The Simpleton’s Beautiful Wife

Fifty years had passed since then, and legends of the Hero’s sacrifice, alongside his companions, to vanquish the Demon Lord, echoed across the continent. Countless individuals spread tales of this generation’s Hero, ushering in an era of peace and prosperity for the lands.

Green Village, a secluded settlement nestled in the southeastern reaches of the Holy Roman Kingdom, was home to a hundred families. They had tilled these lands and lived here for generations.

Yet, at this very moment, something truly peculiar was unfolding within Green Village.

“Have you heard? That simpleton in our village actually married a beautiful woman!” a villager with a crooked face remarked to another with a square face, who was busy working.

“I have. The poor soul who suffered a magic backlash when his powers awakened,” the square-faced villager replied, pausing his work to wipe sweat from his brow. “His mother is truly pitiful, too, left to raise such a burden after her husband died.”

“But just a few days ago, a young woman was helping out at his home, claiming to be his wife… You tell me, this, this—” The crooked-faced villager recalled the recent wedding, finding it utterly surreal. He spat, his eyes betraying an undeniable jealousy. “Who knows where he bought her! How could *he* get a wife like that! What kind of eyes does that woman have?!”

“Don’t say that. Foolish as he is, the fellow actually has decent looks,” the square-faced villager continued his work. “Who knows where our little simpleton, Roland, got such luck? Could it be that his prayers were more devout than ours?”

“Hmph, I bet that woman is a fool too!” the crooked-faced villager scoffed, his tone sour. “Two simpletons, what a perfect match!”

“Do you know where that young woman came from?” the square-faced villager mused. “She shouldn’t be from our village, right?”

Another plump auntie, who had been working, set down her tools and excitedly interjected, “I know, I know.”

“A few days ago, I asked some neighbors. They said the young woman emerged from the Monster Forest, dressed in tattered clothes and covered in dirt,” the plump auntie paused. “Then, she seemed to suddenly discover something and ran like a madwoman towards Roland’s house, only to reappear the next day.”

“A mountain girl?” the crooked-faced villager sneered, full of disdain. “No wonder her mind isn’t right!”

Listening to their endless chatter, the square-faced villager cleared his throat, signaling, “If the master sees us slacking off, we’ll be punished again.”

“What’s there to worry about!” the crooked-faced villager pouted. “These past few days, the master has been preoccupied with his son’s magic awakening. How could he have time to inspect us here?”

Magic served as the continent’s standard for gauging strength.

Each person, upon reaching adulthood, would awaken their magic. However, for the vast majority, the magic within their bodies was minuscule.

Only a select few, true prodigies, could grow and advance through magic, transcending the realm of mortals. These individuals would be granted a divine mandate by the Church.

Depending on their talents, they might become swordsmen, archers, mages, blacksmiths… or even—a Hero!

****

Watching the villagers’ animated discussions from afar, Roland’s mother, Old Jenny, felt her heart entangled in a knot of confusion.

Some envied, others begrudged, her son Roland for marrying such a beautiful and charming wife. Yet, she couldn’t shake the peculiar feeling that something was amiss.

As she gazed at the girl cooking, a persistent unease gnawed at her. Her son had married, but she found no joy in it. Why did this girl, Freya, insist on marrying her Roland?

Just days prior, as she was feeding Roland at home, this girl had burst in, shouting, “Found him, found him!”

When Jenny asked who she was, the girl declared herself Roland’s fiancée. What a joke! Jenny had been with Roland for so many years; her child had no fiancée.

Initially, she considered giving the girl some food and sending her away. However, when Freya unleashed a [Void Art], throwing herself to the ground and glaring with fierce eyes, Jenny no longer dared to refuse.

To have awakened such terrifying magic at such a young age! Such individuals were not to be provoked. If she displeased her, Jenny and Roland’s lives might be forfeit.

“Ah…” Jenny sighed, “Such a bitter fate, a truly bitter fate.”

As she was washing clothes, she suddenly noticed Freya approaching with a bowl of thin porridge.

“The meal’s ready. Have a taste,” Freya said, handing over the porridge. She looked at Old Jenny, then opened her mouth, pondering. “Tell me what you think of the flavor.”

“Thank you,” Jenny replied, taking the porridge Freya had made. She took a sip, and her expression instantly changed. “Ah… this porridge…”

“What’s wrong?” Freya asked, her face alight with excitement.

“It tastes… a bit bitter?” Old Jenny spat, grimacing. “What did you add?”

“Hahaha, if it’s bitter, then it’s just right,” Freya snatched the bowl back and walked unhurriedly towards the house. “Hmph, I added mandrake leaves. It would be a wonder if it didn’t kill you, you fool.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Freya turned back, her voice cold. “Remember not to tell anyone I can use magic.”

Old Jenny nodded incessantly.

Pushing open the dilapidated door, Freya saw Roland sitting on the bed, staring blankly out the window.

Ever since the magic backlash, Roland had been like a simpleton who could only babble, ‘Aba aba.’ His favorite pastime was gazing out the window, occasionally muttering his nonsensical sounds.

