A Rainy Day
"It's a saltern, but look how useless and pretty it is."
I hadn't really noticed while grinding the stones, but now that the dust had been rinsed away by the water, all sorts of patterns had emerged across the surface.
Had I polished gemstones into it by accident?
Purple, red, green — a whole rainbow of colors shimmering in the ripples. It was honestly kind of mesmerizing.
"Wait a second, though? Did I put in too much water?"
Should I have measured how fast the water evaporated before committing it all to the pan? One good rainfall and the whole thing would be ruined...
At this rate I might actually need to hold a rain-prevention ritual.
One day.
Two days.
...
One week.
"Sky's clear again today. No rain in the forecast, huh?"
I had become the saltern's guardian statue.
Since I didn't need to sleep, I just stood there watching it endlessly.
It was a little. Okay, a little boring.
Rain, please don't come. Rain, please don't come. I prayed every single day.
The water level had dropped a lot compared to the beginning, but if it rained even once, wouldn't it all be for nothing?
"Haneul, what are you doing?"
"Gah! You scared me."
I'd been so absorbed in staring at the saltern that I hadn't even noticed Garungda walking up to me. Judging by the crowd, today must be a fishing day.
"Yeah, I'm making salt."
"That salty powder you talked about before?"
The only salty thing Garungda knew was seawater, so I could understand why his face scrunched up.
"Yep. We need it to make food taste good."
Fufufu. I'm looking forward to this a bit. Once he tries dipping potatoes in it, he's going to lose his mind.
"Is it good?"
"Yeah, it's good. I'll show you when it's done."
"Mm. Do your best."
"You can do it too, Garungda! Aja aja!"
"Thanks. I'll give it my all. Aja aja!"
Garungda and the others dragged the boat moored to one side and headed out to sea.
And today, once again, my poor friends were getting salt water sprayed in their eyes and shedding tears of agony.
I wanted to make them goggles or something, but there was no suitable material. Sorry, guys — keep suffering a little longer.
Once the village raised more livestock, they wouldn't have to go through all this.
Come to think of it, when we first moved here, they did bring grain seeds along... but now they only farm potatoes?
Wasn't grain supposed to be more important in the long run?
This isn't going to cause problems later, is it?
Click, click.
Crowds of visitors were busy taking photographs on the beautifully colored stones.
Off to one side, a group that looked like university students had gathered and were chatting among themselves.
"This is the saltern, built roughly four to five thousand years ago. The patterns really are mysterious, aren't they? The stones were ground down and fitted together — one of Daehan's countless mysteries."
"Professor, could people back then actually have accomplished something like this with the technology of the era?"
"That's exactly why it's a mystery. There are theories about aliens, and theories about gods."
"You mean the Sky Faith?"
"Yes. They're one of the mysteries too."
Daehan's history was known as the graveyard of modern historians.
Even though every measurement matched the records left behind from ancient times, there were simply too many relics and ruins that defied belief.
With no corner of world history left untouched by Daehan's fingerprints, ignoring it wasn't an option either — so historians, wailing and gnashing their teeth, stepped into this pit of hell anyway.
"Alright, that concludes today's tour."
A hulking figure in priestly robes appeared, arms so thick a needle couldn't have pierced them. Was this man really a monk in service of a god? He certainly didn't look like one.
"Couldn't we just look around a little longer?"
A timid counterattack from a frail man who looked like he'd spent his life buried in books.
But it was hopeless.
"No. You may not."
"Kgh. Those thugs really did show up today."
"I guess we should head out."
"How is THAT a man who delivers the word of god?"
"Please don't say that in front of him. You'll cause an incident."
The "man" they spoke of was a priest of the Sky Faith — and their piety could be measured by how thoroughly they trained their muscles. A man of that build was clearly high-ranking. Get hit by him once and you'd be ground to powder.
Yes — it was their physical strength that inspired fear.
One of the Sky Faith's core doctrines:
"A strong body makes for an easy mind."
Having officially retired from my post as the saltern's guardian statue, I stopped by the village for the first time in a while.
"I really am a genius."
No more worrying about rain.
All I had to do was scoop the water into my pocket dimension, didn't I?
Truly, strength makes the mind at ease.
When I visited the village, the blacksmith workshop had its fire lit.
"Looks like Akta's back?"
