I was in Seclusion for so long that everyone forgot about me

"Elden Witch?" I silently questioned myself. It wasn’t the first time someone called me a witch, but ‘Elden’ was a bit much, even for me.

The elder must have noticed my hesitation; she turned around and spoke to the other elves. A young girl nodded, quickly ran into a heavy wagon, and returned with a small bag.

Reluctantly, she handed the bag to the old elven woman before us, bowed, and hurried back to the others. The elder smiled, mumbled something, and turned her attention back to me.

She reached into the bag and pulled out an old leather hat with a conical crown and a wide brim. Her eyes filled with nostalgia and melancholy as she looked at it.

When she turned back to me, she pointed at the hat and asked, "Symbol. Rank?"

Oh, that’s what she meant. I didn’t expect the traditions to remain unchanged. It was somewhat relieving, honestly. Maybe things hadn't changed as much as I thought. Alright, let’s do what she’s asking for.

I activated my storage magic, and a tear in space appeared. Unfortunately, removing my door from this plane had significantly reduced the accessible area of my workshop, leaving me with only the items I’d packed into the center. Thankfully, I’d been somewhat prepared for this scenario... to a degree.

Anyway, I reached for the item the elder was likely waiting to see—a witch’s hat. For a long, long time, witches were strictly matriarchal, governed by a coven-like council. Each rank had its place, and if I recall correctly, the highest positions were reserved for the direct descendants of the first witch. They, like their mother, were immortal and incredibly powerful. But back to the point.

Every witch—whether apprentice or teacher, weak or all-powerful—owned one of these hats. It served as a symbol of rank and achievement. Of course, they didn’t always wear them, but to those familiar with the customs, the hats were like identity cards. Color, size, shape, decorative elements—everything was meticulously regulated. Sure, things might have changed by now, but presenting one’s hat was always considered a matter of honor among witches. Perhaps that’s why dimensional bags and shrinking magic became so popular back then.

My hat, though, was special. I wasn’t a witch myself, more like an honorary member. Or at least, I used to be. After everything that happened with Eternal and my decision to remain neutral, I’d fallen out of favor with the witches. Not my fault those idiots thought Eternal was a witch. Ridiculous, really.

When I presented my hat to the elder, she gasped and took a step back, shaking her head.

"No, no. Y-you no Elden Witch. Witch friend? No. Feather isn’t right; shows malice. But hat shows friend," she stammered, trying to explain.

I glanced at the three feathers on my hat—one from an Akhekh, a griffin-like dragon; another from a Rukh, the largest flying predator aside from dragons. The last feather shimmered with rainbow colors; it belonged to—

A loud sigh escaped me, causing every elf to stare at me in dumbfounded silence. How could I have forgotten that? I scolded myself.

Rainbow Crow—that’s what the witches called the owner of that feather. It was a holy beast to them, a guardian deity. The story goes that the first witch was saved by the bird in her darkest hour—which was utter nonsense—and it supposedly trained her to become powerful enough to face any future challenge or something like that. I never paid much attention to those stories because I knew the real one.

When I first heard that deceitful tale, did I hunt the crow down out of sheer spite. Yes. So what? Stupid flying nuclear mana-reactor. I was stopped before I could kill it, but I got the feather—and the honorary rank that came with it. ‘Bestowed upon me’ was the official announcement. But as it seems, time has made them forget.

Once I finished reminiscing, I replied, "It was a gift. I’ve never hurt any of her descendants, and I don’t plan to."

The elder still looked skeptical, but I reached out with my hat for her to inspect. This was a known gesture of trust, and I hoped she recognized it.

Suddenly, her old eyes twinkled with excitement and curiosity. She took the hat and examined it as though it were a precious treasure.

When she handed it back, I asked, "You’re not a witch, are you?"

The elder shook her head. "No, friend, teacher. I’m an alchemist. Learned from Ithi, 'Doy— I'm sorry. Word unknown to me. You know her?"

