“Eric?”
Eric flinched against the blinding headache, the roiling nausea demanding he heave… before blinking open his eyes as a cool compress was pressed against his brow.
He took a gasp of herb-scented air and was surprised to find that after a few wakeful moments relaxing his clenched abdomen… that the pain he felt was gone.
He blinked in surprised bemusement.
“Was it just a nighttime cramp?” he wondered aloud, before catching sight of Agda’s too intense stare.
He felt his cheeks flush under her regard. “Hey.”
She blinked, caught off guard by his casual greeting, her probing gaze lightening into genuine warmth. “Good morning, Eric. How do you feel?”
Eric swallowed, hardly daring to hope… he took a deep breath, slowly, carefully, wary of painful spikes in his abdomen… and felt no pain at all.
His breathing was easy and completely free of strain, no lingering urge to wheeze or cough. No risk of tormenting cramps.
“I think… I think maybe I’m feeling better?”
He swallowed, slowly lifting up his head, tensing muscles the tiniest bit, ready to relax and rest his head immediately… yet there was no sharp spike of pain.
His abdomen didn’t hurt at all!
He turned to gaze at the carefully observing woman with a great big smile. “Agda, I feel… better?” His eyes widened with wonder. “Did your compress actually heal me in the span of what, just a day or two?”
This earned a snort. “Hardly, Eric. No one heals that quickly. Though you did have a real bad fever last night, and slept right through dinner.”
He was touched by the worry he could see in her soft blue eyes.
“Well I think my fever’s finally broken for good… and I know it’s only thanks to you.”
She flashed a pleased smile, her teeth ivory white in perfect health, as one would hope for an apothecary who probably knew how to scrub her teeth with proper herbal mashes and a clean rag.
“I’m so glad to hear that, Eric. I think, in another day or so, you might be well enough that we can get you sitting up and moving. Perhaps I could bring the bible for you to—Eric, be careful!”
But Eric, grimly focused on the weight of duty he felt press upon him once more, now that he wasn’t completely helpless, knew he didn’t have endless days to sit around and convalesce, as much as he was actually enjoying a chance to rest and recover under the care of a girl who clearly cared about her patients, to rest his weary mind and body against the constant high intensity madness he had been forced to endure and overcome at a breakneck pace that could so easily have killed him… before raising him in power equivalent to a Silver.
At least in some ways.
And in others, he was clearly lacking. Lacking so badly that the curse of an already dead wolf he had claimed had plagued him across realms.
Well no longer, he thought with a fierce smile when he dared, ever so slowly, so carefully, to lift himself up to a seated position with a tutting Agda’s help. Feeling only a dull aching throb… and no worse than that.
“Eric, please be careful! Eric?”
Eric took a shuddering breath, before beaming into the worried looking countenance of the woman now sitting next to him, bracing him with arms strong from a lifetime of chores, her eyes now just inches from his own.
Her cheeks flushed.
She quickly looked away.
Eric swallowed, looking for something to say. “I felt it. A twinge, for just a second. But now that I’m sitting up straight, my back supporting me… I don’t… I don’t feel any pain at all. Just a tiny bit of soreness?”
Agda blinked, gazing at Eric for long solemn moments, before breaking out in a relieved smile.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that, Eric. Now please, lie back down. Let me check your dressing, examine the wound and put on a fresh poultice… and then, if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll take a walk around the farm.”
Eric couldn’t help grinning at that. “Okay, sounds like a plan. Let me just lie back down… no, I got it, I’ll just go down sideways… yes! Okay, I can lie down by myself with only a twinge… alright, doctor. I’m in your care.”
She flushed at that. “If only I could attend a school of medicine. But my grandmother’s wisdom has served me well enough, serving as forager and apothecary for all my adult years.”
Eric smirked at that. “You say that as if you’re older than twenty-two.”
She flushed at that. “I’m nineteen, Eric.”
Now his cheeks were blazing. “I’m… yeah, I’m an idiot.”
But she was smiling. “So, I come off as wise and mature for my years.”
“And pretty,” he said, before biting his tongue, realizing he was overcompensating, that his lack of Social Perception and mortal stats was making itself known. But he didn’t feel that different than he had when he was prancing about the world like he owned it. So was suddenly forced to wonder if his vaunted Social Perception and all those perks were a joke.
What if the System was able to boost his body to Super Punch Man levels… but couldn’t do jack for social skills in a clueless idiot like him? Merely tell him about what juicy skills and perks he’d have if he weren’t a blushing idiot right now… which meant that he and probably countless other classers and Contenders like him had always come off as overconfident brash teenagers who could smash open bank vaults, believing System lies that only applied if they had had proper backgrounds on alien worlds. But who was going to correct him or anyone like him when they played the fool... if hot-tempered youths like himself could effortlessly rip off people’s heads like the power-mad psychos that they were? Shit.
