Chapter 7
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Now I'm a Villager Too - 4
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“Sylvia, think about it again. How’s a house supposed to run without a man around? I’ll protect you.”
“Enough! Mr. Garom. And I’d prefer you not meddle in my family’s affairs anymore. We already have a proper breadwinner.”
“That outsider? He’s just a hunter anyway. You never know when he might meet a gruesome end. Why not live safely with me, the mill owner?”
“Sian is Ian’s proud son. He’s not the type to die out there somewhere.”
The name Sylvia dropped made Garom’s stomach churn.
Ian.
Garom despised him. His handsome face, his outstanding skills, even the fact that this outsider was popular with the village girls and elders—it all made Garom hate Ian for turning him into a pathetic fool. And the same went for his son, Sian. If he could, Garom wished they’d both vanish from the village.
But no matter how he felt, Garom couldn’t openly antagonize Ian or Sian. Ian was built like a knight who wielded a noble’s sword, with the skills and stamina of a seasoned hunter. And his son Sian took it even further. He was a head taller than Ian, and his strength was something else—hauling the corpse of a massive war bear like it was nothing left your jaw on the floor. Watching him work endlessly made you question if he was even human.
It wasn’t for nothing that Ian, who had everything except family lineage, boasted about his son Sian whenever he visited the village, or that the village chief looked upon him so favorably.
And what about Garom in front of the likes of Ian and Sian?
Just a pathetic cripple.
That’s why Garom wanted Sylvia, the village’s greatest beauty, all the more.
It felt like that would fill the void of being a man.
Last time, he’d lost out to the previous village chief’s son, but not this time. Now that she was a widow, he could claim her.
“Just trust me and follow me, and I’ll—”
“Kyaa!”
“That’s enough.”
Just as Garom, blinded by jealousy, tried to yank Sylvia toward him.
Someone grabbed his collar and shoved him away.
“Who the hell are you!”
“Back off and stay away from my mother-in-law.”
It was Sian, and looking up at him glaring down, Garom was speechless.
Unlike his own crippled self, he had no courage to stand up to someone who seemed the picture of manly perfection.
He wouldn’t have pulled this crap in the first place if he did.
“Y-You’ll regret this!”
Garom fled on his limping leg. Sian ignored the fool and turned to Sylvia.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. And thank you.”
Sylvia, who had collapsed from Garom’s sudden outburst, took Sian’s hand and stood.
His thick, large hand exuded a raw masculinity unlike any ordinary man’s. Sylvia felt it anew.
So this is the hand that embraced Chloe.
“Sylvia?”
“Hm?”
“You’re really okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s not the first time he’s acted like that.”
“Not the first time, huh.”
Sian’s expression darkened at her response.
It was more like the wary grimace you’d make at an enemy.
“I’ll go warn him. If he approaches you again, he won’t be forgiven.”
“You don’t need to do that, Sian.”
“But it’s hard on you, Sylvia.”
“Even so, he’s the mill owner. He’s got influence in the village.”
“The mill owner?”
Sian looked puzzled at her words.
As if a mill was such a big deal.
“I get why you’re worried, Sylvia. But you’re important to me.”
“Eh?”
“You’re my wife’s mother—practically family now. I’ll protect you, so don’t worry. Just trust me and wait.”
“......”
The words were similar to Garom’s, but the feeling they evoked was worlds apart.
Perhaps because she’d lived so long without a husband, Sylvia felt the burden on her shoulders lighten at Sian’s promise to protect her.
“Alright. I’ll trust you then, Sian.”
Seeing Sian reminded her of Ian, and Sylvia smiled—a genuine, relaxed smile she hadn’t shown in ages.
...
The mill.
A place where grain is ground into flour. Think watermill, and you’re on the right track.
But the village’s mill actually used a windmill, and due to years of neglect, it was in poor shape.
It hasn’t been maintained properly.
The villagers hadn’t built it in the first place. The lord hired a specialist to construct it, handed responsibility to the village chief, and the chief picked someone from the village to manage it.
That Garom—or whatever his name is—got the job because he’s a cripple. Pity appointment, probably.
A man in the countryside needs strong legs.
Not for bedroom antics, but because most labor relies on them.
You can work with weak arms, but weak legs? Not so much.
Times vary, but in an agrarian village, that’s how it was. A pity handout. Yet the guy takes the handout and struts around like he owns the place.
Is this a promising sprout?
If the body’s crippled, so’s the mind.
“That’s why we need to build a watermill, Tom.”
“What? A watermill?”
Tom eyed me suspiciously when I showed up out of the blue.
“What’re you scheming to make this old man do now?”
“Something to benefit the village.”
At the mention of benefiting the village, Tom perked up with eager questions.
“Watermill, you said? First off, what is that?”
“For the mill. The mill.”
“Oh, that?”
Tom looked puzzled.
“We already have one. Why build another?”
“Yeah. The current one’s outdated—could break any day, and it’s faulty enough that someone nearly got hurt, right?”
“True. Neighbor’s kid almost did last time. Anyway, a new one sounds good. But I don’t know how to make one.”
Building a mill wasn’t simple.
That’s why the lord brought in a specialist.
Having a finished product doesn’t mean you can replicate it—that’s a different skill set.
But who am I? A reincarnator with modern knowledge.
“What I have in mind is simpler.”
“How so?”
“One powered by water.”
“Water?”
The village mill was a wind-powered windmill. Wind-dependent, so not usable every day.
The breezes here were mild anyway, making the mill weak and limiting its use.
But a watermill wouldn’t have that issue.
The river from the Titan Mountains was strong—never weak.
“Hmm… If you say so, it must be solid.”
“Thanks for trusting me.”
“Good. Let’s do it. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t charge usage fees for that watermill.”
I was shocked by Tom’s words.
I expected talk of profit from the mill, but this showed his love for the village ran deeper than I thought.
“Can’t do it for free—gotta maintain it. But I’ll keep it cheap.”
“Ahem, how cheap?”
“Two percent of the grain processed. Sound good?”
“Two percent? Perfect.”
Tom agreed, and we spent the next while bustling to build the watermill.
“Blackwood for the mill’s timbers?”
“Yes. It’s common in the Dark Forest, so it might seem underrated, but it’s great material.”
Blackwood was like bamboo or licorice on Earth—a natural wonder.
Strong durability, plus its sap acted like natural rubber; peel the bark, and it’s waterproof.
“You know how hard it is to process? Not like just stacking it for a barrier last time—that’s worlds apart.”
“I know. That’s why I brought this.”
“What’s that?”
“War bear claws.”
“War—war bear? This many?”
Tom marveled at each claw.
I’d selected only the best from the front paws, and as a blacksmith, he inspected their quality one by one.
“Didn’t you sell all your previous ones?”
“Hunted more recently. With winter coming, they’re everywhere in the forest.”
“I knew you were impressive, but this? You’d have made it big as an adventurer.”
“Don’t flatter me. I’m not leaving this village.”
Unless Chloe asked, maybe.
I had no plans to leave. Too much hassle.
“Not flattery—genuine admiration. Anyway, make saws and planes from these?”
“You know me well now.”
“We’ve worked together more than once or twice.”
Tom chuckled, and I laughed too.
Work’s best with like-minded folks.
With the tools Tom made, we processed the blackwood.
Fun fact I learned: carve too deep, and it weakens inside as trapped water leaks out.
Under a century by the rings, and it loses base durability and waterproofing.
Weird. Fantasy world, alright.
“Done.”
“Looks decent enough.”
“Yeah.”