The days after the caravan's departure settled into a gentle, almost reverent rhythm.
Willowbrook had never been rich, but it had never felt this quietly secure either. The new nails went into shutters and barn doors before the first late-spring rain. The wool bolts were cut and sewn into child-sized cloaks by a suddenly very busy Widow Marla (with Aiden "helping" by threading needles faster than humanly possible). The spices appeared in small, measured doses in Tomas's bakery—enough to make every loaf smell like a festival memory without bankrupting the pantry.
The silver coins were quietly divided: a portion for communal repairs, a portion saved for next winter's seed stock, and the rest returned to the families who had contributed most to the trade pile. No one asked where the excess goods had truly come from. They simply accepted them the way one accepts a good rain after drought—with murmured thanks to the Twin Moons and the occasional sideways glance toward the Voss cottage.
Aiden felt the shift like a soft current under his feet.
People smiled wider when he passed. Children tugged his sleeve to show him new kittens or ask him to "make the carrots grow funny again." Adults nodded with a respect that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with the unspoken knowledge that something benevolent was walking among them on small bare feet.
He liked it.
He didn't like the faint pressure it put behind his eyes—the awareness that every multiplied radish, every perfect plank, every whispered "blessing" was stacking like dry kindling. One careless spark and the quiet life he loved could catch fire.
So he moved slower. Spoke softer. Helped more visibly with ordinary things: sweeping the green, carrying water from the well, sitting with Old Joren to listen to fishing stories he already knew by heart.
The multipliers still ticked.
Every broom stroke, every bucket haul, every patient nod.
[Daily Labor Bonus: No Task Beneath You]
[+180 EXP → 18,000 after multiplier]
He was level 89 now.
Jack of All Trades sat comfortably at Lv.27.
The synergy reservoir hummed like a full rain barrel, waiting for the next pour.
Two days after the caravan left, a new visitor arrived.
Not a trader this time.
A woman on a single gray mare, saddlebags bulging with dried herb bundles and glass bottles wrapped in straw. Mid-thirties, dark braid streaked with premature silver, practical brown cloak pinned with a small bronze mortar-and-pestle brooch—the mark of a journeyman herbalist.
She rode straight to the Voss cottage and dismounted without fanfare.
Elara met her at the door, wiping hands on her apron.
"Greta Thornwood," the woman said, voice low and steady. "Journeyman of the Midland Herb Guild. Word reached Redholt of salves that mend bone fractures in days and fevers in hours. I was told the maker lives here."
Elara hesitated only a heartbeat.
"That would be me," she said. "Though the recipes have… improved lately."
Greta's gaze flicked past Elara to Aiden, who was sitting on the porch step pretending to whittle a stick into nothing in particular.
"And the boy?"
"He helps," Elara said simply.
Greta studied him for a long moment—long enough that Aiden felt the system ping a tiny alert.
[Social Scan: Journeyman Herbalist – Skill Assessment in Progress]
[Herbalist Class Progress +4% toward next synergy branch]
Aiden met her eyes and smiled the same polite, gap-toothed smile he used on everyone.
Greta exhaled through her nose.
"May I see your workshop?"
Elara led her inside.
Aiden followed at a distance, inventory already open in case he needed to quietly swap out any too-perfect vials.
The "workshop" was really just the back lean-to: drying racks heavy with moonblossom and fire-lily, mortar and pestle on a sturdy table, shelves of jars labeled in Elara's neat hand.
Greta moved through it like a inspector general—touching leaves, sniffing powders, opening stoppers with careful fingers.
She paused at a row of minor stamina salves.
Picked one up.
Held it to the light.
The liquid inside shimmered faintly gold, clearer than it had any right to be.
"This is not standard moonblossom extract," she said quietly.
Elara folded her arms.
"It's… enhanced."
Greta uncorked it. Touched a drop to her tongue.
Her eyes widened fractionally.
Then closed.
When she opened them again, she looked at Elara with something very close to reverence.
"I've brewed stamina draughts for twelve years. This is better than anything the guild alchemists produce at twice the cost."
Elara said nothing.
Greta turned to Aiden.
"You grew the moonblossom that went into this, didn't you?"
Aiden shrugged one shoulder. "I help in the garden."
Greta laughed—short, surprised.
"You help in the garden the way a river helps carve a valley."
She set the vial down carefully.
"I won't ask for your secrets. The guild has rules about proprietary recipes. But I will ask to buy what you can spare. Ten vials at guild price—twenty silver each. And if you'll teach me even one small trick to improve clarity, I'll double it."
Elara glanced at Aiden.
Aiden gave the tiniest nod.
"Twenty vials," Elara said. "No tricks taught today. But you're welcome to stay for supper and see how we live."
Greta stayed.
Supper was simple—potato-and-leek stew thickened with moon-touched bean flour, fresh bread, a small wedge of cheese Tomas had sent over.
Conversation stayed light: herb lore, road conditions, the price of glass in Redholt.
Afterward, while Elara cleared plates, Greta stepped outside with Aiden.
The moons were up again—waxing, not full, but bright enough to silver the garden rows.
"You're careful," Greta said quietly. "Very careful. That's wise."
Aiden kicked a pebble.
"I like quiet."
She nodded.
