Arc II – Agrarian Revolution
Chapter 9 – The Egoist
1 Month and 2 Days Since the Summoning
The sun was already preparing to set.
Alan sat under a tree by the forest, hugging his knees.
The stolen clothes were clean, but his hands and face were smeared with blood, his own and the shinnor’s, and it was already starting to dry, while his body was perfectly intact.
‘Why didn’t I die?’
He touched his bloody neck with a trembling hand.
Not a single scratch.
‘Why?
I can’t be so delirious as to imagine an attack by…
a beast.’
A bird chirped somewhere in a tree; Alan jumped up from the ground, his whole body tense, his heart beating faster.
Then, seeing there was no threat, he slowly sat back down.
‘What the hell…
hold on a minute…’
Memories and words from that very dream flashed through his mind.
Alan’s eyes widened, and his body stopped shaking.
‘So that’s what it is…
you…
you’re the one who gave me…
whatever this is…
The Stranger.
So the show doesn’t end prematurely…
or something like that.
That means…’
He clenched the grass beneath him with his hands.
‘The healing of my fingers wasn’t a one-time thing…
that mushroom…
that wasn’t temporary poisoning.
I really would have died if not for this…
healing?
Regeneration?
…
so this is your doing!’
Alan clutched his head.
‘What, am I immortal now?!
Or how does it work?!
That definitely wasn’t an illusion?!’
He sprang up and looked at the tree, then raised a fist.
He stood like that for about two seconds, then exhaled and slammed his fist into the tree with a running start.
Only a dull thud was heard.
“Ow!” he yelled, clutching his fist as blood began to flow from his knuckle.
For a few seconds nothing happened, then the wound began to close up, leaving only blood on his fist.
Alan stared at his hand with wide eyes, when suddenly his breathing grew heavier.
‘This…
this is impossible…
THIS IS LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE!
No, no, no!
There definitely has to be some kind of price for this!
But what?!
Things like this don’t just happen!
Maybe there is a price but that white-eyed bastard just didn’t name it?!
I don’t understand a fucking thing!’
He ran his hands down his face, then pulled them away and looked at them.
‘Shit, blood everywhere!
I need to wash it off!’
He instantly bolted toward a nearby stream he found in the forest, and immediately began frantically washing his hands.
He scrubbed so hard it seemed he didn’t just want to wash off the blood, but to erase his palms entirely.
Once the blood was cleared from his hands, he began generously scrubbing his face.
Water splashed everywhere, soaking his shirt and trousers a bit.
He finally stood up.
‘Phew…
how much time has passed anyway?!
Have I been here too long?!
What if Kamelia is already looking for me?!
What if she finds the corpse?!
No!
I have to get back quickly, so she has no reason to come into the forest here!’
He instantly bolted from the spot and rushed toward the village.
He tore past a fence, behind which a beastkin woman in her forties looked around in bewilderment, standing by a clothesline where clothes were hung out to dry.
He stopped abruptly somewhere in the middle of the street and pressed his back against a random fence.
Alan could only hear muffled conversations in the distance, and his own frantic heartbeat.
‘FUCK!
The hole in my pants!
What do I do about it?!
Right!’
He bent down, grabbed his knee, and tried to tear the pant leg.
But the adrenaline was already fading, and he didn’t have the strength to rip the sturdy fabric.
He pulled at the sides until his hands started shaking from the effort and his breathing stopped, and finally he let go with an exhale.
‘Fuck!
It won’t tear!
Shit!’
He quickly looked around, and saw the spot where they had butchered the jerkos; the dagger was still lying there.
Without a second thought, he sprinted to the spot, snatched the bloody dagger, hid behind the fence, wiped the blade on the grass, and finally cut the pant leg at the knee.
It tore with a ripping sound.
‘Yes!
Finally!
And the rest is easy!
I’ll say I fell, and I need to sew my pants, they’ll give me a needle and thread, and I’ll sew up both the hole on the knee and the hole for the tail so no one notices!
