Months passed, and Opin relished the fragrance of blooming flowers. With the resurgence of herbs, his role as the village healer would become easier. Lately, though, he hadn't been in high demand, as there were no significant injuries to tend to.

Despite the decline in income, Opin didn't mind much. He had savings, and considering the villagers' financial constraints, he understood their limited ability to pay for his services. Moreover, Idas, a young villager, generously distributed miracle potions free of charge. Sacrificing a little income was inconsequential compared to the marvel Opin witnessed.

Leaving his house, he appreciated the compactness of the bustling village, allowing him to reach his destination—the house of the village elder—more swiftly.

However, his progress was interrupted by Dimas, the burly carpenter, and lumberjack, whose body frame resembled a bear. Opin hastened his steps upon seeing Dimas. Odd occurrences had been transpiring in the village, events Opin preferred to avoid, with Dimas seemingly at the center.

"Oh, healer Opin," Dimas called out from the crowd, presenting Opin with a small wooden goat. "Here, a gift from me. If you need more, just ask. It's all free."

"I-I already have a wooden goat," Opin attempted to decline. He didn't want to get entangled in a bizarre cult; he was a man of medicine!

Dimas insisted, practically forcing the wooden goat into Opin's hands. The glimmer in Dimas' eyes made it evident that rejecting the gift would be unwise. Reluctantly, Opin accepted it.

Opin could partially understand Dimas' unwavering devotion to Idas. The potions had not only saved Dimas' life but also those of his wife and infant daughter. Even if Idas ordered Dimas to murder, there was little doubt he would comply.

Fortunately, Idas was not the sort of young man who would make such demands. Opin proceeded toward the elder's house, which stood out among the others, boasting a slightly larger size and an adjacent barn. Within the village, the elder was undoubtedly the wealthiest man, even owning a donkey. Possessing a donkey was akin to owning a golden elephant in these parts.

Opin knocked on the door, and the elder promptly opened it. The old man's initial smile faded upon recognizing Opin. "Is it time already?"

Opin smiled in response. "Certainly, you should have received full payment from the merchant yesterday, so it's time to share with the inventor."

The old man grumbled but followed the instructions, taking a large sack of coins with him.

"I’m sure I don’t need to say this. But you know I'm going to count them, right?" Opin said.

The elder nodded, and though Opin wouldn't admit it aloud, he trusted the old man. The village elder was a vain man who wanted to be seen as generous and admired. This led him to sell goats at low prices and help those in need. But even if it came from a place of vanity, he was still a good village elder who saved whole families during challenging seasons, even if he had to work at a loss.

Opin believed that even if he hadn't been present during the deal, the village elder would have given Idas his share of the money. Only a fool would have taken money from someone the villagers considered a demi-god. Also, the elder could only resist such a grand gesture for so long before his vanity took over.

"Well, let's go now. I have to meet the village's esteemed miracle maker," the village elder smiled, a greedy glint in his eyes.

They arrived at Idas' house, situated on a corner within the village walls. It was closer to other houses compared to the scattered layout before. They knocked once, and a woman answered, ushering them inside. "Village Head, Healer Opin, welcome. Please be mindful of the noise as Idas is working on his new batch of potions."

Upon hearing this, Opin's heart skipped a beat. He would give anything to witness the creation of that miraculous potion. He knew the ingredients since he was the one who had gathered them for Idas, and he had even attempted to create the potion himself but failed miserably. The ingredients were mostly common herbs with no known uses, resulting in an unusable medicine.

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When they entered the main room, they saw Idas standing by a cauldron, stirring it clockwise and then counterclockwise as if searching for something within the potion. Opin watched in silence, confused yet captivated.

To his surprise, the cauldron bubbled with a crimson-red hue, something he had never achieved in his attempts to recreate it. His best outcome had been a horrible-tasting greenish soup.

Did Idas possess a secret ingredient? The Idas Cult said that the potion had part of Idas’ blood, but Opin couldn’t see how blood would help with healing. Perhaps there really was something true about that. After all, the potion had a red color.

There was a subtly bitter smell at the back of his throat. Were these invisible fumes part of the potion-making process? Perhaps the scent of damp wood played a role as well.

However, Opin knew that if the potion was easy to recreate, Idas would have likely shared the formula when everyone was injured. More potions would have saved more lives.

This was the reason why Opin, as a healer, believed that only the youngster possessed the qualifications to create the potion. Idas had demonstrated his willingness to share his secrets for the sake of helping others, so it would be shameful to suspect him of greed or foul play after everything he had done.

Carefully covering his hands with a cloth, Idas gripped the handles of the cauldron and poured the potion into delicate glass bottles. The room was filled with a sweet aroma, instantly making them feel as if their bodies were healing.

Observing the scene, the village elder couldn't help but acknowledge the remarkable sight.

"It's as if we're watching a God trapped in a mortal body," he murmured. Despite his own greed, he couldn't deny what was happening.

Opin responded sharply, cautioning the elder, "Don't speak blasphemously about Idas. I don't care if you bring divine wrath upon yourself, old man, but don't involve the youngster. He has a bright future ahead."

Opin didn't want to take chances whether the gods were real or not. There seemed to be no one other than Idas capable of creating the Bottled Miracle. It was impossible to reverse engineer his abilities as if he truly possessed a divine blessing.

Idas stood up, wiped the sweat from his brow, and respectfully addressed his elders, "Village elder, healer Opin, how may I be of assistance?"

Reluctantly, Opin acknowledged to himself that if he were of Idas' age and possessed such powers, he might have succumbed to temptation and indulged in any desire. No woman would dare refuse the advances of someone who could perform miracles. This realization further emphasized that Idas was truly deserving of his blessings.

Idas looked at them with concern when they remained silent, prompting him to ask, "Is something wrong?"

Considering Idas' status, he could have easily demanded their submission and deemed this meeting a waste of time, overpowering them with his presence. But this was Idas they were dealing with. Although Opin didn't agree with the fanatics, he understood why people had formed a cult around him.

"We're here to give you the money," the village elder said enthusiastically, placing a bag of coins in the young man's hands.

Opin noticed that Idas didn't flinch at the weight of the bag. It became apparent that beneath his humble appearance, Idas possessed a formidable physique. This didn't surprise Opin, as it was expected that someone blessed by the gods would not be weak.

***

After finishing the brewing of some potions, I was surprised as the village elder, accompanied by the sole healer in our vicinity, handed me a sack of coins larger than my head. As I opened the bag, bronze and silver coins threatened to spill out. Such a considerable amount of money was rare in these parts.

"Forgive me if this seems impolite, but why are you giving me this money?" I asked, puzzled.

The thought crossed my mind that it was payment for the potions. However, I had already made it clear that they were free until everyone recovered. While there were no longer any critically ill individuals, some were still bedridden, and the healing potions aided in their faster recovery.

"It is payment for the wheelbarrows," the healer explained.

This response did little to clarify the situation. "The wheelbarrows?" I inquired.

"We sold a few to a merchant, and since it was your idea, we decided to share some of the profits with you," the village elder replied with a smile. It seemed like the village elder was a good man, and here I used to think of him as greedy because he fit the stereotype looks-wise.

After engaging in some casual conversation, they departed with beaming smiles.

When I first devised the wheelbarrow, I never expected compensation; it was simply an attempt to compensate for the village's shortage of manpower.

Initially, my plan had been to earn money after everyone recovered. Once that happened, I wanted to embark on a journey to explore this ancient world, eager to witness its wonders firsthand.

Yet, it seemed that I would not have to wait that long. The only remaining question was: where would my first destination be?