Arc I – Beautiful World
Chapter 9 – Magic
Day 8 Since the Summoning
Kamelia and Alan approached a group of guards who stood at a decent distance from the corpse, which had been dragged out of the river onto the plain of dry earth.
The horses stood by a tree; one of the guards was forcibly dragging his horse away from the river, which desperately just wanted to drink.
Shergen detached himself from the group and unhurriedly approached the countess and Alan.
“My lady, I see the hero has already awoken?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
Kamelia nodded.
“Yes.” She turned to Alan.
“Alan, this is Shergen, the fire mage.”
He blinked.
‘Just don’t say it out loud.
That’s the stupidest question there could be.
Don’t say it.
Don’t ask it.’
“So why don’t you have a staff or some magical gadgets?”
‘Idiot.’
Shergen raised an eyebrow.
“Um…
why would I?
Such things are worn exclusively by High Mages and Heroes, not ordinary fellows like me.”
Alan closed his mouth.
“Got it…”
‘That’s it.
Just shut up.
Enough stupid questions, time to get down to business.’
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Well…
so, are we starting the cremat…
the burning?”
Shergen blinked.
“What was that you said?”
Kamelia sighed and walked toward the jerkos corpse.
“Pay it no mind.
He is constantly saying some abstruse words from his world.”
The mage scratched his stubble.
“But I am curious.
What is a ‘cremat’?”
Alan pulled his hands out of his pockets.
‘Well I’ll be damned.
At least someone’s interested in the meaning of words.’
“It’s when dead people or animals are burned.”
Shergen tilted his head.
“Burned?
Hmm…
in Arumelia, they hardly bury people either.
They also call this ritual by some incomprehensible word.
Something starting with the letter ‘T’, but I do not remember, to be honest.”
Alan froze.
‘Incomprehensible word…
no.
It could just be a coincidence or their local name for the ritual.
The letter “T”…
fire…
cremation…
heat…
…
…’
His eyes widened.
‘Thermal!’
Alan abruptly took a step closer.
“Listen, does their ritual have the word ‘thermal’ in it?!”
Shergen did not flinch, but his hands twitched slightly.
“I do not remember, to be honest, I only heard the word once.” He shrugged.
“Tidings from Arumelia are a great rarity, it is on the other end of the world.
I myself am quite lucky to have met a merchant from there some twenty years ago.”
Alan lowered his hands.
“Ah…
got it then.” He scratched the back of his head.
“Listen, do you remember what that merchant from Arumelia looked like?
Now I’m actually curious.”
“Are you coming or what?!” Kamelia shouted.
“Right now!” Shergen replied and turned back to Alan.
“Lad, do you think I remember the exact details after so much time?
Just a regular merchant in rich garments.” He chuckled.
“Sheep-heads do not live there, if that is what you mean.” He turned around.
Alan blinked.
“What?
Sheep…
heads?”
Shergen turned back.
“Ah, you probably do not understand our expressions.
It means something like…” he scratched his forehead.
“How should I explain it to you…
a strange, fictional creature used to represent the inhabitants of very distant lands.
Well, it is connected to a certain legend of our ancestors, but it is a long story to tell.”
Alan slowly nodded.
“Hmm…
interesting expression.
Alright, let’s go, or the countess will burn us herself first.”
The mage smiled slightly.
“Oh, she certainly can.
We had better go.”
Alan followed the man, massaging his forehead.
‘I don’t understand a damn thing.
I’ll need to dig into this later…
if I survive and don’t go crazy.’
Alan stood next to the guards about thirty-five yards from the corpse, while Shergen approached the jerkos to a distance of about ten paces.
“Gratity!
Viduitye po darihe!” he shouted.
Kamelia nodded, and everyone stepped further back except Alan, who just blinked.
‘Fucking Wi-Fi translator with limited coverage.
But fine, he probably told everyone to step back.’
He followed the others another fifteen paces back.
Shergen held his hands out in front of him, and his body took on a green silhouette.
A second passed.
A small fireball formed in his hands, and his hands glowed green brightest of all.
A pillar of orange flame burst from his hands like a flamethrower, heading straight for the beast’s corpse.
The fire slowly engulfed the entire carcass; the fur dried quickly, after which it began to smoke, and later to burn.