…
yeah, I’ll look like an even bigger idiot falling out of nowhere after this…
but so be it.’
He tossed the dagger roughly back where he found it, and rushed to the house where Kamelia was.
Alan approached the fence of that very house, and immediately stopped, crouching down.
‘Alright…
calm down…
need to catch my breath…
so I don’t look like something happened…’
Three minutes later, he finally took a final breath, and walked toward the house.
Alan stood before the door for about five seconds, then knocked, a bit too loudly, and immediately opened the door.
Inside, Kamelia sat on the bed leaning against the wall, and opposite her, Lorgi sat on a chair.
“…already returned to the garrison…” he turned to Alan.
Kamelia turned to him as well, and her eyebrow crept upwards.
Wet shirt, sweat on his face, knees covered in dirt, a torn pant leg.
The countess simply closed her eyes.
“Alan, Alan…
what is it this time?”
Lorgi said nothing, but had Kamelia not been nearby, he would have slapped his own forehead hard.
Alan smiled nervously.
“Oh nothing…
just…
exploring the forest…
fell down, and tore my pant leg.”
Kamelia stood up and walked over to him, then leaned down slightly to get a good look.
“Did not even scrape your knee?
You certainly are lucky.”
Alan’s heart skipped a beat.
‘I knew I fucked up somewhere!
What do I do?!
What do I do?!
What do I do?!
Wait…
I don’t like her tone, if I agree that I’m lucky right now, I’ll definitely give myself away!
THINK!’
Alan swallowed the rising wave of excuses, and simply sighed.
“Alright, you caught me.
I just wanted some normal clothes, and decided to tear these…
to get some new ones.”
Kamelia’s eyes widened slightly.
“What?”
Alan spread his hands.
“Well what?
I’m used to my own clothes, not to…” he ran a hand over his peasant-like shirt.
“this.”
Lorgi pressed his lips together in the chair, but stayed silent.
The countess, however, simply shook her head.
“I see you have grown quite relaxed lately, Alan.
He wants new clothes.” She waved a hand.
“Lorgi, bring him a needle and thread, let him make his own new clothes.”
Lorgi stood up immediately, as if waiting for exactly that.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Alan exhaled.
‘Alright, don’t agree too easily, throw a little tantrum for authenticity.’
“But…”
“Do you dare object to the countess’s orders?” Lorgi said, opening the doors.
Alan snapped his mouth shut immediately, and the captain nodded.
“That’s what I thought.” And he walked out of the hut.
Alan simply stood with his back to the wall at attention.
‘Holy shit I pulled that off…
didn’t know I could do that.
Well yeah, now I’m just a spoiled brat in their eyes.’
Kamelia sat on the bed and leaned back against the wall.
“Alan…
I understand that perhaps you are not well here, that you…
are doing too many things, have endured much and received little…”
Alan swallowed hard.
‘Fuck.
Don’t.
I’m begging you.
Don’t wake my conscience.
Just punish me and that’s it.
Be that bitch again.’
“But,” she continued.
“That is no reason to ruin things.
You understand yourself that we are not going through the best of times right now.” She looked up at him.
“So next time you want something…
simply say it straight.
Alright?
You have always been honest with me in the big things, so be honest in the small ones too.”
Alan nodded, forcing himself.
‘Well thanks, Kamelia.
Now my conscience is going to eat me alive for basically lying to you.
Did you do that on purpose or what?’
He tried to shove his hands in his pockets out of habit, but just clasped them behind his back.
‘Fuck…
what a scumbag I am…
boldly lying to the only person who doesn’t treat me like shit.
Maybe…
I should tell her after all?
…
NO!
YOU IDIOT!
DON’T GIVE IN TO EMOTIONS!
Okay, you tell her about this fucking Stranger.
And then what?!
What?!
Turns out it’s some evil demon, and they burn people at the stake for associating with it!
Period!
I’ll become a monster to her and everyone around who regenerates thanks to some curse!
No!
