The next morning broke clear and golden over the river. Haoboi rose from his rocky ledge, stretched his limbs, and ate a quick breakfast of cold roasted rabbit and Nightbloom Mushrooms from the Storage Bag. "River still my road," he told the water, voice calm as ever. He set off again, bare feet silent on the mossy bank, Stealth Specialist keeping every monster in the forest blind to his presence.
Day after day he followed the silver current. His Appraisal skill glowed constantly now, picking out treasures the forest offered like a generous but deadly uncle. He gathered armfuls of rare herbs—
Healing Bloom – restores wounds in minutes.
Poisonroot – neutralizes any toxin when brewed.
Cure-All Leaf – fights curses and plague.
Illusion Cap Mushroom – creates harmless illusions to confuse enemies.
Monster-Ward Thistle – its scent drives away beasts for miles when crushed.
He pulled glittering fish from the shallows with his bare hands and a sharpened stick, their scales shimmering like coins. Anything that Appraisal marked as valuable—strange glowing crystals, ancient coins half-buried in mud, rare flowers worth a king's ransom—went straight into the Storage Bag. It never grew heavy. His collection grew rich enough to buy half a kingdom, yet he walked like the simple farmer he still felt himself to be.
Nights he spent high in the branches of tall trees, back against the trunk, legs dangling, eating his stored food while the forest roared harmlessly below. Mornings he climbed down and continued. Days blurred into weeks. Weeks became months.
Three full months passed like a long, quiet monsoon.
One bright noon, the river widened into a calm pool. Haoboi knelt at the edge to drink, then paused. The water was still as glass. For the first time in all his walking he truly looked at his own reflection.
His eyes widened.
The face staring back was not the weathered, thirty-something farmer from Churachandpur. The lines of hard labor were gone. The grey at his temples had vanished. Smooth skin, strong jaw, bright eyes— he looked no older than eighteen, handsome in a quiet, sun-browned way, black hair thick and wild, body lean and powerful like a young warrior who had never known hunger or age.
"Wow…" he whispered, voice shocked but soft. "I'm looking young. Handsome. Around eighteen years. I don't even look like how I was back at my world while I was alive."
He touched his cheek. The reflection copied the motion perfectly. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face—the same gentle smile he used to give his children when the harvest was good. For the first time since the goddess had thrown him away, something warm bloomed in his chest. Not anger. Not fear. Just quiet wonder.
"Ancient evil God… you gave me more than two skills," he murmured to the water. "Thank you."
He stood, still smiling, and kept walking. The river flowed on, carrying him toward whatever lay beyond the trees. That night, as stars filled the sky, he climbed a familiar tall tree, settled on a wide branch, and leaned back against the trunk. From the Storage Bag he took a simple meal—roasted fish, fresh herbs, a few Illusion Cap Mushrooms he had dried for flavor. He ate slowly, savoring every bite.
The forest whispered around him, but none of its monsters would ever find the unblessed hero who had grown younger with every step.
Sleep came easy, deep and peaceful, high above the dangerous world. Tomorrow the river would lead him somewhere new. And Haoboi, once a deaf farmer who died in the mud, now young and rich in secret, was ready to meet it.