"Get out of this town!" the townsfolk screamed.
"Yeah, we don't want to see you here ever again!"
"Go crawl back to Level Five!" someone shouted.
Matsu, arms crossed, grinning.
"Yeah, get out," he added, sticking out his tongue.
The villagers surged forward with forks, sticks, broken tools—throwing anything they could find. Rotten fruit, scraps of wood, even clumps of ash.
The soldiers flinched, trying to shield themselves.
"Captain, what should we do?!" one cried, ducking under a flying pan.
Erber stood still, his face shadowed beneath his scorched collar.
"Tch…"
His voice came low, bitter.
"Crap. I overused my power… A flimsy mistake when using an Artifact"
He stared ahead, not even watching the villagers.
"I didn't expect someone of his caliber in this dump of a town."
The soldiers looked at him in confusion, eyes wide.
Erber clenched his jaw.
"As much as I hate to say it—" he growled. "We're retreating."
"Retreat?!" one soldier gasped.
"Why?!"
"Because I said so!" Erber barked, his voice cutting through the crowd's noise.
He turned slightly, just enough to glare at Matsu.
"The boy… I'll capture him later—when my powers return."
His eyes moved to the crowd, watching them rally around Matsu.
"And I don't think they'll let me take him now," he muttered, teeth clenched. "Not without a fight."
The villagers cheered as the knights slowly backed away.
***
The fires were out. The smoke had drifted away. Flower Town was still standing — battered, bruised, but alive.
Matsu sat on a crate near the edge of the square, his arms bandaged and the shovel resting across his lap. He gently ran a finger over the carved symbols in the handle. They glowed faintly in the dimming light.
Geum approached quietly and sat beside him with a slow sigh.
"Didn't think I'd see the end of today," she muttered.
Matsu gave a small smile. "Same."
They were quiet for a moment.
"Thanks," Matsu said.
Geum glanced at him, then gave a small nod. "Right back at you."
Then Matsu lifted the shovel, staring at it as the memory of the tree wall flashed back in his mind.
"That thing I did…" he began. "The wall. I don't even know how I did it."
Geum leaned forward slightly, inspecting the weapon.
"It's hard to say what kind of power this shovel holds," she said. "It's concealed in mystery, like many of the Artifacts."
She looked back at Matsu.
"But in time… it'll unfold."
Matsu stayed quiet, his fingers tightening on the handle.
Geum studied him for a moment longer, then let out a long sigh.
"Still," she said, "it's your choice to keep it… or not."
Matsu didn't answer. He just stared at the shovel for a long moment, his face unreadable.
Then—
"Alright!" a voice shouted. "Enough doom and gloom! Party at the tavern!"
Cheers erupted from what remained of the townspeople. Someone pulled out a fiddle. Another tossed a keg onto a cart.
Within the hour, the tavern was alive with warmth and laughter. The windows glowed with candlelight. Tables were packed tight. Even the battered walls seemed to creak with relief.
The people of Flower Town had packed inside — shoulder to shoulder — plates clattering, mugs raised, voices rising high into the rafters. Lanterns glowed warmly, casting soft light on every smile and every scar.
And at the center of it all—
"Three, two, one!"
Matsu was launched into the air by a crowd of cheering villagers, arms flailing as he shouted in surprise and delight. They caught him. Threw him again.
Laughter roared around the room.
Caesar trotted between tables with a flower crown perched lopsidedly on his head, being fed scraps like a king.
Then the music slowed, and one by one, the townspeople approached Matsu — each offering him a single flower.
A small girl handed him a daisy. A baker gave him a sprig of lavender. A quiet man offered a wilted but vibrant sunflower.
By the end, Matsu's arms were full of petals and stems.
Geum leaned against the bar, watching with a fond smile.
"We may not have any valuables left…" she said, raising her mug, "but we still have our flowers."
Everyone laughed and clinked their cups together.
Matsu plopped down at a table, breathless, grinning.
Geum slid a tankard toward him. "Have a drink, hero"
"Alcohol?" he asked, eyes gleaming, due to never having tasted it before.
"Mayor, he's underage!" some townfolk raged
Geum laughed, already drunk
More laughter followed.
The music rose again. Lanterns swayed. And for the first time in days, Flower Town didn't feel broken — it felt like home.
The tavern had grown quiet. The music faded. Laughter softened into tired chatter. The night air was cool now, brushing gently through the open windows.
Outside, beneath the soft glow of the moon, Matsu stood by Caesar, securing the last bundle of wheat onto the small cart.
Geum stepped out from the doorway, arms folded, watching him.
"You sure you don't want to stay the night and rest?" she asked.
Matsu smiled as he tightened the ropes.
"No," he said. "Grandpa's at home, probably pacing around and sharpening his hoe like a sword."
He chuckled. "He'll probably kill me for coming home late."
Geum laughed quietly.
Matsu mounted Caesar, grabbing the reins. The shovel rested beside him, dirt still clinging to the blade.
He looked down at Geum.
"Granny Geum… I think I'll keep the shovel," he said.
Geum raised an eyebrow.
Matsu looked ahead, into the dark trail leading home.
"Because if someone ever comes for my home…" he said, voice steady, "I want to be able to protect it."
He smiled.
Geum returned it with a proud grin. "Then protect it well."
She stepped back and raised a hand. "Be sure to say hello to Salatin for me." Guem waved
One by one, the townsfolk who had gathered at the edge of the tavern waved.
Matsu waved back, lifting a hand as Caesar began to trot forward, the cart creaking behind.
The sound of hooves faded into the night.
And with it, the boy and his shovel rode toward home.
The boy rode his donkey, Caesar — the same donkey who had spent the afternoon happily eating from market stalls, unaware of the night ahead.
The hill was quiet. The sun dipped low behind the horizon, painting the sky in soft golds and purples. Wind brushed gently through the tall grass, carrying the scent of dry wheat and soil.
Matsu stood at the top of the hill, battered and dirt-streaked, his wooden leg planted deep in the earth. His eyes scanned the land below — the familiar rows of fields, the crooked fence line, the soft smoke from the chimney.
Home.
His body trembled — not from emotion, but from exhaustion. His shoulders drooped, muscles aching, vision blurred around the edges.
"…I'm home," he murmured, voice barely a whisper.
He smiled.
Then his legs gave out beneath him.
His body dropped to the earth with a soft thud, cheek pressed against the dry grass. But there was no panic — just peace. That same tired smile lingered on his face as his eyes slowly shut.