CHAPTER 35: OLD GRUDGE

"Elder Abram agreed to rent the field, but when Albin’s wife, Lita, found out it was my land, she refused outright. She accused me of—" She paused suddenly, biting back her words.

"In the end, their family discussed it among themselves and decided to rent only part of it.

Albin took a section of Elder Abram’s original field, the one furthest from ours. Meanwhile, the field we offered will be tended by Elder Abram himself."

Gara raised an eyebrow. He was curious.

Why had they passed on such a good opportunity? And why did Uncle Albin insist on managing the field farthest from their own?

Gara’s unspoken question was answered the very next day.

He had gone up to the herb field in the mountains to prepare water for his mother’s herbs.

Today was the first time he would water the plants using his Talent, also the day he would show the villagers that he was now a Liner.

As it turned out, the news had already spread.

By the time Gara arrived, a crowd had gathered around the small herb field owned by the single mother.

All eyes were on him, curious and excited, as his hand glowed faintly and released a clear stream of water, cascading like a miniature fountain.

For a secluded village like theirs, seeing a Liner’s Talent in action was a rare spectacle. Normally, a Liner’s presence meant trouble, such as floods, beasts, or border conflicts.

But today, it was just a boy and his gift.

"Gara, the water from your hand is so clear!"

"Grandma can touch it, right? Just a little?"

"Can we drink it?"

"How fast do plants grow when watered with your Talent?"

"Are you going to fill all these water barrels?"

Surrounded by excitable grandmas and grandpas, Gara offer a sheepish laugh and answered with sincerity. They meant no harm, after all.

At the moment, he was halfway through filling six large clay barrels, each one nearly reaching his thigh and holding about a hundred liters.

They were placed strategically across the field to make watering easier for his mother.

But the cheerful atmosphere shattered with the sudden shrill of a voice slicing through the air.

"Such a useless Talent. All it can do is make water. And even that, in limited amounts."

Gara’s head turned sharply.

He recognized the woman at once. Lita. Albin’s wife.

Supposedly younger than Wina, yet her face seemed more worn, her expression permanently bitter.

She had once fled to town not long after her marriage, against the wishes of Grandpa Abram, who had been furious to the point of death at her departure.

Apparently, life in the town hadn’t been as grand as she imagined.

"I’m just trying to be a good son," Gara replied calmly, "Not the kind of child who burdens or angers their parents almost to death."

Lita’s eyes widened. A vein pulsed at her temple. Gara’s words had struck deeper.

"You insolent brat!" she snapped.

Gara blinked at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Why are you calling me names, Auntie?"

The villagers around them began to murmur, some glaring, others scowling.

"You just got back to the village and already causing trouble," an elderly woman scolded.

"If you can’t live peacefully with the rest of us, then maybe go back to your precious town or better yet, your own village!"

"She wouldn’t dare," a hunched old man added with a snort. "Her family’s probably still mad she left all haughty like that. Not welcome there, I bet."

"You should be grateful Gara’s mother even agreed to rent the herb field to you," another chimed in.

"You left here with pride and came back carrying baggage!"

Gara said nothing, still standing there with that same innocent look, quietly watching as the villagers surrounded Lita with their sharp tongues.

He knew exactly why she resented him.

The village elders who often invited him to gossip over tea had told him everything.

Back when Wina first came to the village, she had been young—barely nineteen—and radiant.

Even more striking was the quiet grace she carried, the kind that even noble ladies from town could hardly match. She had once been the personal maid of the most powerful figure in all of Wasyah Forest, after all.

Naturally, many men in the village tried to court her, some young, others shamefully old and already married.

Wina turned them all down.

Albin had been one of them.

And when he finally married Lita, the rumors of his past infatuation with Wina eventually made their way to his wife.

Back then, the original owner of the body had only been five years old. His memories of it were hazy, like scenes from a dream, but one image remained clear.

Lita, screaming like a madwoman, had barged into their house.

She had accused Wina of seducing Albin. Of course, the villagers stood up for Wina, which only fueled Lita’s rage.

In her fury, she demanded Albin leave the village, threatening him with divorce if he didn’t.

In the end, the couple did leave, storming off under the seething gaze of Grandpa Abram.

It was a bitter ending. Grandpa Abram had even given Albin a plot of land for a herb field, hoping his youngest son would finally settle down.

No one knew what had happened in the years that followed, but now they were back, returning to Suruta Village as if nothing had happened.

And Lita still carried the same grudge.

While she stood there, fuming, she thought the elderly villagers—most of them past sixty but still strong enough to work the fields and roast people with words—were done talking, but it turns out they weren’t.

A grandma muttered, "She’s just jealous because Gara awakened as a Liner with a water Talent. Yesterday, she tried to ask Wina if he could water her field too."

"That’s right!" another agreed quickly. "Good thing Wina refused. She told her Gara could fall ill if he used too much water. Otherwise, that woman would’ve squeezed him dry."

...