Chapter 2 : Orbis Alius II

The season changed, and summer arrived in Bellandia. Even in the heartland of the Arvena highland, the sun blazed hot, though tempered by the cool mountain breeze. Farmers who had cultivated their land sought shelter in their homes during this time of the year, tending to tasks such as fixing tools and mending clothes.

The land surrounding the village ripened with yellowing crops, just a season away from harvest. Unlike crop farmers, vegetable farmers operated on shorter timetables, planting and replanting multiple times throughout the year. Consequently, Mother Arryn's family continued working during this unforgiving season.

Lansius also lent a hand on the farm today, but after two hours of hard work, he was soaked in sweat and had to stop. He leaned against the cool stone well, groaning as his body ached in the shade of its roof.

So hot... damn it... just unbelievable.

"Ha, told you," Marc exclaimed from beneath his large straw hat.

"Leave him alone and help me with this," Mother Arryn called out.

With a resigned sigh, Marc returned to work under the relentless heat of the sun.

This is so pathetic... at this rate, I'll be depending on them forever.

Lansius observed Marc and Arryn. Despite the heat, they diligently tended to the cabbage and turnip plots, weeding and replanting as needed.

This was Lansius' second year, so he thought he had what it takes to help them. However, the summer sun was nothing like the mildness of spring. The humidity, intensity, and heat easily overwhelmed him. He had tried several times, but always ended up with a nosebleed or a fever.

I need a different job. Something other than manual labor if I want to stand on my own.

"You're probably better off accompanying Tanya in the wool shop?" Arryn suggested, cleaning the hem of her brown working gown from dirt as they finished for the day.

"Maybe..." Lansius answered indifferently while tidying up the tools. His palms ached, but he wanted to help.

Lansius' stubbornness led Arryn to believe he was being too hard on himself, while Marc thought that, despite being unfit for farming, Lansius was too proud to accept a woman's job.

The wool shop, true to its name, was a place where wool was dyed and spun into yarn. Although Lansius didn't mind this kind of work, the pay was meager, and the shop primarily served as a gathering place for village housewives to chat and gossip while working. As an introvert, it would be his worst nightmare.

Arryn and Marc allowed Lansius to make his own decision. Despite their struggles, they didn't rely on his help. Though he was the same height as Marc, Lansius had softer arms and more delicate hands. He ate sparingly and was picky, especially about boiled water for drinking, but mostly took care of himself. While there were areas where he needed help, they weren't too serious.

As the sun began to set, the three fetched Tanya from the wool shop and headed home.

That night, Lansius felt a fever coming on and needed ointment for his blistered hand. Tanya applied a thin layer of salve on his injured palms and distracted him from his worries by sharing stories she'd heard at the shop.

While Lansius felt inadequate, the other family members were grateful for his efforts. He was learning the language and showing his willingness to help. Moreover, Marc was old enough to answer the Lord of Arvena's call, and small farmers like them were required to fulfill military services instead of paying taxes. When selected, men from the village would follow the Lord into battle for up to four months each year. In those times, Arryn would work alone. Lansius' presence provided Marc some peace of mind.

However, Lansius couldn't see it that way. His inability to work like the other men disheartened him. Even without a complete memory, he knew his old life was paradise in comparison. He felt that medieval farming was nothing less than cruel, and the term "backbreaking" seemed like an overstatement until he experienced it firsthand. That night, like many other nights when beset by illness, he vowed to escape the farming life.

The wet season arrived, and drizzle fell almost every day. Winter was still a month away, but the chill in the air was enough to penetrate one's bones.

"Gah," Lansius panted as they endured the cold, light rain.

"A bit more, keep it up," Marc encouraged him.

The two were carrying firewood for the village chief. Marc carried a stack of wood on each shoulder, while Lansius managed only one.

"I-is there no other job?" Lansius asked. His shoulder ached and his hips burned.

"Heh, you're still asking about that?" Marc teased.

Lansius exhaled deeply.

Easy for him to say. I don't want muscle-head's jobs.

Unfortunately, most jobs were manual labor. While there were some other trades, they were typically passed down from father to son and too small-scale to require additional help.

"Move it fast, lads. It's getting wet," urged the old man in dry, thick clothes as soon as he saw them approaching. In contrast, the two youngsters wore only two layers of coarse garments.

The two quickened their pace and hurriedly entered an old but sturdy-looking wooden shed. The place belonged to the village chief, who was wealthy enough to have a separate shed for storing firewood.

Both carefully dropped their stacks of wood on the floor and panted heavily. They had jogged to avoid getting wet but still ended up drenched.

"Took you too long," the chief complained as he fretted about the firewood getting wet. Nothing surprising there - he was known to be rude, senile, and cheap. Marc only took the job because the chief's wife always shared some food.

But before they could claim their reward...

"Hey, where are you two going? Stack them first, neatly," he ordered.

Marc and Lansius groaned but turned around and stacked the firewood as requested. Unlike the small branches they used in their home, the ones they stacked were thick logs that were properly dried. These logs were smokeless and burned longer.

When the two were done, the chief scratched his head, seemingly puzzled.

"What's the matter?" Lansius asked while rubbing his hands for warmth.

"Tsk- it's nothing. I just forgot to count them before stacking. Now it's hard to count."

"The logs? Why, it's thirty-six," Lansius answered flatly.

The chief immediately looked at Lansius with doubt. Even Marc, who was busy cleaning his clothes from wood chips, watched with suspicion.

Hold on, why give me the look?

"I-it's only six and six…" Lansius explained while searching his vocabulary for the exact word for multiply. He couldn't find it and started to realize what went wrong.

"You can multiply without using a table?" Marc asked in disbelief.

"Y-yes," Lansius replied, realizing that in this era, people relied on multiplication tables for calculations. The use of numerals similar to Roman numerals made calculation even more challenging.

They can't multiply..? But of course! They have no formal education... This might be my way out. To think it's math and not something groundbreaking like making gunpowder or antibiotics.

Marc looked ecstatic, but the chief wasn't convinced. Even he, along with most merchants and several farmers, knew how to calculate without using a table. So he challenged, "Try to calculate how many legs three horses have. You can use—"

"Twelve," Lansius blurted out without trying.

His answer startled the old man. "Eleven plus seven?"

"Eighteen."

The old man continued to furrow his brows. "How about, if five goat each give birth to three baby goat, how many total baby goat are there?"

"Fifteen baby goat," Lansius answered with a grin.

The chief was furiously engaged in finger-counting. In this method, each finger represented up to four units, corresponding to its three joints and the fingertip. He used his thumb as a pointer to keep track. With this technique, using all eight fingers, he could easily calculate up to 32 units—sufficient to count the days of a month.

When he arrived at the same result, he became slightly frustrated. He had always prided himself on being the cleverest one in the village, but this was his limit. Now, after witnessing Lansius calculate without needing a table or fingers, he was taken aback.

"Young man, have you regained your memory? Are you perhaps an apprentice to a merchant?" The old man's tone was less rude than usual.

Lansius shivered, not from the cold, but from the realization that this could be his ticket out.