CHAPTER 59: 59: THE STRANGER RETURNS I

–Chapter Five: The Stranger Returns–

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Fizz gave the beast a parting glance and whispered, "Sleep well, bony boy. Try not to chase any void-touched nightmares."

They walked in silence for a while. The light had shifted now — less forest and more sky. The treetops thinned, sunlight spilled like golden dust between the trunks, and the wind began to carry the smells of soil, firewood, and distant harvests.

John’s shoulders rose slightly.

Fizz noticed. "You good?"

"Yeah. Just..." John exhaled. "We’re getting close."

Fizz blinked and flew a little higher, scouting ahead with narrowed eyes. "...Oh yeah."

Just beyond the next tree line, the trail curved down. The village path was waiting.

They walked another few hours, the forest giving way to familiar farmlands. Scarecrows. Fence posts. A broken cart someone had forgotten to fix months ago. It was covered with moss and fungi.

The late afternoon light was golden, catching on dust in the air. Children’s distant laughter echoed from somewhere beyond the barns. The air smelled of grass and cooked grain.

John’s steps slowed as they crested the final hill. There it was...

The wooden gate. The watchtower. A pair of guards arguing about a chicken that refused to leave the road.

Fizz let out a low whistle. "Back to civilization. Your deathtrap of a village awaits."

John smiled faintly. "Home."

They moved forward.

The village guards gave them curious glances, one even opening his mouth to make a joke but they froze when John passed by. The black cloaked figure with steady steps, a gleaming core at his belt, and eyes like someone who had seen beyond the veil of mortal fear.

They stepped aside.

Fizz grinned wide. "Yeah, that’s right! Let the doomwalk begin!"

As they passed into the village, a familiar voice rang out from the blacksmith courtyard.

"John?"

John stood quietly under the shade of the overhanging workshop roof, just beyond the gate, Fizz hovering above his shoulder with a smug sparkle in his eye. Neither of them said anything as Sera’s gaze slowly dropped — first to his chest, where the faint shimmer of the newly formed mana core pulsed behind the fabric of his cloak, then to the thin mana that rippled off his skin like heat on stone.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Then it opened again. "What the holy Goddess?" she finally blurted.

Fizz cupped both paws to his face and shouted, "Ta-daaa! Presenting the Void Baby turned Circle One Doom Daddy!"

John gave him a look. He thinks, "What Daddy!!"

Sera came to see the blacksmith. Or rather check on them as John requested. The blacksmith was showing her a dagger they had made. She dropped the dagger, It clanged against the stone floor with a loud echo that made a nearby goat bleat in surprise from behind the shed.

"You... you’re actually...? You’re a mage now?" Sera asked with wide eyes, stepping forward.

John scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. Circle One. I just finished stabilizing the mana core a few days ago."

Sera looked him over like she was expecting a trick, some sleight of hand, some prank Fizz had pulled using glowing slime and glitter bombs. But when her senses finally caught up, she visibly flinched from the pressure rolling off him.

"You’re not joking," she said softly. "You’re really a mage."

John nodded.

Sera blinked, then muttered, "That’s... not fair. I’ve been training for years before I became one, and you disappear for fifteen days and come back glowing."

Fizz snorted. "Correction: ten days, a few monster fights, a rogue cave, a bunch of battle skills upgrades, and emotional trauma involving fur. We paid our dues."

Sera crossed her arms, eyes narrowing at the tiny elemental. She raised a brow. "Why is he talking like a tavern drunk trying to be a poet?"

"Because I am art," Fizz replied, swirling in the mid air like a ballerina made of sparks and fluff.

Before Sera could fire back, heavy footsteps echoed from behind the smithy. Gael emerged, the former lead miner now covered in blacksmith’s leathers, a pair of thick welding goggles perched atop his forehead. His beard was singed at the tips, and his callused hands were stained with oil and metal dust.

"Well I’ll be damned," Gael said, eyeing John from head to toe. "He really came back."

John stepped forward and extended a hand. "Hey, Gael. Looks like you’re getting used to the forge."

Gael let out a warm chuckle and took the hand in a firm shake. "Hard not to, after what you left us. That ruin haul kept us busy for a week. Got a proper forge running. A couple of my boys turned out to be naturals with the hammer. We even finished the first prototype of that weird barrel-spitter you sketched."

John’s eyes lit up. "The auto-caster?"

"The same. Though it still jams sometimes and eats mana crystals like candy. We named it ’Spitter Mk.1’." Gael grinned proudly. "And I officially registered your little venture while you were gone. Fizz Holdings is now a legal trader under Dying Heart kingdoms law. Guess that makes me the manager until you start bossing us around again."

Fizz floated closer, rubbing his chin. "Manager Gael... I like the sound of that. We should make you a hat."

John laughed. "Thanks for handling all that. Really."

Gael shrugged. "Was the least we could do. You gave us purpose again. And coins. Lots of coins. Plus, the villagers stopped whispering about you. Now they just keep their heads low and call you ’the forge boy’."

John chuckled awkwardly. "I don’t think I’m that scary."

Fizz elbowed his cheek. "You radiate ominous mystery and brooding power. Of course you are scary, with the ball of doom."

Sera stepped closer, her eyes softer now. "So what’s next? Are you settling in, or planning to vanish again?"

John glanced toward the village road, where a few curious children had peeked out from behind barrels and trees to catch a glimpse of the returning adventurer. It felt strange. The village hadn’t changed much, but he had. Every step he took now was heavier. It was both with strength and responsibility.