Arya felt slightly bewildered as she stared at the sudden flood of messages in the group chat.
What was going on? How had this suddenly turned into her problem?
She scrolled upward, trying to find the source of the chaos, and quickly realized that it had begun with William's call to action. At first, people had genuinely seemed interested in helping each other, responding to William's suggestion of mutual support. However, the tone had shifted quickly.
Someone had begun steering the conversation in a very specific direction.
"If you ask me, the one with the most supplies and materials in our district is Arya. Her potions are insanely profitable. One bottle sells for dozens of basic material units. Selling just a hundred per day is enough to keep us all alive."
"I ran the numbers. She ships at least two hundred bottles every day. Even at the lowest estimate of +30 Magic Potions, that's at least six thousand basic units daily. And that doesn't even count +50 Magic Potions and +30 Healing Potions."
"I didn't realize it before, but now that you put it that way, she really is making a ridiculous amount."
"Wait, does Arya really have that many materials?"
"Let's not think about it too much… let's not think about it too much."
"At a time like this, everyone should be helping each other."
"@Arya, please help everyone."
"@Arya, it's just a small fortune. You'll earn it back in a single day of selling Magic Potions. Don't be so stingy."
"@Arya, listen to your uncle's advice. Only by suffering a small loss can you get along with everyone, and then people will take care of your business in the future."
"@Arya, you've earned so much already. Shouldn't you give a little back to benefit everyone now?"
"@Arya, you wouldn't just stand by and watch us die, right?"
One message after another tagged her name, wrapping their requests in fake warmth and moral pressure.
"Hmph."
Arya let out a cold sneer.
Without hesitation, she blacklisted every single person who had been deliberately setting the pace and stirring the crowd. Then she put her phone away and went upstairs with a calm, indifferent expression.
If they thought they could use moral blackmail on her, they had chosen the wrong target.
As for "taking care of her business in the future"… what a joke. As if those people wouldn't buy her potions regardless. They weren't loyal — they were simply cheap and desperate.
And the idea of "standing by and watching them die"?
In Evilman Valley, eight out of ten people were former criminals. If anything, the world would be cleaner if they disappeared.
She climbed into bed upstairs and pulled out the book she had been reading. Her breathing slowly steadied as she immersed herself in the text. The world outside faded away, and eventually, she drifted into a deep, comfortable sleep.
She didn't wake up until after ten the next morning.
"I can't believe I slept so well even with thunder roaring outside," Arya muttered as she sat up. "Was it really because of that lullaby?"
She leaned forward and peeked through the window.
The sun was shining brightly, just like the previous days. The terrifying magical turbulence from the night before looked as though it had never existed. It reminded her of an ordinary summer thunderstorm — violent, loud, and then completely gone without a trace.
In a way, that was good. At least her daily life wasn't disrupted any further.
Arya gently floated up from the bed and carried her thin air-conditioning quilt to the balcony. She draped it carefully over the railing and took a look around. Everything seemed unchanged. The trees swayed lightly, the sky was clear, and the forest looked calm and peaceful.
Only then did she finally feel safe enough to take a hot shower.
After washing up, she carried water from the bucket to refill the water tank. When she finished, she hesitated for a moment and then decided to head toward the stream to fetch more water.
The novice protection period had just ended. This was a sensitive and dangerous time. Even if nothing happened, Arya felt uneasy whenever the supplies in her home weren't completely full.
She was planning to brew potions, which would take at least eight full hours.
No one could predict what might happen during such a long stretch of time.
With the empty bucket in her hand, Arya floated toward the stream. Her body moved smoothly through the air, light and familiar.
But just as she passed a medium-sized stone near the bank, something strange happened.
Her body suddenly lost control and dropped straight toward the ground.
Bang!
The fall wasn't from a great height, but it was violent. She crashed into weeds and gravel, her body hitting the hard ground heavily. The wooden bucket slipped from her grasp and rolled several times before splashing to a stop near the stream.
Luckily, she had been flying low — only about two meters above the ground. Otherwise, the consequences would have been horrifying.
Even so, sharp stones scratched her forehead, and blood began to gush out steadily.
Arya didn't get up.
She didn't even try to cover the wound.
She simply lay there, staring blankly at the sky, breathing in the mixed scent of damp soil and wild grass. Her eyes were filled with shock, fear, confusion, and disbelief.
For a brief moment, she hadn't been able to feel the presence of magic inside her body.
That was why she had fallen.
What was happening?
Had her Talent disappeared?
Her mind spun wildly. She wanted to try mobilizing the magic again, but at the same time, she was terrified of confirming her worst fear.
She didn't want to return to her previous life — the life where she could only lie in bed, helpless and useless, unable to move.
As she lay there, she noticed the moonstone dagger that had fallen from her waist during the fall.
She reached out and tightly clenched the hilt.
"Move," she thought fiercely.
If her magic really was gone, then she might as well die here.
What was the point of living like that again?
She hadn't even completed her revenge. The thought made her feel a faint sting of regret, but it felt meaningless compared to the despair crushing her chest.
But then — no.
That wasn't right.
She couldn't just die here.
Even if her body failed her, she still had the magical knowledge from another world. She could still crawl back, drag herself back to the tree hollow if she had to, and experiment until she found a solution.
She wasn't allowed to give up.
Taking a deep breath, steeling her heart, Arya tried to mobilize the magic inside her body again.
It responded.
The magic was still there.
Her eyes widened slightly, and a weak but genuine light returned to them. She quickly cast the Light Body Technique on herself and slowly, cautiously floated upward.
This time, everything felt wrong.
Controlling the magic was incredibly strenuous. It felt like the energy inside her was scattered, slipping away the moment she tried to grasp it.
It was as if the magic was darting around chaotically, refusing to obey.
Then it hit her.
"Magic turbulence…"
The realization struck her like lightning.
Her Talent wasn't broken. Her magic hadn't vanished. The violent magical turbulence from last night was interfering with the internal flow of energy inside her body. It was disrupting her control and causing instability.
Although it was still just a theory, the probability felt extremely high.
"So… that was the real reason."
Reinserting the dagger into her belt, Arya staggered slightly as she made her way to the stream. She picked up the bucket and, with considerable difficulty, filled it with water.
Her arms trembled as she lifted it.
And then—
Bang!
Without warning, Arya slammed the wooden bucket violently against a nearby stone.
The force was terrifying.
With her 32 points of strength, she poured all her rage into the blow. The bucket shattered into pieces instantly, wooden fragments scattering in every direction.
"Damn it!"
Her face was smeared with blood and mud as she threw the broken remains aside. Her expression twisted into something fierce and ugly.
Humiliation.
Shame.
Losing face.
The more she thought about how terrified she had been moments ago — how she had nearly accepted death so easily — the angrier she became.
She had broken down. She had panicked. She had almost given up.
It was unbearable.
She could already imagine how that memory would haunt her in the future, becoming one of those unbearable, cringe-inducing moments that made her want to disappear every time she remembered it.
Thankfully, no one had witnessed it.
If anyone had, it would have been worse than death.
Scooping up stream water with her trembling hand, Arya washed the blood and dirt from her face. Her small, messy face was streaked clean slowly, revealing a pair of cold, burning eyes.
Her expression hardened.
"Elisa," she whispered, her voice low and dangerous.
"I won't let you die so easily."