The old village chief quickly turned around at the sound and saw over a dozen people emerging from the direction of the forest.
Leading them was a plain-looking youth around seventeen or eighteen years old—wasn’t that his own son?
The worry in his heart was finally put to rest in that moment.
The chief felt his legs go weak; if it hadn’t been for a quick-handed villager behind him catching him, he probably would’ve collapsed on the spot.
Though the young men bore some bruises from being beaten and looked dirty and disheveled, their spirits were still high, and none of them seemed seriously harmed.
“Father!”
Nuohette rushed over upon seeing the village chief and helped steady him.
But just as the old chief was about to cry from relief, he raised his cane and struck Nuohette on the back several times, shouting angrily.
“You! What should I even say to you?!”
Faced with the cane strikes, which seemed angry but were truly filled with worry and love, Nuohette didn’t dodge.
Though the blows hurt, occasionally hitting already bruised areas and making him suck in sharp breaths, he endured the beating.
But the chief was old after all, and after a few swings, his strikes lost their strength.
“Father, I know I was wrong.”
Seeing that his father was too tired to continue, Nuohette lowered his head and admitted his mistake.
The chief looked at him, sighed deeply, and finally put down his cane.
He knew Nuohette hadn’t gone after the “miracle” purely out of greed—he wanted to improve life for the village.
But some treasures, even if you have the luck to find them, are cursed if you try to keep them.
His son was still too young to understand this kind of truth.
Back in the day, his two older sons insisted on joining the army, saying that fighting monsters on the frontier brought good pay and rewards.
Both ended up dying to monsters’ claws.
Now, Nuohette was all he had left.
If anything were to happen to him, he and his wife, in their old age, would have nothing left to live for.
Even so, what made the chief angriest wasn’t just concern for his own son—but that Nuohette had dragged other people’s sons into danger too.
If something had happened to those young men, how could he face the rest of the village?
There weren’t many people in the village to begin with.
Nuohette and the others basically made up the entire younger generation—the village’s future labor force.
If they were all lost, the village would be done for.
This thought made the chief even more grateful to Lanafit.
“If it weren’t for the kind-hearted magician who came to our village, you’d all still be stuck in those soldiers’ cells! And who knows what else…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He was afraid of what might have happened.
If the imperial soldiers failed to find the Holy Sword, then the ones suspected of hiding the “miracle” would’ve been these young men.
That meant a future of endless imprisonment and brutal torture.
Even if the higher-ups forgot about them, they’d still rot in prison until death.
And that’s the better outcome.
If they couldn’t endure the torture and were forced to confess to stealing the “miracle,” things would’ve ended far worse.
They’d be punished for a crime that didn’t even make sense—and without being able to produce the “stolen” item, they would’ve only met torture and death.
As for Stat Village itself, it would be caught in the suspicion and likely be destroyed.
That these young men came back safely—well, in a way, that was a miracle.
But hearing the chief’s gratitude toward Lanafit, Nuohette looked confused.
“Father, what magician? We were saved by divine punishment from the Goddess.”
In Nuohette’s understanding, it was the lightning from the sky that had saved them.
It scared the knights’ leader into backing down.
Without it, they might’ve died right there.
At the time, they were shocked too—but later, they felt that the lightning was both punishment for the disrespectful knights and mercy for them.
Why else would it break only the knight’s whip and do nothing else?
The chief was stunned by Nuohette’s words, not knowing what he meant.
Then he suddenly recalled how vague Lanafit had been when explaining the forest events.
He asked urgently:
“Divine punishment? What divine punishment? Tell me everything! No—start from three days ago, from when you first went into the forest looking for the ‘miracle.’ I want to hear everything.”
Nuohette was, after all, a respectful son.
Though he had once been blinded by the wealth the “miracle” might bring, now that he’d come to his senses, he no longer defied his father.
He told him everything.
From the first day they arrived at the site of the “miracle” and found nothing, to today’s false accusations from a neighboring village that landed them in jail.
Then, the forced attempt to extract the Holy Sword from the stone, which led to divine punishment and ultimately saved them all—he hid nothing.
After finishing his account, Nuohette finally asked:
“Father, who is this magician you mentioned? Don’t tell me you were tricked.”
“A young female magician came to our village today.
She said she came to see where the ‘miracle’ descended, but was robbed on the road and had her belongings stolen.
So, after arriving in our village, she wanted to find a job to earn travel money.
She came to me directly, and just happened to hear about what happened to you—so she accepted the task to go into the forest and rescue you.
And then…”
The chief was explaining how Lanafit came to the village, but midway through his sentence, his eyes suddenly widened and he stopped speaking.
Hearing this, Nuohette’s expression turned angry and anxious.
“What? Father, that person definitely tricked you! The one who saved us was the Goddess herself! How could it possibly be some magician with an unknown background? Where is she now? I’m going to find her and get our money back!”
He didn’t yet know that Lanafit was already staying in their house.
He assumed she had taken the money and run off.
And it wasn’t just him—the surrounding villagers also began to murmur and speculate.
Only the old chief wore a deeply uneasy expression.
“Wait!”
The chief stopped Nuohette abruptly and suddenly asked a strange question.
“Tell me… what month and year is it right now?”
“Huh?” Nuohette froze, looking at his father in disbelief.
But he still answered.
“February, Year 3500 of the Descent Calendar.”
Upon hearing that, the chief began muttering the date over and over to himself, as if he were entranced or possessed.
This confused Nuohette.
He shook his father’s shoulders, trying to snap him out of it.
“Father? Father?! What’s wrong with you?”
“…It’s nothing.”
The chief finally came back to his senses, though he seemed a bit dazed.
He shook his head and gave a vague reply.
“But Father, haven’t you always been the one with the clearest memory when it comes to dates and years? What’s going on with you today?”
But the old chief just looked off toward the village, his expression complicated, and let out a long sigh.
“…It’s nothing. I guess I’m just getting old and muddle-headed.”