This lie is simply necessary!’
The door opened, and Lorgi walked into the house, ducking slightly so as not to hit his head on the doorframe.
In his hands was a spool of coarse thread and a needle.
“Here, asked the locals,” he said, and handed it to Alan.
Kamelia simply gave a calm nod.
“I still want you to sew it yourself…
if you do not know how, I..
can show you how.”
Alan took the spool of thread and the needle with a slightly trembling hand.
‘Enough.
Calm down.’
“Don’t worry, I know how to sew.”
Kamelia tilted her head slightly.
“You know how to sew?
But…
you are a historian…
you essentially work with your head, where did you even learn?”
He chuckled bitterly.
“I just do, that’s all.” He stood up straighter.
“Ahem ahem…”
“What is it?” Kamelia asked, and then it dawned on her.
“Oh, my apologies.
Lorgi, let us wait outside.” She stood up and headed for the door.
When Kamelia and Lorgi stepped out, Alan stood in silence for a few more seconds, and then suddenly began gasping for air.
He sat on the bed clutching his head; there were no thoughts at all, just a pure lack of air and sweat rolling down his forehead.
Alan quickly shook himself off, and took off his trousers.
He laid them on the bed, threaded the needle, and began sewing, surprisingly well.
‘Alright…
alright, alright…
what’s the next step?
The beastkin are willing to plow the fields, the soil is fertile.
That went smoothly.
But where do we get the iron for the plows and the seeds for planting?
A scrap of metal definitely won’t cut it…
we need a shitload of plows, and a handful of seeds will be…
too little, honestly.
Alright, first we need to find the iron for the plows, since that’s a technology that will last for ages.
The dwarves are a no-go, I got that.
Then…
oh how I don’t want to do this…
but it looks like we’ll have to negotiate somehow with that baron in the mountains.’
He made the final stitch on the back of the trousers, which was perfectly visible.
‘Damn…
of course it’s totally visible.
Whatever, I’ll stoop even lower and say I tore it here on purpose too.
Honestly, I don’t give a shit anymore.’
Alan walked out of the house wearing his mended trousers.
Kamelia stood by another house, talking to the village head about something, while Lorgi stood by the door of the house where Alan had been, as if waiting.
Alan walked up to the guard and simply stood next to him.
“What are they talking about?”
“Do not know,” he said dryly.
“And what an ungrateful bastard you are after all.”
Alan only sighed.
“I know.”
“That is not what I mean,” Lorgi cut in evenly, too evenly.
Alan slowly turned to him.
“What are you talking about?”
The captain did not turn around.
“Her Grace saved you from execution, and you…
pull a stunt like this.”
Alan blinked.
“I mean…
I don’t get it.”
Lorgi crossed his arms over his chest.
“Back then, after the sickness.
Lady Armenas was practically on her knees convincing the advisors that you are useful, and that if not for you, the sickness would not have been stopped.
I understand that your role here is immense, but they do not understand.
The advisors and barons already wanted to hang you simply because a village was burned down on your account.
For the sake of your life, the lady promised that she would consider candidates for her hand in marriage from other counts, just so you would not be executed…
do you even realize how much she believes in you?
She has already talked Golna and my ears off about how you will save her lands, that you are not a defective hero, but exactly the one who is needed, and you…” he waved a hand.
“Lad, stop having your head in the clouds, forget about your petty desires,” he said and simply walked away silently to Kamelia.
Alan just stood there like a statue, his pupils constricted to the maximum, his mouth slightly open.
An incredible heat washed over his body, and his stomach turned inside out.
He simply walked back into the house, closed the door behind him, and slid the bolt shut.
Alan walked over to the wall where a sturdy shelf hung, and without overthinking it, slammed his head against it with all his might.
Only a dull thud was heard; his forehead reddened.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Drops of blood were already falling to the floor.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The corner of the shelf was painted red, red drops falling rhythmically to the floor from its edge.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Alan’s forehead split open, and instantly regenerated.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.