It wasn't easy, but slowly, I made steps toward cleaning up the mess in the inn. In under an hour, the floor looked as spotless as it did earlier that morning, and everything that had broken was either covered up or stored away.

I'll take these to the guild tomorrow, I thought optimistically, tightening the ropes on the large sacks containing the destroyed tables. Perhaps there's an enchanter who will repair them for a cheap price and won't speak a word of it to Zakuli.

The old innkeeper didn't dislike magic in and of itself, but he was a bit prejudiced against its practitioners. Aside from those who specialized in healing, he'd always welcome magic with suspicion and scrutiny.

That is why I decided to have the remains of his sword reforged by a blacksmith instead. It clearly meant far more to him intrinsically, and as silly as that may have sounded, I didn't want to diminish its sentimental value.

Things were a bit awkward between us during my first week on the job, but I think he had a peek at one of the books I was reading while on shift the week before and discovered that the magic I was interested in wasn't all that dangerous or ambitious, but rather mundane and helpful.

✿✿✿

"Nothin' good comes out of peering too deep into magic, you know," Zakuli hurled his voice through the kitchen door in a warning. "Simple stuff we normal folks can handle? That's fine! But oh, those mages and their council are begging for trouble with their aspirations, I tell you!"

The inn was a bit loud that day, full of voices of celebration. Something good must've happened, but I didn't pay attention to any of the conversations; I was far too occupied with scanning through the pages of my new book.

Its title, 'Tastes Magical,' seemed rather boring at first, but it was cheap, and my curiosity got to me. As one might have expected, it was a cooking book – and while I wasn't particularly interested in the topic, the ingenuity of its ideas surprised me so positively that I accidentally memorized a few recipes.

I was initially disappointed to find that it contained no new spells, but I became impressed with its author. By using widely known incantations and arcane inscriptions, it innovated the use cases of many different spells.

Before that moment, I never would have thought of using something like a Vow of Peace – a spell that temporarily assisted you in avoiding harm by sacrificing your ability to harm yourself and those around you – to protect yourself from accidental splashes of cooking oil. That idea alone helped me adapt my thought process.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Getting too invested in discovery and achievement like the archmage will only get you killed in the long run!" Zakuli bellowed again. "Be responsible! Don't forget our place in this world, and our God will remain merciful. That's what I always say."

✿✿✿

Oh, what wouldn't I have given to have a sprinkle of the forbidden knowledge that was available to the Silverstring Council at that moment? Cleaning up was no good. I couldn't shift my thoughts away from lingering on Siridan in the basement – and his missing heartbeat.

Even as I recalled all the principles I learned through my varied methods of studying and sources of self-education on magic, none of my thoughts brought me any closer to a sensible conclusion or solution to the problem at hand.

It had been a while since I had to confront a problem this serious. In fact, it's possible that the new me didn't have to deal with anything similar until that point. Of course, I knew I was getting involved in matters I should've distanced myself from.

But at that point, it felt as if I were already far too deep in the mud – and all I wanted to do was find an answer to the question that bothered me from the moment I reincarnated – to fill the void of my missing memories.

So when I finished cleaning up the mess as instructed by Zakuli, instead of hurrying back up to my room, I returned to the basement with some bread and water, just in case Siridan had woken up.

Though he hadn't moved from where I left him, the position of his head did shift to the side, and one of his hands grasped tightly onto the sheath at his side.

...Right. I almost forgot I left Siridan's sword with him. Even though he was asleep, merely seeing him hold onto it with such strength was enough to make me uneasy. Despite my anxiety, I tiptoed closer and settled on the floor to continue reading.

I thought it was best if I left it there. After all, even if I did confiscate it, chances were that Siridan would view having his weapon stolen from him as an act of aggression and decide to snap me like a twig with his bare hands. Whether he had it or not didn't matter.

Nothing I'd have done could have come between him and his potential desire to kill me. With a weary smile, I did my best to push those reassuring thoughts aside and instead consoled myself by remembering that helping him made him less aggressive and hoped I could earn more of his trust by healing him.

In the end, my efforts to discern the truth of his condition that night were fruitless. Two whole books specializing in magical illnesses failed to illuminate me, and by the time I picked up a third, my eyelids were too heavy to continue any meaningful reading.

After placing a useless bookmark on the very first page and shutting the book, I absent-mindedly brushed Siridan's argent hair away from his face with a gentle finger, and my lips curled into a tiny pout.

"If this bread goes stale, it's your fault," I selfishly chastised him in his unconsciousness to vent my frustration with him and the entire situation I'd involved myself in. I then pulled back my hand and stood up, hands tightened into nervous fists that lightly clutched at my dress.

Hm. I pondered, still staring at Siridan's obnoxiously handsome face with a distasteful look. I wonder. Does this count as kidnapping?

I didn't really care.

"This is my life now, I guess," I sighed as I turned to leave. "—But you better wake up soon, moron! I have questions, you know!" After rephrasing my desperate plea as a demand that would go unheard, I closed the door behind me and headed to bed.

So yeah. I technically abducted the guy who killed me. What of it?