The old man looked utterly baffled by what Satin had said. His eyes blinked slowly, then shut completely, as if overcome with exhaustion. In a way, that was a relief. Satin had felt uncomfortable about leaving the clearly unwell elder alone, but now that he was asleep, it seemed safe enough to slip away.
Satin quietly closed the door behind him and stepped out of the hut. There were no signs, no paved paths, but finding the trail people used wasn’t difficult. In places where the grass didn’t grow and the yellow dirt was exposed, it was clear that people passed through often.
He followed that not-quite-a-path for a long while. He hadn’t slept properly and hadn’t eaten in some time, so dizziness came in occasional waves, but he never collapsed. Satin figured that perhaps his body was younger now, and his stamina had improved as a result.
The original Satin had been twenty years old. He wasn’t sure how old this new body was, but it didn’t seem any older than his previous one. He hadn’t seen a mirror yet, but his arms and face were smooth and youthful.
His height and build were roughly the same as before—tall and slender. If this body was still growing, then it might get even taller in time.
Satin moved his legs mechanically, lost in thought as he walked.
What kind of story was Noona writing, anyway? A tale about an old man and his grandson? Something like a devoted grandson taking care of a mentally ill elder, perhaps?
It wasn’t a bad guess. His sister had always been interested in child welfare and marginalized groups. A story like that would be right up her alley.
A pastoral tale, maybe.
He deliberately murmured to himself as he walked, trying to stay awake through sheer will.
Judging by the old man’s appearance, the setting wasn’t Korea. But it didn’t look Western, either. He’d need to meet more people to be sure, but it gave off strong fantasy vibes.
His sister had a habit of reading webnovels during her commutes. If she found a good one, she’d often recommend it to him too.
Typical of Korean-style fantasy.
While technically classified as Western fantasy, the closer you looked, the more it felt like an East-West hybrid. Characters might be described as Westerners, but things like arm hair or chest hair were never mentioned. Titles like Count and Duke were used, but the political systems often resembled the Joseon monarchy more than medieval Europe.
The level of technology was usually that of the Industrial Revolution, but people somehow thought like modern-day citizens. They cared about women’s and children’s rights, and if an animal died, it was treated like a catastrophe.
Maybe it’s meant to depict an idealized world.
The stories Satin read tended to avoid stress-inducing plotlines, so maybe that had colored his thinking. Still, who wanted to see a world where the oppressed stayed oppressed and unresolved problems kept piling up—not in fiction, of all places?
Why would anyone want to deal with that crap in a story too…
He was mumbling to himself when a yawn cut him off. Just as he felt he couldn’t go any farther, he saw smoke rising in the distance. It wasn’t a fire—it was a village.
***
Should I call it good luck, or was this just fate?
The villagers were kind. They offered help without hesitation to a young man claiming amnesia and an old man who might be suffering from dementia. This wasn’t a wealthy village either.
Thanks to that, Satin had quickly grown accustomed to this pastoral novel world.
As expected of Noona’s story.
Amid this peaceful daily life, Satin felt like the most beloved character of the original author. He was a little uneasy about the answer his sister had given him when he asked what kind of story she was writing, but surely it was nothing serious.
What kind of grand destiny could even exist in a setting like this?
There was no special reason why his name became “Satin.” When a villager asked for his name, he didn’t feel comfortable giving his real one. Since these people used biblical-style names, tossing out a Sino-Korean name would have felt out of place. Instead, he just went with the only word the old man seemed to remember.
Who knows? Maybe it’s actually my real name.
Maybe they really were grandfather and grandson, and Satin was the only thing the old man could recall.
He shelved the unconfirmable speculation for now.
According to the villagers, the hut had originally belonged to the forest keeper. From spring to autumn, he would tend to the woods, and in winter, he’d return to his home in another village. He’d lived that way for several years, but just before Satin and the old man showed up, he had finally left for good.
From Satin’s point of view, the sudden vacancy was fortunate—but it did make him curious. What had happened to make the forest keeper abandon his post?
The villagers knew the answer.
“The forest has a new owner.”
“The forest has an owner?”
“Of course. There’s no such thing as ownerless land.”
Since ancient times, the forest had belonged to the city government of Cloverland, which restricted public access. Only a few peripheral sections had been privately owned, but one day, the Cloverland authorities bought up all those properties.
In that process, they didn’t renew the forest keeper’s employment contract. He lost his job, and with it, any reason to stay.