The exposed bones began to blacken.
Shergen dug his feet into the ground, sweat rolled down his forehead, his body began to tremble, and the tongues of flame grew ever stronger, so much so that the grass in a small radius began to blacken.
After three minutes the fire ceased; the mage bent over, resting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily, and all that remained of the corpse was a pile of bones and ash.
Shergen exhaled deeply and straightened up, then unhurriedly walked toward the guards, though his back was slightly hunched.
Kamelia immediately stepped forward at a brisk pace.
“Shergen!
How are you holding up?”
The mage simply raised a hand.
“You certainly burdened an old man, Your Grace.”
The countess stopped and simply shook her head.
“You never change.”
Shergen finally reached the others.
“I believe I spent a good half of my fiolla on this beast,” he glanced over his shoulder at the remains, “perhaps even more.”
Alan blinked.
‘What?
Fiolla?’
Kamelia adjusted a strand of hair that had fallen into her eye.
“It is entirely possible, on such a monster.”
Shergen opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Alan raising his hand.
“That’s cool and all, but…
what exactly is fiolla?”
The mage looked at him.
“What?
You do not know what fiolla is?” He cast a sidelong glance at Kamelia.
She shrugged.
“We had a lot of matters to attend to, I did not have time to tell him.”
“Did not have time to tell him the most important thing…” Shergen muttered almost inaudibly, then sighed.
“Then I will explain quickly.” He turned to Alan.
“Fiolla is the gift of Svyatol, thanks to which we have used magic for thousands of years.
It is the inner power of a person that is capable of doing this.”
Alan blinked again.
“Like…
mana or something?”
The guards behind them leaned in a little closer, unnoticeably.
Shergen tilted his head to the side.
“Is that what you call it in your world, mana?”
Alan opened his mouth, closed it.
‘Well, I’m not gonna explain to him right now that mana is something that only existed in books and moving pictures back home.’
He sniffled.
“Well…
almost.” Alan waved his hand.
“We’re a bit short on time right now, but…
could you maybe come to the capital of Armenas sometime and tell me more?”
Kamelia looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing.
The mage shrugged.
“Only if Her Grace permits it.”
The countess closed her eyes.
“That is only in the event that the sickness truly ceases thanks to your actions.
If not…
you remember.”
Alan just sighed.
“Yeah, I remember.”
‘And off with my head.
I’ve even gotten used to it over these past few days.
Alright…
we’re getting ready to leave now, I need to quickly come up with more questions…
but what?
Maybe…
ahhh…
I don’t have the energy to think anymore…
I just want to fall down and sleep for eternity.
Though…
I do have one little question.’
“Listen, Shergen, why…
was there a green light around you?
It’s like…
fire magic, why not orange or red?”
‘Good job, Alan, you’re a real genius, this world doesn’t have enough people like you.’
Shergen walked toward his horse.
“And what is so unusual about that?
It is Elemental Magic, it is all like that.
I personally have never seen an orange aura.” He stepped up to the saddle and turned back to Alan.
“And a red aura is the color of Bodily Magic.” The man climbed into the saddle.
Alan blinked.
‘So that’s how it is…
alright.
That’s it.
I don’t want to think about anything else anymore.
I want to sleep…
and eat…
and sleep some more…’
Alan yawned.
“Got it…”
Kamelia walked up behind him.
“Since we are finished here, it is time to return to the castle.
We have been sitting here for days already…” she narrowed her eyes.
“Well, and in two weeks we shall see the fruits of your labor.”
Day 11 Since the Summoning
Alan sat at a table that had been brought into the small throne room.
Instead of his old suit, he wore a brown shirt, plain gray trousers, and black boots.
The bags under his eyes hadn’t gone anywhere, even though he had slept a lot.
Kamelia sat next to him in the same dark gray uniform, her hands folded on the table.
Opposite them sat six advisors, men between thirty-five and forty-five years old.
One of them, a man around forty with thinning, slightly gray hair, sat up straighter.
“Your Grace, permit me to begin the report?”
She nodded.
“Permitted.”
“Ahem…” he pulled out a sheet of parchment.
“The first thing I would like to say, Your Grace, is that Baron Ekkur expresses concern that you recently intervened without warning, and also…
he expresses particular dissatisfaction regarding the village you burned down on his lands.”