After I gave him that ornament, I'd wondered why he didn't just use metal tools — turns out metal was genuinely, absurdly precious.
He hiked over mountain after mountain, nearly dying countless times, just to gather metal pieces the size of a fingernail.
Poor guy really had it rough.
But wait — those mountains definitely had plenty of iron in them. The problem was, nobody knew the exact location.
I should go take a look with him sometime.
"Hi, Akta!"
Akta was our village blacksmith.
"Hello, Haneul. Look how much I gathered today."
Smiling brightly, he held out a palm bearing a metal shard no bigger than a fingernail.
"Wow~ that's pretty. Great work! Here, eat this while you do."
The village was growing plenty of potatoes, but the potatoes I made still tasted better.
Wasn't that what you'd call an original advantage?
"I'll eat well."
"I'll make sure you get to eat even tastier things later."
"Thank you."
"Thank you~"
If I wanted to introduce my friends to the miracle of salt soon, Akta would have to work extra hard.
...Hm? Wait, what am I contributing here?
This is the weather's job. Please, rain. Please, don't rain.
I should pray to the heavens. Diligently.
I stopped by the forest for the first time in ages to play with the cat a little, then did a thorough circuit of the village — all in all, a very busy day.
"Weird, it feels like the village got bigger again."
Just how large was this village planning to grow?
Could potatoes really feed this many people?
I just hope nobody ends up starving and wasting away later.
Worst case, I could always summon mountains of potatoes into the storage sheds.
I was about to head home and rest when my eyes landed on the stone pot I'd left sitting there, full of saltwater I'd been boiling.
Was this fate?
"Oh!!!!"
The stone pot was dotted with white grains of salt, scattered like sesame seeds!
Delighted, I picked some up with my finger and popped it into my mouth —
"Ptui! Ptui! What the—? Why is it so bitter? Wasn't there something called bittern or whatever I was supposed to remove?"
Come to think of it, I remembered that sun-dried sea salt has a strong bitter taste and needs to age a long while to draw out the bittern.
"I completely forgot about the bittern. Now what?"
As I racked my brain, a video I'd watched long ago vaguely surfaced in my memory.
How to remove the bitterness from sun-dried salt!
In the video, they lined a basket with cloth, poured the salt in, and sprinkled water generously over the top.
I'd thought, what on earth are they doing? — but then black residue appeared at the bottom, washed down by the water.
Sure, a fair amount of salt would dissolve away, but apparently the impurities washed out along with it.
"Oh? Hold on... it's just drying outside, so of course it wouldn't be clean."
There might not be any fine dust, but dust still drifts around on its own, doesn't it?
The seawater wasn't exactly crystal clear either.
"So the first batch is basically half dirt, huh?"
I could probably just eat mine as is, right?
Oh... am I an idiot? It tastes bad. Right, it tastes bad.
I need to find a solution.
I'm supposed to be finishing the salt, and it's been raining for two days straight.
I definitely prayed on the way back, though. Let it rain. Let it rain.
...Was that a rain-summoning ritual after all...
"Haah... When it rains, there's genuinely nothing to do."
In the primitive era, rain meant a total standstill.
All my friends had shut themselves inside their homes too.
So I was sprawled out in mine, pondering — trying to recall anything else that might help with the salt.
What did they do in that video again...
Uh... wait. I don't have any cloth? Am I supposed to sacrifice a skirt or something?
Dang it. Looks like I'll be walking around in a salt skirt...
Hmm, what to do. Should I try making a tray out of straw, at least?
"Hmmm. Hm? Wha—?!"
Come to think of it — this outfit could stretch and shrink however I wanted, couldn't it?
What would happen if I stretched it out and cut it?
First, I reshaped it into a skirt and stretched the hem down long.
"Whoof. Whoof. Can I really do this? I only have the one outfit. If this breaks, I'm in serious trouble..."
Wasn't anyone else worried? Very, very, VERY worried?
I'm a gentleman of a single garment, you know. If it malfunctions and the clothes vanish entirely —
I'd have to borrow animal-hide clothes from my primitive friends. And what about the pocket, my crucial feature? What if that disappears too?
"Nnngh!!"
Snip—
I squeezed both eyes shut and just went for it.
Telekinesis sliced lightly through the hem.
Too scared to open my eyes, I groped at my clothes with my hands.
"O-oh. The clothes are still here."
