Duality 45 Travel

He could look for some atroil's root to chew. It would relieve the pain, but also make him more sluggish, which is why his mother always advised him to bear the pain instead.

John sighed and closed his eyes after remembering his pain. Not his aching muscles, his still healing nose, or even the various mosquito bites on his exposed hands. It was much worse than all of that. His heart ached thinking about how he was alone in the world.

Sure, in his previous life he would get separated from Lucas for months, but he could power through knowing that he had someone to come back to. When Lucas died, that was the moment when he lost it.

Feeling this pain for the second time didn't make it easier. Two weeks had pa.s.sed and his heart still pained at the death of his mother. After her death, he did as she told and took her necklace.

He knew he couldn't remain there for long, but he also couldn't just leave her body there. She deserved a proper funeral, but there was no time for one, so he did his best. He wrapped her body in a white bedsheet, first making sure to close her eyes — that was the hardest part.

After doing so, he carried her body down to the pantry and left her there. After taking whatever he could from the house, he then set it on fire. He doubted that the heat would be enough to cremate her, especially with her being a Crusader, and that was for the better.

From her mother's stories, the desert tribes were a collection of different beliefs, cultures, and religions. One of the few beliefs shared by most of the tribes was that cremation was a big taboo.

The desert religions all believed in their own sort of life after death, so destroying their bodies was akin to ruining their chance at reincarnation. Of course, there were those who shared this belief but still did it as a way to punish someone. Others claimed that the bones stored the person's strength, so they'd grind it to dust and consume it.

From his own experience reincarnating, John didn't share any of these beliefs, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that his mother believed in it, so he would honor that, even after death. Not only that, but he also hoped to go back there one day and give her a proper funeral. And for that, he first had to survive.

After setting their house on fire, John knew he still wasn't safe. For starters, he didn't know who were those people, nor if there were more of them.

John had to leave, but first, he made sure to retrieve his mother's weapons from the Paladin's body. After that, he covered himself in a cloak and headed into the town's general store. He arrived there just as it was about to close. The cloak, coupled with the evening's low light, helped to cover his bloodshot eyes but there was no hiding his broken nose.

"Miss Ellie is working you as hard as ever, huh?" Edmund commented with a smile.

John forced himself to act normal. "I'm already used to it." He didn't manage to smile. "She actually sent me here to get the rest of the coins for the loot. The two of us will be going to Mistrun for a couple of days."

"I heard that they had a surplus of wheat this harvest, so the price should be low. Could you check it for me? I just might go there and buy a shipment to resell here."

"Sure," John agreed. After getting the sack of coins, he left the store and then the town. He stopped at the first farm where he could acquire a horse. The farmers had already gone to sleep, but that was good because it meant that there was no one watching the animals. He was already being targeted by whoever those people were, so becoming a horse thief would be the least of his problems.

John first undid the knot holding the fence gate closed. When done, he then opened it all the way and propped it with a heavy stone in case the wind blew too hard. Done with that, he sneaked towards the stables.

Unlike the fence gate, the stable's door had a st.u.r.dy padlock keeping it shut. It was far cruder than the locks back on Earth, but his lack of practice forced him to spend a good ten minutes to lockpick it. The sharp click when it unlocked finally allowed John to relax for a moment.

He pushed the door open, slowly so that it wouldn't creak and then propped it open just like with the fence gate. Struggling to see in the dark interior, he counted around fifteen horses. John picked the most docile looking one and strapped it with an old rein he found lying around. Unfortunately, he didn't have the same luck regarding the saddle.

Holding the rein with a hand, John soothed the animal with the other, praying to whatever deity was watching that it wouldn't neigh. Thankfully, it didn't, and John managed to guide it out of the farm. With that done, he then mounted on it and rode east.

Both the dim moonlight and the lack of a saddle meant that he couldn't gallop at all, being forced to trot the whole time. Still, he managed a good time, reaching the village of Smallbury a couple of hours after dawn.

He didn't stop there, and took the road south to the town of Mistrun; at least that's what the villagers would tell anyone who asked.

John never planned on going to Mistrun, which is why he told Edmund that he would. After an hour riding south, he veered the horse away from the road and towards the woods, where he released the animal.

From there, he backtracked north on foot, foregoing any roads in favor of the less populated woods and countryside. John made it past Smallbury and the village after it until finally deciding to return to the main roads. He then stopped at the first village he came by and acquired himself a horse — legitimately this time.

The old man who sold the horse gouged him on the price, either due to his color or because John looked like a child who didn't know the actual price for a horse. Whatever the man's reasons, John's pouch became much lighter.

After spending most of his coins on the mount, John continued moving north towards his real destination: Rochdale.

It had been a fortnight since he was forced to leave Greenflower. He felt exhausted, both physically and mentally. During this whole ordeal, John had to remain alert at all times. Sleeping was of little help, as every small hustle or sounds of nature woke him up. It all took a toll on him.

His journey neared its end, though it remained to be seen if for the better.

John was taking a huge gamble and, from both his lives, he knew these were a great way to get killed. There was no other choice though. Every day he remained away from civilization, he risked being killed, not necessarily by the same people who came to their home.

He could be waylaid by bandits, end up as some beast's meal, or even be killed by a pa.s.sing n.o.ble wanting to rid the world from some half-bred boy.

Like it or not, John was still just a Fighter child. Alone, his death would just be a matter of time. As such, he'd prefer walking straight into a possible lion's den in hopes of surviving than sitting around waiting for death to come.

In his chest, above his heart and in between the tunic and the armor, was the letter written by his father and addressed to earl Hagen of Rochdale. It was the only thing that Jonathan gave Dene before they were forced to part. On it, he asked his old friend to look after Dene and their unborn child.

Despite how much time had pa.s.sed, the letter remained sealed. His mother never opened it, in case they would need it someday. That day had finally come. John would find out if friendship and honor among n.o.bles were worth anything. From his mother's stories of what happened at Grenfell, the prospects weren't good.

After pa.s.sing this stretch of swamp, he'd come across a patch of woods, after which there'd be a clear path to Rochdale. All going well, John gaged he'd get there well before sunset.

The drenched terrain and tall shrubbery of the swamps gradually cleared in favor of green gra.s.s and trees close together.

John stopped to refill his waterskin at probably the last body of freshwater he'd come across. Just as he knelt down though, he heard the beating of hooves on the ground coming his way.