Chapter 5: Marking the Passage of Time

The shrill sounds of children screaming pierced the air of a quiet village.

"I'm a demon, and you're dead!"

"No, I'm a Savior, and YOU'RE dead!"

They argued playfully as they whacked one another with sticks beneath an older, mustachioed man on a ladder. With a small cloth, he carefully polished a large bronze statue of a Savior woman that stood in the middle of the village. Every now and then he would lean back and admire his handiwork before returning to the task. It would take him all day to remove the past year's worth of grime from the statue, but it was important that the statue was perfect for the Liberation Festival tonight.

The man wiped his sweaty brow with his cleaning cloth and left a streak of dirt across his forehead, which drew a laugh from a muscled, shirtless man pounding stakes into the ground. Hot sun rays had turned his skin pink, but he still worked tirelessly to prepare standing torches for tonight's festivities.

A passing young woman let her gaze linger on the shirtless man a moment too long, and she tripped while entering the baker's home. Apples that she had picked from her father's orchard spilled from her arms across the floor of the bakery. An elderly woman with graying hair and a flour-stained apron gave her a reproachful look, but she changed it to a smile as she helped to pick up the apples. It was the Liberation Festival, after all, and everyone's spirits were high.

One of the apples fell down the steps and began a serendipitous trip down the hill behind the baker's home. Its skin was warmed by the heat of a smithy as it rolled through the blacksmith's yard. A passing horse pulling a cartful of potatoes kicked it further down the road where it watched the Savior-child deliver the dramatic final blow to the Demon-child. While rolling past several homes, it heard through open windows a chorus of families singing to rhymes of the deeds of the Saviors.

Finally, at the end of the road, the apple came to a stop against the dusty toe of a traveler's boot. He picked it up and brushed it off before taking a juicy bite. A second man to his side assisted him in walking into the village, despite his protests.

"Really, Joten, I'll be fine," Lucas said between bites of the juicy apple. "I've been hit with worse attacks before." The boy had been anxiously supporting Lucas from beneath his arm during their entire walk down the mountain. He had allowed it at first, thinking it would help the boy feel encouraged after his arrows had failed so spectacularly earlier, but now it was becoming an annoyance.

"Ben always told me about your habit of refusing help. He told me it was an unadmirable quality in a man," Joten said without guile. Lucas shot him a glare from the corner of his eye, but it was returned by a smile. God, he wanted to be mad at Joten's remarks, but it was like being mad at a puppy. He just didn't know any better. Besides, it would be a shame to shatter his naivete, so Lucas continued to shrug it off.

"Well, this time I really don't need help. Thank you though," he insisted while refusing the boy's arm again. "Let's just get through this village. We still have two more days of walking before we arrive in Hillsborough."

Lucas took another bite of the delicious green apple as the two made their way into the village. Everywhere he looked a villager was hard at work preparing a decoration or cleaning or cooking. Villages in the Reconquered Lands, now free of the Demon scourge, had gained a new liveliness. Two children wielding sticks ran between Lucas and Joten with a shout before continuing down a path between homes. While Lucas followed them with his eyes, he realized Joten was staring at him.

"Is something the matter -"

"Yes, I've been meaning to ask you," Joten said eagerly while cutting off Lucas. "Why did you risk your life for a journal? Does it contain valuable information?"

"Not particularly. Unless you're a botanist, I guess," Lucas joked knowing full well Joten had no idea what a botanist was.

"An important map, perhaps?" Joten continued to Lucas's chagrin. It wasn't very fun messing with someone when they didn't understand they were being messed with.

"No, nothing of the sort. It's a journal of plant sketches and notes," Lucas answered honestly. Joten cocked his head to the side in confusion, completing the puppy metaphor perfectly.

"Why would you risk your life over something like that?" he asked. "Surely living is more important than anything in the notebook." Lucas rubbed his chin as he thought of a sufficient answer that even an NPC could understand.

"You're right, I would rather live than keep the journal if it came down to it. But there's more to the idea than that. This journal once belonged to someone very important to me. When she died, it was one of her things I saved as a keepsake," Lucas answered.

"Ah, so because it was her notebook it would be okay to die for it?" Joten asked, clearly still confused.

"Not exactly," Lucas answered while still mulling over a good response. He spoke slowly, still thinking over his words as he delivered them. "I think the idea of the journal is more important than the object itself. These are the only things I have left of her. They remind me of her smile, her laughter, her touch. If I had written off the journal as lost immediately without even trying to save it, that would mean I didn't care about it. And I guess a part of me feels like if I stop caring about the things she left behind, that means I don't care about her. Does that make more sense?"

