The Humor Tale: “Old Man's Blood”

As Eba rode along with the Old Man toward the distant city, she couldn't help but wonder what other secrets and wonders this parallel world held. Carefully, she decided to seize the opportunity to gain some information, but she knew she must tread lightly, lest she draw unwanted attention to herself.

"So, um, Mister (Old Man)," Eba began hesitantly, "what kind of, well... events or activities might be part of this expedition festival?"

The Old Man chuckled and shook his head. "Eh? Your parents must be quite strict. Well, I also tend not to talk too freely about the expedition with the children, as some information is not meant to be publicly shared."

Eba flashed the Old Man a sheepish grin. "Ah, yes, that's why I don't really know much. Could you perhaps tell me what you do know?"

The Old Man nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Well, first and foremost, those who venture on these expeditions are called 'navigators' and are known and revered as Heroes."

"Oum, yah," Eba replied, but eager for more information.

"The main focus of the expedition festival is to celebrate the heroic adventures of those who have navigated and mapped out the unknown lands," the Old Man explained.

Eba's eyes widened as the Old Man's words sank in. "They're creating a map?" she whispered to herself, the implication striking her with a newfound realization. "Then this parallel world must not have been fully explored yet."

The Old Man had unwittingly provided Eba with a tantalizing clue about the true nature of this world she had found herself in. As the carriage rumbled onward, she couldn't help but feel a growing sense of excitement and anticipation at the prospect of uncovering more of its secrets.

As the carriage rumbled onwards towards the distant city, the Old Man continued to describe the expedition festival with a newfound solemnity in his tone.

"During the festival, we play games, dance, and have fun all throughout the afternoon and into the night," the Old Man explained. "But then, exactly at 10 o'clock, everyone - and I mean literally everyone - falls silent as we pay our respects. That's when the tally is presented."

Eba perked up at the mention of the "tally" - this was something she had heard the lady mention earlier, but she still didn't fully understand its significance.

"The tally?" Eba inquired, eager to learn more. "What exactly is this tally you speak of?"

But before the Old Man could respond, his demeanor suddenly shifted. His eyes welled up with tears, and a sorrowful expression overtook his weathered features.

"Eh? What's wrong?" Eba exclaimed, her voice filled with concern. "Are you hurt somewhere? Why are you crying?"

The Old Man let out a shuddering sigh, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the reins of the carriage.

The Old Man's tears began to flow more freely as he spoke, his voice trembling with emotion.

"I had a son, his name is Baron" he said, his weathered face creased with sorrow. "I remember when he told me about his dream of becoming a navigator. He was so confident, so sure of his decision - it was as if it had been etched in stone."

Eba's heart sank as she listened, the weight of the Old Man's grief palpable in the air.

"What... what happened to him?" she asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Old Man let out a shuddering sigh once more. "The tally, it's also a solemn reminder of the sacrifices made by those brave souls who venture out into the unknown and those who never returned. Every festival, we honor their memory, their sacrifices, and the risks they took to bring back wealth and knowledge for our community...." He trailed off, his words choked by tears.

The Old Man's expression softened as he recalled the memory of his son's enthusiasm and determination. A bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Father, I think I'm going to be a navigator," The Old Man remembered his son saying, his voice filled with excitement. "Maybe we can have lots of money if I become one, right?"

Eba listened intently, her heart swelling with empathy for the Old Man.

"Mother, I'm going to take care of myself, you know. I'm old enough, hehe, so don't worry! I'll be back with lots of souvenirs," the son's voice echoed in the Old Man's mind, bright and confident.

The Old Man sighed heavily. "Of course, his mother and I were against it. We didn't know if he would come back alive, and we argued for days. But as parents, we finally gave our permission. Because what makes parents happy is the happiness of our child, right?"

Eba nodded solemnly, her gaze fixed on the Old Man, her curiosity piqued.

"The expedition, it's a source of both pride and sorrow for our community," the Old Man continued, his voice tinged with a deep weariness.

"Every expedition, you see, lasts for months. The fastest a navigator can return is about a month, but it usually takes three months to a year." He paused, a wistful expression crossing his features.

"My son's expedition went smoothly. He had one companion on his journey." A small, proud smile tugged at the corners of the Old Man's lips. 

