Arc II - Agrarian Revolution

Chapter 9 - The Egoist

1 Month and 2 Days Since the Summoning

The sun was getting ready to set. Alan sat under a tree near the forest, his arms wrapped around 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 beginning to dry. Yet, his body was completely, flawlessly intact.

'Why am I not dead?'

He touched his blood-stained neck with a trembling hand. Not a single scratch.

'Why? There's no way I'm hallucinating so badly that I just imagined an attack by... a beast.'

Somewhere up in a tree, a bird chirped. Alan bolted upright, his entire body tensing, his heart racing. When he saw there was no threat, he slowly sat back down.

'What the hell is... wait a minute...'

Memories and words from that dream flashed through his head. Alan's eyes widened, and his body stopped shaking.

'So that's what it is... you... you gave me this... whatever the hell this is... the Stranger. 'So the show wouldn't end too soon,' or something like that. Which means...'

He gripped the grass beneath him.

'Healing my fingers wasn't a one-time thing... and that mushroom... it wasn't some temporary poisoning. I really would have died if not for this... healing? Regeneration? ...So this is your doing!'

Alan clutched his head.

'Am I fucking immortal now?! How does this even work?! Was that really not an illusion?!'

He got up quickly, stared at a tree, and raised his fist. He stood like that for two seconds, then exhaled and punched the tree with all his might. There was a dull thud.

"Ow!" he cried out, clutching his hand as blood welled from his knuckle. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, the wound began to close up, leaving nothing but smeared blood on his hand. Alan stared at his fist, his breathing growing shallow and heavy.

'This... this is impossible... IT'S LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE! No, no, no! There has to be a catch! But what is it?! Things like this don't just happen! Maybe there is a price, but that white-eyed bastard just didn't mention it?! I don't understand a fucking thing!'

He dragged his hands down his face, then looked down at them.

'Shit, there's blood everywhere! I need to wash it off!'

He bolted toward the nearest stream in the woods and frantically began washing his hands. He scrubbed so hard it felt like he wanted to wipe the skin off his palms, not just the blood. Once his hands were clean, he started splashing water over his face to wash it. Water splashed everywhere, soaking his shirt and trousers.

He finally stood up.

'Phew... how much time has passed?! Have I been gone too long?! What if Kamelia is already looking for me?! What if she finds the carcass?! No! I have to get back quickly so she doesn't have any reason to come into the woods!'

He immediately took off, sprinting back to the village. He dashed past a fence where a beastman woman in her forties was looking around in confusion, standing by the clothesline where the laundry hung.

He skidded to a halt somewhere in the middle of a path and pressed his back against a random fence. He could only hear muffled conversations in the distance and the frantic hammering of his own heart.

'FUCK! The tail-hole in the pants! What do I do about that?! Right!'

He bent down, grabbed his trouser leg at the knee, and tried to rip it. But the adrenaline was fading, and he lacked the strength to tear the sturdy fabric. He yanked outward until his arms shook from the strain and he held his breath, but finally let go, letting out a frustrated exhale.

'Damn it! It won't rip! Piece of shit!'

He quickly looked around and spotted the yard where they had been butchering the jerkos, the dagger was still lying there. Without a second's thought, he dashed over, snatched the blood-stained blade, hid behind a fence, wiped the metal on the grass, and finally sliced a tear at the knee of his trousers. The fabric tore with a sharp rip.

'Yes! Finally! And the rest is easy! I'll tell them I tripped and need to mend my pants. They'll give me a needle and thread, and I'll sew up both the knee and the tail-hole so nobody notices! ...Yeah, I'm going to look like an even bigger
idiot who managed to trip over his own feet on flat ground... but whatever.'

He tossed the dagger back roughly where he had found it and ran toward the cabin where Kamelia was.

Alan reached the fence of the cabin and immediately squatted down.

'Alright... calm down... need to catch my breath... so I don't look like something happened...'

After three minutes, he finally took one last deep breath and walked to the cabin. He stood before the door for about five seconds, knocked, a bit too loudly, and opened the door.

Inside, Kamelia was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, with Lorgi on a chair opposite her. "...already returned to the garrison..." the captain was saying, before turning to look at Alan. Kamelia turned as well, her eyebrow instantly shooting up. Wet shirt, sweat on his face, dirt-smeared knees, a torn trouser leg. The countess simply closed her eyes. "Alan, Alan... what is it this time?"

Lorgi said nothing, but if Kamelia hadn't been in the room, he would have facepalmed hard.

Alan flashed a nervous smile. "Oh, nothing... just... exploring the forest. Tripped and tore my pants."

Kamelia stood up and walked over to him, bending down slightly to inspect the tear. "And you didn't even scrape your knee? You're a lucky man."

Alan's heart skipped a beat.

'I knew I missed a detail! What do I do?! What do I do?! What do I do?! Wait... I don't like her tone. If I just play along and agree that I'm lucky, I'll definitely give myself away! THINK!'

The guy swallowed the rising wave of excuses and simply let out a sigh. "Fine, you caught me. I just wanted some decent clothes, so I decided to ruin these... to get a new pair."

Kamelia's eyes widened slightly. "What?"

Alan held out his hands. "Well, what did you expect? I'm used to my own clothes, not to..." He gestured down his simple shirt. "This peasant wear."

Lorgi pressed his lips together in his chair but remained silent.

The countess simply shook her head. "I see you've grown quite soft lately, Alan. Demanding new clothes, are we?" She waved a hand. "Lorgi, bring him a needle and thread. Let him make his own new clothes."