I nodded. Ithi, that mad little alchemist. She’d asked me more than once for a flask of my medicine, but I would never give it to her. The fact she was still alive was a good sign.

"Then you are friend!" the elder smiled. She continued, "But what are y—" then stopped when she saw my disapproval.

"Curiosity killed the cat," I said in a dangerously sweet tone.

To my surprise—and to the shock of the others, easily seen on their faces— the old elf performed a kowtow and spoke in a singsong.

"We thank the moons for the miracle they sent upon us and welcome our moon-blessed guest. May their love always shine upon you!"

Oh, when was the last time I heard that chant? Repeating those words in such a formal manner was a way to show the deepest gratitude and invite someone to a feast. Coming here was clearly the right choice. Good job, me!

As custom required, I bowed deeply and said, "The moons heard your words, and they are pleased," to show the elder that I gladly received her words and accepted the invitation.

I heard a soft, happy humming as the elder stood up, turned around, and gestured for me to follow her into the camp.

A warming sensation spread through me, and for a brief moment, a hint of happiness began to— I froze. No, something was wrong. I quickly looked at my hands, but there were no cracks. Everything seemed fine.

"This can't be," I whispered to myself, concentrating on my inner world. At first glance, everything seemed in order, but then I spotted it—a fine, threadbare tether, drifting loose, trying to latch onto something.

"The System," I muttered bitterly. I had no idea how it managed to get in without me noticing, but it was alarming. It was tampering with things it had no right to touch. I yanked the tether out before it could cause any more anomalies. The warmth simmered away instantly—just as it should.

Yes, feelings were a weakness I would never submit to. Never. Again.

-------

Honestly, the camp setup was better than I’d imagined. Not only did they have incredibly comfortable seating options, but also food and tools I’d never seen before. Everything would’ve been perfect if it weren’t for the annoying little kids constantly trying to catch my tails.

While I was fiddling with something that resembled a magical Rubik’s cube—one that rearranged itself every minute—the paladin and the elder approached me. I knew she was a paladin because the elder had described her as a ‘warrior of the moons' blessing’. Well, at least, that’s what it sounded like.

She didn’t seem too thrilled when I entered the camp with the elder, probably because she thought I was too dangerous to stay here. But the elder shut her down. For the second time tonight. I could imagine the paladin was feeling a little disgruntled by now—poor girl.

As for the bandit leader I had handed over to the elves earlier, he was now safely stashed inside a wagon, completely bound and gagged—though that didn’t stop him from screaming.

Apparently, he had a bounty on him, so it was fortunate they kept him alive. Still, I had hoped they would skewer him or something, but the moon elves weren’t the brutal type. Sad.

Anyway, from what I could gather, the elves were headed to the city to resolve some issue with a guild and a school, or something like that. Even though the elder spoke some true moon elvish, she lacked the vocabulary and a fundamental understanding of the language. Seriously, what on earth had Ithi been teaching her?! Still, better than nothing...

Then it hit me. "I’m such an idiot! Why didn’t I think of this earlier?"

The elves looked irritated at my sudden outburst, but I ignored them and opened my storage again. I was looking for something I’d created ages ago, after getting fed up with learning constantly new languages. I might be powerful, but languages were never my forte—at least, not in this world.

When I withdrew a small earring with an embedded burgundy gemstone, I held it up like I was a little green guy who had just found treasure.

Another invention for the everyday lazy person, I thought smugly as I did my little victory pose—until I noticed the elves staring at me like I’d lost my mind. Hmpf, maybe I am a bit eccentric, but in my opinion, life needs a bit of craziness.

Uh, whatever, back to the earring. Here's how it worked: First, it analyzed the spoken language. If the language wasn’t already in its magical memory, it compared it to all the languages available in the library and drew conclusions about word construction and interpretation. However, because of the removal of the door, this function was limited to the thirty or so major languages stored in its memory.

