The village square had grown quieter after the incident. The boy's breathing had steadied, and his mother was still clutching him as if afraid he might vanish again. People whispered in low voices, stealing glances at Arin. Some looked curious, others were suspicious, but all of them kept their distance.
Arin, for his part, stood silently with his hands folded behind his back. The sweat on his brow had already dried, but his heart was still pounding. He hadn't planned to reveal himself, not so soon. And yet, he couldn't ignore a dying child.
The healer, an older woman with silver strands in her dark hair, stepped closer. Her eyes studied him with intensity, as if trying to pierce through his very skin.
"You are not from here," she said softly. It was not a question but a statement.
Arin met her gaze calmly. "I told you, I am a traveler."
"Travelers don't wield energy like that. Your touch… it was precise. You guided flow through blocked channels as if you had studied for decades. Yet, you look no older than twenty-five."
The crowd murmured again, their curiosity growing.
Arin gave a faint smile, though inside he felt weary. "Sometimes answers are not as simple as you expect."
The healer's brows furrowed, but before she could press further, the boy's mother knelt before Arin, bowing her head until it nearly touched the ground. "Savior… please accept my gratitude. My son lives because of you. We have little, but whatever we can offer is yours."
Arin quickly stepped forward, helping her to her feet. "There's no need. A life saved is reward enough."
The villagers exchanged astonished looks. They weren't used to such words. In this world, power often demanded payment. Even healers charged for their skills, sometimes more than families could afford. But here was a stranger who had saved a life freely.
The mother, tears still in her eyes, whispered, "You are a sage, aren't you?"
The word hung in the air.
Arin's chest tightened. He wanted to deny it, to laugh it off. But something inside him stirred the system, silent yet approving, as if acknowledging the title.
He turned away instead of answering. "Where can I find a place to rest?"
A young man stepped forward, emboldened by the crowd's murmurs. "The inn is down the main road. I can guide you."
Arin nodded "Lead the way."
The inn was a humble building of wood and stone, with lanterns hanging at its entrance. The scent of stew and baked bread drifted from inside. As Arin entered, conversations quieted. The villagers had clearly already heard of the "stranger."
He paid with a few copper coins given by the boy's mother—though he had tried to refuse, she had insisted. The innkeeper, a stout man with kind eyes, gave him a room upstairs.
That night, lying on the straw mattress, Arin stared at the wooden ceiling. His mind replayed the day's events. He had saved a child. He had stepped into the lives of strangers. Already, whispers of him were spreading.
He sighed. "So much for staying hidden."
The system's voice echoed gently.
[Impact is inevitable. With knowledge beyond both worlds, you cannot remain unseen forever.]
"I don't want fame," Arin muttered. "I just want to survive… maybe understand why I'm here."
[Survival requires growth, and Growth requires action and those Action creates impact.]
Arin closed his eyes. He hated how logical the system sounded, because deep inside, he knew it was true.
Sleep came slowly, but with it came dreams not of his old life, but of swirling energy, glowing runes, swords clashing with dragons, and endless stars stretching across dimensions. He woke at dawn drenched in sweat, heart racing very fast.
The next morning, the village was bustling. Merchants unpacked goods, children ran with laughter, and smiths hammered steel. Arin walked through the streets quietly, watching everything. His modern-trained eyes saw opportunities everywhere—improvements in tools, ways to irrigate crops better, techniques to preserve food longer. But he kept his thoughts to himself.
Still, fate didn't intend for him to remain an observer.
At the market square, he noticed a group gathered around a man shouting angrily. A farmer stood nearby, clutching his wife's hand, while the shouting man—a local merchant waved a scroll.
"You owe me three silver!" the merchant barked. "You promised repayment last month. Do you think I'll let you cheat me?"
The farmer's face was pale. "Please, sir. The harvest was ruined by storms. Give us a little more time—"
"No excuses!" the merchant snapped. "Either pay, or hand over your land!"
The crowd muttered uneasily, but no one stepped forward. Power ruled here, and the merchant clearly held it.
Arin's chest tightened. He remembered the desperation in the farmer's voice—it was the same kind of struggle his own parents had once faced, back in the modern world, working endless hours just to keep food on the table. Something in him couldn't ignore it.
He stepped forward. "Perhaps there's another solution."
The merchant turned, eyes narrowing. "And who are you? Another beggar siding with debtors?"
Arin didn't flinch. "I'm suggesting fairness. If the harvest was ruined, demanding immediate payment is unreasonable. Give them time. In the end, you'll profit more if their land thrives rather than lies barren."
The merchant scoffed. "And why should I listen to you? You look like a vagabond. What do you know of trade?"
Arin's lips curved faintly. "More than you think."
The system stirred within him, and suddenly formulas of supply and demand, crop yield estimates, and even magical soil enrichment methods flooded his mind. He laid them out with calm precision, explaining how allowing the farmer to recover could triple the harvest next season, yielding profits far beyond the debt.
The crowd fell silent. The merchant's eyes darted, calculating. He didn't understand half of what Arin said, but the confidence in his tone made him hesitate.
Finally, the merchant growled, "Fine. One more season. But if you fail me again, farmer, I'll take everything." He stormed off, muttering.
The farmer collapsed to his knees, bowing repeatedly. "Thank you, stranger! You saved us from ruin."
Arin helped him up, shaking his head. "No need for thanks. Just work hard for the next harvest."
The crowd whispered again, louder this time. Some called him wise, while Others murmured the word sage.
Arin walked away quickly, frustrated. He hadn't meant to stand out, but every action drew more attention. It was becoming clear—his knowledge, both modern and mystical, could not stay hidden.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the healer from yesterday appeared at the inn. She entered his room without asking, her expression sharp.
"You saved a life yesterday. Today, you saved a family from ruin. Who are you really?"
Arin sighed. "I told you. A traveler."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't toy with me. I've lived long enough to recognize when someone carries a destiny greater than themselves. You may hide from the crowd, but you cannot hide from me."
For a long moment, Arin said nothing. The weight of her words pressed heavily. Finally, he spoke softly, "Then think of me as someone passing through. I will not stay long."
She studied him, then gave a faint smile. "You may say that now. But the world will not let you remain a shadow. People will come to you—those desperate for guidance, those seeking power. And whether you wish it or not, you will change their fates."
Her words echoed in his chest long after she left. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the system silent within him.
He didn't want to admit it, but he knew she was right.
The path had already begun.
And step by step, the stranger in the village was becoming something more.