The next day, Mannat felt no different from the previous one in terms of discomfort. He woke near noon and was famished to the point of starving. He forgot everything else, went straight to the garden, and ate every carrot or radish he found whether plumb or not.

It was a grueling, mind-numbing, and tear-jerking exercise, but he did it without relenting until he was full, and could no longer eat. He fell amid the plants and the wind to rest when his stomach stopped crying. Slowly, his tiredness melted and his pain soothed under the warm sunlight. It held his body in a warm embrace. It burned his worries into ash, caged them in salt, and drew them out of his body with sweat.

He would have kept resting had a cloud not gotten jealous of his inner peace and hidden the sun. Suddenly the wind picked pace; it rushed and paced through the clearing, tickled Mannat’s bruises, and awoke him.  

Exhaling, he slowly and carefully pushed himself off the ground and left the garden. Mannat frowned when he couldn’t bend his back to pick the bucket, then squat down to achieve the same. He went around the house to its backside and mechanically pumped water into the bucket. Every movement from small to large brought him pain. Walking was already difficult, but walking with the bucket in hand was next to impossible. He only walked a few steps before getting rid of it. He simply let go and the weight of the bucket made sure it wouldn’t tip. It fell straight down and barely any water splashed out of it. Now, that was a feat worth celebrating. Mannat made a mental note to eat roasted pig in celebration later.

He noticed his bare feet. They were lathered brown with dried mud; the pants were no different, only worse. For one he couldn’t remember where or when he had lost his boots. For some reason, his ankles were visible, as if the pants had shrunken overnight. It was a bizarre occurrence.

He saw the patches of blood on his shirt and couldn’t help frowning. They scared him. The patches were too many, the skin under was tender to the touch. He feared what he might find under the clothes. It took great courage for him to unbutton his shirt and took it off, and the sight of his chest was no less miraculous than finding apples growing on a mango tree.  

The swelling had lessened, their bruises were subsiding. His condition couldn’t be compared to the previous day. He hadn’t eaten any herbs or drank any tonics, but he was definitely out of trouble. 

He wondered if the high concentration of mana in the air had anything to do with it. The mystery was short-lived. His status showed him the truth. He knew Vigor had evolved, but he hadn’t seen what it evolved to. Now he did.

It was a skill called Fortitude, and there was a ghostly box flashing softly in the corner of his vision that read the skill had already risen to level two. When did it level up? It did so in the night, of course. It wasn’t a miracle that saved him, but his newest skill.

[Fortitude][Lv-2/10][Tier-2][Active]
[The skill can actively give you the strength and constitution to take abuse at the cost of your stamina. It can also passively use your naturally regenerated mana to heal your body.]
[Reward: Your constitution increases by two, while dexterity and strength do by 1 point, every other level.]

Mannat knew mana regeneration doubles after evening near the mana tree. He might not have spent the night under the tree in meditation, but the hut was also in the sphere of the tree’s influence. Only the increase was smaller since he was further away from the tree. This was the secret to the miracle. 

The four points in the constitution he received from the skill was not a small gain, but a huge fifty percent increase in the attribute. His constituent had flown from eight points to twelve in one night! This effect of it showed up in his height. His pants hadn’t shrunken, but he had grown two inches! Ten points was a threshold. Once his strength also reached ten points his Endurance would increase to ‘low-low-med’.

He noticed the cuffs of his shirt and smiled. They perfectly hid his wrist. His mother was right in choosing size bigger clothes for him. She had prepared for this day and her actions were finally bearing fruits.

The effects had stacked together to put him back on his feet, even after being beaten to a pulp by Flea.

He sat down by the bucket to wash his face and limbs. The bath would have to wait until he returned home. He looked at his reflection in the water. He had only suffered a torn lip, which was already healing. Flea really hadn’t hurt his face. The boy had integrity.

“I wouldn’t have suffered so much if I hadn’t hesitated.” His hesitation to shot Flea had actually saved him. He could have never escaped from the clutches of a man named Tick. He would have caught easily caught Mannat, and then Mange would have had his revenge.

“You can still do it,” The voice came from behind, causing Mannat to sigh. He didn’t even turn around to look who it was -- like threw a need to look. He calmly washed the grim off his body as the itch approached bringing a strong herbal order along. He had no embarrassment about the Witch watching him washing his body. She had seen too many things; she knew too much already. Mannat wasn’t a shy boy in the first place.

The Witch came to stop beside him. “Take these,” She said raising something with a strong herbal odor. Mannat saw her holding two leaf packets and was surprised at her act of generosity.

“Boil these in half a pot of water and reduce it until there is only a cup left,” She said raising the packet on the right. “Make a paste of these ones and rub them on your bruises.” She said raising the other one.

Mannat cautiously took the two packets and asked in surprise, “You even know about herbs?”
The Witches sorted at his naïve question. “Why do you think the villagers call me a Witch?”
“I honestly thought it was because of your looks.”
“Your tongue is still as sharp as ever.”
The old woman turned around and left.

Apparently, she didn’t just know about the herbs. Mannat opened the packet he was supposed to make a paste from and was astounded at the quantity and quality of herbs jammed packed inside. He counted our different herbs in various quantities all fresh and perfect in quality.

