Chapter 5: The village

The silence after the battle was almost eerie, but I welcomed it. My heart was still racing, adrenaline slowly ebbing from my veins. The phantom weapons I had conjured dissolved into mist with a flick of my wrist, fading back into the realm of imagination. Despite the power I had just displayed, this new world was still a mystery.

I started walking toward the village in the distance, boots sinking into the soft grass as I moved. The sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows across the landscape. It seemed like a peaceful scene, but appearances could be deceiving. In this world, everyone over the age of 15 had a grimoire—a symbol of power, responsibility, and status. I couldn't ignore the fact that I was now part of it.

As I approached the village, I noticed a modest stone wall surrounding the settlement. It wasn't imposing, more of a formality than a defense. The wooden gates were slightly ajar, and villagers were going about their evening routines, chatting, tending to their chores, and laughing. Despite the quietude, I couldn't help but feel a slight tension in the air. A village like this likely knew about the power that grimoires brought to their wielders, and they would certainly notice a newcomer like me.

I walked through the gates, keeping my head high but avoiding unnecessary attention. My grimoire hung at my side, its dark cover marked with the familiar four-leaf clover. Several villagers cast curious glances my way, but none seemed alarmed. Good. I had no intention of causing trouble, at least not today.

The village was larger than I'd initially thought, with cobblestone streets winding between houses made of wood and stone. Market stalls lined the roads, though many were closing down for the day. I caught glimpses of people selling vegetables, small magical trinkets, and charms. Children played in the streets, their laughter filling the air as they chased one another—some holding their own, barely formed grimoires. They must have just turned fifteen recently, eager to try out their newfound magic.

I passed a group of older villagers sitting outside a tavern, their voices carrying over the noise of the street. They were discussing the upcoming harvest, the weather, and something that caught my attention—the "Wizard King." So, even here, in this small village, the idea of becoming a ruler by power was prevalent. It reminded me of how much I didn't know about this world and its people.

"Excuse me, stranger," a voice interrupted my thoughts.

I turned to see an older man standing before me. His hair was streaked with gray, and his face was worn from years of hard work, but his eyes were sharp and curious. He wore simple clothes, but there was a sense of authority in his posture. He was likely one of the village elders.

"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked, though his tone wasn't accusatory—just curious.

I shook my head. "No, I'm new here."

The elder nodded thoughtfully, his eyes shifting to the grimoire at my side. "You carry a grimoire, I see. I assume you're over the age of fifteen, then?"

"Yes," I replied, not giving too much away. In this world, it was common for anyone above that age to be a magic user, their grimoire a reflection of their potential.

"Not many outsiders pass through here," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied me. "And even fewer carry magic grimoires as powerful-looking as yours. What brings you to our quiet village?"

I hesitated. I wasn't here to cause trouble, but I also wasn't here to make friends or reveal everything about myself. "I'm just passing through," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "I'm trying to understand this world, its magic, its people."

The elder seemed to consider my words, a glimmer of something—curiosity or suspicion—flickering in his eyes. "Well, you've come to a peaceful place," he said. "But power like yours draws attention. People around here value magic, but they also fear it when it's too strong."

I didn't respond. He wasn't wrong. Magic users in this world wielded incredible power, and that power often drew unwanted attention. I had already seen the consequences of such attention in my previous battle.

The elder motioned toward the center of the village. "There's an inn down the road if you need a place to rest for the night. But if I may offer some advice—be careful with that grimoire of yours. It might attract more than just curious looks."

"Thank you," I said, offering a small nod of appreciation. His words were a warning, though I sensed they were well-intentioned.

The elder nodded back and walked away, leaving me to ponder his advice. I continued toward the inn, my mind racing. This world was more layered than it appeared. Grimoires were everywhere, but they didn't just represent power. They represented attention—both good and bad. It was a delicate balance, one I'd need to navigate carefully if I was to survive here.

As I entered the inn, the scent of wood smoke and cooking food greeted me. The chatter of patrons filled the air, and I noticed several grimoires resting on tables or tucked into satchels. Each one unique, each one a reflection of its owner's magic. It was a constant reminder that in this world, magic wasn't just a tool—it was a way of life.

I found a seat in a quiet corner, my mind still processing everything. This village was just a small part of a much larger world. A world where every person over the age of fifteen wielded a grimoire, where magic was as common as breathing, and where power wasn't just respected—it was feared.

And I had just begun my journey through it.

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Question: If you found any loopholes in the story please tell me