“Aba aba,” Roland babbled, seeing his beautiful wife enter.

Freya followed Roland’s gaze out the window. A clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Yes, today was probably the day to make her move.

Casting a disdainful glance at Roland, Freya slowly approached him.

“Stop babbling and eat your food,” Freya said, slamming the bowl of porridge onto the table, letting the food splatter onto the table and Roland’s clothes.

Upon seeing the food, Roland paid no mind. He slowly licked clean the porridge from his clothes and the table, finishing every last drop.

Freya wrinkled her nose, watching Roland eat with an indescribable mockery. “To think the continent’s strongest Hero has fallen to such a state, eating like a dog!” As she spoke, she looked at the dirt on the ground, scooped up a handful, and shoved it into Roland’s mouth. “Here, some extra seasoning for you.”

Roland merely stared with vacant eyes, numbly licking the ‘seasoning’ from Freya’s hand, mouthful after mouthful.

Feeling the warm tongue slide across her palm, Freya felt both exhilarated and disgusted. After a moment, she pulled her hand away.

“Aba aba?” Roland looked at Freya, confused.

“Stop babbling! Today, I’ll cure your magic backlash!” Freya chanted a string of incantations, then extended a finger and tapped Roland’s forehead. “Foolish Hero, quickly retrieve the memories of the Holy Sword!”

‘I must find the Holy Sword soon. I wonder where it went after my reincarnation. If the Church finds it again, no number of Demon Lords would be enough for them to kill.’

‘For the sake of my own life, I can’t kill this former Hero yet. I still need to help him recover the Holy Sword’s memories.’

****

Ever since the magic backlash, Roland felt as though he had been asleep for a very long time. He had a dream—a dream of a sword, a sword capable of severing all, and a person, someone he utterly despised.

In the end of the dream, he saw himself and that person perish together in a blaze of light.

He didn’t understand what these visions meant, nor where these memories originated, only that the dream felt incredibly long.

“Roland!”

Someone was calling him. Was it his mother?

“Hey, you idiot, aren’t you getting up?”

‘No, that can’t be. Mother wouldn’t use such language.’

“Ah, he’s reacting. Cough, cough. Roland?”

The world gradually sharpened into focus, and Roland slowly opened his eyes. Within his sight, a young woman was looking down at him.

Her snow-white hair cascaded over his chest, and a pair of purple eyes stared unblinkingly at him. Her exquisite, handsome face was like a meticulously carved gem.

“You…” Roland endured a severe dizzy spell, looking at the exceptionally beautiful girl, his voice laced with confusion.

Freya sighed, sitting beside Roland and gently stroking his gaunt face. She composed herself for a moment, waiting until she felt her tears were ready, then looked at him tenderly. “It’s been a long time. Do you… still remember who I am?”

“Huh? I…” Roland pondered for a moment. “I don’t seem to remember. Who are you?”

“I am Freya. Do you remember? Your wife from your previous life.”

‘Freya…’

“Back then, beneath the Holy Light Temple, at the Holy Sword Ceremony,” Freya hesitated, then continued, “the High Priest announced our wedding.”

‘Holy Light Temple!’

‘Holy Sword!’

A sudden, intense pain shot through his brain, as if something deep within his memories was about to burst.

“It feels… somewhat familiar,” Roland said, furrowing his brow. “But I can’t recall it clearly… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Freya embraced Roland. “At least, I’ve found you!”

‘And then I’ll kill you!’

‘But first, I still need to find the Holy Sword.’

Freya shed two streams of clear tears, gazing at Roland with a dazed expression. “You’re not fully conscious yet. Once you’re better, I’ll tell you about your past memories.”

“My… past memories?”

“After your magic awakened, your past life’s memories were too powerful, causing your magic to backfire, and you became a fool,” Freya patiently wiped the food stains from Roland’s clothes. “See, you can’t even eat properly.”

Watching Freya tidy his clothes, Roland was deeply moved. “All these years… have you been taking care of me?”

“I only found you recently,” Freya considered, then decided to tell the truth.

“Oh, I see.”

“Let’s go out and see Mother first. She’ll be overjoyed to see you’ve recovered.”

Roland nodded, attempting to stand, but felt utterly weak.

“Heh heh…” Freya supported one of his arms. “Your magic backlash has just been cured; your body hasn’t fully recovered yet.”

“Haha, it’s good to have you,” Roland chuckled, feeling Freya’s warm body temperature. He couldn’t resist glancing at her chest.

‘Hmm, my taste in my past life must have been quite good.’

Sensing Roland’s gaze, Freya’s face twitched.

‘Even reincarnated, the Hero is still a pervert! Where is he looking?!’

‘If not to get close to you and discover the whereabouts of the Holy Sword, this Demon Lord would never have made such a huge sacrifice!’

‘Once I find the Holy Sword’s location, I’ll kill you!’

‘Wait for it, foolish Hero, I will definitely kill you!’