Weeding the Field (1)
Whether it was a side effect of the soul swap, ‘OLD’ Patrick’s memories didn’t surface unless he concentrated hard. ‘Is it because I think of them as someone else’s memories?’ That was why, even though everyone kept calling him “the wizard gentleman,” he had never once thought to use magic.
“Let’s see… what spells can I actually use…”
As if typing keywords into a search bar, he focused on the thought, and only then did a few things coalesce in his mind. ‘Not much here.’ He had only just reached the 2nd Circle—a complete beginner. Even if he registered at the adventurers’ guild, he would be treated more like a handy technician than a proper wizard. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint the child whose eyes were sparkling with anticipation right in front of him.
“All right, watch closely. This is what a wizard does! Waterball!”
With a line straight out of a middle-schooler’s chuunibyou phase, he shouted the short activation word. A sphere of water the size of a soccer ball dropped onto the grass. Shwaaa! The moment it touched the ground, droplets sprayed in every direction.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoaaaa!”
Ben stared at the water that had appeared from empty air and could only keep repeating “whoa, whoa!” while hopping in place.
“Mister! Do it again, please? Again! It’s so cool! I’ve never seen a real wizard before!”
“What’s the big deal about something this small? Hmph.”
In truth, Patrick was a little surprised himself. ‘Whoa, damn.’ That was actual magic. Even if its power and utility were limited, real water had just manifested before his eyes—how could he not be amazed?
“Mister, Mister! Can’t you just pull the weeds with magic too?”
The floating feeling vanished in an instant. At Ben’s words, Patrick crashed back to reality.
“I wish I could.”
“Huh?”
“There’s no weed-pulling spell.”
“……”
“Magic isn’t all-powerful.”
Back at the tower, Patrick had never been considered a particularly promising talent. He must have had some aptitude, but so did every other child who had entered the tower at a young age. What mattered was whether a master took notice of you or not.
— Master! My family sent these mana stones. Father said he hopes they’ll aid your research.
— How about spending the summer training at our territory? It’s in the north, so it stays quite cool even in summer.
— The vice-tower lord really picked a good disciple. Did you hear the trading company donated to the tower this time? The amount was apparently…
Being a wizard was an expensive profession. Whether it was for research or experiments, you needed mana stones, monster byproducts, and rare minerals. There was a reason people called wizards “money-eating ghosts.”
‘Who can I even blame? Sigh.’
This was exactly why wizards had no choice but to favor wealthy disciples. Of course, a wizard’s own market value was enormous—that much was common knowledge. But—
— Did you hear about Lord Loropian?
— You mean the one-year contract with Derek Trading Company? What about it?
— He got a huge salary, didn’t he?
— While he was gone, Lord Maximus broke through the 4th Circle wall!
— What? Weren’t those two rivals?
— They’re not rivals anymore. Lord Maximus is a High-Circle Wizard now, no matter how you look at it! And this is a secret, but… shh! Even Lord Loropian—rumor has it his circle shrank a little while he was working for the company.
— Good heavens. Well, he probably didn’t have any time to study.
Stories like that floated around the tower constantly. If a wizard wanted to earn money, they had to leave the tower and sign contracts with clients. During those contract periods, clients tried to squeeze every last drop of value out of them, so time for training or research shrank exponentially. Circles weren’t immutable. Without constant maintenance they could shrink—or even shatter. Meanwhile, the rival who stayed behind at the tower kept growing stronger through research and training. Money and growth. For wizards, securing both at once was nearly impossible. That was why so many of them became obsessed with finding rich disciples. It was a structural problem.
There was a reason orphan Patrick had always been stuck doing odd jobs. Naturally, he had never learned anything beyond the basic spells taught at the tower. The only reason he had managed to stay until he was twenty was because the tower at least provided food and a place to sleep. Too timid for mercenary work, he had chosen to settle for what little security he had.
“I can’t go into the details—it’s adult stuff—but this is pretty much all the magic I know.”
“That’s okay.”
The tiny child patted Patrick’s shoulder with his small hands in clumsy consolation.
“I’m not very good at climbing trees either.”
“Huh?”
“But I’m the best in the village at remembering herb names. It’s the same as you being really good at making water orbs even if you can’t do a weed-pulling spell.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means cheer up.”
Ben’s oddly mature remark made Patrick burst out laughing.
“Yeah. I should cheer up. Hup! I won’t finish today, but if I keep pulling, one day it’ll all be gone, right?”
“I’ll help!”
“Thanks.”