Joten seemed to be lost in thought for a while as they walked through the peaceful village. The warm, sweet smell of apple pie wafted toward them on the breeze, enticing Lucas toward it like a siren. He felt at ease in the village - something that was foreign to him the first time he had come through this region nearly eight years ago now.

"So you saved it because you cherish your memories together, and the object serves as a manifestation of those memories," Joten said suddenly. "I like that."

Lucas stopped in his tracks and stared at the boy. Was Despot learning through their conversations, or had Joten simply never been taught how to grieve?

"Yeah. There's a lot of things I keep for that reason," Lucas answered.

Joten smiled at hearing he was correct and continued onward. Lucas followed a few steps behind. Part of him was a bit exhausted from all the conversation today. Part of him was afraid of what else Joten would ask.

Luckily he was spared from further conversation, as they had arrived at what looked to be an apothecary shop. Neither Lucas nor Joten had any potions, as Lucas's had long since expired, so they planned to visit a shop to top up Lucas's HP. His natural regeneration had brought him back to a much safer [45/89], but it was better to be fully prepared should any other mutated anomalies attack.

The apothecary in the shop was an eccentric old man with wispy facial hair and rosy cheeks. His glasses were nearly an inch thick and magnified his eyes through the lenses to a comically large size, looking more like he wore two telescopes rather than spectacles.

"Ah, a Savior!" the aged man announced as Lucas and Joten entered the shop. The shelves around him were stuffed to the brim with vials and flasks of all shapes, sizes, and colors that rattled precariously when Lucas shut the door behind him. Piles of thick hardcover tomes lined the shop and formed impromptu walkways that corralled the visitors toward the counter in the back of the shop.

"We don't see many of you around these days. What perfect timing!" he said with a smile.

"What timing is that?" Lucas inquired curiously. He wondered if NPCs were still giving quests now that this area was peaceful.

"Tonight is the Liberation Festival. The entire village will come together to celebrate our liberation from the Demon King's army!" the old apothecary answered with an energetic thrust of his arms into the air. Though his skin was paper thin and liver-spotted with age, his movements had a sort of youthful liveliness to them, as if a much younger man were trapped within a geriatric shell.

"Wow, a festival. What great timing!" Joten said with a sparkle in his eyes.

"I'm afraid we won't be able to stay for the night. We have to get a move on if we're to make it to Hillsborough on time," Lucas said, playing the responsible spoilsport. He felt Joten deflate a bit to his side.

"What a shame," the old man said. "We've no Saviors living in the village anymore to be our guests of honor. All have long since moved on to larger and more extravagant places since more of the land has been liberated. I can't blame them; if I weren't beholden to these old bones, perhaps I'd have joined them!" The apothecary cracked a toothy smile, revealing the gaps where he lacked several teeth.

"Did you hear that?" Joten asked with renewed vigor. "You'd be the guest of honor!"

"I'm not sure I'm worthy of such an honor," Lucas answered shyly. "In any case, we came to purchase a few health potions for our trip. I don't suppose a small village like this carries elite-grade health potions, do you?"

The old man's eyes twinkled confidently.

"Actually, I'm the only apothecary north of the Venedair River that can create elite-grade health potions. In fact, I've a large inventory of all kinds of rare potions that you'll not find outside of a large city like Freehold," he answered, suddenly taking on the air of a salesman.

"Just the health potions will do," Lucas answered, taking some of the air from the man's sails. He nodded and grabbed a cane from beside his chair before hobbling to the back of the shop between mountains of books and alchemical equipment.

"You know, even if we left now we'd still be a day early," Joten mused lightheartedly. "I've never seen another village's Liberation Festival."

The Liberation Festival was a different celebration and date for each village depending on the day the Saviors had saved them from the Demon King's army. If the game had proceeded as usual, it would have served as a nice social break from clearing the Demon King's army and celebrating with the player that defeated the original demon overseer of the region. Nowadays they were just depressing reminders of how many powerful players had been lost. Lucas wondered if he knew the Vanguard member that had cleared this region. Come to think of it, this place was on the path he and Cara and Ben had taken during their original adventure…

"I have seven elite-level health potions in stock," the old man announced as he walked out of the back room carrying two red flasks in each hand. "Though I limit it to two per customer. It's my main draw, after all." He limped slowly over to the counter on a crooked leg and placed the four flasks down in front of the two men.