Eba listened with rapt attention, her mind conjuring images of these brave souls venturing forth into the unknown.

"There's also a month that corresponds to the expedition festival," the Old Man said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "We would all happily go to the city and wait for the tally. Of course, we waited for their names to appear on the list. Without assuming too much, we were simply happy to see their names on the list of newbie navigators."

Eba's brow furrowed as she tried to piece together the significance of the tally and the expedition festival.

The Old Man's face suddenly brightened, a mix of pride and profound sorrow etched in his features.

"Father, one day you will see our name at the top in that tally board. You and Mother, just wait," the Old Man recalled his son's words, his voice filled with youthful enthusiasm.

The Old Man let out a watery laugh, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. "I had a son... I had a son who is a hero. I can't be thankful enough. I'm proud, we are proud as parents. We even brag about him everywhere we go." His voice rose with emotion, the words tumbling out as if he needed to release the weight of his grief. "I'm proud of him! I'm so proud!"

Eba sat in stunned silence, her heart aching at the depth of the Old Man's sorrow. She reached out, her hand hovering uncertainly, unsure of how to offer comfort.

The Old Man's cries slowly subsided, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Eba waited patiently, sensing that there was more to the story.

"The third time they went on the expedition," the Old Man continued, his voice steadier now, "they didn't come back home after a month, then two months past, it hurts, but we finally had to accept the fact that our son is gone. He will not be coming back again." The Old Man's eyes darkened with anguish. "If I could turn back the time, I wouldn't have let him go."

Eba felt a lump in her throat, her own eyes brimming with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but the Old Man suddenly straightened, his expression shifting.

"Then, the unexpected happened," he said, his voice tinged with trepidation. "As we were doing our chores in the field, we saw his companion from the expedition."

"Hey, Ares! What are you doing here?" he called out, his voice tinged with nervous anticipation.

The companion (Ares) turned towards the Old Man. "Aren't you with my son on the expedition?" the Old Man questioned, his brow furrowed with worry, his body trembling tremendously.

"I don't know what to do," the Old Man admitted, his voice wavering. "I know there must have been something bad that happened to my son, and I'm confused about what's exactly happening."

The companion (Ares) took a deep breath and began to speak. "Uncle, I'm confused, but Baron didn't tell you?" He paused, his gaze shifting to the ground. "After our second expedition, he caught a cold and got sick. "He appeared unwell, and I know it may sound somewhat unusual, but he claimed there was a voice speaking to him inside his mind. I just ignored it, assuming he was simply fatigued from the expedition, and we decided to postpone the next expedition and take a break for a month or two. So at the moment, we are on a hiatus."

The Old Man's eyes widened in alarm. "WHAT?! But our son set out on an expedition!" He shouted, the confusion and disbelief evident in his voice. "And he still hasn't come back!"

The companion's face mirrored the Old Man's surprise. "What?" he exclaimed, his own brow furrowing in confusion. "That can't be."

Eba imagined the exchange with growing apprehension, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of the unfolding situation. What had happened to the Old Man's son, and why was his companion unaware of the truth?

"We were at an utter loss for words, stunned by the surprise of it all. What on earth could have driven him to embark on such a perilous adventure alone? Night after night, Sunday after Sunday, we had prayed for his safe return - even if it meant only his belongings would come back to us."

"And then, one fateful day, there he stood at our very doorstep. It was as if we were trapped in a dream. For there, before our eyes, was our son. His complexion was pallid, his gaze vacant, as if his very soul had been drained."

"But we no longer cared about any of that. Without a moment's hesitation, my wife and I enveloped him in our embrace. We held him tight, refusing to ever let go again."

"Son, where on earth have you been?" the Old Man exclaimed, the memory of his boy etched into his mind. "You've worried us sick!"

The mother rushed to his side, her voice quivering with emotion. "Are you hurt, my dear? What compelled you to come back home to us?"

Gently, they guided him inside, determined to see him rested after his perilous journey. "Let's get you settled," the mother soothed. "You must be utterly exhausted."

The Old Man and his wife were overjoyed to have their son back, offering thanks to the Gods. But their elation was fleeting. As the days passed, they began to notice changes in him - unsettling differences from the boy they once knew.