His cheeks blazed, hoping he was wrong, yet all Agda did was smile.
“So, I’m not an ugly crone in your eyes?”
Eric adamantly shook his head. “Nope! Not ugly at all. You’re the cutest crone I ever… ouch, I was kidding!”
She huffed at that, before squeezing his hand and looking away. “I’m glad you’re not a smooth-talker, Eric.”
Eric flushed at that. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
She sighed. “You’re awkward and sweet… and I can tell that when you love, it’s with your heart, not just your arrow.” She flushed at her own words. “A girl who caught your heart would be fortunate indeed. Because you’d never abandon her, or the angels you left behind.”
Eric swallowed at that, not knowing when, exactly, his arms had ended up around her trembling shoulders as she leaned her head against his chest and sighed.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“It sounds like the man who sweet-talked you was an asshole. Clearly and utterly unworthy of you. I’m sorry you were hurt so badly, Agda.”
“Thank you for thinking no less of me, despite my flaws,” she whispered.
He gently tutted. “How could I think any less of my doctor than feelings of reverence and gratitude?” He flashed a warm smile, gently squeezing her hand. “Come. We have a farm to explore, right? I’m feeling much better after your tender care, even more so with the fresh poultice tingling against my almost fully recovered belly. So let’s go get some fresh air… just as soon as I freshen up.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll get your chamber pot, and help you up the steps when your ready.”
And after an embarrassing and incredibly relieving handful of minutes where his business was completely taken care of, hands cleaned in a bowl of soapy water, Eric soon found himself ascending up the steps to find himself in a spacious cabin, with a hardwood table centerpiece covered in linen, four expertly crafted chairs decorated with elegant copper inlay and spiraling patterns carefully carved into the wood. And the skillful carpentry didn’t end there, Eric quickly noting the delicate carving of birds and flowers in the wooden cupboards and counter comprising the kitchen area, all of it polished to a warm glow, the faint scent of beeswax in the wood grain.
He couldn’t help but smile in approval of the craftsmanship as his eyes took in the stone fire place set at the rear of the log cabin where a pewter kettle was hanging by a hook near the fire and a crock of stew bubbling merrily away almost directly above the fire, filling the kitchen area with the warm scents of mutton stew, wild rosemary, parsley, and sage just a few of the aromatics flavoring the broth.
Just then he heard a soft cry, Agda’s warm smile for Eric’s approving gaze turning to a mother’s concern. “Please, have a seat, Eric, and I’ll serve you some stew shortly.”
He grinned and nodded. “Thank you, Agda. I would love that.”
Her eyes twinkled as she hurried over to the rear of the cabin, separated from the dining area as Eric slowly lowered himself to the chair, sighing when he was finally comfortable.
“There, didn’t hurt a bit,” he told himself.
“Good. Then you can help out while you’re here,” declared a gruff-voiced man with brown eyes, a thick bristly beard, weathered skin, and a shaggy head of hair when he took off his woolen cap, wearing a fur coat over coarse linen tunic and sturdy looking trousers as he stomped his shoes at the cabin entrance before coming inside.
Eric swallowed before the man’s cool, measuring gaze, holding back a grimace as he forced himself to carefully stand up and respectfully bow his head.
“Thank you for allowing me to convalesce here. I’m truly grateful.”
The man measured him with a hawk-like gaze before moving towards the kettle hanging on a hook beside the bubbling stew.
He pulled out a couple of pewter cups from the nearest cupboard, then poured two wooden cups full of hot water before sprinkling tea leaves from a tin into both with work-roughened hands a sharp contrast from the finely grained and polished woodwork that Eric suspected was his own.
The man then pulled out a pair of finely polished wooden spoons for stirring, placing one beside Eric and himself as he sat across from Eric, frowning as he took a sip of his tea, staring at Eric from beneath his hooded brows.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?”
Eric flushed at that. “She has my sincere and heartfelt gratitude for coming to my aid when I was gravely injured.”
The man scowled. “You were. Injured badly. Still doesn’t explain how you ended up in my root cellar, or what sliced you up.” He took a sip of his tea. “So, you fled the English? Got tired of hunting down rebellious farmers? Or tired of getting shot at by rifles from the tree line?”
Eric flushed at those words, understanding that the man was testing him.
“None of those things,” he said, coolly meeting the man’s eyes. “I was hunting feral wolves.” He flashed a bleak smile. “My spear struck true, but I paid a price for it, as you no doubt saw firsthand.”
The man held his gaze. Eric sensed Agda approach the kitchen, child in her arms, before freezing, eyes wide with dismay at the sight of her burly father.
The man continued to glare, though Eric wondered if that was just his natural stare, while sipping his tea. “Monster hunter, then? No ties to King George? Not a spy for the crown?”