"I'll take them," Lucas answered quickly. Ben nudged his side and looked up at him with concern.

"You're supposed to negotiate a price," he whispered from the side of his mouth. Oh, right. It had been some time since he had made a purchase from a backwater merchant. Those in large cities and the traveling merchants that had followed the Vanguard on dangerous campaigns had fixed prices, so he never had to worry about it. Lucas scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He had no idea how much these potions were supposed to cost.

"Why don't you do it for me?" Lucas asked Joten.

Joten's face shifted into a serious visage as he narrowed his eyes on the apothecary. It was very unlike the naive and curious boy filled with questions that had followed him into the village earlier.

"100 gold each," he said tersely.

"What!" the old man shouted. His eyes had widened at the daring offer. "Ridiculous! I won't take less than 500 gold per flask," he countered.

"150," Joten offered. He folded his arms in challenge. The apothecary's knuckles went white as he gripped the counter. Lucas thought he might see lightning flash between the eyes of the two combatants at any moment.

"This is frankly offensive. 400 gold is the least I can take," the apothecary said.

"125," Joten countered again while extending a hand to the merchant. Within the boy's green exterior lay a seasoned negotiator, apparently.

"You're going the wrong way!" shouted the old man, his wispy hair standing on end as he became even more animated than before. "If I sell for less than 390 each, I'll be bankrupted!"

"130."

"375!"

"135."

"350, and that's final!"

"150."

The old man's face had now turned a brilliant shade of red that made his hair seem even whiter by comparison.

"My final offer is 300, and if you say anything else I'll throw you out of here!" he said with a spray of spittle between his gapped teeth.

"Fine, 150 and we have a deal," Joten said without a hint of emotion. His face seemed to have been carved out of stone. Finally, Lucas decided to step in and end the performance.

"300 is fine, my good man," he said while swiping to open his inventory.

[1,978,450 Gold] was displayed in the currency slot at the top of his inventory. He removed 1,200, leaving the number at [1,977,250 Gold].

Joten grumbled something to his side about "getting him down to 200," but Lucas let it be and traded over the gold for the flasks. The old apothecary still glared angrily at Joten, his thick bushy eyebrows angled downward like a perturbed owl, but he accepted the gold and allowed Lucas to take the flasks from the counter.

Lucas immediately downed one of the potions and felt the vigor return to his body. The line at the top of his vision returned to green and filled up the bar to a complete [89/89]. He sighed contentedly at the sight of a full HP gauge. Despite the reassurances he had given Joten, a part of him always clung to the primal fear of death whenever the number was less than full.

"You sure you don't need anything else, lads?" the old man asked Lucas and Joten. "You look like there's something on your mind."

Lucas raised his eyebrows at that. Now both Joten and the apothecary had referenced his mental state. The AI was hard at work learning conversational abilities for the NPCs while he was away.

A pair of eyes stared at him from his side, and he turned to look at the offender in question. It was a face warped by the curves of a potion flask containing a pitch black fluid. He realized with a closer inspection that it was his own reflection staring back at him. These past nine years hadn't changed his appearance whatsoever; he still retained his character's youthful round face and long, obnoxiously-styled brown hair. His skin hadn't wrinkled in the slightest.

"I feel like I've missed a lot of changes in the last five years, but I haven't changed at all. I tried to escape the reality of the world, only to find out that time marches on whether I acknowledge it or not," Lucas said thoughtfully, still facing the flask. The old man pulled at the wisps of hair on his face as he answered.

"We learn and grow with each passing day, regardless of our acknowledgment. Time is not under our own control, nor is our own growth. From within and without we change and are changed, despite our clinging to the past with all our might," he said wisely. "Perhaps an appearance-changing potion will help match your inner maturation with the outer?"

The old man grabbed the flask of black liquid that Lucas had been staring into and held it out to him.

"It's an expensive potion, but in the spirit of Liberation Festival, I offer it to you for free," he said warmly. He must have made a killing off those health potions he had just sold them, and now he felt guilty. Lucas took the potion from the old man's hand and stared at it in confusion.

"Never used one before?" the apothecary asked. Lucas shook his head. "Picture your desired appearance in your mind in the greatest detail you can imagine and then drink the potion. The system will fill in any missing details," he answered.

Lucas closed his eyes and imagined his face. He was no longer the plucky 21 year-old that had created the character "VainStrivings" in Savior Online nine years ago. He had endured countless life-threatening situations; met dozens of friends - and watched them die; and lived alone in a mountain cottage for five years. Perhaps there was something to Ben's idea of "bridging the mental divide."