"He's not the same," the Old Man confided, a tinge of fear in his voice. "It's as if he's not our son at all anymore."

"Baron, my son could not stay still, his gaze darting about restlessly. And when he did speak, it was only a single word - the very same he had uttered upon returning home."

"Woman..." the Old Man recalled, the memory burning in his mind.

The Old Man's eyes were wrought with anguish as he continued. "His eyes, it's hollow but sharp as the edge of a knife. Yet, his expression held no signs of madness - merely the countenance of one who has endured a dreadful day's work."

A deep sorrow overcame the Old Man's features. "Then, one fateful day, we saw him emerge from the brothel, cradling two prostitutes in his arms." Tears streamed down the weathered cheeks. "I was so utterly shocked, lost for words. This was not the kind, pure child I knew. My heart shattered at the sight."

Now, even terror was etched upon the Old Man's face. "But what truly filled me with dread was the day he returned to us. His eyes were so hollow, so devoid of life. And when he uttered those words - 'Woman' - it sent a chill down my spine."

His voice quivering, the Old Man pressed on. "For in that moment, I realized where his gaze had fallen - upon a woman member of our family, his own younger sister, a mere 8 years of age."

Eba instinctively moved to cover her ears, dreading to hear what more the Old Man might recount from his haunting memories.

The Old Man's voice trembled as he continued his tale. "I spoke at length with my dear wife, our feelings were perfectly aligned - we would bring our son to the church, that he might be blessed and purified."

"And so, a week later, we approached his bedroom, intent on retrieving him. But as we reached for the door, a most dreadful sound rent the air - the distinct, sickening sound of a thick substance being chopped by a butcher's knife..."

The Old Man's eyes grew wide, haunted by the memory. "Panicked, we flung the door open, only to..." His words caught in his throat, a retching cough escaping his lips.

Eba watched, horrified, as the Old Man convulsed, choking on his own bile. When at last he regained his composure. "The sight that greeted us, was one that will haunt me until my dying breath."

The Old Man's face contorted with anguish, his weathered features twisted in a paroxysm of grief. "Ahhkkk...eherm..." He struggled to find the words, his voice thick with phlegm and the weight of unspeakable sorrow.

Eba, her heart heavy with empathy, reached out to him, a gentle tap upon his trembling body. "Mister, you should stop there. You needn't finish if it pains you so. This is already killing you."

But the Old Man, his eyes wild with a desperate need for catharsis, shook his head vehemently. "No! If I do that, then I can never move forward from what transpired. You see, I have never spoken this tale aloud to another soul." Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the remnants of vomit. "This is the first time I am telling my story to anyone!"

Eba was struck dumb, both terrified and deeply moved by the Old Man's steadfast resolve. She had suspected he had been haunted by some unspeakable nightmare, and now she realized the true depth of his anguish - a burden he had borne alone for far too long.

Steeling himself, the Old Man pressed on, his voice quaking. "We were in front of his room, and as we turned the knob and opened the door...we saw him. He was in there, completely naked." A shudder passed through him. "But the worst was yet to come."

He paused, taking a shuddering breath. "In his right hand, he held a rusty butcher's knife. And in his left..." The Old Man's face contorted with anguish, "he was grasping something - a leg, still dripping with blood, freshly torn from its body."

Eba's heart sank, her stomach roiling with horror as she gazed upon the Old Man's tortured expression. "And then...?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"And in the corner of the room, we saw..." The Old Man's words caught in his throat, a strangled sob escaping his lips. "Our daughter. Our precious, lifeless child, dismembered and covered in her own blood."

The Old Man's words came tumbling out, his voice laced with anguish and a profound sense of betrayal. "WHY, SON? WHY?!"

As he spoke, his wife collapsed to her knees, her body wracked with sobs. And then, for the first time since his return, Baron spoke to him, his voice devoid of emotion.

"She had a small body. My dick wouldn't fit in." He paused, lifting the severed leg he held in his hand. "This leg, you see - it was obstructing my way, so I chopped it off!"

The Old Man recoiled, as if the very words had physically wounded him. "I want to rip out my ears after hearing that!, and to blind myself to the reality of what I'm witnessing" he cried.

His wife, overcome with shock and horror, collapsed where she knelt, her heart giving out. The Old Man watched, his world crumbling around him, as his lifeless wife fell to the floor and his dead daughter lay before him, a crimson pool of blood surrounding her small, broken body.