Mannat finished washing and arrived at the fire pit dripping water from his wet and glistening body. He started a fire and put the pot over, then hesitatingly added the herbs into it. He stared at the various lentils, herbs submerge into the water, and bubbles rise from the bottom. He didn’t just stand there, but entered the hut and came back after a while wearing a new set of clothes. He found the Witch standing over the pot when he returned. She had extinguished the fire.

He hadn’t been gone for too long but the pot was boiling. A strong and sweet odor was coming from it. He never imagined an herbal drink would one day make his mouth water and stomach growl. The water was no longer clear, but a murky mess of sediments and chemicals. He covered a cup's mouth with a loose cloth to strain the drink. Strong herbal odor filled his senses as it flowed down the cloth, leaving the broken, insoluble remains of the herbs behind. He squeezed the cloth bundle to drain the marrow into the cup, then pocketed it along with the other packet of herbs for later use.

He allowed the iridescent liquid to cool, then drank it down in one breath. It had a very strong taste and fragrance, especially the latter. The impossibly complex taste all about melted his tongue. His mind drifted out of his body. He actually forgot he was hurting all over for a moment. He had grown numb to the pain. The concoction was somewhat refreshing and otherwise baffling as if his mind was swinging between normal and the potion-affected state.

“What are you going to do now?” The Witch suddenly said.
Mannat didn’t answer. He looked around instead. The blue skies, the ring of trees, the calm wind, the peace, he couldn’t believe almost two months had already passed she he had arrived at the clearing.

“Time passes too quickly when you are not counting the days.” He said. “I’m leaving now,”
“Don’t worry. The opportunity isn’t lost.” The Witch said as he walked away from her.

It was going to be a long walk back. Mannat packed himself some supplies like water and food. What would he do if he met the boys again on the way back? He’d deal with them like he should have dealt with them the first time.

The Witch followed him. Mannat out laughed out tears when he saw her keeping up with him. He had a turtle's pace. She only accompanied him until the periphery of the garden. There she stopped and waved. “You also have a home here.” She told him as if it was a normal thing to say to someone who was leaving. Mannat nodded. It was her way of warning him. He already knew.

At the pace he walked, it took him almost an hour and a half to walk out of the forest. Two tall, strong men greeted him the moment he stepped out under the open sky. They blocked the road, saw him, and grinned.

Mannat frowned but held his place. They both wore knee-length collarless tunics and had the same kind of haircut with them swept to one side. They also had a similar level of physique. It would have been difficult to tell them apart if it wasn’t for their mustaches: one had it and the other didn’t.

Mannat knew them. They were the Sarpanchs goons and followed him around almost everywhere.
He had an inkling the Sarpanch had sent the boys to hurt him, and the men just about proved his conjecture true.

“Looks like the boy wasn’t telling the truth; the garbage is still on the road.” The mustache man said to the other, while his partner stepped forward and yelled, “Stop right there and turn around! Go back if you don’t want to get your legs broken!”

“I hope the three boys are still alive,” Mannat said, causing the men to furrow their burrows.

The mustache man looked at his partner.
“Smart,” said his partner. “—but not too smart. Thank your father when you meet him. You wouldn’t have met the three clowns if your father wasn’t a blacksmith with connections. Take my advice. Go back, pack your things and leave the village. The villagers will be coming here soon.”
“The council will make sure you pay for your actions.” The mustache man laughed.

Mannat clicked his tongue. The situation was worse than he expected. The Sarpanch was trying to kick him out of the village. He needed to be there as soon as possible. “Let’s stop wasting time. I have places to be and things to do.”Mannat’s words wiped the grins from the men’s faces.

Mannat hesitated for a second before he sensed something familiar approach from behind him and started walking again. He the wind tear as the raven cut through it and landed on his left shoulder.

The two men looked at each other and grinned. One of them approached Mannat, popping his knuckles.
“Don’t be too heavy.” Mustache man’s partner warned. “We only need to keep him here until the council ends, not to kill him.”
“I know. I’ll treat him like a princess.” The man chuckled.

The man picked pace with every step and came swinging at Mannat. He was fast and Mannat was barely standing on his feet. It was not going to be a fistfight. However, Mannat didn’t keep his hand this time.

The two met.

The other man watched them collide. He forgot to warn his hotheaded partner about what the boys had told them. He guessed it’d be all right. The two kids were probably exaggerating to keep their ego. However, the thought kept hovering near the back of his mind, like a warning.

He was still in thoughts when his friend screamed out, stumbled back, and fell to the ground. He wriggled in pain and held his stomach like he was in a lot of pain. Something had torn a hole in his tunic.

“What the fuck?” He took a start, but then slowed down and soon came to a halt.
“Help me, Bhudu (stupid)! I’m burning!” His partner screamed and clawed at his tunic. He tore it apart and they both stared at the red welt that had risen at his stomach. Bhudu had seen many things in life. He had even killed a few people, but he had never seen a young boy take down a man in his prime.  

The mustache man heard footsteps and raised his head from his stomach, only to see Mannat standing an arm’s length away from him, arm raised and hand pointing toward his chest.
“Stay away from me!” He screamed in panic and started crawling away from Mannat. This was exactly what the fat boy had told them! They should have believed him. He asked his partner for help, but the man never moved an inch.

“I’m only defending myself,” Mannat said and fired the shot of mana that had gathered at the palm of his hand. There was no hesitation, anger, or remorse. It was only a matter of principles.