With the image in his head, Lucas drank deeply from the black potion until it was completely finished. He felt a sick twisting of the muscles in his face as his features were realigned and reshaped. Hair fell from his head in clumps and was replaced by rapidly grown replacements in a different style and length. He kept his eyes closed until the discomforting feelings ended.

When Lucas opened his eyes, he immediately recognized himself staring back in a small mirror held up by the apothecary. The rounded baby fat of youth that had covered his lower face was gone, revealing a sharp and mature jawline and cheekbones. His long dark brown hair that had been styled in flamboyant curls was now short and refined. He felt older, but not old. It was a good change.

Joten gasped from his side as he saw the changes.

"Wow, I didn't realize you were so old!" he shouted, again, innocently. Lucas nearly took it all back and socked him in the face. Instead, like the old person he was, he held back.

And punched him in the arm.

"Ow!" Joten squealed in pain. Lucas smiled. He had it coming.

"Thank you, sir," Lucas said to the apothecary. "This change was a long time coming."

"I'm happy to have helped someone who has given our people so much," the man said. "I doubt you remember, but you came through this village once before."

"Oh?" Lucas answered in surprise. It was plausible that they had come through here before; the village was only a few day's walk north from the Gerelda Desert, a region his party had been tasked with clearing by the Vanguard.

"I thought you might have forgotten. Though, I wager you'll remember when you visit the square. Come, the festivities will be starting soon," the old man said as he gestured toward the front of the shop. He pulled a keyring from his oversized pockets and shooed the men out of the shop in front of him before closing the door and locking it.

A few families with children dressed in bright colors and wearing peculiar oval-shaped headdresses passed by the shop toward the center of town. Some of the children sat on their father's shoulders and pointed toward the growing crowd ahead of them. All were smiling and jovial.

"I hope I am not holding up your travels, Savior," the apothecary said aloud as the trio walked toward the central square of the village.

Lucas began to answer that they wouldn't be staying for long after visiting the square, but Joten cut him off with his own answer.

"Not at all! He said he'd stay and be the guest of honor!" Joten said quickly. Lucas shot him a glare, but Joten merely smiled back with blank eyes. Mischievous brat.

The apothecary seemed pleased with that answer, but did not respond as they reached the square. A path opened up before Lucas between the families gathered around a large bronze statue, allowing him to walk into the center of the crowd. Their cheerful murmurs fell to hushed whispers as he circled around to the front of the statue to inspect the plaque. Though, before even reading the name on the plaque, he felt that the mage's coat was somehow familiar. Her braided hair fell in a way that reminded him of home. Her wild eyes stirred his soul. Lucas felt a lump catch painfully in his throat.

Joten ran up beside him to view the statue as well.

"Hey, isn't that Cara?"

Lucas looked at his party's health bars in the top corner of his screen. His and Cara's bars were both yellow, indicating less than 50% health remaining. Ben's was red, indicating less than 20%. The party was out of potions, and they hadn't even reached the demon overseer yet.

"Cara, we need to go back," Lucas said in a quiet, serious tone. "Ben can barely stand. It's not safe to continue." He wanted to yell and scream, but he was afraid the loud noise would attract the overseer's aggro. He and his two guards were just beyond the house the trio hid behind. They had cleared the rest of the demon army in the village, but had yet to free the inhabitants who still waited in chains behind the overseer.

"We only have the overseer left. Then we can save those people," Cara answered as she peeked around the corner of the house toward the large Epic-level boss and his two guards. All three were Satyr-type demons, resembling a cross between a goat and a man and wielding massive, rusted and blood-stained blades. Behind them in two neat lines were around 50 villagers standing in shackles. They were the boss's hostages. If they failed to defeat the overseer, some of the hostages would be slain as soul-sacrifices to resurrect the fallen demons and retain control over the village.

"They're only NPCs. It doesn't matter," Lucas pleaded. He did not intend to die in this backwater village for some inhabitants of a game.

Cara turned around and stared at Lucas with conviction in her dark brown eyes.

"It matters to me, Lucas. I may be stuck in this game, but I won't let it change me. I'm not the type of person to leave helpless people behind. This is our life now, and who we are in Savior Online is how we will be remembered. I am going to save those people with or without you," she said quietly but forcefully.

Lucas watched as the small child who had played the part of a Savior in the pretend fight climbed atop the Cara statue and placed a flower wreath upon her head. The other villagers around the square cheered. Lucas joined in with the chorus of cries and laughter, having decided that they would stay for the night.