Next, it helped the wearer’s soul actively listen to surrounding conversations to crack the language code—figuring out where words began and ended. Phonetic relationships were identified, and words were linked to their meanings based on context.

The best part about this process? Since the language was engraved directly into your soul, it happened way faster than learning a language the old-fashioned way. Another neat side effect was that no mind-tempering magic could erase it, as long as they didn’t target the soul directly.

Therefore, depending on the language’s complexity, it could take several days or weeks to achieve fluency, as if you were a native speaker. Essentially, it was like a baby learning to speak—just much faster. In theory, the magic could even teach you how to write, but that took more time since it required a lot of books. And once you’d learned what you needed, you could just take the jewelry off and put it aside until it was needed again.

Sadly, I was never allowed to mass-produce them. The complaint? ‘It could be used to control people or create sleeper cells’. Just because I may have done that once or twice—or maybe maybe twenty times—didn’t mean others would also create a flock of people who believed themselves to be chickens! Come on, it was funny! Imagine a grown man trying to peck at seeds on the ground, but his body couldn’t do it, so he just face-planted into the mud. Okay, fine, maybe making them try to lay real eggs was a bit too weird—even for me. Stupid, stuck-up, god-like beings.

Apparently, what I just did wasn’t something the elves saw every day. For whatever reason, the women all burst into laughter. In a matter of seconds, the tense and grim atmosphere vanished into nothingness. They started chatting, singing, and doing other things I’d rather not describe. Let’s just say, some of those elves—especially the sun-kin—were really open with each other.

----

Once the moons were nearly hidden behind the trees, only the paladin, the elder, and I remained sitting around the large campfire. The others had retreated into the wagons to sleep. Over the past few hours, I’d managed to pick up some basics, thanks to the earring, but I still had a long way to go.

After a while, the paladin headed to the armored wagon where the children were sleeping. She gave me a brief, polite nod to wish me goodnight before leaving me alone with the elder.

The elder looked tired, but I could tell she had a question burning in her mind. Somehow, I felt a bit disappointed. I had hoped for more conversation with others besides the elder, but none of the other elves had made an effort nor attempted to. Not that they could’ve done much without her acting as their interpreter, but still, they didn’t even try. So yeah, I felt a little let down.

I sighed and asked, "What did you want to ask me, elder?"

"I— We wanted to ask if the blessed one might offer us more of her time," the old elf said, her attempt at ancient moon elvish shaky but understandable.

"Offer? Well, I’m not against helping you out. I assume you want me to protect this caravan until you reach the city, right? I can do that, but I have three conditions," I responded in a serious tone.

The elf nodded, and I continued, "First, I want your help getting into the city unnoticed—as best as you can manage. Second, the bandit leader. I want a share of his bounty. And lastly, I need information. I’ll ask some questions that might sound strange, but I’ve been away for a quite a while, and I need updates. Did you understand what I said?"

She hesitated. "I think I have. Getting into walls may be hard. Looks are not well received by humans. Bounty can be all yours. I can give many information, if I understand what the guest means. Would that be... sufficient?"

"Yes, it is. I’ll think of a way to hide my tails, but for now, the first thing I want to know is your name," I replied.

The elder’s eyes went wide. "Oh, what an honor! Ithi taught me never to reveal my name until asked by someone of thy rank. The blessed one can gladly call me ‘Marika—Head of the Moon Alchemist Guild’."

I smiled. "Hello, Marika. I think we’ll understand each other quite well in the future, both literally and metaphorically."

The soul of Marika beamed with happiness, and I couldn’t help but recall a time when I could still feel such joy... when I was with her.

I absentmindedly twiddled my ring and thought about what this world, controlled by gods and their system, might hold for me. New magic? New ways to overcome—

My thoughts froze as I noticed tiny cracks beginning to form on my fingertips.

The medicine had already stopped working.