Yeah. Life was never that easy. ‘Just talking for a bit and my head already feels clearer.’ Thinking back, ever since he had opened his eyes in this new body and new world, it had been one extreme situation after another—prison, trial, exile, then fainting from paralysis. Maybe he had been too tense all this time.
Even though his hands ached from yanking at the tough weeds, he felt as if the fog in his head was slowly lifting. ‘So this is why people say simple labor is the best when your mind is cluttered.’
The weeds came up easily with each tug. A cool breeze blew in occasionally. Beside him, the child hummed while wrestling with a weed almost as big as himself.
“By the way, kid.”
“It’s Ben.”
“Right, Ben. Did you eat breakfast before coming?”
“Of course. I complain every day because it’s always fish, though.”
“Fish?”
“Yeah. My dad’s really good at catching them.”
“Your father’s a fisherman?”
“No? He makes alcohol.”
“Huh?”
“What?”
“……Never mind.”
So the little island had a brewery too. ‘I should probably take a look around the village sometime.’
Just as he made up his mind, Ben shouted.
“Oh? Sweet potatoes!”
When Ben yanked on the withered stem with all his might, five sweet potatoes came tumbling out of the ground.
“Whoa! What is this—actual sweet potatoes?”
“Maybe they got blown over from the sweet potato field down there?”
At the sight of the purple sweet potatoes peeking out from between the weeds, Patrick practically danced with joy. ‘Come to think of it, I haven’t tasted anything sweet even once since I got here.’ From what he remembered, sugar wasn’t supposed to be that rare, but circumstances had been so dire that sweetness had been out of the question.
“Want to roast them?”
“What? But I found them!”
“They’re on my field, so let’s share.”
“Okay! But you have to boil them, Mister!”
“Of course!”
His stomach was already growling loudly. Excited, Patrick washed the crooked conch-shell pot several times in spring water, then tossed in two potatoes and three sweet potatoes. He saved the remaining two sweet potatoes as emergency rations. Just yesterday the only thing he could eat was water, and now he had wheat, potatoes, and even sweet potatoes. ‘Why does this feel so satisfying?’ His own reaction was a little absurd, but it didn’t feel bad.
Glug glug—
As the pot of potatoes and sweet potatoes began to boil, his patience started wearing thin. Tap, tap, tap. He bounced his leg impatiently, waiting for them to cook. Those ten-odd minutes felt as long as the thirty seconds it took to microwave a hot bar.
Thud—
After stabbing them with a fork over and over, the sweet potatoes and potatoes were riddled with holes like a honeycomb. Finally, the fork slid in without resistance.
“They’re done!”
After cooling them briefly in the spring water he had drawn earlier, Patrick carried the whole pot outside to share with Ben.
“Ben, they’re ready. Ben?”
But Ben was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’d he go?”
The kid who had been claiming the biggest sweet potato for himself just moments ago had vanished.
“Still, we pulled quite a lot.”
The field had been so overgrown with weeds that you couldn’t even tell it was a field, but after clearing some of it, it actually looked like farmland. It was amazing. He had only worked for about an hour, yet the results were already visible. ‘I should eat the sweet potatoes quickly and pull as many weeds as I can.’
The potatoes and sweet potatoes tasted pretty good even without salt or kimchi. He considered eating more, but decided to save one sweet potato. ‘Who knows when he’ll come back.’ They had agreed to share, so he had to keep his promise.
***
Once his hunger was satisfied, Patrick immediately went back to pulling weeds. He even found an unexpected bonus—several more sweet potato vines. They weren’t as large as the first batch, but he still managed to dig up quite a few palm-sized tubers.
“Digging in the ground and food comes out. Nice.”
Sniffling, he muttered nonsense like, “Is this the mindset of a beginner farmer?” Sweat poured down like rain and soaked his clothes, but he kept moving without any thought of resting.
How much time had passed?
“Haaaah—”
Even after weeding all day, he had barely cleared half the field. It wasn’t just a lack of skill—the field was simply larger than he had expected. ‘It might be tough now, but come autumn my thoughts will change.’
Imagining the land filled with crops, Patrick’s mouth stretched into a grin that nearly split his face. Dinner was potatoes and sweet potatoes again.
***
Cock-a-doodle-doo!
The next morning, a faint rooster’s crow drifted in through the window.
“Wow, first time I’ve slept like a log in ages…… Gah!”
Patrick, who had passed out early the previous evening, nearly blacked out again from the muscle pain that assaulted his entire body.
“Why does this crap happen every time I wake up……!”