"Quiet is a luxury most gifted children don't get to keep." She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a small, leather-bound booklet. "My personal notes. Not guild secrets—just observations, ratios, failures. Take it. You'll outgrow it in a month, but it might save you repeating my mistakes."
Aiden accepted it.
[Item Acquired: Journeyman's Private Herbal Notes]
[Herbalist Lv.11 → Lv.13]
[New Skill Path Unlocked: Experimental Formulation (Advanced)]
Greta mounted her mare.
"Tell your mother the guild will remember Willowbrook fondly."
She rode out under moonlight.
Aiden watched until the hoofbeats faded.
Then he opened the booklet under a lantern in the hayloft.
Pages of neat script, pressed leaves, crossed-out formulas.
He read until his eyes burned.
The system drank it in like parched soil.
[Herbalist Lv.13 → Lv.15]
[Synergy Reservoir +18% toward next hidden class]
The next morning Garrick found him still in the loft, booklet open on his chest.
"Up all night again?"
Aiden rubbed his eyes. "Learning."
Garrick chuckled.
"Come on, sprout. Sun's up. Time to sharpen the axe. Winter wood won't split itself."
They walked to the chopping block behind the woodshed.
Garrick set the old double-bit axe on the grindstone—a heavy, worn thing with nicks along both edges.
"Watch close," he said. "Angle matters more than strength. Too steep and you eat metal. Too shallow and it won't bite."
Aiden crouched beside him.
Garrick pumped the treadle. The stone wheel spun. Sparks flew in bright arcs as steel kissed stone.
Aiden watched every motion: the wrist flick, the even pressure, the way Garrick paused every few passes to cool the blade in a bucket.
When the first edge was done, Garrick handed him the handle.
"Your turn. Second bit."
Aiden took it.
The moment his fingers closed around the haft, the system chimed.
[Skill Acquired: Basic Blade Maintenance (Lv.1)]
[Passive Trigger: Omni-Tool – Tool sharpening efficiency +50%]
He set the blade to the stone.
It felt… intuitive. Like the angle was already written in his muscles.
Sparks flew cleaner. The edge came up faster. When he tested it with a thumb, it shaved hair without hesitation.
Garrick stared.
"…You've done this before?"
"Watched you," Aiden said.
Garrick laughed—low, fond.
"Liar. But a good one."
He clapped Aiden on the shoulder.
"Listen, son. Whatever's happening with you—the garden, the eggs, the pies, the way merchants look at you like you hung the moons—I don't need explanations. I just need to know one thing."
Aiden looked up.
Garrick's eyes were serious.
"You still want this life? The quiet one? The one with mud on your boots and splinters in your fingers and supper at the same table every night?"
Aiden didn't hesitate.
"More than anything."
Garrick exhaled.
"Then keep it. No matter what else comes. You can be more without becoming someone else."
He handed Aiden the newly sharpened axe.
"Split the first log. Show me what those small hands can do."
Aiden hefted the axe.
It felt light—too light.
He swung.
The log parted clean down the middle with a single crisp crack. Splinters flew like confetti.
Garrick's jaw dropped.
Then he laughed—big, rolling, delighted.
"By all the gods and both moons. You're going to be the death of firewood everywhere."
Aiden grinned.
The system pinged—soft, approving.
[New Passive Unlocked: Woodcutter's Precision (via Carpenter + Blade Maintenance synergy)]
Axes & edged tools gain +35% cutting efficiency & reduced fatigue
Later that afternoon, while stacking the split wood, Aiden felt the synergy reservoir finally crest.
A warm flood poured through him.
[Synergy Overflow Threshold Reached]
[Herbalist Lv.15 + Farmer Lv.18 + Carpenter Lv.9 + Baker Lv.12 + Merchant Initiate Lv.5]
[Hidden Class Unlocked: Village Weaver (Advanced)]
[Description: You do not merely mend cloth or weave baskets. You weave the small threads that hold a community together—literal and otherwise.]
[Perks:
- Thread of Connection: +20% to all social & teaching interactions within your home village
- Adaptive Craft: Items you repair or create gain minor adaptive properties (e.g., cloaks warmer in cold, baskets lighter when full)]
- Quiet Mending: Minor damages to people, tools, or relationships slowly self-repair in your presence]
Aiden paused mid-stack, feeling the new class settle like another blanket on a cold night.
Across the yard, a torn cloak on the laundry line suddenly looked… less torn. The frayed edge had begun to re-knit itself, thread by thread.
He smiled into the woodpile.
That evening, as the family sat down to supper, Elara noticed the cloak hanging whole again.
She looked at Aiden.
Aiden looked back—innocent, chewing bread.
She sighed, smiled, and added one more line to the notebook she now kept in her apron pocket.
• Makes torn things whole without touching them
Garrick caught her writing.
Leaned over.
Grinned.
"Add 'makes fathers feel young again'?"
Elara laughed softly.
Aiden just kept eating, content in the warm circle of lamplight and family.
Outside, the first stars appeared beside the waxing moons.
Somewhere in the woods, a wolf howled once—distant, exploratory.
Aiden heard it.
The system heard it too.
A faint new pathway flickered in the class tree:
[Village Guardian (Rare) – Progress: 8%]
He filed it away.
There would be time.
For now, the axe was sharp, the wood was stacked, and tomorrow promised more small, perfect days.
[End of Chapter 6 – Book 1]