Kamelia cast a sidelong glance at Alan, and gave a barely noticeable nod.
His eyes widened slightly.
‘Ahhh…
so that’s why you dragged me to this meeting…
so I could stare at the consequences.’
Kamelia coughed.
“It was a necessary measure to prevent the spread of the sickness.”
Another advisor, around thirty-seven with black hair slicked back, raised an eyebrow.
“My lady…
I certainly do not doubt you, but…
are you certain you chose this course of action entirely on your own?”
Alan’s hands tensed.
‘Fuck.
He’s talking about me!
Goddamn it, they’re so carefully leading up to the fact that it’s all my fault…
should I even say anything?
Absolutely!
Or…
will I just be throwing gas on the fire?
FUCK!’
Kamelia folded her hands on the table.
“Naturally not alone.
Alan Gothwald advised me on it.”
One of the advisors narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
The second one’s face remained unreadable.
The gray-haired advisor quietly exhaled through his nose.
“My lady, are you…
certain of his words?
Even if he is…
a hero, burning down an entire village, in my opinion, and keeping the other five under guard…
is too much.”
The advisor with a mustache waved his hand.
“Agreed.
The sickness is certainly a very unpleasant occurrence, but we face it almost annually.
For example, four years ago, after a priest from the capital visited and blessed our lands, there was no sickness.
Perhaps we should have summoned him this time as well?”
Alan clenched his fists.
‘Idiot!
What fucking priest and blessing?!
It’s just a coincidence and nothing more!
Ahhh…
and I can’t even explain it to him…
alright, just keep sitting in silence with a smart face, Alan, no need to put your two cents in.’
Kamelia raised her hand.
“Alan Gothwald promised that the sickness would be stopped two weeks after these measures.
As a sign of certainty, he…” she closed her eyes.
“He staked his life.
If the sickness does not cease – he will be sentenced to execution.”
The advisors immediately froze, and Alan along with them.
‘Uh-oh…
looks like that’s it, I’m screwed.
It was one thing when only she and a few guards knew, I could…
I could have wormed my way out of it somehow…
but she declared it in front of the advisors…’
He swallowed the heavy lump in his throat.
‘Now it’s serious.
Very serious…
she just didn’t…
FUCK!
Maybe I did something wrong back there?!
What if some peasant slips past the guards and draws water from the river?!
Or someone uses the same dishes or toilet?!
Or maybe they didn’t memorize how to make that filter?!
Or maybe they’ll forget that after filtering, the water MUST be boiled?!
THERE ARE FUCKING NO GUARANTEES OUT THERE!’
All eyes immediately turned to Alan.
“Is this true, Lord Gothwald?” asked one of the advisors.
Alan didn’t answer; he just stared with empty eyes at the wall somewhere behind the advisors.
One of them cast a brief glance at the spot he was looking at, and then turned back to the table.
Kamelia reached under the table and pinched Alan hard on the thigh.
He jumped slightly.
“Huh?
What?”
“The lords advisors are asking if your promise is true,” she hissed through her teeth.
Alan nodded quickly.
“Oh, yeah…
it’s true.”
The men opposite nodded in various ways, then the mustached one sat up straighter.
“Then we shall convey this to the baron and the knights to whom those villages belong.
Two villages.
Is there anything else, Your Grace?”
Kamelia shook her head, then stood up.
“No.
You may go.”
The advisors stood up simultaneously, gave a brief bow, and filed out of the small throne room one by one.
The door clicked shut.
Kamelia slowly turned to Alan.
“You…
where are you anyway?
Are you here, or where is your head in the clouds?” she asked in an even voice.
Too even.
Alan was breathing rapidly.
“That doesn’t matter right now.” He took a step closer, raising his hands in front of him.
“Kamelia, we need to…
we need to urgently tighten the quarantine!
Because if even one person breaks it…
everything goes down the drain!” He took another step forward with wide eyes.
“We need to go back there!
Send more guards, repeat the filter instructions, explain it more and more convincingly so no one breaks the rules and the sickness doesn’t spread again!
We need to…”
“Alan,” Kamelia said, closing her eyes.
“Calm down.
Everything will become clear in two weeks.”
Alan lowered his hands, then frowned.