"I can't think straight," the Old Man murmured, his voice hollow. "Everything in my view should be red, but why do I only see darkness?" He stared, uncomprehending, at the tragic tableau that unfolded before him - his family, torn asunder by the unthinkable.

The sound of the horses' nervous whinnying punctuated the stifling silence that had fallen over the carriage. The Old Man, unable to bear the weight of the horrific scene any longer, abruptly jumped out and hurried towards the nearby swamp, desperate to wash the weeping and anguish from his face.

Left alone, Eba took a deep breath, composing herself as best she could in the wake of the Old Man's harrowing tale. Her brow furrowed with concern as she mulled over the disturbing details.

"It's dangerous to go on an expedition alone," she murmured, her voice tinged with unease. "There must be something... not human lurking out there, or perhaps some kind of supernatural force at play." Eba shook her head slowly, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of the Old Man's tale and the unspeakable tragedy that had unfolded within it.

As the carriage rumbled onward, the Old Man turned to Eba, his weathered face etched with a deep sorrow. "I'm sorry for what I showed you back there," he said, his voice trembling. "I just couldn't hold it in any longer."

Eba reached out, "No, no, it's alright," she reassured him. "It's better to let it out before it starts to devour you and things spiral out of control."

Gathering his composure, the Old Man nodded. "So if I may carefully ask," Eba continued, "what happened to your son after... that?"

"Ah, well, you've helped me unburden myself, so you needn't hesitate to ask," the Old Man replied. "I did not take justice into my own hands. I am a devout follower of God, so I surrendered him to the church."

"The church? What about the officials or the government? Surely there were other authorities to whom you could have turned?" Eba's brow furrowed with confusion.

The Old Man shook his head. "What is a government?" he asked. "The officials, the higher-ups - they are the church. Everything here is ruled by the Pope. Under him are the Cardinals, Bishops, and Apostles, and smaller areas are led by the Ministers."

Eba's eyes widened as she grappled with this revelation. It seemed this parallel world she had stumbled into was vastly different from her own, with the church wielding absolute power and authority. She could only imagine the implications this had on the lives of the people who lived here.

Eba pondered the Old Man's explanation, her mind rapidly making connections. "Ah, I see. So in this world, the Ministers are like the Mayors, and the Pope is the equivalent of the President," she surmised.

The Old Man nodded solemnly. "That's where I surrendered my son," he said. "The minister said they would be in charge of him."

As the carriage rolled onward, Eba's eyes widened in awe as the city came into view. It was a sprawling, vibrant metropolis, far grander and more diverse than the pastoral landscapes they had traversed. Bustling food stalls, lively entertainment, and a dizzying array of shops - blacksmiths, barbers, sculptors, artists and clockworks - all caught Eba's attention.

"We're here," the Old Man announced, breaking Eba's reverie.

"Wow, this is so beautiful," Eba breathed, her gaze sweeping over the impressive cityscape. "It's far from the grasslands we came from."

Turning to the Old Man, Eba offered a sincere expression of gratitude. "Thank you, Mister, for taking me in. I owe you one."

The Old Man shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "No, no, I owe you," he insisted. "Now, take care of yourself. I need to deliver these goods." With a nod, he stepped down from the carriage, disappearing into the bustling crowd.

Eba watched him go, her heart swelling with a mixture of appreciation and unease. The Old Man's harrowing tale still weighed heavily on her mind, and she couldn't help but wonder what other mysteries and horrors might be lurking within this parallel world and what exactly lay beyond the boundaries of this world that drew these navigators forth, risking life and limb? What wonders and dangers awaited them in the unknown?

Eba felt a growing sense of purpose. She was determined to uncover the truth behind this expedition, to understand the gravity of the Old Man's loss and the importance of the tally. This was no longer just a curiosity - it was a matter of profound significance, one that was woven into the very fabric of this parallel world.

Steeling her resolve, Eba knew she needed to gather more information. "Based on his story, I need to learn more about this expedition," she said, her eyes narrowing with determination. Whatever dark forces had caused and claimed the lives of the Old Man's family, she was determined to uncover the truth - and to ensure that no one else would suffer a similar fate.