as Vale stepped carefully down the narrow dirt path that led from the village center, the weight of curiosity pressing on him heavier than his modest pack. He could feel the pulse of this new world under his skin, subtle vibrations of life—tiny, almost imperceptible at first, but unmistakably there. He had chosen the Craftsmen's Circle not because he wanted glory or immediate results, but because here, in this quiet place near the east well under the sprawling oak tree, he could begin the painstaking process of learning, observing, and growing.
The path was flanked by small, neatly tended gardens. Morning sunlight glimmered across dew-laden leaves, painting each drop like a tiny prism. Bees moved lazily from flower to flower, the hum of their wings blending with the distant sound of the village waking: the clank of an anvil, the sizzle of bread on hot griddles, the soft murmur of villagers greeting one another. Every sound, every scent, every motion reminded him that this world was alive in a way he had never truly experienced.
Ahead, the oak tree rose majestically, its thick branches stretching outward in a protective canopy over a cluster of small workshops and stalls. Smoke curled faintly from chimneys, mingling with the earthy smell of timber, clay, and oil. Wooden contraptions sat haphazardly along the well-trodden paths, some half-built, others seemingly abandoned, but all exuding an energy of purpose.
Ethan approached cautiously, feeling both anticipation and a pinch of awkwardness. Despite his system and his previous knowledge as a brilliant engineer, he could not reveal too much. He had learned from the villagers' first questions that this world valued discovery, effort, and honesty. Acting superior would raise suspicion. Better to observe, listen, and learn—then act.
Near the oak, a group of craftsmen were busy at their respective stations. A man hammered rhythmically on a forge, sparks flying like tiny fireflies; a woman carefully whittled a piece of wood into what looked like the beginnings of a mechanism; a younger apprentice nervously shuffled between benches, carrying bundles of materials. Their movements were precise, yet unhurried, reflecting years of training and innate talent.
Ethan cleared his throat softly. "Excuse me…" His voice was polite, careful, non-threatening. "I'm… I'm looking for the Craftsmen's Circle. I was told it's here."
The woman stopped her work and glanced up. She had dark hair tied neatly into a bun, and her hands bore the callouses of decades of labor. "You've found it," she said, her tone calm but assessing. "And you are?"
"Ethan Vale," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "I… want to learn, if I may."
The apprentice shuffled closer, wide-eyed. "Learn?" he asked. "Do you… mean… build?"
"Yes," Ethan said carefully, nodding. "I want to build things. Study, understand… contribute."
The woman studied him a moment longer, then motioned to one of the workbenches. "We can see if you have the patience and steadiness to follow our work. Come, start there."
Ethan moved to the bench, eyes scanning the area. Tools of every kind were laid out with meticulous order: hammers, chisels, files, saws, and strange mechanical devices he had never seen before. Wood shavings littered the floor, along with small bits of metal, as if each object carried a story of its creation. The smell of hot iron and sawdust filled the air, grounding him in the reality of this place.
A tall man, clearly a master of the craft, stepped forward. He had a leather apron dusted with soot, and his eyes carried the sharpness of someone used to judging skill at a glance. "If you truly wish to learn, you must start simple. First, observe. Then, replicate. And remember," he added with a faint smile, "every great machine begins as a humble block of wood or iron. Do not rush the foundation."
Ethan nodded, absorbing every word. His mind buzzed—not with arrogance, but with cautious curiosity. The system could calculate, could plan, could simulate outcomes. But here, in the presence of living craftsmen, he knew that success meant patience, precision, and observation.
He watched the apprentice carefully. The young man was attempting to craft a simple pulley mechanism, his hands trembling slightly as he measured, cut, and fitted pieces together. Sparks flew from the hammering metal, but he didn't let it deter him. Ethan noticed the small mistakes—misaligned grooves, uneven fittings—but he also noted the correction techniques, the way the apprentice adjusted and compensated, learning from failure in real time.
"Would you like to try?" the master asked suddenly.
Ethan hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
A piece of wood and a few metal gears were placed before him. His hands moved instinctively, measuring, aligning, and fitting. He felt the subtle vibration of the wood beneath his fingers, the weight of the metal, the resistance of the tools—every detail amplified his focus. He did not rush. He did not rely on his system. He allowed his senses to guide him, remembering the advice of the villagers: blend in, learn, grow slowly.
Hours passed like this, each moment filled with observation, trial, and correction. Ethan began to understand the rhythm of the workshop: the cadence of hammering, the sequence of polishing and filing, the delicate balance between force and finesse. The master observed silently, occasionally offering a hint or adjusting his grip, but never overbearing.
The apprentice eventually returned, curious. "How are you finding it?" he asked, trying to mask his awe.
Ethan smiled faintly. "Different… but enlightening. I see now how much precision and patience go into even small creations."
The apprentice nodded slowly, understanding more than words could say. "It… takes time, but it feels good when it works."
A sudden laugh echoed from the far end of the workshop. Lysa, the villager who had introduced him to the guild's direction , stepped under the oak tree's shadow. "You're finally here! I wanted to see how the newcomers handle our little circle." She grinned at Ethan. "So far?"
"I've learned more than I expected," Ethan admitted, careful not to mention anything about the system. "And I've barely begun."
"That's the right mindset," Lysa said, sitting on the edge of a bench and watching. "Many come with pride, expecting to dominate immediately. That doesn't last here. Patience, observation, humility—that's how you survive and grow."
Ethan's thoughts drifted. This world moved slower than the one he had left, but in that slowness was a hidden depth. Every nail hammered, every gear aligned, every careful measurement was a lesson in the tangible, in reality. Here, brilliance could not replace diligence. Knowledge without patience was useless.
As the sun shifted higher, Ethan noticed the subtle interactions between other craftsmen: a quiet debate over a mechanism's design, a shared joke as wood shavings flew, a patient older apprentice guiding a younger one's hand. Every gesture, every glance, every spoken word contributed to a living, breathing guild—not just a place to work, but a community.
By evening, Ethan had completed a small but functional pulley system. It wasn't perfect, and the master's critical eye pointed out several flaws, but it moved. It worked. And for the first time since his arrival, he felt the faint stirrings of genuine accomplishment.
"Tomorrow," the master said as he wiped his hands on his apron, "we will begin understanding the materials themselves. Wood, metal, and the energies that bind them. Your work here is slow, yes, but meaningful. Remember, one misstep today can mean a failure tomorrow. Learn everything you can from every observation."
Ethan nodded. "I will."
As he left the Craftsmen's Circle under the fading light of the evening, he paused at the base of the oak tree. Children were playing nearby, calling to one another, merchants were closing their stalls, and the wind carried the mixed scents of wood, bread, and earth. The village was alive, layered, breathing—just as it had been in Chapter 3.
And somewhere beyond these workshops and gardens, the tools, machines, and materials of the future awaited. Every day, every careful step, every observation brought him closer to mastering not just craftsmanship, but the world itself. Slowly, deliberately, Ethan Vale would grow.
Not as a visitor. Not as a genius from another place. But as a member of this living, breathing world—learning, building, and finding his place among those who had been here all along.