55!!
56!!
57!!
58!!
59!!
60!!
"I can do it!"
61!!
"Move!"
63!!
Crash!!
After the 63rd second, try as he might, Alexander could no longer move his legs. Bracing for the inevitable, he crashed to the ground, the thin greenery beneath him softening the fall and reducing any harm to his body.
Lying on the ground, Alexander let out heavy, gasping breaths, his heart pounding furiously within his chest as though it might explode.
From the side, two figures approached and stood over him, silently observing his collapsed form.
"Is he alright?"
"Yeah, I believe so."
"Is your wife aware he's doing this?"
"No."
Beside the tall slim figure, this clearly Barth, stood a man of more average height and build, wearing long trousers and carrying two jugs of wine slung over his neck by a rope. Both he and Barth held drinking horns in their hands.
This man was Goington, Barth's friend who had recently returned from Laplort, a village close to Hadrol. He had been about to take a sip from his horn when Barth answered him, prompting him to smack his lips in frustration.
"Why are you trying to get me in trouble?" Goington asked.
"Don't worry, this isn't our first time. Just give him a moment to recover. After you speak to him, you can be on your way."
Goington frowned, clearly hesitant. In his eyes, Barth could see the man weighing their friendship against his fear of his wife and Barth didn't blame him one bit.
Though Notheim was the village chief, he ranked second to Ma in influence. The reason was simple: the old woman knew her worth and wielded it masterfully. In this village, no matter who you were, if you offended Ma, you would eventually fall ill and have to face her care and when that time came, the horrors were best left to imagination.
Eventually, Goington nodded. With a sigh, he took a large gulp of wine.
Aware of the men above him and their discussion, Alexander did his best to recover quickly. Still, it took him nearly five minutes to sit up after running for just 63 seconds.
"Thank you," Alexander said, finally sitting up.
"Here, drink some."
Alexander stretched out a hand to accept the horn but paused just as his fingers touched it. A dark expression crossed his face.
Goington, realizing the boy wasn't so easily tricked, shrugged. Collapsing onto his rear, he drank from the horn himself and looked at Alexander.
"Alright, boy. What questions do you have for me?"
...............
"You have any ideas?"
"None, unfortunately."
It was well past noon. Some time had passed since Alexander's conversation with Goington, and while his curiosity had been satisfied, his problem remained unsolved.
According to the system, a brown, transparent scroll that floated mid-air Beckle would soon be attacked by slavers. Alexander was now seeking a way to prevent this.
"What exactly is it that you want to do?" Barth asked from the side.
At the moment, the two of them sat at the back of Alexander's room, idly staring at a wooden wall several steps away.
The question made Alexander frown, but it didn't take long for him to answer.
"Save the village."
"Are you sure about that? I won't lie to you, I have my doubts about your prophecy. But if there's even a chance that it's true, then Ma and I would wish above all else that you save yourself.
You don't owe the village anything, Alexander. You owe us. And if you want to repay our love and kindness, do it by surviving."
"That sounds like something a father would say. Did you ever have any children?"
"Ma and I sired four children, three boys and one girl."
With those words, Barth stood to his feet. Without saying another word, he left Alexander alone.
...............
The next day, just as the sun shifted from soothing to scorching, Alexander made his way to the back of the compound and exited through a gap in the fence.
"Are you sure about that?"
Barth's question from the previous day echoed in Alexander's head.
Why does that question bother me so much? Alexander thought to himself as he walked through the village, too deep in thought to return the greetings of those who passed him by.
Barth had been right. Other than him and Ma, Alexander owed no one in this village anything. The couple had made it clear they wanted him to live above all else. That should've left him feeling relieved, not depressed.
Distracted by his thoughts, Alexander didn't notice when he neared the market and collided with a child. The impact snapped him back to the present, and his eyes fell on the little girl who had crashed into his legs.
"Are you alright?"
"Crealine!!" a voice shouted.
A woman rushed over, scooping up the girl who was rubbing her head. Once she confirmed her daughter was fine, her attention shifted to Alexander.
"Sorry about that, Alex. Crealine can be a little too playful sometimes. Crealine, apologize to Alex."
Alexander had thought only Ma would call him Alex. But apparently, Ma had told all her patients to start referring to the mentally ill boy staying with her by that name.
"Sorry, mister."
"It's alright. Just be careful next time."
"I will."
"Alex, my fruit stall is over there. Come, let me give you some melons."
"Eh, don't be shy. I know you don't like accepting things from others, but back when you were Garve, you visited my stall many times."
Cases like the woman before Alexander weren't rare. Ma hadn't hidden his condition from the village, which meant he was well-known and appropriately pitied.
Alexander didn't like the feeling of being pitied, but before he could respond, the woman had grabbed his arm and was pulling him along.
Honestly, Alexander wanted to resist and stand his ground but if a wrinkled Ma could overpower him, what chance did he have against a young, strong mother?