Lingering Acceptance

Time crawled by.

We had managed to keep the same pace and routine for the past six days.

For five days, the weather was consistently clear. Shooting stars occasionally glided through the dark night sky, and during the day, only a few clouds had grazed the endless blue, a soft draft trailing below.

But today, unrelenting rain drenched the carts, slowing our pace as the creatures wound carefully around puddles along the muddy road.

The villagers’ grief had faded.

Mumbles and chatter grew more frequent as people sought distractions from their grief and boredom.

But no one ever tried to address me.

People still kept their distance, but the soldier continued to provide me with water at every meal.

His expression hadn’t changed since the first day.

He clearly still loathed my presence, though he forced it down, his face occasionally slipping.

The carriages stopped twice a day, once during lunch to take care of necessities and tend to the creatures, and once in the evening, just as last time, for dinner and to sleep.

Each time, I strayed from the pack. There was no need to try to fit in by now. Their animosity was clear, though I was unsure of its cause.

I was mentally weak, my sorrows overwhelming me at times.

My body trembled as loud, unsettling rattles echoed from the forest, immersing me in dread as I recalled the creature we fought.

Even now, the rain made me fearful of the fog’s return.

The two tragedies haunted me, an ache sharp and unrelenting.

I was hollow.

Nonetheless, I couldn’t be hung up on it forever. For me to accomplish what I set out to do, I had to accept what happened.

The guilt would never fade, and I couldn’t forgive myself. But if I let it hold me back, someone else might die again.

I had to move forward, no matter how impossible it felt.

I also took the time to resume writing in my notebook.

I had too much on my mind to think about it earlier, but that wasn’t the only reason that deterred me from writing.

Just the thought of it brought back the warmth of the campfire, the scent of the burning wood, the flickering of the fire, its embers dancing in the cold night breeze.

But most importantly, that bright smile I missed so much. That curious head tilt, those confused expressions, the blush of her cheeks.

I missed it all so much.

I cried.

Writing was a way to reminisce about those moments.

The pain was unbearable, but I had to overcome it.

Those memories shouldn’t pain me but give me the strength to move on.

I was happy I got to experience them.

Even though it all felt so uncomfortably recent, I wrote everything I knew about both the quilled beast and the fog.

It wasn’t much.

It was all based on a single encounter with them, but it was still valuable information to remember if I ran into them again.

Aside from that, I updated a mana understanding diagram I wrote at the beginning of the notebook and scribbled some of the words I already understood in their language.

My wounds seemed almost fully healed. The sporadic stings ceased, leaving only a minor discomfort to linger.

Moving my leg muscles wasn’t hurting me anymore, and I could walk with no pain at all.

Nonetheless, I didn’t want to risk exerting too much force on my right leg yet.

The forest outside slowly thinned, shadows loosening into wandering light. Trees gave way to open stretches where grass took hold, and the woods drifted into meadow.

The rising terrain forced more frequent, sharper turns, making navigation harder.

This vibrant landscape felt like a breath of fresh air.

Aside from the prairie in the beginning, this forest was the only thing I saw for a month and a half after being reincarnated in this world.

On sunny days, the scenery was dominated by colourful flowers that stretched across the numerous rolling hills and hillocks.

The mild breeze dragged petals through the sky, creating stunningly vibrant images.

The steady hooves of the rolling carriages, the crunch of the gravel and clumps of dirt beneath the wheels, the creaking of the wooden boards, and the clatter of the packed provisions brought sound to the stillness around us.

The less dense surroundings meant lower mana in the air, but I spent my time meditating regardless.

It not only helped me to improve my control and concentration but also led to further comprehension of the complexity of this strange energy.

After hours of focusing on the mana inside and outside me, it looked like its intensity continued to grow, though slowly.

I could now draw more energy from the other passengers’ mana pool and gather denser clumps around myself.

As I experimented, I realised I could do more than shift the flow. I could even suppress my own output, if only slightly.

That way I could hold on to more of it inside me.

With enough focus, I could compress the mana into smaller, denser spaces, making it appear weaker than it was.

I wasn’t sure if it had any practical use worth the challenge of maintaining the state of suppression just yet.

Perhaps using this technique, I could conceal my distinct mana pattern, the constant characteristic fluctuations of mana I unknowingly gave off. Or even the amount of inner mana I possessed.

This might be useful if anyone could recognise my mana pattern or, more importantly, if I wanted to hide just how much mana I really had.

Still, I had no proof it would work. At least not yet.

The decrease in mana density impacted the local fauna as well.

The tall grasses were home to several different species.

Small creatures lurked within them, making them difficult to spot, visible only by faint rustles in the fields. But the most noticeable change was the presence of small insects.

As I suspected, the creatures were also likely influenced by the density of mana, forcing smaller insects with lower levels of mana to live outside the forest.

Creatures similar to mosquitoes and flies hovered over the carriages, attracted by the smell of food or the sweaty stench of days without washing.

Because of the rougher weather conditions today, the soldiers decided we should eat inside the carts.

As a result, there was no way of preparing food since no fire could be lit, so they gave out biscuits similar to the ones the Old Man had given me.

The rain drummed at the roof of the wagon and splashed on puddles on the ground.

The ever-changing melody silenced the usually loud shrieks of the wood.

Water seeped through gaps in the ceiling. Each droplet tapped inside the carriage, resonating in a soft patter, like a lullaby.

A drastic contrast with the heavy thuds of the rain outside.

The wind wheezed and hissed, a sharp coldness penetrating my body.

I shivered, tugging on the insides of the warm fur blanket.

I listened to the passengers' conversations, lost in the midst of the cacophony. Their voices, barely audible, felt so close yet so far.

People I didn’t know, a language I couldn’t speak, and a loneliness that the rain only deepened. And yet, I wasn’t bothered by it.

I had been used to this feeling for a long time. It felt normal.

I had only recently discovered the lovely embrace of feeling accepted and needed.

Now that everything was gone, I went back to my normal life.

This was what I had always known.

So why did it feel so wrong now?

My thoughts nibbled on me while I ate, each bite making my discomfort more evident.

Why couldn’t I go back?

Either to times when being alone felt right or to times when the affection from people genuinely touched me, their feelings enveloping me whole.

The wagons resumed their way.

Hours went by.

I continued to work on my mana handling as the outside grew darker.

The sun was likely setting, but the clouds hid its beauty from my gaze.

In a few moments, the carriages would likely stop for the day, or so I thought.

My stomach grumbled.

Regardless of the time, the wagons kept moving.

Usually, at this hour, we would have stopped by now.

Were we nearing something?

It was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with.

If we were fleeing from something, the soldiers wouldn't be so calm, and the weather hadn’t changed since morning, yet we still stopped for lunch.

There was no other reason for us to continue, other than the fact that we were reaching a destination of sorts.

Craning my head outside the carriage, I attempted to spot something different, but it was too dim for me to see anything at all.

Then, my hair already soaked by the rain, the jagged remnants of a stone wall emerged, fractured and overgrown.

It didn’t look defensive, more like an old barrier collapsed by time or ruined by war.

The whole scene came into sight as the road took a sharp turn.

Beyond the wall, the vague silhouettes of houses flickered into view, enveloped by streaks of rain and the darkness of the night.

It was definitely another town.

We had finally arrived somewhere.

[See the Showcase Section for the protagonist’s Notebook page from this chapter]