“But the human factor plays a role here!
You can build a perfect plan, and then because of some idiot who takes a gulp of water from the river, the whole village could get infected again!” He threw his hands up, his voice rising to a shout.
“They absolutely won’t all listen!
The measures work, but they could be useless just from simple non-compliance, and…”
Kamelia stepped right up to him.
“Are you so afraid of death?
You fed me a pack of lies about burning and some ‘dysentery’, and now that you know for certain you will be executed in the event your plan fails, you have decided to fix everything?
You invented nonsense and only now realized the full severity of your words and promise?”
Alan froze.
“What…
No!
That’s not it at all!” A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Listen, Kamelia…”
“Armenas,” the girl interrupted.
“Lady Armenas.
Calm yourself down this instant.
You will be escorted to your room now.”
She turned and walked toward the doors.
Alan took a step forward.
“But…
you don’t understand what I mean!”
The countess wasn’t listening.
She just silently walked out and closed the door behind her, which slammed faintly from the force.
Alan stared at the door for another minute, and then slammed his hand on the table with all his might, sending a hollow thud echoing through the hall.
“Fuuuuck!” he screamed, and then sat down on the steps before the throne, clutching his head.
‘FUCK!
FUCK!
FUCK!
THAT’S IT!
THIS IS THE FUCKING END!
SHE WON’T EVEN LISTEN TO ME!
THE QUARANTINE WON’T WORK AND THEY’LL EXECUTE ME IN TWO WEEKS!
FUUUUUUUCK!
WHAT DO I DO?!
WHAT DO I DO?!
WHAT DO I DO?!
RUN THE HELL AWAY FROM HERE?!
AND WHERE THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO RUN TO?!
THESE ARE FUCKING MEDIEVAL PEASANTS WHO CAN’T SEE PAST THEIR OWN NOSES!’
He began pulling his hair with hands that weren’t just trembling, but practically vibrating.
‘I’M A MORON!
I DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER TO PROPERLY EXPLAIN TO THEM THE POINT OF ALL THESE ACTIONS!
FUCKING RETARD!
THAT’S THE NUMBER ONE FUCKING RULE!
NO ONE WILL DO A FUCKING THING IF THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY!
I’M FUCKED!
THEY’RE DEFINITELY GOING TO EXECUTE ME BECAUSE OF THIS MORONIC MISTAKE!’
Day 22 Since the Summoning
Dawn had already broken on the streets of the capital of the Armenas County.
The sun’s rays filled Alan’s room, illuminating the space.
Alan sat on the hard wooden bed, hugging his knees to his chest.
His fingernails were almost black and completely bitten down; fresh blood still trickled from one of his fingers.
There were sparse drops of blood on the bedsheet.
His lips were crimson as well.
The hair on his head was a mess.
Bags dark as the abyss proudly sat under his eyes, and his face was as pale as chalk.
It wasn’t visible under his clothes, but his ribs were already showing beneath his skin.
Alan had just been sitting like this for the second day now, having gone out at most to the chamber pot in the corner for the last time.
‘How much time has passed?
How long have I been sitting here?
Has it been two weeks already?
They’re going to execute me.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to die.
They’re going to kill me…
they’re going to kill me…’
It had repeated like a mantra in his head for the past few days.
There was another knock at the door, after which Alan abruptly sprang up from the bed.
‘Who is it?!
Have the executioners already arrived?!
Are they taking me to the scaffold now?!’
The door slowly opened.
Kamelia.
For the first time in weeks.
She surveyed the room, then looked at Alan himself; her eyes widened slightly, and her face contorted almost imperceptibly.
“Come…
there is a matter to discuss regarding…
the villages,” she said quietly.
Alan’s heart sank to his boots.
He stayed silent for a few seconds, then dropped his shoulders and simply walked toward the door.
Kamelia silently stepped back from the doorway, letting him pass.
Five minutes later, they were in the small throne room.
The countess sat at the table; Alan remained standing by the doorway, just staring at the floor.
“Sit,” she said.
Alan flinched slightly, after which he slowly sat down opposite her and folded his hands in front of him, automatically beginning to fidget with his mangled fingers.
Kamelia closed her eyes.
“Over the past two weeks, roughly a hundred peasants have died from the sickness in the villages.”