By feel, at least, I was definitely still dressed.
"Then can I open my eyes? Here I go? It's not going to vanish the second I look, right?"
I opened my eyes — and there was the cut hem, fluttering gently to the floor.
"What is happening?"
Even seeing it with my own eyes, I couldn't believe it.
Infinite fabric. High-quality fabric, no less.
When I ran my fingers over it, it was so impossibly soft — like a silk blanket.
"Forget magic tricks, I should become a fashion designer someday..."
Dream for the future? Career path? Revised, effective immediately.
Here's hoping I have a talent for sewing.
"Should I make a bed first?"
I cut the fabric into layers and piled them up, trying to build a bed — total failure.
"Ah... I need actual padding, don't I. Ugh, story of my life."
No matter how silk-soft it was, a stack of nothing but cloth on a stone floor just screamed back pain.
Ow. My spine.
Next time I'll stuff straw inside it.
To deal with the leftover fabric, I should head over to Garungda's place.
The villagers could make clothes to wear, or maybe bags and sacks.
Telekinesis really is an all-purpose miracle worker.
I can even make umbrellas with it, no sweat.
Invisible to the eye, a dome-shaped membrane was already keeping the raindrops off me as I walked.
"Is Garungda home?"
I called out politely at the door.
Barging in unannounced seemed rude — who knows what he might be up to.
On a rainy day, especially, interrupting that would be a disaster.
"Oh? Haneul?"
Was he sleeping? His voice was a little slurred.
What is he doing up at night and sleeping at midday?
"Yeah. I've got something for you."
"Come on in."
Following Garungda inside, I found the interior bone-dry despite the rain, with a small fire crackling — it was surprisingly cozy.
"Whoa, Agna, stay lying down."
Inside the house, Garungda's wife Agna lay heavily pregnant, struggling to sit up. I rushed to stop her.
The baby comes first.
First, to gauge Garungda's reaction, I pulled out a bit of the fabric.
"Garungda, got a use for this?"
"Isn't that your clothes, Haneul?"
"Yeah, I cut some off. It's yours if you need it."
"Is that all right? Doesn't it wear you out?"
Hm? Cutting it hadn't drained me or anything...
Now that I think about it — no cost at all?
For now, this much seemed fine, but I should probably test the limits sometime.
"Yep. No problem at all."
"Thank you. We'll put it to good use."
Garungda accepted it the way one cradles a newborn, treasuring it in both hands.
Uh... you really don't have to do that...
Whoosh—
"GAH!?"
I dumped out everything I'd pulled out needlessly, and Garungda went tumbling into shock yet again.
Don't give me that embarrassed look. Why are you so startled...
"Th-that's... a lot."
So even Garungda has moments where he's at my mercy.
"Yeah, I made way too much. Just say the word if you need more — there's plenty."
"Th... thank you."
With this much fabric, surely they'd actually start making clothes to wear now?
"And always wash yourselves clean. If you stay dirty, you get sick. It's bad for the baby too."
"Being dirty is really that bad?"
"Yeah. Especially for babies."
"Goodness... I understand. From now on, we'll wash every single day."
"Good. You do that."
Yes. You all could really stand to wash more.
I wasn't asking for soap. Just give yourselves a rinse with water now and then, please.
The hut was cozy enough, but the smell was enough to rot my nose right off.
Garungda headed out to wash, leaving Agna and me awkwardly facing each other.
"Hi there."
"Hello to you too, Haneul-nim."
"Is the baby growing well? Are you tired at all?"
"Growing just fine. Here, feel."
"Can I really?"
Agna's belly was swollen to the size of a watermelon. I reached out and stroked it, gentle as could be.
Tap tap.
"Eep!"
"Hahaha. Haneul, you're so funny."
My hands were already trembling with nerves, and then something in her belly went tap tap against my palm.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
On Agna's face, a mother's smile quietly bloomed.
"What was that? Is it okay?"
"The baby is saying hello."
"Babies can really move around like that?"
"Mm. It moves a lot."
It was genuinely fascinating. So babies move like that before they're even born. Was it the baby's own little way of greeting me?
"I'm happy to meet you too. Let's meet healthy, okay?"
In this primitive era, a child's odds of survival would be terribly low. I wished I could make soap, but I had no idea how to do it from scratch, which frustrated me.