The next seven days are a blur of sweat, dirt, and determination. Emilia barely had time to rest, but for once, it didn't bother her. Each sunrise brought new challenges, and each sunset ended with something tangible, a field half-planted, a structure nearly finished, or a village slowly learning how to thrive and how to clean.
Every morning, Emilia woke before the first light touched the horizon, when the sky was still painted in soft shades of violet and blue. The air outside was cool and quiet, heavy with the scent of dew and earth. Yet before she could even stretch, she always felt the familiar warmth pressed against her, Hikarimetsu, already awake, watching her quietly with those gentle, golden eyes.
The spirit never failed to hold her close, one arm resting around Emilia's waist as if afraid to let her go. Her skin was warm, almost human now, and her scent is a soothing blend of sakura blossoms and ripe peaches, faint, sweet, and intoxicating. Emilia had grown used to waking in that embrace, and though she would never admit it out loud, she loved it more than she should.
"Good morning, Master," Hikarimetsu said softly, her voice calm and melodic. She said it every day, always with the same quiet devotion, like a ritual she refused to break.
Emilia smiled sleepily, eyes half-open as she turned to face her. "Morning, Hikari."
It still felt strange sometimes, this closeness, this comfort. For years, Emilia had lived alone, her only company the sound of sizzling pans and the hum of kitchen lights. She had never needed anyone beside her, never thought she would.
But now, waking up next to Hikarimetsu felt natural, even grounding. The spirit's warmth chased away the loneliness that used to cling to her every morning, back when her world was made only of cold tiles and stainless steel.
She lay there for a moment longer, listening to the quiet breathing beside her, the faint rhythm of Hikarimetsu's heartbeat, something she didn't have before she took a human form. Outside, the village was just beginning to stir.
Emilia sighed softly, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You know, I could get used to this."
Hikarimetsu tilted her head, her expression unreadable but her eyes full of warmth. "Then I'll make sure you never have to wake alone again, Master."
"Hmm, that's a promise then." Emilia said as she held Hikarimetsu tightly, Sometimes she's back to sleep, sometimes she's awake and then starts the day.
"Today, we finish the field's borders," Emilia said once she was fully awake and dressed, her tone brisk but her eyes full of excitement.
She pointed toward the stretch of land near the stream, where the soil is rich and dark after she spent a week tending to it. Morning mist still clung to the ground, curling like smoke around their feet. "I already planted all the Lumora I brought from the forest."
The villagers gathered around, murmuring to one another as they gazed at the small, pale stones half-buried in the earth. The Lumora stones glowed faintly, pulsing with a soft bluish light, alive, almost breathing. Even those who didn't understand magic could feel the faint hum of power radiating from them.
Lumora isn't just ordinary stone. Emilia had discovered it deep within the Gloamspire Thicket, a stone infused with wild mana that could act as a catalyst for life. Without it, the plants from the forest wouldn't survive in the open air beyond its borders.
They were too attuned to the deep, ancient magic of that cursed place. But with Lumora buried among the roots, the soil could mimic that same energy, enough for the herbs, fungi, and enchanted crops to thrive.
"It needs mana to stay alive," Emilia explained, crouching down beside one of the stones and brushing away loose dirt. "That's where the monsters come in. Their blood is thick with it. When you hunt, keep some of it stored in sealed jars and pour it onto the stones once every moon. The Lumora will drink it and keep feeding the soil."
The villagers watched her with wide eyes, hanging on every word. A few of them exchanged nervous glances at the mention of monster blood, but none dared to question her. Emilia had already saved their village not just once but twice, her word is as sacred as any priest's blessing.
"If this field thrives," she continued, straightening up and dusting off her hands, "you'll be able to grow your own medicine and poisons. You can use what I taught you to make antidotes, balms, and repellents strong enough to keep the monsters away. Drain their blood for the Lumora, eat their meat, and sell whatever else you can. Waste nothing. Everything has value."
The head of the village, nodded slowly. "We already have more than we could dream of, Pathbreaker," he said. "The traders in the city will pay well for Maulbeast hide and tusks. And now that we've learned your ways of planting, we'll have crops to sell too."
"Isn't that great?" Emilia sounded proud.
She then began planting the mushrooms she'd brought from the Gloamspire Thicket, Mooncap fungus and Deathveil caps, each placed carefully beneath shaded frames she had crafted herself.
The villagers watched curiously as Emilia and Hikarimetsu worked side by side, stretching reeds and weaving them into thin mats to filter the sunlight. When finished, they looked almost like miniature greenhouses, low, domed huts made of reeds, bark, and vine, breathing faintly with warmth and moisture.
"They can't stand too much sunlight," Emilia explained, crouching to tuck a clump of Mooncap fungus into the cool, damp soil. The pale, glowing caps shimmered faintly, like pearls resting on the earth. "Back in the forest, they grow under thick canopies. Too much sun and they'll dry out."
The villagers murmured in awe. None of them had seen crops that glowed faintly in the dark before. One of the children gasped softly when a droplet of dew rolled off a Mooncap's surface, leaving a faint silver trail on her fingertip.
Next, Emilia moved to the streambank, her sleeves rolled up, and pulled out a bundle of long, leafy plants wrapped in damp cloth. "These are Silkfern," she said, smiling faintly as she held one up.
The leaves are soft, wide, and shimmer with a faint silky sheen. "They're not for eating or medicine, but trust me, they're important. Their leaves are soft, clean, and absorbent. You can use them for… well, cleaning yourselves after using the garderobe."
The villagers blinked, then exchanged puzzled looks before one of the older women let out a laugh of realization. "Ah! For after the—"
"Yes," Emilia said quickly, cheeks flushing. "For that. It's safer and cleaner than using rags or hay."
She planted the Silkferns in neat rows near the stream, where the soil was moist and rich. "They grow fast if you keep them watered," she explained, covering the roots carefully with damp earth. "When you harvest them, take the younger leaves, they're softer and more absorbent."
Finally, she turned toward the outer edges of the field, planting bitter greens in careful rows. "These are good for food and medicine. They help with blood circulation and taste a little bitter, but when cooked right, they'll keep you healthy."
By the time the sun began to set, the field had transformed into something wondrous, a living patchwork of glowing mushrooms, sturdy greens, and soft Silkfern leaves swaying gently in the wind. The faint light from the Mooncaps cast a silver-blue hue over the soil, while the stream reflected golden streaks of dusk.
Emilia stood, brushing the dirt from her hands, a faint smile curling on her lips. "These," she said, gazing at the plants, "will make this village stronger. You'll have food, medicine, and even comfort."
"The most privileged village in this world," Hikarimetsu muttered, half teasing, half proud, as she looked over the sprawling field and the flickering light of the newly dug waterway that now shimmered through the heart of the village.
"Well," Emilia huffed, brushing the dirt from her palms, "if someone from modern Earth ever landed here and found this place still as primitive as before, the gods would probably blame me for slacking."
"Make sense," Hikarimetsu said with a soft smile, her golden eyes glinting in the dusk light.
Emilia let out a small laugh, wiping sweat from her brow. The air smelled faintly of turned soil, mushrooms, and the cool freshness of running water, proof that their efforts over the past week were taking root.
Footsteps crunched behind her. The village elder approached slowly, his cloak fluttering in the evening breeze. "Once the waterway and the fence are finished," he said, his tone respectful yet edged with excitement, "we can go to the city, Pathbreaker."
"Oh," Emilia blinked, caught off guard.