The next year unfolded much the same.

Shel worked tirelessly like a devoted mentor, guiding his juniors while patching up gaps across Ipoli.

In early spring, as snow melted, Shel drove a carriage along Ipoli’s country lanes with two girls inside.

Hilna cast a levitation spell, barely stabilizing the bumpy cabin, keeping the wheels from sinking into the soft, unhardened mud.

Inside, the girls pored over the hefty *Magical Adventures of Witch Lofna*, chatting with Shel as he drove.

During the scorching summer heat, Shel ended his travels. Back at his home, he and Hilna conjured a layer of permanent ice atop the roof.

They bought dried fruits and candied treats from merchants, making cool drinks and desserts.

The girls sat in the chilled cottage, happily eating sweets while Shel taught lessons like storytelling.

Privately, Shel struggled with advanced spells from his magic book—his own talent fell short. Sometimes failed casts left him soot-streaked and collapsed on the floor.

Then, the girls would carry him to bed, competing to tend his wounds and feed him.

When summer faded and autumn’s chill arrived with the first cold rain, they journeyed again.

They wove through Ipoli’s soon-to-be-harvested estates, using elemental magic to help lords reap barley and oats—or block troublesome rains to dry grain.

Returning home, they found Shel’s doorstep piled high with gifts from regional lords: smoked meats, oak-barreled beer, loaves of bread, potatoes, turnips, and onions. His home resembled a farmer’s market.

They wouldn’t need to buy food all winter.

As winter buried roads under snow and people huddled indoors, Shel reviewed the year’s progress.

Comparing Hilna’s growth and achievements, he felt deeply satisfied.

This year, Hilna’s magical prowess had soared—and so had her fame.

Lords and nobles praised her; commoners and farmers revered her.

Her portrait now hung in several Ipoli churches: a beautiful girl in a deep blue gown, smiling softly, a faint halo glowing behind her.

Clerics rang bells, held holy texts, and—per Shel’s request—boasted of this "magic maiden" during sermons, hailing her like a heaven-sent angel.

Some believers even traveled from beyond Ipoli just to see if she truly had angelic wings.

At first, Hilna feared such praise. But slowly, she grew accustomed to adoration, to being the center of attention.

She carried herself more like a ruler every day.

Shel believed that if the old king died and he shouted, "Let our beloved Saintess Hilna be queen!"—the crowd would roar approval.

Yet the system had promised: *"Hilna will become Empress ruling half the continent."*

Ipoli was merely a mid-sized state in the Great Darksend Region.

And Great Darksend? A notorious wasteland on the Western Continent: endless swamps, jagged mountains, long bitter winters, brief summers, and harvest-time rains that ruined crops.

Its untamed wilds teemed with ticks that could drain a man dry overnight.

Weeds rooted six meters deep resisted even mage-kindled flames.

Forests supposedly harbored vengeful spirits of the lost, stirring chaos when hearts wavered…

This land could barely feed its people. It paled beside the fertile plains of Western Continent’s great nations.

All of Great Darksend’s wealth and population couldn’t fund a proper army.

Ironically, this saved it from conquest. No major power wanted this broken land—fighting through its swamps and forests cost more than any spoils.

Here, even if Shel made Hilna queen… what then?

Could she sit on a throne while he rallied penniless lords and farmers armed with rakes to launch a grand campaign?

Shel often wondered: was his effort truly leading Hilna to that destined empire?

Still, watching Hilna now made it worthwhile.

She was happy. Everyone believed she brought good fortune—a mage who ensured bountiful harvests and peace. Their respect filled her with joy.

She cherished this life.

That thought brought Shel peace.

Meanwhile, Lofna’s year had been harder.

Her mother knew her daughter lacked skills. She hated farm work, loved idling, and—thanks to Shel—had never faced hardship. At fifteen, she remained unmarried while peers were already mothers.

She wasn’t Hilna. She wasn’t the revered "Saintess." Just a village girl with a princess’s title.

Without Shel and Hilna, her own father might not recall her name.

She had no power to protect herself, no reason for others to respect her. She wanted carefree happiness but could only cling to Shel—and she couldn’t even help him.

Her mother knew such rootless joy wouldn’t last.

Lofna knew it too.

"Teacher Shel," she finally asked, voice trembling, "can I stay with you… and Hilna… forever?"

"The future holds too many paths to predict. While I’m here, I’ll care for you. But if something happens to me, you must learn to stand alone."

Lofna paled. "Something happen? You said you’d stay in Ipoli! Are you leaving?"

"Nothing’s certain. I might have to go. People grow up. Hilna manages well without me."

"But I can’t use magic! I’m not Hilna… Without you, I—"

"You cook. Clean. Mend clothes. When I collapsed after that spell mishap, you carried me to bed. You’re capable."

"Anyone can do chores!" Lofna tugged her hair in frustration. "I want real skills—ones to protect myself, to earn respect. To matter like Hilna does. If I can’t stand on my own… I’ll have to marry."

