Chapter 4
The Weight of Kindness
Then one day, news reached me quietly—but its impact was shocking for me.
With the aid of mana, my crippled legs could be healed.
That single sentence shattered months of despair and reignited something I had nearly forgotten.
Hope.
Hope for a new beginning, where i will feel the world through my feet.
Until then, I had forced myself to accept the possibility that I would never walk again. In a world of monsters and endless war, that fate was no different from a slow death. I could survive, perhaps. I could exist.
But I would never truly live.
Now, everything had changed.
For the first time since waking on that shore, the future no longer felt like a sealed coffin.
For several months, under Sister Jean's relentless supervision, I had begun learning the most fundamental step for mana cultivation—mana absorption.
On paper, it sounded simple.
In reality, it was torture.
The first stage required only one thing: sensing mana.
Not controlling it.
Not refining it.
Simply feeling it.
And it was, without exaggeration, the hardest thing I had ever attempted.
"Sister," I said weakly, staring into empty space, "I still don't understand. Is mana… the air?"
Thump.
Pain exploded across my skull as a fist struck my head without mercy.
"You idiot!" Sister Jean snapped. "Even children in this tribe can feel mana from the moment they're born! Don't tell me you're some kind of alien from another planet that doesn't have mana. Are you really this ignorant?"
She crossed her arms, glaring down at me with genuine irritation.
I rubbed my head, biting back a groan.
If only you knew how close you were to the truth.
Outwardly, I forced an embarrassed smile.
"N-No, Sister. I just… lost my memory. That's why I don't know anything."
I hesitated, then clasped my hands together dramatically.
"Please help your poor, pitiful younger brother cultivate properly so I can heal my legs faster and finally walk around the tribe. Please?"
I even added a shameless pout.
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then she scowled.
"Ahhh, you useless brat!" she barked. "Why did I ever take you in as my younger brother? If I'd known you were this stupid, I should've left you on that island."
She turned abruptly and threw a heavy sack onto my bed.
Thud.
"Take these books and study," she said curtly. "Be grateful. When I visited the city, I happened to find someone selling them."
I carefully arranged the books beside me, my heart warmer than my smile suggested.
"As if I don't know you've been running all over the island just to help me," I said softly. "Thank you, Sister. I love you. You're the most beautiful sister in the world."
She snorted and turned away, her ears faintly red.
Despite her sharp tongue and intimidating presence, Sister Jean never once abandoned me.
At first, I didn't understand why.
I assumed it was pity—that compared to the powerful hunters of the village, I looked fragile and broken. Or perhaps she simply found me interesting because I didn't belong here.
The truth, however, was far heavier.
Elder Martha revealed it one evening while changing my bandages.
"Sister Jean once had a younger brother," she said gently. "He died three years ago."
My breath caught.
"If he were still alive," Elder Martha continued, "he would be the same age as you. Like you, he was frail. Often ill."
The pieces fell into place with painful clarity.
Sister Jean carried guilt—deep, unhealed guilt.
That was why she hovered over me.
Why she scolded me relentlessly, yet never left my side.
Why she treated me not as a burden, but as someone precious.
In her eyes, I was not just a stranger.
I was a second chance.
And that realization weighed on me more than any injury ever could.
That same night, I confronted her.
"I am not your brother," I said quietly. "You don't need to treat me as one."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Our conversation stretched long into the night, heavy with words neither of us wanted to say.
Eventually, she spoke.
"I don't treat you well just because you remind me of him," she said, her voice steady but strained. "Maybe a small part of me does. But the larger reason is this—my instincts tell me to invest in you."
She met my eyes.
"And I believe I'll gain a great reward from it someday."
Then she added flatly, "Also, you will treat me as your elder sister. I don't want some brat calling me 'aunt' in the streets."
Her voice softened—just a little.
"If treating you like my brother helps me heal, even slightly, then so be it. And this way, you can repay the debt of me saving your life."
I lowered my gaze.
What was one more debt, compared to the mountain I already owed her?
In this foreign world, alone and powerless, I needed all the help I could get.
So I accepted it.
Later, Sister Jean told me the full story.
At the time of her brother's death, she had not yet been strong.
A massive monster horde had descended upon the tribe without warning. The attack was catastrophic. Nearly half the village was destroyed, and hundreds lost their lives.
Back then, Sister Jean was nothing more than an ordinary hunter.
When the battle ended and the survivors counted the dead, she found him.
Her brother lay in a pool of blood, his body cold and unmoving.
A single monster had slipped through their defenses.
It was wounded—desperate. Unbeknownst to them, it had already awakened intelligence and stood on the verge of evolving into Tier 4.
While evacuating civilians, it attacked a mother and her young daughter.
Her brother saw it.
And without hesitation, he stepped forward.
With nothing but an axe in his hands, he threw himself at the beast.
The monster died.
So did he.
Even a dying monster nearing Tier 4 was still a monster.
From that day on, he was remembered as a hero—one of the highest honors in the tribe.
And as I sat there, unable to walk, chasing strength in a cruel and unforgiving world—
I finally understood the true weight behind Sister Jean's kindness.
It was not pity.
It was love, forged from loss.
And it was heavier than any burden I had ever carried.