As Satin listened to the story, he found the name “Cloverland” oddly familiar. Then it hit him—it was a place name that had appeared in a webnovel he’d read long ago. His sister had read it too.
No way… right?
It was probably just a coincidence or maybe she’d borrowed it absentmindedly. Either way, it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a particularly distinctive name, after all.
There was a character named Satin in that novel too…
But surely this world wasn’t that novel. Besides, “Satin” wasn’t even his real name—just a word the old man had kept repeating.
In any case, thanks to the villagers’ kindness, Satin ended up living in the forest keeper’s old hut. He started tending a small garden, foraged mushrooms and wild greens in the woods. He still couldn’t tell which plants were edible and which weren’t, so he had to get everything checked by the villagers first.
It’s not a bad life.
The old man was quiet and didn’t require much care, and the peaceful life in the hut suited Satin surprisingly well. Sometimes, he helped out the villagers with their work and earned a little pay, which he used to furnish his home bit by bit—that too was a small joy.
Maybe that was why Satin noticed a change in himself. He’d become more patient, even by his own assessment. His daily routine felt like a form of meditation.
“Sa… tin…”
The old man, who had been sitting on the bed and staring at the ceiling all day, suddenly called out. Satin, having just wrung out a dishcloth and hung it by the window, entered the room and asked,
“Are you hungry? Mr. Jake gave us something for dinner.”
“Saaae…”
“It’d be nice if we had a television or something.”
Satin gently wiped the drool dripping from the old man’s mouth with a handkerchief and went back to the kitchen.
This is exactly why fantasy is great.
A fire stove with adjustable heat like a gas range? Absolutely wonderful.
Humming softly to himself, Satin set a pot on the stove. The stew looked a bit plain, but there was no need to worry.
Here, neither pepper nor chili was considered a luxury spice, so he could adjust the flavor to his liking with ease. Satin seasoned the stew with a bit of this and that until it suited his taste.
Not bad at all.
***
“I’m heading out now.”
As always, the old man sat there in a daze. Satin didn’t bother waiting for a response and left the hut. After a quick check on the garden, he headed toward the forest.
He planned to wander the woods until lunchtime. Around this time of year, the forest yielded plenty of edible wild greens.
Better get my share before everyone else picks them clean.
Lately, villagers had also been venturing into the forest from time to time. Going in too deep could get confusing, but the previous forest keeper had marked the shallow areas well, so they weren’t particularly dangerous. Walking through the forest in daylight was actually refreshing.
Was it phytoncide or chitonphide or whatever?
Taking a deep breath, Satin slowly wandered through the woods. Whenever he spotted familiar greens, he picked a few and placed them in his basket. There was no need to collect much—there were only two mouths to feed. If he didn’t recognize something, he left it alone.
Common ingredients like potatoes or onions looked just like the ones on Earth, but wild greens were often completely different in appearance. Or maybe he just wasn’t familiar enough with them and they seemed strange.
I know what spinach looks like, sure, but wild greens? No clue.
Cooked wild greens often looked nothing like their original form. His sister had liked gondre namul, but he had no idea what it looked like before it was dried and cooked. Same went for him.
If I just follow the trails others left behind, I won’t end up picking the wrong stuff, right?
Thinking optimistically, Satin continued foraging through the forest.
This should be enough, right?
He shook the basket, estimating the amount he had collected. Then, something unusual caught his eye near his feet.
…Is that ginseng?
He’d never seen real ginseng with its leaves still attached. The only kinds he’d ever consumed were dried ones in samgyetang or processed red ginseng in liquid form.
Still, he knew what ginseng looked like. He’d seen it in documentaries about shimmanni—mountain ginseng hunters. Ginseng and wild ginseng didn’t look all that different; if it was grown on a farm, it was ginseng. If it grew in the wild, it was wild ginseng.
Looks legit to me.
Satin set his basket down and examined the plant more closely. It had five-pronged leaves and clusters of small red berries hanging in the middle. Even without the documentary, it was striking enough to draw attention.
Since it grew here, I guess that makes it wild ginseng, huh?
He carefully pulled out the surrounding weeds and gently brushed away the soil. Satin wasn’t the type to go out of his way for herbal medicine, but there was no way he was just going to leave wild ginseng behind.
I’ll give it to Grandpa.
Hope he old man doesnt heal, he cant remember what that monster did before and is vulnerable