"Do you dislike marriage?"

"Not if it’s someone I love… who loves me back." Her face flushed crimson. She changed tack: "Teach me real skills, Teacher. Before Ipoli, you survived dangers—you wield swords, heal wounds, ride, drive carriages… I have no magic talent. But you’re strong without it. Teach me that."

Shel met her hopeful gaze and didn’t refuse.

Lofna wasn’t cut out for paperwork or accounts.

So he tested her body.

She was strong for a girl—well-fed, tall, and active—but that was all.

She couldn’t lift a light sword. Couldn’t draw a longbow. Couldn’t even crank a crossbow’s winch.

Riding horses? At fifteen, girls here rode donkeys or mules.

"Then I’m useless to you?" Her voice cracked.

"...I’ll find a way." Shel’s heart ached at her despair.

He did.

***

Shel drove the carriage beyond Ipoli’s borders to a private estate.

Its lord was the old man who’d gifted him the magic book.

"Ah, Master Shel! Long time!" The elder still wore his grimy robe and odd pointed hat.

His face crinkled with childlike glee. "You’ve returned! Splendid! Those hundred fairy-tale picture books you gave me? I replicated them! Sent copies to old friends—they adored them! Begged for more!"

"If my stories reach more hearts, that’s a blessing," Shel nodded. "I have hundreds more. Would you like them?"

"Hundreds? Yes! The more, the merrier!"

"I’ll bring them. But first—I need a favor." Shel gently pulled forward the nervous Lofna. "Craft protective amulets and alchemical weapons for my student. You’re Great Darksend’s finest alchemist. I humbly ask your help."

The old mage finally noticed Lofna. He squinted. "Of course I’ll help you… but wait. This girl—I’ve seen her at markets. Zero magic talent. Mistaken, perhaps? I heard your student was Saintess Hilna, that prodigy. Why not bring *her*? Making weapons for this frail, magic-less girl seems… pointless."

Lofna’s head dropped.

"The Saintess you heard of is Hilna," Shel said firmly. "She needs no weapons. This is Lofna. My other student. Hilna’s sister. She needs your craft far more."

"Very well… deal."

The old mage led them into his workshop.

It thrummed with unseen life.

A hammer pounded red-hot metal beside an unmanned forge.

Glowing orbs zipped between bubbling flasks of strange liquids.

Black runes on the walls pulsed like breathing shadows.

Inside a rune-etched iron chest, something ferocious rattled its chains, silenced only by thick iron locks…

The mage perched tiny spectacles on his nose and tapped his staff.

A tape measure flew, whirling around Lofna, recording her dimensions.

He jotted numbers, tapped his staff again.

The workshop erupted.

Pneumatic hisses filled the air. Boiler smoke thickened. Light orbs trembled like a cheering crowd.

Lofna clapped her hands over her ears against the roaring chaos.

Shel and the old mage remained calm, waiting quietly for the result.

Beside the forge, hammers pounded harder on the metal ingots. Molten iron in the crucible floated mid-air, roughly shaping itself without a mold.

Unknown potions gushed from auto-opening bottles and jars, drenching the forming alchemical item. With a sizzle, colorful mist rose from it.

Finally, a short sword—just longer than an arm—and three coin-sized metal runes were complete.

"Here, Mr. Shel," the old mage said confidently, handing over his work. "These should be worthy of your gift of hundreds of fairy tale picture books."

The runes briefly boosted strength and speed, healed minor wounds, and created blinding flashes.

The sword was light and agile, its tip imbued with elemental power for varied attacks—even a girl could wield it easily.

He tied the runes with hemp rope, sheathed the sword, and gave them to Lofna.

Lofna received the weapon, overjoyed.

"Lofna," Shel said, "after we return, I’ll teach you swordsmanship. Once mastered, you’ll help me."

"Yes!" she replied happily. "Will I become your swordswoman, protecting Teacher Charles? When you go out, I’ll stand behind you, guarding you with my blade? Wonderful!"

"Not exactly," he said. "I’d prefer you to protect Hilna."

"Huh?" Lofna’s smile slowly faded. "Hilna? She doesn’t need my protection, does she?"

"I’m an adult; I can protect myself. Hilna’s your younger sister—still immature despite being a revered mage. As her best friend, you must shield her. That’s the greatest help to me."

Hearing this, Lofna felt a faint pang of jealousy but nodded. "I’ll do exactly what you wish, Teacher."

"Don’t be too disappointed," Shel said, leaning down to comfort her, sensing her lingering hope. "Far in the future, when I’m old, you might protect me with this sword."

"Okay!" Reinvigorated, the girl clutched the precious weapon—the treasure exchanged for hundreds of fairy tale picture books.

From now on, she vowed to become Teacher Charles’s protector!

...

By the way, this very sword would one day rest on Shel’s neck centuries later.