline before dawn.
“If I sell everything, maybe I can buy a few chicks?”
“You’ll raise chickens to eat?”
“I’ll invite you for dinner then.”
“Wow! You promise?”
Ben jumped with delight.
“Shall I help you build a chicken coop?”
“You know how?”
“Of course! My dad and I built our goat pen—this is easy!”
Chattering with Ben, Patrick reached the workshop area—only to find no traders in sight. Instead, a young woman in a black robe stood sprinkling white powder, flanked by burly assistants who murmured strange chants.
“What are they doing?”
“Oh, they’re checking if our island is cursed, sir.”
The chief answered with a serious face.
“Do you actually think there’s a curse?”
“Not really. But so many odd things have happened that the villagers are uneasy. They just want assurance nothing’s wrong.”
Patrick nodded.
‘Feels like a con.’
To a modern eye, the fortune-teller was exactly the stereotypical charlatan: powder, bizarre chants, heavy makeup, long nails, flailing at the air. No doubt a scam.
“What—what do you see?”
“Ha! Don’t scare me!”
Yet “stereotypical” meant people were easily swayed. Many villagers looked on anxiously, exchanging nervous glances.
“Something foul has appeared—something foul indeed!”
At that, the woman quickened her pace and lunged toward Patrick.
“Eeek!”
Startled, he half-shrieked and took a step back—but her target wasn’t him.
“Ow, ow, stop! It hurts! Let me go!”
“What a dreadful odor you exude! Out, foul thing, out of this child!”
Cough, cough!
She grabbed Ben’s wrist—Ben had been watching by Patrick’s side—and began flinging strange powder over the struggling child’s head.
“Ben! Ben!”
“I’m administering a cure—stand back!”
“Lord Eron has detected an evil presence in this child—interfere and you’ll bring greater misfortune!”
Ben’s parents tried to rush forward, but the fortune-teller’s assistants held them back.
“A cure? Evil presence?”
“Ben was near every spot where odd events occurred, wasn’t he?”
“Um…”
While Ben knelt, gagging on powder, the fortune-teller addressed the chief.
“This child was present at every bizarre incident on the island, correct?”
“…Well, yes.”
At her words the villagers murmured among themselves.
“The whirlwind struck where the kids played!”
“And the rolling boulder came from behind the distillery.”
“Goodness! And that winter bloom happened right after Ben finished building a snowman!”
As the villagers spoke, the fortune-teller produced a small crystal orb from her robe.
“You there, come closer!”
“I—I don’t know anything!”
“Place your hand here, quickly!”
“No! I won’t! I’m scared… Mama! Papa! Mister, help!”
Ben cried for help, but the villagers stood frozen. The fortune-teller pressed Ben’s hand onto the orb.
Whiiiish—
Inside, black smoke swirled until the orb looked pitch-black.
“Hmph. An especially vile presence indeed!”
“What? Fortune-teller! What will happen to my child?”
“P-please save him, fortune-teller!”
Ben’s parents fell prostrate, begging her.
“This is bothersome. I took this case thinking it’d be simple. Ugh!”
“Please, we’ll pay whatever fee you ask!”
“Tsk. First we must save the child.”
“Yes!”
The fortune-teller sighed as though burdened by an unwanted task.
“And the fee—”
“We’ll discuss compensation once I succeed.”
“Th-thank you!”
While Ben’s father bowed repeatedly, her assistants grabbed the boy and began leading him toward their boat.
At that, Patrick stepped forward, blocking the path with a crooked smile.
“Hasn’t your act been the same for over ten years?”