Lorgi stood up immediately, as if he had been waiting for exactly that. "Yes, Your Grace."

Alan let out a breath.

'Right, don't agree too easily. Whine a little more for credibility.'

"But..."

"Do you dare question the countess's orders?" Lorgi said, opening the door. Alan shut his mouth instantly, and the captain gave a nod. "Exactly." And he walked out of the cabin.

Gothwald stood at attention, his back pressed against the wall.

'Well, holy shit... I can't believe I pulled that off. I didn't know I had it in me. Well, great, now they think I'm just some spoiled brat.'

Kamelia sat back down on the bed, leaning against the wall. "Alan... I understand that things might not be easy for you here. That you... are doing so much, went through so much, and get very little in return..."

Alan swallowed hard.

'Fuck. Don't do this. I'm begging you. Don't wake up my conscience. Just punish me and get it over with. Be that cold bitch again.'

"But," she continued, "that is no reason to ruin things. You understand that we are not living through the best of times right now." She looked up at him. "So, next time you want something... just ask me directly. Alright? You have always
been honest with me in the big things, so be honest in the small things too." Alan nodded, forcing himself to do so.

'Well, thank you, Kamelia. Now my conscience is going to eat me alive because I basically lied to your face. Are you doing this on purpose?'

He tried to slip his hands into his pockets out of habit, but settled for clasping them behind his back.

'God... I'm such a piece of shit... lying straight to the face of the only person who doesn't treat me like garbage. Maybe... I should tell her? ...NO! MORON! DON'T LET YOUR EMOTIONS GET THE BETTER OF YOU! Okay, so you tell her about this fucking Stranger. And then what?! What?! It turns out he's some evil demon, and they burn people at the stake for associating with him! End of story! I'll become a monster in her eyes and to everyone around me, someone who regenerates because of some curse! No! This lie is absolutely necessary!'

The door opened, and Lorgi walked in, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. He held a spool of coarse thread and a needle. "Here, asked the locals for this," he said, handing them to Alan.

Kamelia gave a calm nod. "I still want you to sew it yourself... if you don't know how, I... I can show you."

Alan took the thread and needle with a slightly trembling hand.

'Stop it. 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 work with your mind. Where did you learn?"

He gave a bitter chuckle. "I just do."

He straightened up. "Ahem..."

"What is it?" Kamelia asked, and then it clicked. "Oh, sorry. Lorgi, let's wait outside." She stood up and headed for the door.

Once Kamelia and Lorgi stepped out, Alan stood in silence for a few seconds, and then suddenly began to hyperventilate. He sat down on the bed, clutching his head. He had no thoughts, just a pure lack of air and sweat pouring down his
forehead. Alan quickly shook it off and stripped off his trousers. He laid them on the bed, threaded the needle, and began to sew. He was actually quite good at it.

'Right... okay, okay... what's the next step? The beastmen agreed to plow the fields, and the soil is fertile. That part went smoothly. But where do we get the iron for the plows and the seeds for planting? We can't just get by with a scrap piece of metal... we need a ton of plows, and a handful of seeds won't... be anywhere near enough, honestly. Right, first we have to secure iron for the plows, since that's technology that lasts. The dwarves are out of the question, I get that. So... oh, I really don't want to do this... but it looks like we'll have to find a way to negotiate with that baron in the mountains.'

He made the final stitch on the seat of his trousers, it was glaringly obvious.

'Damn... of course you can see it. Whatever, I'll sink even lower and claim I ripped it there on purpose too. At this point, I really don't give a shit.'

Alan stepped out of the house with his pants mended. Kamelia was standing by another house, speaking with the elder, while Lorgi stood near the door of the cabin Alan had just left, as if waiting. The guy walked up to the guard and stood beside him. "What are they talking about?"

"No idea," he said dryly. "And you really are an ungrateful piece of shit."

Alan merely sighed. "I know."

"That's not what I mean," Lorgi cut in flatly. Far too flatly.

Alan slowly turned to face him. "What are you talking about?"

The captain didn't turn to look at him. "Her Grace saved you from the scaffold, and you... you pull stunts like this."

Alan blinked. "What... I don't understand."

Lorgi crossed his arms. "Back then, after the sickness. Lady Armenas was practically on her knees convincing the advisors of your worth. She told them that if not for you, the sickness could never have been stopped. I understand your role in this was massive, but they don't. The advisors and the barons wanted to hang you then and there, simply because a village was burned down on your account. To save your life, the mistress promised to consider marriage proposals from other counts and barons, all just to keep them from executing you... Do you have any idea how much she believes in you? She has been talking my and Golna's ears off about how you're going to save her lands, that you aren't a defective hero, but the exact person she needs. And you..." He waved his hand dismissively. "Kid, stop living in the clouds. Forget your petty desires." He said his piece and silently walked away to join Kamelia.

Alan stood frozen like a post, his pupils constricted to pinpricks, his mouth slightly agape. A violent, suffocating heat washed over his body, and his stomach twisted completely inside out. He simply walked back into the house, shut the door behind him, and slid the bolt into place.

Alan walked over to the wall where a sturdy wooden shelf hung. Without a second thought, he smashed his forehead into it with all his might. A dull thud echoed through the room; his forehead bruised.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Drops of blood were already dripping onto the floor.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The corner of the shelf was painted crimson, dark red drops dripping rhythmically from its edge to the floor.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Alan's forehead split open, and instantly regenerated.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.