Eric smirked. “Most definitely a monster hunter. And no, I have no ties to King George at all, and if the names Elonia and Natasha mean nothing to you, then my associates who I keep abreast of my… hunts, are the last thing you need to fear.”
The man parsed his words thoughtfully, before nodding at last. “You have an odd accent, yet your English is as flawless as your skin. Your hands have a fencer’s callouses and you hold your cup and fork like a duelist. But you gaze at our cabin like a man at his first commune. You’ve clearly never worked on a farm. So, you’re a European Courtier. No ties to England, or Mother Russia.”
Eric blinked at that, before slowly shrugging his shoulders. “You’re very observant, and most of your conclusions are quite astute. I have no ties to Russia or England,” he concurred, allowing the man to think what he would. “Though I’m surprised you can read anything at all from the way I hold my cup and utensils.”
This earned a hard smile. “Tell me you’ve never challenged an opponent to a duel. Tell me you’ve never fought on the battlefield, the air roaring with the boom of muskets and cannons, bayonets clashing, sabers slashing, the screams of the battlefield ringing in your ears.”
Eric blinked at this. “I can tell you no such thing,” he conceded.
This earned a smirk. “How many lives have you taken?”
Eric’s cheeks flushed. “Too many.”
“And the night terrors? Do they drive you to drink? To excess? To bouts of melancholy? To rage?”
Eric flashed a sad smile at that. “And if I say yes, then I’m a damaged fool too perilous to allow in your house. And if I say no, then I’m a cold, unfeeling menace that’s too dangerous to allow into your house.”
The man stared at him for long moments, sipping his tea while pinning Eric with his measuring gaze. Then he barked words in a dialect Eric was almost positive was Russian, but much to his dismay, his interface wasn’t translating shit.
Agda entered the room, cheeks flushing. “Good noon, Father.”
Her father sighed, knocking the table. “Serve the stew, Daughter. And hand me my granddaughter.”
Eric felt an odd frisson of tension at the man’s gruff demeanor and the way he spoke to his child. But Agda looked, if anything, genuinely relieved as she bowed her head and handed her father a tiny little girl with blond curls and bright blue eyes wrapped in swaddling that began cooing in the work-roughened hands of a farmer who held his granddaughter like the precious treasure she was.
He didn’t show anything on his lined face, but Eric could sense the love in his his gaze, silently holding the child and rocking her back to sleep.
Eric swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling strangely touched as a large earthernware bowl filled with stew was silently placed on the table before him, along with several hunks of sourdough bread placed on a clay plate beside his mutton stew.
Eric dipped his head. “Thank you,” he said, careful not to take a single bite until Agda’s father, the clear man of the house, began to eat. Only then did Eric sip the savory stew, at which point Agda happily dug into her own stew.
For a time they ate, not a word being spoken. Despite the tension he felt, Eric was allowed to eat in peace, at least until the father finished.
“How bad is the pain?”
“Not bad at all, sir.”
“Good. My daughter has mushrooms and herbs to pick, and we need coin. She will pick, and you will accompany her.”
Eric blinked at this, before slowly dipping his head. “Of course. I’d be happy to.”
The man dipped his head, gazing at Eric thoughtfully. “You can use a spear, yes?”
Eric didn’t hesitate to nod, before being presented with a stout boar spear. The head was twelve inches of razor sharp steel socketed onto a stout ashwood shaft with a pair of lugs to keep any wild pigs from running down the shaft and goring the hapless hunter.
He frowned, earning a hard look from the farmer. “Problem?”
Eric solemnly shook his head. “No. Though I wouldn’t want to face men in field plate with a spear head that’s mostly iron, though the beveled edges forge-welded onto the iron core are quality steel and you’ve kept it razor sharp and oiled. Even if the iron socket is pitted, it’s still firmly secured to the ashwood haft. So it’s perfect for defense against poorly armored bandits, which is the norm in eras where men are using muskets, or, indeed, on a hunt.” He frowned. “Though the left lug was sloppily welded. If I truly had to brace myself to receive a charging boar or knight, I’d fear it snapping and my prey sinking quit far up the shaft, hopefully not goring or spearing me before it dies.”
This earned a raised brow. “Eras?”
Eric flushed. “I mean… areas?”
The farmer snorted, trading a glance with his daughter. “He’s a trained soldier, Agda. Ware your heart.”
Agda flushed, as did Eric.
“I was a fool once, Father. For the sake of my daughter and you, I will never play the fool again.”
“Good.” The farmer said, and Eric wasn’t blind to the muzzle-loaded rifle the man casually held, or the saber-like hanger secured to his hip, even as he placed his sleeping granddaughter in a cradle near the fire, in plain sight from the door.
“I have chores to attend. And Eric, it’s not boar we need to keep an eye out for.”
Eric raised an eyebrow at that. “No?”
The man shook his head. “It’s wolves.”
